Working mama: no milk, seriously?

Tuesday was a glimpse of what my life as a working mama would probably look like.
The ‘yeah’ moments:
– Feeling that my brain is wired enough to carry through projects that last longer than the time between two diaper changes or two naps.
– Getting showered before 11am
– Barricading myself in my bedroom/office without any feeling of guilt

The ‘dear god’ moments:
– being regurgitated on your ‘women rule the world’ outfit seconds before you step out of your house
– letting the kids have dinner in front of the TV because you are way too tired to deal with them
– ordering take out more than usual

The major ‘I fucked it up’ moment:
– I rushed to finish my NYU assignment deadline and fled the apartment leaving DH with the 3 kids unfed and unbathed. And as I was rather enjoying myself listening to my classmates’ presentations, I received a SMS at 7.30pm (kids’ bedtime) from DH:‘No milk, seriously???’

Crap, crap, crap!!! My kids NEVER go to bed without milk; they are freaking milk junkies: wake up with milk, go to bed with milk. If they don’t have milk when they ask, they scream for murder. Seriously. Suddenly I feel like a very bad mom and wife. How is DH going to take the 3 kids out in their pajamas? I am sure he has no cash so how can he send anyone to get the milk? What is going to happen when I go back to work? Will we run out of diapers and the kids will start pooping on the floor?

10 mins later, DH comforted me:
‘All sorted. Gave the doorman quarters and he got the milk.’

I could not stop laughing at the thought of my bulky doorman with 30 quarters or so in his hands leaving his station to do a corner shop run. I mean, surely running errands for disorganized tenants is not in his job specs. Another doorman said he once had to babysit some kids for 1 hour at 2am because the parents had to rush to the maternity ward to deliver a baby…

The doorman saved our a** again . I think about all the times the doormen had to sprint to catch my kids before they escape through the building entrance behind our back (we live on the ground floor).

A final thought occurred to me: ‘we’ll be ok when I return to work. I’ll just have to up the doorman- nanny- shop assistant-personal bodyguard- holiday bonus this year…’

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