Twins

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Mom Guilt
Mom Guilt 150 150 rebekahrosler

It’s inevitable. If you’re a mom. You have it. It can be about the smallest things. Or the largest. The food you feed them. Or don’t. The amount of TV you let them watch. Your job keeping you from them. Or your job raising them. Playing with them enough – or looking down at your phone too much. Giving them individual attention. Letting them have an imagination or giving them too many toys.

No matter what it is. It’s not good enough.

It can be so overwhelming that it takes a significant portion of your brain space. And as soon as you give yourself a pass – something else comes up. And you go down the rabbit hole. Accepting blame. Transferring blame. Where did it stem from? Your childhood? Your mom? Her mom. And down you go. Spiraling out of control.

Most recently mine has been about illness. I truly cannot fathom how it’s possible. But my children have been sick since the last week of June. With a slight reprieve in August for a summer break. My first was sick frequently, her first year of daycare. But, daycare frequently – like – snotty noses. A little Hand Foot Mouth here and there. But this year. With the twins. It’s been nothing short of unbelievable. I feel defeated – and it takes a lot for me to get there. We have been at the doctor – at least once – every single week since September 18, sans a single week in October. Today is December 29th.

That is not normal.

We used our entire FSA within four months.

Is it my fault? Is it because I’m not a germaphobe. I half ass the whole “washing hands” thing? Is it because I don’t feed them well enough? Didn’t give enough Breast Milk? Ate dairy while breastfeeding? Don’t bathe them frequently? Use bubbles when I do? Is it because I’m too relaxed about everything? Should I not be? Is it because when they were born I got an infection during labor and I “let” the doctors” give them both antibiotics on day one “in case” they maybe got the infection. It is because they couldn’t delay cord clamping because there were two of them? Is it because I didn’t do enough research to know my rights and demand what I should have – mere moments after pushing two humans out of my vagina?

It’s obviously all my fault. So what is there to do?

I don’t actually have an answer. And I don’t really think it’s my fault. I more am desperately sad for my kids who weekly hit a temperature of 103.

I’ve been looking forward to this winter break for months. And of course, instead, there has been sickness, medication, temperatures, pain, sadness every single day. We’ve barely left the house – outside of doctor visits. I just wanted everyone to enjoy. And of course. I have guilt and disappointment that we didn’t.

And now to top it off the fucking dog is sick.

I know Mom Guilt is real.

And unavoidable.

And also an unnecessary stressor.

We deal with enough, hopeful in 2019 energies can be better spent. I have a business to build.

A business focused on helping moms avoid mom guilt.

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The In-Between
The In-Between 150 150 rebekahrosler

Once a parent becomes a parent, vacations are no longer vacations. So you have to decide. Is this really something you want to take on.

You go back and forth with your partner on the merits of this idea being a good or terrible one. 

Then you decide. 

The choice has been made. 

You hold your breath. 

Press the “purchase tickets” button. 

And immediately question the decision. 

But the deed is done. You now have a few months to manage the anxiety of how the fuck to travel with a set of one-year-old twins and a toddler. 

Then the week before, it sets in. The logistics are overwhelming. How many babies? Strollers? Car seats? Who is watching the dog? The cat? High chairs? What do we do with our car? How many bags? Toys? What do you need for the plane? How do you get to the plane? What do you do once you’re on the plane? Off the plane? Cribs for everyone? What books do you pack? 

Ha! 

Books?

None for me. As we said, a vacation is no longer a vacation. 

But we made the commitment to visit family in the south. The deal was sealed. So off we go. 

What we know now is the right number of adults (for traveling with three under three) is four.

Four high-functioning adults makes it just manageable. 

For anyone who has done it with fewer, you are my heroes. 

The thing you forget, or are less aware of, in the day-to-day grind is that (for many of us) other people are entertaining our children all day. Sure, we see them in the morning. Get them dressed and ready for the day. Pick them up at the end. And manage the nighttime routine. But in between, someone else is reading, feeding, playing with them. 

And to those people… I salute you. 

We had one full week in Florida in a two-room Airbnb with virtually no plans. This could have gone one of two ways. 

The twins are down to one nap daily. And the almost three-year-old is fully refusing any nap while in vacation mode. 

This makes for a very, very long seven days. 

