What mothers mean: “Today I went to the grocery store. I pushed around the cart with one hand, managing to avoid every obstacle in the course, because my other hand was helping the baby, in a carrier strapped to the front of me, nurse. I also kept track of how much I was spending on my calculator and managed to mark off the shopping list while I went. I did this while fielding calls from my husband. And dancing, because dancing keeps the baby happy.”
I know this is true now because that is exactly what I did today, I went grocery shopping.
I also drove home, ate lunch, started a pot of spaghetti sauce, and laid down so the baby could take a nap.
I drove home singing The Itsy Bitsy Spider in escalating amounts of volume to be heard over the screaming baby in the back, before remembering the sleep song is now, randomly, Turn Your Eyes Upon Jesus. Once I made the switch, the baby fell asleep.
I ate lunch standing up and dancing (a generous word for the waving around of arms and legs that amuses baby long enough for me to bite, chew, and swallow 20 times), while putting away groceries.
I tossed once-again-crying-and-tired baby on my back so I could start the sauce, tossing ingredients around like the Swedish Chef, simultaneously singing (You Are My Sunshine) and dancing (never stop dancing).
The sauce set to simmer, I scurried upstairs with baby, laid down with her in my bed and popped a boob in her mouth, while singing the Jesus sleep song. With baby asleep, but me not quite free to go as she requires nursing between sleep cycles, I alternated sneaking downstairs to stir the sauce and laying upstairs beside her perusing the great, sanity saving, interwebs.
So. What’d I do today? Eh, went grocery shopping.
Cartoon moms aren’t actually cartoons, they’re portraits.