Fame Girl

I sent Kaya to daycare with shoes way too small for her. I realize this only on the walk over. Once there I promise the teacher I will bring her crocs. But I forget. Because I’m a good mother like that.

She wears socks inside and gumboots outside for the day. A mother remarks on the way out- upon seeing her gumboots over tights and too big shirt hanging off her shoulder- that she looks just like a Fame girl.


Okay, okay, maybe she did look like a Fame girl. But the mother could have said Little Orphan Annie. Or said nothing.


Let me digress even farther shall I?

So the next day we go to the city where we spend a fabulous 3 hours at the Aquarium with Baby Beluga and Uncle Craig. Uncle and Kaya giggle their way around rhesus monkey’s and sea otters. They have fun but eventually I have to drag Kaya out (probably Uncle too had he not had golf calling his name) because we absolutely must stop at the mall on the way out to buy shoes.

It is already about an hour past Kaya’s nap time. I am so pushing my luck.

We run into Winners where Kaya tries on some pink princess flashing shoes that ooze pure evil. They fit but I can not buy them. Even if they are the only pair of shoes in her size there.

I run (Kaya mopes) to the kids store. Plenty of whore looking boots (yup- in the kids store) but no shoes.

I walk backwards dragging a whimpering toddler and crying baby to a shoe store where I witness the pure criminal act of charging $40 for a pair of kids shoes that will last hopefully 2 months. We leave.

All 3 of us then sit on a bench whimpering together. Brennyn would not eat at the Aquarium, at the park or now in the mall. It has been 6 hours.

I give up and leave the mall. Without shoes. Without feeding Brennyn.

So she cries and cries and cries and cries, loud and hard and long on the drive home. Crying in the confines of a car is pure torture. Rather than easing up with the motion of the car, her crying gets worse and I am losing my mind. “It’s okay baby, it’s okay. Don’t be sad. It’s okay.”

I look back in desperation and Kaya is reaching over with her toes to try to shake Brennyn’s car seat. She too knows that motion usually works. I look in the rear-view mirror to thank her for being such a great big sister and I see tears rolling down her face. My sensitive child can not handle Brennyn crying so much. I can not handle my two girls so upset.

“It’s okay girls. I’m going to pull over as soon as I can and we can all cuddle together. It’s okay. We can pull over soon. Really. Soon. And Cuddles. Yes. It’s okay. -sob, sob, sob-”

After what feels an eternity I am able to pull over. I let Kaya out of her car seat, run to Brennyn’s side of the car,  and cuddles everyone. Only Kaya is now too fascinated by causing hazard lights to blink, blinkers on, water spurting, horns honking as she has taken the helm of the drivers seat. I sit in the passenger side ignoring the mayhem beside me and focus on the mayhem that is my second daughter. She will not eat. But she is starving. I unhook my nursing bra straps and try both sides. I squeeze milk onto her lips, I squish her cheeks, I ram her screaming head into my nipple. SHE NEEDS TO EAT. Eventually I grab her flailing legs and pump them (this is how we get her to fart) with my right hand and use my left hand to grab her head and push it into my breast. She finally relents. SHE IS EATING. Meanwhile, with engorged boobs that are desperate to help the crying child, my milk is flying, in all directions, erupting throughout the car. I ignore it just thankful she is finally eating.

Which is when Kaya looks at me with her huge brown eyes, eyelashes fluttering, desperation on her face, “Mommy I have to poop.”

Oh no you do not child.

I whimper once again. Then remember I am the mom- “You will wait child” -I growl. No not really. Rather I plead “Can you wait until Brennyn finishes, please?”

“Yes mommy” she whispers.

Her face tells me she is lying. She can not wait. But my starving child trumps my defecating child so we sit. And wait. And wait. And wait. For what seems like the longest feed in the history of her 2 months of life.

Then I hoist her up to my shoulder and try to burp her, shoo Kaya out of the car, close and lock doors, chat with 2 ladies walking by and run to the potty all at the same time.

We make it, Kaya sits on the disgusting toilet seat grunting and I take a moment to look at myself. My shirt has two gigantic booby-milk wet marks on my breasts. White chunky vomit sits atop my shoulder and down my entire left side, and my nipples are showing through as I did not refasten my bra. Lovely.

30 minutes later I make it home, haggard and bitchy, but I am home.

Which is when my husband reminds me we are going camping in about one hour. Must pack and go.

Two hours later we are at camp. My bra is on properly but I am in the same shirt. I am still haggard and bitchy. Kaya still has no shoes that fit. Brennyn is still not eating. Which is when I realize we are so totally Fame girls.


I’m gonna live forever
I’m gonna learn how to fly- high!-
I feel it comin’ together
People will see me and cry…”


A couple of days later and I found Kaya shoes. They are pink. They are Dora. They flash. They ooze pure evil. But there was no way my girl was letting me leave that store without purchasing them… I sit here defeated and whimpering yet again but at least my girl is at daycare with shoes that fit (and flash for crying out loud… sigh.)


2 thoughts on “Fame Girl

  1. I challenge anyone to read this blog and not admit that mothers are amazing. pure and simple. I laugh & cry reading your story only because I have been there too and through it all there is an amazing sense of accomplishment as well as realization that you are the world to these little people and their existance relies on you. kind of a scary thought.

  2. Totally a scary thought!

    For me ‘journaling’ all of these moments- horrible or beautiful- is a way for me to always remember the ‘humour of the situation’ (thanks bnl!) For me it’s cathartic to sit back at the end of a truly shit day, write, and then realize that was actually really funny. I like what you write, Nicki, about laughing and crying reading my story because isn’t that what us moms do everyday. Some moments in the chaos we just want to curl up and sob but then your kid says something or you see the marvel in their eyes at some new thing or they accomplish some new development and you can’t imagine life being any better. It’s a rollercoaster. One of those really cool ones. That you want to ride over and over and over and forever 🙂

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