The one where I start drinking. Heavily.

Two under two is no joke. Even though you feel like the joke is on you. More than once. In one day. Because your toddler just woke up with shit on her foot, which answers the proverbial is-that-chocolate-or question, & the baby is screaming her bloody head off.

I didn't drink much before I had kids. Plural. Kids. Because even with Layla it was a rare occasion I sipped any kind of alcoholic beverage. Every so often I'd have a glass of wine to keep myself from jumping of a turnpike overpass. That was it. These days? It's a daily occurrence.

I now understand why people with more than one child drink. Last night I had a Blue Moon. Two nights before a Disaronno with cranberry while nursing Stella. Yes, while nursing, because if I didn't I would've been on the 5 o'clock news.

"Mom of two hides in bathroom. Refuses to come out. What appears to be grape jelly smeared all over windows of back French doors."

This is beyond the fact that I watch Max and his overbearing, controlling asshole of a sister Ruby and Mickey Mouse Club House on repeat from 8am to 8pm. I'd rather have a root canal than watch Goofy lose his mother effing hat for the 15th time this week. And all I want to do is sit and watch the Real Housewives of NJ marathon but I can't because the TV Gestapo is on top of her shit and will throw her self on the floor in a fit of rage if I so much as pick up the TV remote.

So I said to myself a few days ago, have a drink. It'll help. And it did. Then I said to myself, for every tantrum Layla throws you can have another drink. Except I'd be drunk. All day. Everyday. Not exactly functional for parenting? Too bad.