I’m sitting at the coffee shop now doing some design work. I could easily be doing this at home, but I find myself here at least once a week because sometimes I just need to escape from my house or I go completely stir crazy.
There are two women here with babies. One looks like she’s maybe five or six months old, and is hanging out in a baby carrier strapped to mom. (And she’s wearing a fleece hat, thick pants, socks and a fleece jacket…poor kid looks hotter than hell.) The other is a newborn little boy. Between the two of them they have one small diaper bag, one giant backpack diaper bag, two purses, a bottle, burp cloth, a car seat, and assorted other baby shit crowding a table for two.
At one point the little baby let out a little whimperish cry. Cute, but it literally sent shivers down my spine. Looking at that hot mess going on makes me realize that if I had to go back to those days, they’d have to put me in an institution. Jesus, just hauling all that crap around looks like a complete nightmare.
If all goes as planned, I get to meet my new baby nephew, Tyler this weekend. I can’t wait. He’s a cutie pie. I’ve offered to take him and his “big” brother, Gavyn off of my sister-in-law’s hands for at least a little while. I am amazed at what she’s doing. My brother is in the Air Force and was deployed when Tyler was only a week old. So she has been going at it solo for the last three weeks, which is just beyond comprehension to me.
But the beauty of it is, that as much as I’ll enjoy hanging out with those two tiny guys, I can give them back. Granted, I’ll have to go home to my own brand of chaos, but at least it doesn’t involve carrying around a damn clunky car seat everywhere I go. Or random crying jags. At least when my kids cry they have a reason. Like because Alex wanted to find the Snow White movie in the DVD case, but Justin found it for him. Or because I wouldn’t let Cameron use a new roll of wrapping paper to draw on. Or because David was ready to eat a plate of french fries and realized we were out of ketchup.
I didn’t say they were good reasons.
© Jennifer Alys Windholz, 2011