I knew that when I had children, my life would revolve around them.
It's just when the revolutions turn into a merry-go-round of chaos that I have a problem.
Just this past weekend, my son fell asleep as we were coming back from breakfast — a full two hours ahead of schedule. Taking him out of the car only would have interrupted his restful slumber, so I found myself sitting in the air-conditioned car in our driving playing Words with Friends on my phone.
Sure I could make him adjust to what I want to do, but I would pay for it down the road in the manifestation of a tiny terrorizing tot.
Daytrips now rely on my ability to plan impeccably.
"I need to go to the store," my husband said.
"For what?" I asked, because this is the opening salvo in rigorous negotiations.
"I need to get some string for the weed whacker."
I assessed my son, who at that moment was running with a stick held high over his head, looking up at the summer sky, mouth stretched wide open in a high-pitched squeal.
I started the mental calendar:
• When did he last eat?
• Do I need to pack some food?
• When did he last wake up?
• Should I plan on another nap?
• Are there enough toys in the car?
• Does he need a hat or sunscreen?
• When was his diaper last changed?
• What is the weather like now? Will that change in a couple of hours?
Ten minutes later, my husband was impatiently waiting in the car while I amassed two steamer trunks of gear for any potential pitfalls we could encounter.
It's moments like those where I wonder how I went from semi-accomplished professional to pack mule.
When we arrive at our planned destination, now my role evolves into toddler management. If he is confined, keep him occupied. If he is unconfined, keep him out of trouble.
Because, above all else, I leave in mortal feel of the toddler tantrum. I'm not so much worried about his emotional state — I'm sure he can walk it off — but more so that of other patrons or passersby. I don't want to ruin some nice family's dinner in a restaurant or interrupt someone's important phone call.
Basically, I just hate to be a bother.
I know all parents feel that anxiety at some point or another, and it's just something that comes along with the territory, but it's intense and palpable in the moments that it strikes.
Perhaps if I was able to eat every two hours and take two naps a day, my mental state would be a little less chaotic.
— Sarah Leach is content editor at The Holland Sentinel. Contact her at (616) 546-4278.
It's just when the revolutions turn into a merry-go-round of chaos that I have a problem.
Just this past weekend, my son fell asleep as we were coming back from breakfast — a full two hours ahead of schedule. Taking him out of the car only would have interrupted his restful slumber, so I found myself sitting in the air-conditioned car in our driving playing Words with Friends on my phone.
Sure I could make him adjust to what I want to do, but I would pay for it down the road in the manifestation of a tiny terrorizing tot.
Daytrips now rely on my ability to plan impeccably.
"I need to go to the store," my husband said.
"For what?" I asked, because this is the opening salvo in rigorous negotiations.
"I need to get some string for the weed whacker."
I assessed my son, who at that moment was running with a stick held high over his head, looking up at the summer sky, mouth stretched wide open in a high-pitched squeal.
I started the mental calendar:
• When did he last eat?
• Do I need to pack some food?
• When did he last wake up?
• Should I plan on another nap?
• Are there enough toys in the car?
• Does he need a hat or sunscreen?
• When was his diaper last changed?
• What is the weather like now? Will that change in a couple of hours?
Ten minutes later, my husband was impatiently waiting in the car while I amassed two steamer trunks of gear for any potential pitfalls we could encounter.
It's moments like those where I wonder how I went from semi-accomplished professional to pack mule.
When we arrive at our planned destination, now my role evolves into toddler management. If he is confined, keep him occupied. If he is unconfined, keep him out of trouble.
Because, above all else, I leave in mortal feel of the toddler tantrum. I'm not so much worried about his emotional state — I'm sure he can walk it off — but more so that of other patrons or passersby. I don't want to ruin some nice family's dinner in a restaurant or interrupt someone's important phone call.
Basically, I just hate to be a bother.
I know all parents feel that anxiety at some point or another, and it's just something that comes along with the territory, but it's intense and palpable in the moments that it strikes.
Perhaps if I was able to eat every two hours and take two naps a day, my mental state would be a little less chaotic.
— Sarah Leach is content editor at The Holland Sentinel. Contact her at (616) 546-4278.
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