All that said, the trip could not have been more perfect. Everyone was (basically) on their best behavior. Everyone (basically) slept at night. And, in fact an extra hour plus in the morning. The Rosler kids apparently love vacation. There was pool. There was beach. There was family. And friends. But Nathan and I were ON every. single. second. of. every. single. day. 

Well, almost. 

There were two opportunities for “me” time. There were two days of glorious moments that were all mine. And I’ll be hard-pressed to forget them anytime soon. 

One day we went to the beach. A trip to the beach is not what it once was, certainly. After lugging the baby chairs. And the umbrella. And the towels. And the toys. And the shovels. And the buckets. And the beach chairs. And slathering up babies with SPF. And hats. And anti-UV bathing suits. And water bottles. Snacks. And diapers. And swim diapers and….yeah. And so-much-crap. Now what? Ok. We’re settled. Towels laid out. Babies on them. Shoes kicked off. What now? Go for a walk?Build a sand castle? Oh, it’s high tide? Right now? Cool. Move everything back five feet. Good? Set? Now? Nope. Not far enough. Pick it all up and do it again. Ok. Time to relax? One sippy cup ends up on the sand. One baby just took a fistful to the mouth. Excellent start. 

Finally everyone is good. I check my surroundings. All babies accounted for. I do not make a peep, take a breath. I slowly walk towards the water. My childhood. My respite. My calm. The beach should be my home. It’s where I am in my element. I was pulled towards my beacon and did not look back. My toes touched the perfectly crystal blue, aqua waves and then I dove in fully. I flipped over and floated. I was buoyant. And free. Body light as a feather. Floating in a little slice of heaven on earth. My ears right beneath the idyllic ocean water’s surface. Every time a wave swept through, the sound of sand and shells rolling with them sung in my ears. If shimmering made a sound, this would have been it. This moment was perfection. I have not had a moment like this, likely since our honeymoon four years ago. And yes, it was a moment. I was beckoned back not long after I took in the sky, and the clouds, and the salt water. I followed the waves back to shore. They carried me, effortlessly. I took a deep breath and returned to my other element: my beautiful family, awaiting me on the other side. But that in-between moment brought me life. Sometimes it really is just the little things. 

The next day (in between visitors, and feedings, and cleaning, and bathing, and shopping, and playing) I was granted close to an hour of alone time, which may as well have been an eternity. The babies napped. H took a car ride with N and I had the pool to myself. I floated. I took in the fresh air. The sun. The Florida heat. And for that hour nothing mattered. There were no worries. No anxiety. No tantrums. No bills. No questions. I took a break from it all and let the water carry me. 

This came to an end. 

As all things must. 

But those moments will stay with me for a long time. They rejuvenated me. Restored me. I love my family. And my new career. And the hustle and bustle of it all. But the calm. And the quiet. And the weather. And the “vacation.” And the family time. And the down time. And the break from reality. It was reinvigorating.

Restorative. 

Taking the time is so important. Most of us likely don’t do it enough. But this little vacation home in Florida, off the beaten path, was so perfect. We are so busy running, usually, from this place and that. We don’t take the time to appreciate the in-between. I’m so grateful I was given this opportunity. It made me realize I need to focus more on what happens in-between: the things that happen in the midst of us handling life. 

It also made me realize how insanely amazing it is to have a washer and dryer in your home. 

I single-handedly destroyed the environment last week. 

Sorry, Earth. 

Please, this one time. 

Forgive me. 

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356 Days
356 Days 150 150 rebekahrosler

I know I’m meant to feel a sense of relief that my pumping journey is coming to an end. The hours attached to a machine. The time stolen, away from my partner, my babies, my life. But I have a pit in my stomach and knot in my throat as I pack this all up. This time it’s not going on a top shelf only to be taken down again at a later date. This time it will be escorted out of my home, and will not return.

I think for me it represents something so much greater. Something I never tapped into until it was thrust upon me. It represents motherhood.

And the journey.

And the inner earth shattering, crack you open from the inside, life altering, identity shaping affect it had on me.

My life’s motto was – I don’t want kids. And now, here I am, desperate that the vasectomy didn’t take. Desperate to rewind time. Desperate to at least freeze it all.

