My hands. They aren’t that full.
They used to be full. They used to be really full. I’d have to make two trips down to the minivan (yes, we got a minivan to accommodate the gaggle of children we had) each morning before taking the twins to daycare.
I’d buckle the babies in their car seats, and leave them on the kitchen floor while I ran out to the van with the diaper bag, my purse, my water, the bag of bottles, and the keys. Then back up to the house to grab the babies, and back down to the van. Once we arrived at daycare, I’d make the trip in lugging everything at once. Carrying two infant seats, diaper bag over my shoulder, bottle cooler bag around my wrist, banging in to the canopy of the car seat that was in that same hand.
So back then, my hands were full.
Now, heading in to daycare (we moved Avery to Henry’s daycare after Oliver died), I only have one car seat, one bottle bag, and then Henry walking beside me. Yesterday morning, someone held the front door of the daycare for me and said that I had my hands full. I just gave a half smile. They should have seen me before.