|I dug through the internet to make sure I posted the creepiest picture of a one room school house ever. You're welcome.|
Well, it's happened. The twins are at school.
But how did that happen? Those of you who've been here since the beginning know it was only a few short years ago I was complaining about changing three hundred diapers a day. Now I'm the mom who rolls down her window and shouts at the girl pushing a newborn down the street, "Enjoy it! They grow up so fast!"
Kidding. I'll never be that lady.
Still, I had to push that lump in my throat way down as I waved goodbye to my two, nervous five-year-olds. Who will they make friends with? Will they like it? Are they the kids who eat glue and I'm not aware of it yet? I'm drowning all these unanswered questions in multiple cups of coffee and waiting for any concerned calls from the school. So far, so good. Twenty more cups to go.
Of course, I still have Doc at home, as well as the gestating Kellerman who, I'm almost positive, will weigh fifteen pounds when she's born. Twelve more weeks, and I should just barely be able to fit through the front door. The mailman holds his breath every time I clear the front porch and waddle across the lawn, bent on retrieving the day's collection of flyers and bills.
Will this be the day I have to call The Jaws of Life in for her? he asks himself.
If she births the baby, will I have to mail it to the hospital?
Should I ask USPS for a different route?
No, I've got plenty to keep me busy while I get fat. Making books and babies is time consuming, but it doesn't mean I won't miss my Double Trouble while they're away. Don't get me wrong, the modicum of quiet will be entirely welcome, but there will be a few, signature occurrences missing from my morning.
Just as the twins are finally sleeping in like normal people, it's my job to go against every screaming instinct I have and wake them up. We're on a schedule now, and need to be on time. After four years of trying to get them to sleep past 6am, I find this to be the Universe's sickest twist of fate, to date.
Breakfast now has to be eaten in a certain amount of time. And I have to make sure they actually eat it, lest I receive a concerned phone call from the school. "Mrs. Kellerman? Yes, your children just explained they're starving. Are there problems at home? Your daughter hinted that you may have given them food three days ago." No more throwing waffles at people during random times in the morning.
Putting on pants
Granted, on the first day, I walked the twins to class. Knowing I was getting ready to wander amongst other parents was great motivation to find my sports bra and dig up a pair of shorts that just barely stretched around me. Thankfully, as I waved goodbye to my children, I only heard two of my seams burst.
By the end of the year, I'll be the mom in the pickup line wearing her nightgown. Please check in periodically for updates on this slowly building horror.
Yes, I know I've built my writing career on complaining about how I can't get a second to myself in the bathroom, and the fact I'm followed by short people pretty much every second of my life. But I will say I'll miss the twin's interjecting their oneliners into my morning.
"Mom, are you sure you put on deodorant today? You said you did, but I don't know."
"If your belly gets any bigger, you won't be able to drive us in the car. So far, so good."
"A good mom would give us Skittles for breakfast. Why do you hate us?"
"I saw a car at Target, yesterday. It was really clean inside. Why doesn't ours look like that?"
"This is probably the best day ever." (Anytime I buy popsicles)
Oh well, I guess it's time to start a new chapter. Still not happy about the pant thing though.
Until Next Time, Readers!
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