After a year with twins I’ve often heard – “thank god that part’s over.” But I feel so very much the opposite. If I could return to 356 days ago, I actually would. Learn it all again. See it all again. Relive it all again. Do it all again.

I know my babies haven’t “needed” this pumped milk for a while. But it wasn’t for my babies that I was doing it. I was holding on to something. Something I wasn’t ready to let go of. And I’m still not. But the time has come. They turn one next week. They’re real people now. They don’t need me in the way they once did. Sure, one can argue that they need me more – or differently – now. But. It’s just. Not the same.

I’m sad. And heartbroken. And I want to do it all again. But that’s just not how life works. We cannot stop time. Relive moments.

So tonight, I will not put this pump, these bags, these tubes, back on the shelf. I will put them by the front door. And they will be shepherded out. Along with the infant clothing. And the tiny hats. And little booties. The large bouncer. Bath seats. The bottles. These are things we no longer need. And will never need again. The time has come for me to let them go, though it’s hard to catch my breath as I write this – believing, accepting it’s all so real. And final.

Many a friend has said – I can’t wait to burn my pump. But my pump feels like an arm, a limb, an extension of me. And burns are tragically and devastatingly painful.

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Almost a Full Rotation Around the Sun
Almost a Full Rotation Around the Sun 150 150 rebekahrosler

A few days late. Maybe delaying the inevitable, not ready to accept what it means. Or maybe life is just insane. Either way, what I think about right now, in this final month before these two turn one, are a few simple things.

I truly cannot fathom that we’ve almost come to one full rotation around the sun. Preparing for this last month a few things strike me. And since it’s too late for me, I’ll share my own experience as unsolicited advice for any of you at the early stages of this journey. I wish a few things. Knowing now, that it all happens so fast, and knowing this was my last round of firsts. I should have smelled and stared at them just a little bit longer. I wish I pumped less and cuddled more. Not that I cleaned TOO much, but I wish I worried less and enjoyed more. Thought less, felt more. Planned less, was present more. I know that none of us are made of money, but I wish I had said yes to certain things. This is not the time to worry about money. Splurge on the newborn photos, buy the adorable bunny hat. Put down the phone (ironic, I get it). Accept help and kindness from others. Pay strong attention to your partnership. That’s the love that got them here. Massage it, spend time on it. It will get you through the tough nights.

Lastly and possibly most importantly – give yourself a break. We all do the absolute best we can with what we’re given. We are all way, way too hard on ourselves – so be kind to you and, Love Love Love.

Happy 11months to them.

And to us.

And to the best big sister I’ve seen.

I’m tired. Definitely poorer. A little less sane. But so deep in love and happiness.

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Breastfeeding Week
Breastfeeding Week 150 150 rebekahrosler

The journey of breastfeeding is not one to be taken lightly, or for granted. Yes it is natural but no, it is not easy. Many of us struggle. Many of us stop. The truth is – a happy mom is the number one priority in a child’s life.

I struggled immensely with my first. There were tears, there was pain, there was exhaustion and lots of hours attached to machines. Ultimately I pushed through. 18 months with my first. Twins came two months later. And now almost 11 months in this round I’m still at it – though the journey is soon to meet its ultimate fate.

But this was not done exclusively. There were bottles and there is formula. Lots and lots of formula for the twins. I learned early on fed truly is best.

I feel lucky and honored that I was able to provide for my children but I’m also glad that I was able to resist the societal pressure of breast is best.

Happy breast-feeding week to those who choose to do it and to those who chose not to do it. Those who choose to feed their babies in whatever ways shapes or forms keep their entire family happy, healthy and sane – keep going mama!

To those struggling because of the stigma attached to not breast feeding/formula – please know we stand in solidarity.

We are all good moms.

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At Least There Is Coffee
At Least There Is Coffee 150 150 rebekahrosler

The story begins like any other 8pm night, though this time I’m solo parenting.

In the babies room, twins asleep, singing Wheels on the Bus for likely the 19millionbillionth time. I hear a noise in the directions of the twins bed. Can’t place it. But it scared me. I ran over. They both seemed to be breathing, but something didn’t sit well with me. Sounded like a balloon (organ?) bursting inside of them. I didn’t want to touch them for fear of waking them. But I was also nervous something very wrong happened. I left the room to confer with Nathan who was at a wedding. I went back in and as I was about to lean over Jory’s bed, his head popped up and I was spotted. I quickly ran out of the room as he let out a wail. Marley was wriggling around so I knew she was safe. The noise was bizarre. But everyone was alive.

