We’re four months into having a sweet, sweet bundle of joy; four months into not getting enough sleep. Usually, for me, around six months the fog starts lifting and I can get through my days with more enthusiasm because I am getting more sleep. I’m not quite there yet. This week’s reason why I need my quiet time is…because I can’t find my van.
In front of my church we go to, there are regularly 2-4 big beastly white vans. You know the type. The kind youth groups or large families drive around in. We bought ours knowing we were going to have at least 7 passengers at all times, and we go to Costco, etc. You can’t beat the space inside one of these monsters.
This Sunday, I walked out of church with two kids holding hands and carrying the baby. I walked up to our van and realized it was someone else’s van. Realizing that it was the wrong van, I walked to another van and when I looked in the window, I realized that was not our van either. Oops. It’s super hot outside and I’m sweating to death by now. I look at the ground, and walk over to the last van in the parking lot feeling really lame at this point. When I look up, I’m still not at my van…it’s a grey van. Not even the right color.
At this point, I’m ready to cry. My arm feels like it may give up at any second because I’ve been carrying baby boy all morning. The toolman says, “What are we doing?”
“Where’s our van, baby boy?”
“I don’t know, it’s here somewhere.” he says.
Of course it’s here somewhere. We parked it here. What is wrong with my brain? I scan the parking lot again, and go back to the second van. I was convinced it was not ours because of the pile of stuff on the seat I didn’t recognize. Except that was our pile of stuff. Ugh. Darn messy van of ours. We’ve made it. Mommy needs her coffee, or a nap and then some coffee.
This post was originally published at my “old home” on September of 2013. It’s a great reminder of what the “baby days” feel like sometimes.