No one ever told me that being a parent meant … uh, yeah. You see – I can start so many sentences that way, nowadays. But truly, there is so much more to being a parent than when initially you daydream in your 20s, “Aw … babies are so cute …” and your biological clock is ringing off the shelf so loudly you nearly go deaf, save for the sound of your ovaries dropping, KER-PLOP, one by one each month. It’s a terribly intense feeling of, “I must, I must …” but it goes way further than increasing your bust, Ms. Bloom. It’s increasing your responsibilities and narrowing YOUR time.

Your time disappears mostly with one, then completely with the second (because you finally get comfortable, and lulled into thinking, “Hey, what’s one more?”). One more is goodbye to any time you possibly could have had leftover with the first (aka: say goodbye to reading books without pictures).

But enough on the joys of parenthood. What I’m really trying to say today, is that to be a parent, is to be the master of scheduling. There is always one parent who is the conductor of the train (and yes, I use this metaphor as I see the piles of Thomas the Train tracks littering my living room floor trying to trip me. I mean, why reach?). There is one parent who is the “master scheduler”. OK- typically it’s the mommy, but hey, I’m trying to be open here.

It’s as if our ovary time clock converts to an Outlook calendar, and suddenly we have these internal reminders going off all the time, “Get the kid here, get dinner there, she likes this, he doesn’t like that, pick her up, drop him off …” There are ten million things to remember. Like, for example, what exactly was my point in this blog entry? Hmm ….

That I’m the gatekeeper of the schedule in my house; and today was ground zero. Today was the first day of the “working new year” and man, it was a doozy. It was packed as tightly as possible. Still hanging on to this irritating cold that had me up at 4 am reaching for the NyQuil, to getting Cheerios at 8:30 AM (only ’cause I overslept: Sweet!) to working on a presentation, to setting the kids up and off with daddy to a play date, to more working, to listening to a friend’s heartbreak, to zooming off to school to buy books before class- only to return home after doing two errands on my way back at 9pm, plus picking up some fries because I had completely forgotten to have dinner. Day-um. Now that’s an air-tight hustle schedule to start a new year. And all because of my crazy ovaries. How cute is that?