I laid in bed thinking I’d get some early sleep. But the babies kept making noises, which is abnormal for that time of night. By ten pm everyone had settled in to sleep – so I did too.

Fast forward 5am, mother fucking cat wakes me up. Babies start to stir within the hour, but we know to keep them there until 6:30.

6:30 rolls around. And we go in. As usual their bedroom smells like a large pile of crap as the babies haven’t quite regulated their poop time. After a little chat with Harper, some smiles with baby Marley, I make my way over to Jory. And OOOOO MMMMMM GGGGG.

THERE WAS SHIT EVERYWHERE.

I mean EVERYWHERE. Crib. Mattress. Arms. Toes. Back. Head. Fingers. Every. Fucking. Where.

By 7am we already had a baby in the bath. Laundry in the machine. And the “oh my god we need a vacation” internet search open.

My only saving grace is this delicious drink. I know it’s not those beach pictures my single friends are posting. And it’s not the beach houses my fancy friends are posting. And it’s not even the pool, my friends with parents close by are posting. But it’s not the first picture of the day which was us arm deep in baby shit.

Oh yeah, our dog’s pad ripped off her paw and we need to bring her to the vet. I guess this can happen tomorrow since I can’t work again – since my boy is covered from head to toe in what look like chicken pox. ?

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What Will You Remember
What Will You Remember 150 150 rebekahrosler

I read an article, a story, a something recently, and it was just so poignant, it stuck with me.

It was a woman recounting a memory from her childhood. She reminisced about the special nights she had enjoyed with her single mom. What she remembered most were the evenings they ate together, when her food was sliced into tiny, tiny pieces. They would sit on the floor eating hot dog and chicken nugget bites, just the two of them. When she shared this memory, her mom was shocked at her retelling of those nights, as she recalled them too, but for a different reason. Those were the nights she had thought she had failed as a mother. She was so tired by the end of the day, working two jobs to support them, that she didn’t have the energy to cook. So she opened the refrigerator, found what they had, warmed it, cut it, and sat down with her daughter to finally get off her feet.

This is such an important reminder. In this day and age with social media as our dictator, we see our friends cooking their kids kale and quinoa and colorful plates of beautiful gourmet food, that in a million years I wouldn’t even consider whipping together. So from time to time, I question my abilities as a mother. “I can’t even feed my kid well. I’m failing her.” And yes, the pictures present well on Facebook, and yeah, maybe the kid is getting the nutrients they need. But, reality check, I will never be able to do that. And guess what? What the kids remember aren’t those meals.

Earlier this week, Nathan was stuck late at work. The plan had been for him to cook dinner, as he does, but now it was up to me to prepare something. Lacking the cooking gene, I asked Harper what she would like, listing off the things in our freezer. She opened the cereal cabinet and said, “cereal, with Mommy. Sit on the floor, with a mommy bowl and a mommy spoon.”

You see, there was a night a few weeks ago where I just couldn’t deal, couldn’t function, couldn’t manage, and the easiest, most possible thing for me to do, was feed us cereal on the kitchen floor. And this 2 1/2 year old’s tiny brain, even now, a few weeks later, remembered that night, that memory, and wanted to share it again with me. It made me realize what’s important. What really matters. And that’s the special time we get to spend with our kids. Sure, maybe roasted squash is better for her than Frosted Mini-Wheats, but she is still going to grow up, she is still going to get the nutrients she needs (somehow), and to me, right now, impacting her memories is the most important thing.

When Harper was less than 2 months old, I demanded that we take her to the museum (what?!). I thought it would be so good for her to be surrounded by art at such a young age. In retrospect, I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking. Was I presuming that by osmosis she would become cultured? She couldn’t see 10 inches from her face. To get a baby from downtown, in a massive Bugaboo stroller, to the UES, to schlep her around a museum, where she slept and shat the entire time, was a complete and utter waste of time (and anxiety levels).

