Shhhh...It's A Secret

Yesterday myself and two other moms crashed a toddler class at the Island Park Library. Though we weren't the only ones, the class was literally over flowing with moms and toddlers, and though we may have never signed up, one of the other moms and I have been attending on an every other week basis, aka, when the class is held, so we knew the regulars from the non. Any how, five minutes into the class the head librarian walked in and scolded all the unregistered moms for attending, of course the three of us looked around like we weren't one of the unregistered. She did let everyone stay, but encouraged us to fill out forms suggesting more toddler classes.
But I'm getting off course. Though I want to tell you about the anxiety I experienced, still experiencing, as we pushed our strollers over the drawbridge from LB to IP, (if this opens and we go down my children are strapped in to their strollers, there's no way I'll be able to unbuckle them, I'll swim to the top, the stroller will sink to the bottom and my kids will drown), let me tell you when I say I pushed that triple stroller as hard as I could over that see through bridge I'm not kidding, my lungs were heaving by the time I reached McDonald's and waited for the two other moms who were far behind me. But again, I'm getting off track.

What I want to tell you will probably now seem boring in comparison. As I walked into the library, waiting amongst the line of moms in from of the elevator, another mom caught my attention. Standing behind me with her double stroller, suspiciously peering into my triple stroller, I ignited the conversation.

"He's not mine," I told her, pointing to my daycare boy.

"I was about to say," she giggled.

Her double held two girls.

"How far apart," I gestured.

"Fifteen months."

"Seventeen," I said, pointed to Nugget and Meatball.

"It's not as hard as everyone thinks is it," she whispered.

"Shhh," I smiled, placing my fingers in front of my lips. "Don't give it away."

"I know," she laughed as we shoved ourselves into the elevator together.

We peered at each other across the room, exchanging eye glances towards other moms who seemed frazzled with one child and smiled. Another mom knew the secret. I wasn't the only one thinking this was easier than it once sounded, nor was I the only one not regretting the closeness of the children, and liked it.

But in all my secret sharing I do have to admit one more. This morning, as I fed, dressed and got my boys ready for the day I remembered....THIS is what's hard. Timing two boys together, dressing one while the other escapes or screams or gets into something he's not supposed to, getting their food ready and on the table at the same time..and the stroller (or car, though I'm rarely in that)getting them all in, strapped in, snacks, and pushing. I guess hard isn't the right term, because is it HARD, no, but is it a struggle, yes. Having the patience and balance and repetition to do it all together, day after day, is definitely not the bee's knee's, it's somewhere in between.