The four worst things about being an urban mommy

Do you live in a suburb rife with verdant lawns, mosquitoes, and American Dreams? Can the aisles in your local supermarket accommodate more than one shopping cart at a time? Do you frequently get bored and find–as you lounge about barefoot on your porch–that there is simply nothing to do?

Perhaps you’ve always dreamed of being a mommy in the big city. Maybe you want to switch places, come live in Brooklyn, and become an urban mommy for a day. Well, here are just a few things that are in store for lucky old you:

1. No matter how organized you are, grocery shopping will take no more or less than 2.5 hours. The breakdown of your time will look a bit like this:

* (half hour to park your car in the always-crowded lot (assuming you are of royal lineage and are wealthy enough to own or rent a 4×4 apartment and a car). Otherwise, you may find starvation more appealing than lugging groceries onto a train or bus.
* 15 minutes until you realize you can’t find spinach in the produce aisle because urban grocery stores stock whatever the hell they want to for the week. On the plus side, you’ll learn how to substitute every vegetable with Dandelion.
* 30 minutes spent navigating your teeny cart in and out of Haunted Mansion-style aisles
* Tack on 15 more minutes to the above 30 minutes in which you will have to stop baby from pulling everything off the shelves. Because the shelves are so close to her face she can’t breathe.
* 15 minutes driving around your apartment looking for parking and finally finding a spot four black away
* 5 minutes walking back to your apartment with baby in tow and four grocery bags killing your left arm bicep
* 5 minutes explaining to your husband where you parked the car so he can retrieve the rest of your packages. You won’t remember the exact street and will identify the road by its landmarks (“The one with the pothole..no, the other one with the pothole.”)

2. Sharpen those catlike reflexes as you monitor toddler/child milling about playground equipment that almost always features Pitfall-like apertures and Tetanus-inducing swing chains.

3. Spend nights researching private preschools because you work at a public school and would rather prostitute yourself than send daughter to one. Spend three hours scribbling numbers on a piece of paper and panicking ($700 a month…not bad…and 700×9 is..? Holy crap). Realize at 12:10 am that you work at a public school, can’t afford to help private preschool build a new library wing, and will therefore never gain acceptance to private preschool. Contemplate moving to Ohio.

4. Upon completing the actions listed in number 3, retreat to bedroom shared with toddler, who promptly lifts her head up when she hears the door open and asks, “Juice? juice?” Luckily, juice is just 10 feet away because you live in an apartment the size of a tool shed.

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