When the twins were born, I tried to get out immediately with them to do things. I soon realized that the amount of stuff, the amount of schedules, and the amount of stress was simply not worth it.

Needless to say, we have not strayed far from Stuytown in the last almost 10 months. Who am I kidding? I couldn’t walk for the last half of my twin pregnancy, so it’s been well over a year.

Sometimes I get sad that my kids aren’t experiencing all that the city, all that life, has to offer. But I have to tell you: When we walk into their room when they first wake up in the morning, and they are all lying there, teeny-tiny eyes open, and they see me, and they see Nathan, and their little faces light up, nothing else in the world matters.

Harper and I are home together tonight—just us. I could pretend I’m already planning dinner, making sure the fridge is stocked. But we all know that’s a lie. We will be eating Frosted Mini-Wheats, in a mommy bowl, with a mommy spoon, on the kitchen floor, and I simply can’t wait. And I’m willing to bet, she can’t either.

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And Then We Came To The End
And Then We Came To The End 150 150 rebekahrosler

I never thought it would happen.

In fact, I was certain it would not. After all – I was the one who didn’t want kids. What’s the appeal? I thought. You can’t travel. You’re limited. Tired. Tied down. The diapers. The mess.

You can’t live freely.

I just couldn’t see it. Not for me at least.

Then I met the love of my life – and learned that a love so strong brings with it other desires. Other needs. And with it – the realization that those other fears were less important. When a life is lived well before meeting your partner – the feeling of missing out on what the world has to offer, is a little less clawing. Creating another life. A life we make. Together. Ours. Felt like it was already a story written.

That’s what the world would have to offer, for us. Our baby.

So we had the one. Nathan would have been content. Was content. Just days after she was born, though, I realized I experienced a tectonic shift.

I too was content. I was in love. But I was far from done. Almost one year to the day later, we were pregnant with twins.

This, by far, for sure, unequivocally, would be it. There was no other possible reality. For what was originally intended to be a family of two was already a party of five. Certainly, this was the end.

The twins came. And yes. We were done. Love was bursting through every seam. As were the diapers. And the spit up. And the laundry. And the sleepless nights. And the colic. Yes. We were done. We took all the precautions to ensure this reality. We are closed for business, as it were.

And now. A day until marking 9 months with the twins and nearly two and a half years with our first, I’m questioning everything. I want more. I think I want more. Could I possibly, truly want more?

I’ve been quietly suppressing this feeling. Not accepting it. Not acknowledging it. You see, I am the only one who feels this way in my marriage. But it’s beginning to bubble over. And it’s time to honestly face what these feelings mean.

As I sat with a dear friend (and fellow twin mom) yesterday it seems I am not alone. We both have three young children. The most recent set being the twins. We shared how different the experience is with two, than with one. There are no special cuddles in bed, just you and your baby. There’s autopilot – overdrive – to just keep everyone alive. The pregnancy is like nothing a human should endure. All in all. The twin experience is just… different.

I keep going back and forth – deciding if I should say it was less special. Because that would rub people the wrong way. And that’s never my intention. But If I’m being honest, for me, it was a little less special. More robotic. The breastfeeding sessions didn’t feel like bonding. The witching hour was doubly hard. There’s just no one-on-one mommy-baby, get-to-know-each-other-moments. It’s almost like what could have been, wasn’t.

So I’m stuck in this place. My truth. We are done. Because we have to be. For many reasons. But I don’t think I can accept it. Not yet. Not now. Though I have no other choice. And maybe I don’t really want another baby. Maybe I’m simply mourning the loss of what could have been. Or maybe now that the the twins are no longer newborns, barely even infants – I can’t wrap my head around the fact that we will have no more baby firsts.

Babies. Twins. Are life changing. You just never realize what having one, or three, will do to your entire existence. I almost can’t remember the “me” from before. In a good way, I believe.

I have never accepted something in my life I wasn’t fully satisfied with. I will fight to the death for what I want or believe in. If there is something I need. I will always figure out a way. I have never failed at this.

I think this is the first fight I must succumb to. Understand that this is it. Drop my head, accept defeat and walk right up to the finish line.

I cannot cross it, though. I am not finished.

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What Is It You Plan To Do With Your One Wild And Precious Life?
What Is It You Plan To Do With Your One Wild And Precious Life? 150 150 rebekahrosler

There has been precisely one decision I have made in my life that I did not second guess.

