1 Mother 2 Another

When I was a ballet dancer, I had the biggest dance bag in the company.  A very large weekend tote bag, my dance bag was stuffed with – aside from the basics like pointe shoes and warmers - everything from a big roll of duct tape to a full-sized hammer.  Everyone teased me, but they all came to me to borrow band-aids or sew on ribbons or – yes – hammer something.

Little did I know that hefting that thing around was training me to be a mommy.

As we spend this Thanksgiving week going from one set of grandparents’ house to another, we’re bringing the entire wagon train with us.  What’s the point, I reason, of lugging this stuff down from New York only to have it languish in the hotel room?  Months of precision planning have led up to this and we’re not going to have a grade 5 meltdown just because there was no room for Lamby in the car.  So I’ve got my purse, her diaper bag, and a rolling suitcase.

Just a teensy one. 

The amount of gear I can pack into an overnight rolling suitcase is truly mind-boggling.  We’ve got the nap blanket, the monitors, playmat, a couple toys, multiple burp cloths, a change of clothes, the list is endless.  Stationed in each place – two houses and a hotel room – is a Pack 'N Play, permanently at the ready to catch the elusive nap.

And then there’s the Daddy Bag, filled with the MP3 Player (still loaded with her playlists, ready at a moment’s notice to soothe or charm,) the digital camera, and the camcorder, all fully charged with spare tapes, memory sticks, batteries, etc., ready to catch every memory.
 
Shoot, where’d we put the baby?