Improvising

I'm wearing a girl's shirt that is much too big. And no pants. And I'm ticked. Read on.

We joined a gym with child care. Just saying that makes me feel like a NJ housewife. Which I'm not! Because in addition to websites that I feel like I can barely manage to contribute to these days, hello, book! This book. Pre-order yours today! For real. I'm not even kidding if you read this blog you better buy a copy thank you.

Aside from the outdoor pool, the selling point to the gym was the whole child care thing. Someone to keep the kids out of trouble for an hour or so while I work out, the only possible way I have time to work out? But strangers (gasp!) and other children (gasp gasp!)? And more importantly, NO MOMMY!? This is a recipe for tears (Avery's) and much anxiety (mine). We've been going regularly for at least two months now and the only times I haven't been called back to the daycare were once when I didn't hear the intercom, which doesn't count as success, obviously, and another time just last week when she finally made it longer than 20 minutes without being hysterical.

Hysterical isn't the word I use. It's the word the pros use. A good report? "She wasn't hysterical the whole time." That's a good day.

It really is getting better, although she's a demanding customer. Mornings are pretty chaotic at the gym because of all of the workout classes that we Jersey housewives (try to (yes, they will walk into a packed cardio class with a sign with your name on it if your child is inconsolable for more than 10 minutes)) attend, but afternoons are quieter. So I've been going in the afternoons so she can get a little extra staff attention. She demands staff attention. Whenever I return, she's being carried by the staff. If they make a move to put her down, they hear about it. It was the day when there was enough staff to watch the other children and an extra one to carry Avery that I didn't get called back to the child care center.

The pure relief on her face when I return is heartbreaking, but she really is getting better. We usually go swimming after her 10 or 20 minutes of hysteria is up, and she's no longer freaking out as much when we go back to pick up Owen, who is usually happily swinging in a swing. She's not requesting that I carry her all the time when we set foot in the room. Most of the time, but not all. These are baby steps that give me hope.

The funny thing is that she's super friendly and the biggest ham once she's comfortable somewhere. A party next door? She was a riot and made friends with everyone by the end of the day. But upon our arrival? Wouldn't budge from our laps and would close her eyes, which is her coping mechanism for avoiding someone or a situation that makes her nervous. (Also, hilarious. We can still see you, Avery!)

But the one day that I got back to the daycare after 30 minutes with no call, I had to check to make sure I hadn't inadvertently missed the intercom announcement. So Avery and I headed to the pool. After playing and splashing and hollering "Excuse me, kids" to kids across the pool who were playing in HER fountain, we were about to get out. And I saw a daycare staff member heading my direction.

And I just knew that the day Owen needed my attention had come. In all this time, he'd never been hungry. Or fussy. Or in need of a diaper change. This was it.

"Sorry to bother you...but Owen pooped...it's all up his back."

Of course. As Avery and I scrambled to get dried and dressed, I did a mental inventory of my gym bag. The diaper bag was all the way out in the car. And it had a 3-month size onesie that I knew he wouldn't be able to squeeze into on even his thinnest day. And of course I didn't have anything for him in my gym bag. But Avery does have a stockpile of like five swimsuits that I carry, one of which is a swim shirt. After considering putting him in the flower swim shirt, I remembered that Avery's shirt was blue. It had flowers, but at least it was turquoise, not pink. (Not that it freaking matters but still.) So we got back to the nursery and got Owen all changed and into Avery's pretty shirt.

I forgive you Mommy!

I'm not the most prepared mom on the block. And yes, he is still wearing Avery's shirt in these photos even though we were home for hours when they were taken. But I was still wearing my swimsuit, so at least you're dry, Owen.