Yesterday was childcare day.
Every Tuesday Mister 3 goes to childcare for socialisation. One of the downsides to having three so close in age, and suffering from postnatal depression is that I find it too overwhelming to take all of them to play groups, which means they miss out on valuable social time with other kids their ages.
Yep, it makes me feel pretty rotten, but it is, what it is. Anyway, he goes to childcare on Tuesdays so I try to make all of my ‘outside of the house’ plans on that day.
This Tuesday I had to go and pick up my new specs. Full-time four eyes now! After I did all the Easter shopping I had some time to waste before my appointment at Specsavers, so I thought I’d stop in at a café for a decaf flat white. This café has a little play area for children so the toddler had a play while I enjoyed my cuppa. After about three quarters of my drink the littlest man started fidgeting, indicating he was ready for a feed, so I picked him up.
And that’s when I smelt it. Popcorn. Buttered popcorn. I’m extremely sorry if this turns you off the delicious, salty, buttery movie snack but hubby and I have always joked that our two breastfed babies smelt of popcorn when they did a number two.
Well I smelt it alright. But that wasn’t the only sense that was activated. Yep, touch. It was everywhere and of course he was wearing a brand new white zippy. Typical.
Well I had to convince the toddler to get off the super awesome bike and get back into the boring old pram so I could get his brother (and mummy) cleaned up. I’m not going to lie, bribery. That’s how I did it. I was mentally congratulating myself for deciding to get the Easter gifts first as I unwrapped a small egg and waved it in the boys face as he ran over and sat in his seat.
We got to the parents room, which was of course, no where near us and the smallest one in the whole mall. I put down the disposable paper change mat that I’d ripped out of the dispenser and started to change mister poopy-pants. Two other mums came in and promptly laid out beautiful home made, padded change mats and cleaned up their bubs in the time that I got my guys onesie and overflowing nappy off and kept the toddler interested in the ridiculously tiny play wall.
Remember how proud I was of my decision to buy the eggs before all this happened? Yeah, this is where I started to regret it. Every time I turned to check on my middle-little I noticed he had a different coloured scrunched up ball of foil and an ever-growing beard of chocolate drool. He had decided to help himself to the stash under the pram and I was up to my elbows in popcorn and couldn’t do a darn thing about it – which he knew.
So I finally finished and headed out to the car only to get a phone call from the child care centre asking me to pick up my big boy because they believed he had conjunctivitis (he actually has blocked tear ducts and is awaiting surgery).
After we finally made it home I gave the boys some lunch, put middle-man to bed, and made myself a cuppa. I sat down to enjoy it and just as I pulled out the recliner – popcorn.
So I figured I should keep up with tradition and helped myself to the Easter eggs. Now I need to go and buy some more.
I think this time I’ll leave the kids with daddy.