The Girls' First Visit

“Are we there yet?”

“Soon,” I replied, smoothing a wisp of hair back from Little One’s forehead. “Yes,” I answered the next question – my father’s – of if the zoo opened at 9.

“I bet it won’t open until 11,” he complained. “You think you know everything, but you don’t. What zoo would open at 9?”

This one, I thought as the sign came into view, proudly proclaiming the hours of operation. But I bit back the comment to force some peace to the outing. Little One had woken me for the last time at 6, urging me out of bed to play (!) and get ready (!!) so we could go see the penguins (!!!) and go toy shopping (!!!!). In the time it took Mom and I to shower, dress and get two small girls likewise cleaned and clothed, Dad was still dawdling when we were ready to leave – going to find his hat (sigh), sunglasses (sigh2), the navigational system (sigh3) and a sweatshirt (sigh4).

“I’m ready to go,” he whined when we were looking at fish, perhaps 2 hours after we arrived. Smallest One craned her neck to see out of her stroller, holding her chubby body forward so she wouldn’t fall asleep and miss any animals at which she could point. “My legs hurt. I’m tired of all these people.” I looked at Mom and saw her rolling my eyes. Since I’d wanted to do the same, I felt a bit better.

“I don’t want to leave!” Little One said insistently, her voice lifting into a whine as well.

“We’re not,” I assured her. “We still have to see monkeys and birds and penguins.” She continued to talk about how she didn’t want to go bye-bye and why did we have to leave so soon?!

“Dude,” I finally cut her off, squeezing the tiny hand wrapped around my index and middle fingers, “We’re Not Leaving Yet. Calm down.” She grinned up at me and I leaned down to kiss her head before guiding her toward the primate house. After birds, Dad said he was Done. So Little One and I took the train ride I’d promised her on our own before heading to the gift shop for a sparkly purple koala bear.

“Really?” I said, plucking it off the shelf and handing it down to her. “You want this one?” She nodded firmly and I found a flamingo for her smaller sister (who waited in the car with her grandparents) before we walked briskly toward the Jeep. We stopped at the car dealer for license plates (I complained about my experience to the owner. Because he was there, I was annoyed and I apparently suck like that. My favorite part though was when someone started offering excuses about how they were So Busy and that’s why it took me 6 hours to purchase a freaking car, and he said, “I don’t care. Tell me something that matters.”), went for lunch then selected toys before heading back to my house.

“We need to relax,” I said. “Aunt Katie is very tired and stressed.” (Obviously, since I don't love referring to myself in the third person.)

“Aunt Katie,” Little One called. “Do you want to play Play-Doh with me?”

“Katie,” Mom said, “would you mind putting the ham in for dinner?”

“Eeeee!” cried Smallest One, which I take to mean me, and I went to offer my hands for balance as she slowly walked across the floor toward her blanket.

“Aunt Katie?” Little One said, “Can we play a game?”

“Katie!” Dad yelled from downstairs, “Sprout brought in a mouse! And it ran under your bookshelf!”

I trudged downstairs - having played and finished dinner and cleaned up and changed diapers and held Little One while she pottied (we didn’t take her special seat with us when we went out), cleaned a few messes - and asked what was wrong. Dad wanted to capture the small gray creature, but I looked down at the mouse when the man moved the bookshelves and the former looked up at me with big, black eyes. He looked overwhelmed and tired and I stared at him for a moment, thinking of how much damage mice do to houses and calculating the chances of Sprout eventually catching him before I stepped aside to let him escape. Dad started to talk about how useless I was and I moved my gaze to him, standing quietly for a moment while he complained.

“What’s wrong with you?” I finally asked. “You’ve been in a terrible mood the whole time you’ve been here. When you’re not with the girls, you miss them. When you’re with them, you don’t help and instead complain incessantly.”

“You let the mouse go!” he insisted and I shrugged, knowing it would irritate him.

“It’s my house,” I replied, thinking I probably sabotage any romantic relationship I have because I’m terrified of ending up with someone like him. I walked upstairs, upset and exhausted, rubbing at my shoulder which started cramping sometime after I carried little people around this morning and when I reached in the back of the Jeep for a blanket while turning my head to answer a question for Little One.

“Do you want us to leave now?” Mom asked and I shook my head and returned the wave Smallest One offered by opening and closing her tiny fist. I drained one bathtub since Smallest One was clean and started the water in the master bath so Little One could have room to play with bubbles. I sat on the floor next to the tub, playing with Pooh and Piglet on the edge while Tigger frolicked in the water. While Little One splashed and played, I thought about the small-and-still-decreasing probability that I’ll have a family of my own.

Maybe it’s for the best, I thought as I thought eagerly of when they leave tomorrow and restful quiet reigns again. This task seems impossibly tough. And it's one too important to screw up.