It’s July. It is still light outside my window, but I’ve closed the blinds to pretend it’s nighttime because I’m friggin exhausted and I am ready for bed.
I’m sitting in my underwear and a bagged out mens tee, I’ve got my hair piled into a banana clip, and I’m drinking wine. Suddenly I’m in my thirties.
And I think I’m okay with that.
Years ago, I wouldn’t have been caught dead in this get-up – let alone telling the whole world about it! But seriously. Turning thirty changes you. You DGAF.
The girls are finally asleep; although this 9pm bedtime has become normal in this household the past few weeks so I shouldn’t be surprised that it’s “already 9pm.”
But it’s late for me! I’m old now. We had an exhausting day in 30 degree sun at the waterpark. What a terrible idea that was! With two babies, I’m never leaving the house again unless it’s into the air conditioned car and then into an air conditioned space out of the sun. Or maybe I just won’t leave my central a/c until October.
A few things made me realize that I am legit 30 now. Things are happening and thoughts are occurring that would never have happened in my twenties. For example, as stated above, anything above 25 degrees outside is too damn hot to leave the house.
You know, unless I miraculously get a babysitter and I can escape to the lake on my paddle board with nothing but a 6 pack and my swim suit. But we all know the likelihood of that happening.
Another 30 year old (mom) thought I had today: why the EFF do diaper boxes come sealed like they’re concealing gold inside. It is INSANE trying to open one of those damn boxes! The flaps are all glued down with CEMENT and then someone decided to add packing tape just for fun.
Trying to open one quietly in the toddlers room while the baby is asleep close by is like trying to eat chips at night. So. Loud. I clearly don’t store sharp objects in my toddlers room so why the hell don’t diaper boxes have a pull tab somewhere! Mom’s struggle enough in life. Come on Huggies. Smarten the eff up.
I definitely realized I’m in my thirties this afternoon while unloading the dishwasher. The baby was entertained with some noisy toy and the toddler was involved with some toy car meeting on the coffee table so I knew I had about 3.5 minutes to get the dishes put away. Good. That’s tons of time. I can do things at lightning speed these days, NBD.
But for some reason, we have a tiny little drawer designated for utensils. And I don’t mean forks and knives and spoons, but I mean those big bulky plastic ladles and spatulas and flipper things (what ARE those called, anyway?). We have accumulated so many of these plastic nightmares that it is impossible to get them all into the drawer and have the drawer close normally.
I saved these buggers until the end of the unloading; all piled up on the countertop. Last minute and a half until I was interrupted; I could see the tot starting to look over at me from her car meeting and the baby was getting herself lodged in an uncomfortable position. The “mama, mama” and the “waa-waa”‘s were on their way. I grabbed the utensils and headed for the tiny drawer just as the tot started tugging at me. Damn.
I opened the drawer and threw everything inside but of course it did not lay magically flat and neat and organized. Oh no. The ladle stuck up and a handle jammed the drawer.
“Mama, mama,” tug, tug. UGH. Open drawer. Smash shit around, close drawer. Tug tug. “Mama!” I turn to the tot and tell her one second, mama is just finishing up putting away the dishes. That buys me 10 seconds to little take everything out of the drawer, shuffle it around in my hands and jam it back in. The baby starts crying and the drawer still doesn’t close. Inside I am fuming over these damn utensils.
WHY. Why does this draw make me so irrationally mad! I want to break things at this point!
I give up. I shuffled things one more time and slammed the drawer. It worked. I win. For now. I scoop up the baby and help Keegs with her car conference.
So this is life now. The daily struggles of being a thirty year old stay at home mom I guess!