Hey, guys! I’m at Kindred Mom today! Here’s the first part, or you can read it in its entirety here.
It’s a(nother) wild morning at the Chapman house. The big two got up at the appointed hour, but I had a hard time falling asleep last night and a proportionately hard time getting out of bed this morning, so I started the day feeling a little behind as my 6- and 7-year-old chatter away happily and relentlessly. Just when it’s time to get the small two up, I hear a knock at the door.
Whoops! The home visit I thought was scheduled for tomorrow is actually today, and I meet the educator in my workout leggings with a very foul-smelling diaper in my hand. I greet her with the wild-eyed feigned enthusiasm of a mama desperately wishing she’d gotten up early enough for coffee. “HELLO! WELCOME TO OUR HOUSE!” I get a fresh diaper on the littlest and we start the appointment—definitely not tomorrow.
This woman is here because my youngest, at two, has lots of words but almost no consonants, so communication with her is a comical and frustrating guessing game that sounds like the Witch Doctor song: “oo ee oo ah ah.” By the time the speech intake is finished, my kids are done. I have given 45 minutes to this stranger, and they are tired of seeing my attention on anything but themselves. Four small people with big voices each demanding my immediate and undivided attention is a little more than this uncaffeinated and unfed mama can handle.
I do the obvious thing: open Instagram.
Ahhh. That’s better. Look at the happy toddler! The pretty flowers! The unicorn costume my friend is making for her preschooler! Well-lit snippets of other people’s lives float past me rapidly, allowing me to tune out the increasingly insistent voices of my children. It’s relaxing. For a second. Then the shrieking begins.