I sat among the five loads of laundry sprayed all over the living room floor. It was that fatiguing time of day, you know it, when you want to eat a back of chips and gallon of chocolate chip ice cream (oh wait, that is all the time)
Somewhere between checking small tags of underwear to see if it is a size 6 or a size 4, I lie down among the piles of clean lumps.
When I opened my eyes, I wasn't sure how much time as past. I felt a clutching panic in my chest. I had fallen down on the job. The two older boys played in the room next to me.
"Where is the BABY?" I asked in a panic.
They looked at me, as they should, with wonderment as to when exactly they became the responsible grown up.
We sprinted around chasing all the dangerous corners of downstairs, shouting at each other. Then I saw the gate to the stairs was open, my heart sank even more. We noisily clammered upstairs. When we hit the the baby's nursery doorwary, the baby startled awake from a deep slumber.
How is it I can forget chunks of my day? How can I forget where I put the baby?