About three years ago, my girlfriend Jenny was visiting. It was our monthly â€œroomiesâ€ get-together. (I use the term â€˜monthlyâ€™ loosely. We try, but people get busy. Sorry, I digress.) The roomies are my housemates from my last two years of college. Jenny was four months pregnant and we were making plans for our next get together. She whipped out a little pocket calendar and shared, â€œYou have to write everything down or youâ€™ll never remember. Pregnancy brain is no joke.â€
I never really suffered from pregnancy brain. But then again, most of the issues I was remembering involved where the bathroom was located at my new job and, later on, which nurse Iâ€™d already yelled at about the constant need to take my blood pressure.
Mommy brain? Thatâ€™s the real deal. (Daddy brain is a similar affliction for the remaining parental half of our dynamic duo.) From forgetting to put freshly pumped milk into the refrigerator to putting clothes in the dryer and forgetting to press start, I realized I really do need to write everything down.
Iâ€™ve gotten teased at work for my old-school three-ring paper planner. If it crosses my mind, I write it down. It seems to be a great solution for all the details I follow and various projects I work on. At home, I simply track our familyâ€™s comings and goings via the calendar app on my iPhone.
Thatâ€™s not nearly enough. I need to write EVERYTHING down.
This evening I attended my monthly Gemini Crickets meeting â€“ the local MoM (Mothers of Multiples) club. I got home from work and completed a few last minute work items. During the following hour, Jon and I: picked up a few items before the housekeepers come tomorrow, bathed both boys, fed both boys, started laundry, packed the diaper bag, got the boys bundled into their car seats, loaded the stroller and bundled boys into the car and took off on our adventure. â€œI am SuperMom!â€ I thought to myself. A full day and Iâ€™m still on top of things!
When we arrived, I jumped down from the driverâ€™s seat of my soccer mom SUV and headed to the back to get the muppets ready to woo all the other parents with their innate adorableness. â€œHmmm,â€ I thought as I took two steps toward the back of the car. â€œMy shoes are far comfier than usualâ€¦â€
I looked down. Slippers. Iâ€™d remembered the kids, forgotten my shoes.
I glanced back at the car. Search and Destroy were still sleeping from the lull of the drive over. Maybe no one would see me if I quickly leapt back into the car and sped away. Then I looked toward our meeting room.
What was I so worried about? I was at a Gemini Cricket meeting. Everyone there had a minimum of twins â€“ multiple children are not a novelty. It was a gathering to share war stories of kids vs. parents when the numbers are equal, a place to swap advice on deals for double the merchandise and services. It was the comfiest meeting Iâ€™ve ever attended.
But tomorrow, when I head off for work, the top of my to-do list now reads, â€œWear shoes.â€