That was marrying Nathan.

Never had I been more certain about anything, ever. Before and after that – my entire life has/had been a series of questions. Did I order the wrong salad for lunch? Should I wear different socks? Is this the time to have a child? From the most insignificant to the most monumental – they’ve all been questioned; I even returned my first wedding dress.

I constantly wonder what it would be like to be 100% confident in something.

This past week I re-learned that feeling.

After my metamorphosis to motherhood everything simply changed, as life does. My passions and desires shifted; what was once of the utmost importance became less significant and what changed my identity became my number one priority.

Before Harper was born I built (what began as) an online community for new moms having babies around the same time, to connect with each other.

It can be lonely.

But what I learned – it absolutely doesn’t need to be.

This group of Winter Moms and Winter Babies became my world for the first six months of my child’s life (and far, far beyond). We bonded, had each other, our babies became friends – and we had a kick ass maternity leave filled with picnics on the lawn, mid day drinks at bars, and just someone else to talk to about all the stuff no one tells you about. Or simply a walk to Buy Buy Baby, because why not buy more unnecessary shit for our kids.

Some of these moms are my closest friends. And our kids will be friends “forever”.

It was a saving grace to so many, and so hugely meaningful on a deeper level, for me.

After seeing this new community thrive, and the positive impact it had – I realized the infertility journey, too, could be an isolating experience – and these strong, strong women needed their own support network.

I created a virtual group called Warriors (no, you can’t find it, it’s secret – but if you or someone you know could use this group, please connect.) Two+ years later, this, now, international group has become a safe space for so many women who are on a journey. Some of these women have become life long friends – others sit quietly behind the screen and learn from those who came before them. Some stay anonymous – some attend gatherings. But the incredibly kind words I’ve heard from these women show that the need for a female support system is something lacking in the every day.

I kept imagining where there were pockets that needed to be filled and tried to fill them. I created a twin group, a post fertility treatment group, then a new 2017 baby group. There were more, but that’s not the point. The point is – through my transformation I learned what makes me tick, what now inspires me – and what truly makes me happy, my inner most passion. And that’s helping women and their journey to motherhood.

Women who are on a path. Women who are looking for support. Women who need guidance or resources. A shoulder. An ear. A community. A drink. A night out. A friend.

All too often we compete with one another.

I’m looking at you.

And me.

But we just don’t need to. We need to lift each other up. Help each other. A fire has been ignited in this new empowered generation and I am proud to be a part of it.

So, tomorrow, will be my last day at my job. A place I’ve called home for 5 and a half years. A space that has seen me through so much. That helped me grow, flourish, and find myself.

I will take this hat off tomorrow afternoon, I will leave midtown, take a deep breath and know that beyond the shadow of a doubt – I made the absolute, unequivocal – right decision for me, at this time in my life.

This will be the second time in my life that I am 100% certain.

As of Monday I will put a new hat on. I likely won’t shower, and will be in comfy clothes – but a new hat nonetheless.

I won’t stress getting the kids to daycare at 7:30am, maybe I’ll even stay cuddled in bed with them a little while longer.

I then won’t have to rush and worry at 5:28pm about how the hell I’m going to get back downtown to all 3 kids and get them out of school by 6 on the dot to not incur the $1 a minute late fee. In fact, maybe I’ll pick them up early and take them to the playground, a music class, a bar – whatever!

These are unchartered waters and I could not be more excited to face them.

Who knows, maybe I’ll go…dare I say it…to a spin class after 3 years??? (Probably not, but definitely a Russian Bath trip or two).

And the icing on this beautiful carvel cake that’s covered in Cadbury Creme Eggs – my friend and I had a dream, a vision. We talked about it the last weekend in January. And then we went into hyper overdrive action my last month of maternity leave.

We want to create a community among moms in NYC. It’s a 360 degree offering to women who are on their journey to motherhood, through pregnancy, after pregnancy – with a new baby, a toddler. And beyond. All day, every day – in my free time – I meet total strangers on Facebook or in a coffee shop – who ask me advice on infertility, or how the hell to raise twins and a toddler – or other things that I’m highly unqualified to answer. But, I welcome the new friend with open arms. I listen. I share. We talk. And a new relationship is born.

