Real Women Can Host Playgroup

So today was the day. My turn to host playgroup. Two baby girls and their mommies were due at the house between 12:30-1pm.

Now since it was LAST WEDNESDAY when I opened my fat mouth and offered to host, you would think that was ample time to get the house in order and presentable, as well as babyproofed appropriately, for 2 almost-walking babies. No. Of course not, you know me, dear Internet. I work best in CRISIS mode. Must be all those years supervising college freshmen and holding guys responsible for lovely transactions like puking in the water fountain and shitting in the laundry dryers (yes, a post for another day - aren't you lucky, dear reader).

Anyhow, there I was at 8am. FRENZIED CLEANING happening all over the place. So picture me hauling ass around the house and stopping ever 2 minutes or so to interact with Liam calmly and praise him for whatever he was doing. Except for when he was trying to make breakfast of the dogs' kibble.

But, people! It was coming together. Things were getting put away. Table tops cleared. Toys wiped free of the Incredible Multiplying Doghair. I was sweating - really getting a good work out. I believe I even shouted "Hoo-ah" at some point. Things were clicking so well that Liam even decided that the vacuum was not a toy of the Devil, but an interesting object to be studied.

Liam was ready for his morning nap at the perfect time - 9am. That gave me time to actually shower and not let my guests be first greeted by my body odor and babyfood-crusted hands, but by my winning Orbitz smile and a firm, yet warm, handshake. I showered and dressed within a half hour! People! It was ALL FALLING TOGETHER.

Liam woke promptly at 11:13am, allowing me to dress and nurse him without fear of the guests showing up while Liam was figuring out if he wanted to nurse or watch the milk-works display. I had him in his high chair, eating his lunch appetizer of cheese at 12 noon. I was a hero. I was SuperMom. I can have it all! It was 12:15 when I remembered I wanted to set up the Pack n' Play in case a mom wanted to drop her babe in to, say, use the toilet or refresh her gin & tonic.

Chicken Little, this is when the sky started falling.

THE GODDAMN THING WOULDN'T STAY OPEN.

Ok. Maybe I was running on adrenalin. Maybe I should have eaten breakfast... or lunch. Maybe I should have TRIED TO PUT THE GODDAMN PIECE OF SHIT TOGETHER SOONER.

Sweat appeared in beads across my brow as I grunted, pulled, yanked and banged the thing to no avail. Of course when it doesn't work the first time, the obvious solution is to try again but HARDER and WITH MORE CURSES.

Liam, I'm sorry that Mommy introduced you to many new and FOUL words today. It wasn't your fault. In fact, I'm not sure what confused you more, when I yelled the curse or when I immediately turned around and said calmly with a smile, "It's ok. Mommy's just having a hard time with the pack n' play."

After 5 frustrating minutes where things did not go my way and I had steam pouring out of every orifice, I called my very lucky husband. I let him know the situation using the same vulgar language. I'm sure he was shocked and appalled that his dainty and reserved wife could utter such atrocious words.

He wasn't any help. But could he really help an insane, cursing woman who had put him on speaker so she could thrash the pack n' play some more and curse using hand gestures?

Finally I gave up if only to compose myself. Ok, really I had to stop because the first mom had arrived.

She got it together in 30 seconds. Not. One. Curse. Was. Uttered.

I can't be sure but I think Liam tried to crawl into her diaper bag. I only noticed because I was already in there.