During the summer, I sometimes begin to feel like the last mom in
Packing has never been my thing. It’s my husband’s thing. He can pack for a trip in 10 minutes. For me, it can take hours. It can take days. I agonize over what to bring. Whatever I want to bring is lying in a crumbled ball at the bottom of the laundry basket. Within moments of beginning the process, I’m paralyzed. At that moment, I can’t remember what I’ve ever worn a day in my life. Invariably, I forget something big (like underwear or my glasses) or I pack 15 pairs of shoes for a four day holiday or I bring a top that I haven’t worn in a year. That top shouldn’t be in my closet, never mind in my suitcase.
These days I have to pack for myself, my toddler and my baby. How much pressure can a girl take? Not just the clothes but the baby food, the diapers, the monitors, the sippy cups, the bibs, the wipes, the books and toys for the car …. I’m really starting to sweat. Plus, my toddler Dylan likes to peruse the suitcase and pull out items as I’m putting them in. You know, she likes to “help out.” Thanks Dylan but I got it.
Once we finally zip up the suitcases, I feel such relief. But it only lasts until we strap the kids into their car seats. That’s when the crying usually begins.