Mostly people are looking for companionship and conversation.

Now I get to do that all day, every day.

And I cannot fucking wait.

This door is closing. But a beautiful set of floor to ceiling glass doors, overlooking the most gorgeous scenery, with the sound of crashing waves and light pouring through are opening in front of me and I could not be more ready to take that first step.

Goodbye for now.

OOO.

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Ice Cream, SuperHeroes and Murder
Ice Cream, SuperHeroes and Murder 150 150 rebekahrosler

So, I know I’m biased. But I think my kid is pretty cute, subjectively speaking of course.

Sure, she also holds traits akin to the devil. But aesthetically, she’s kind of adorable.

A couple weeks back we had her 2 year check up. My parents came down to watch the twins. And I had a plan in place. We’ve had no special Harper Mommy time since the babies arrival. So I was going to take her to Baskin Robbins after her doctors appointment, get her ice cream and spend time, just us.

I kept telling her I had a surprise for after the doctor. I was probably more excited than she. Let’s be honest. I was going to take a cute picture, we’d both have ice cream cones. She’d be tucked away in her 7am Enfant blanket. Social Media swoon worthy. And, of course, more importantly. We really would get to have quality time together.

We went to the Doc. She was a champ. She didn’t flinch when they pricked her finger. She got her yellow bandaid. Requested a second. The rest of the appointment she let them poke and prod. And as a departing gift, probiotic samples.

We were all very pleased.

On the walk to Baskin Robbins I kept reminding her I had something special planned. I was smiling to myself. Also, very aware of the many people passing us, noticing her. I kept thinking. Hey, maybe I should get her an agent – this kid should model. An unusual amount of people are really taking notice. Could be on to something! I’m not above making money off my kid, in fact, this is brilliant. I even started considering who could help her career take off. NYC rent and daycare ain’t cheap.

I had a couple stops to make along the way. But I could manage. After-all, I have three kids now, I got this.

So I picked up a Keter Bath ring for the babies. The door man asked if everything was ok.

Psht. Yeah dude.

I picked up a surprise Radio Flyer tricycle for Harper’s party the next day. Ok that may have been a bit of a stretch to carry home.

But, com’mon I pushed two babies out of my vagina in ten minutes – superhero status over here, amirite?

Best. Mom. Ever.

We had a couple blocks to go. And so many people were staring at her. How did I never realize before how much attention she got?

My excitement began wearing thin for our continued outing, though. It was cold out. A little rainy. Realized I’d eaten nothing all day. Parents were texting asking where I was. That damn bike and bath ring were heavy. But, ahead lay Baskin Robbins. And a – soon to be very – happy 2 year old.

Eyes on the prize.

I got us in – how are stores in NYC so stroller unfriendly?

Checked out the flavors. Turned her stroller around to tell her what we were doing, couldn’t wait to see her light up with my awesome mom plan.

And. her. face. was. COVERED IN BLOOD. Streaks from corner to corner. More blood than face. It looked like someone was murdered. Obviously at first I was beyond freaking out. OMG. What the hell happened to her?? Then I realized after 30 seconds of “OH SHIT WHAT DO I DO?”

A) she got a finger prick at the doc. Her band aid came off, and I definitely don’t have a back up (turned out I did, but only found that out this morning).

B) those people were not staring at her because she’s the next Giselle (I’m so out of touch I don’t even know who is “in” right now) they were staring because they thought her mother tried to kill her. (Also, why did no one stop me?)

C) it would likely be frowned upon for me to take a picture of this moment. Right?

D) she better not get blood on this expensive AF bunting.

Needless to say our Mommy Harper time was cut short. But not before having a very challenging conversation with the guy behind the register confirming that no, at Baskin Robbins they in fact do not have Carvel ice cream Cake for tomorrow’s party.

I grabbed as many brown paper napkins as I could. Wrapped them around her little finger and explained to her, in no uncertain terms – do not let this touch your blanket (excellent parenting, I know). I wiped her face off as best as I could. Grabbed two chocolate chip cookies – because I had to deliver – and ran as fast as I could (carrying a bath ring and goddamn tricycle).

All in all. That sucked and I think I owe my kid some ice cream – and probably an explanation.

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