Sherpa....

I think I must be a pretty pitiful sight when I am in town with both girls. People hold open doors for us. Strangers scramble to get us a cart or offer for us to cut in line. Others give us a really, really wide berth. Is it the fact that I have two under two that causes this general outburst from the public? I think it is more that other than the two babies I am hauling around, I also have a diaper bag and a huge oxygen tank with accompanying dangling, trip inviting tube that wiggles around my feet with each step. I added it up the other day and I haul over fifty pounds of baby and gear in and out of the car each time we stop. "No, that can't be right!" you exclaim and ponder why someone hasn't taken the children away from a woman who clearly can't add. "Oh no, I am good with numbers." I protest. Let me show you some fun momma math:
Car seat: 10 pounds (Hannah stays in her car seat, aka "The bubble" to keep her as far from real world germs as possible)
Hannah: 14 pounds 5 ounces (as of 1/14/11)
Emily: 19 pounds (she rarely walks these days in public-the house arrest has it's downfalls for her too)
Oxygen Tank: 8-10 pounds (depending on fill level)
Diaper Bag: 3-5 pounds (also depending on fill level!)
Grand Total: 54-58 pounds.
No wonder my back hurts at the end of the day. And yes, I guess watching a woman try to balance all of those pounds through a parking lot would cause people to pause, watch and then sometimes help. I used to tell people I had it all and I didn't need any help. I am invincible I would bellow (inside my head of course). I am woman-hear me roar! Again, just in the confines of my little blond head. But I'm tired and my back hurts. I now find myself welcoming the offer of help from strangers. Unless they smell funny. Or it is dark. Or if I don't have time to have the what is wrong with your baby chat. I have found the "Thanks, but my dog won't let you near the truck" line, delivered with a smile, works really well. It doesn't matter if I am not driving the truck. Or if my wonderful Bear dog is at home, probably sleeping on the sofa like a naughty dog. They don't know that. And it makes me giggle thinking of my naughty dog and my husband's truck, which leads me down a whole other road.