I am one of those highly irritating, plan ruining, visit inhibiting, clock watching, fun stealing, routine parents.
I like to pretend that I had no choice but to be a routine parent because I began my motherhood journey in a cold sweat at the obstetrician being told I was expecting not one, but two babies. At once. Together. Both at the same time. Or nine minutes apart as it turned out. Yes that’s right. My uterus was playing caretaker to twins and upon their birth I was going to be expected to take care of them! Two of them! Two babies! One, two. And as I quickly discovered, all the books say when you have twins you need to implement a routine.
And that is the comprehensive and detailed, analytical account of how and why I became a routine parent.
Except it’s not.