Dear Fellow Disney Mom,
I’m with you.
It’s the end of what seemed like a never ending day. Your children’s matching t-shirts have a combination of boogers, sweat, and Mickey ice cream streaked across the front. Their hair, matted down onto their forehead, seems to have a little of that ice cream stored away as well. And as you silently curse yourself for not wiping them down at the last bathroom break, you are grateful that no one uttered the words “I have to pee” as you waited in the line to board the bus. Because if any of us have to get out of this line and forfeit our spot, all hell is going to break loose.
I’m sorry, Fellow Disney Mom. I spoke too soon.
I’m with you as your eyes dart frantically, taking in your surroundings, calculating how long it would take you to get to the closest bathroom and if you could make it without an accident. You glance at your husband, knowing he’s the quicker runner and far stronger (physically) than you are right now. But he’s wrestling with holding your other little one while trying to close the stroller. The stroller that’s supposed to close with one hand. So you scurry off to the nearby bushes (ignoring the shin splints searing with each step) and allow your son to pee right there in the middle of Hollywood Studios because the thought of an accident either here in the line or – gasp – on the bus would be too much to bear. I’m sure you’re mortified, Disney mom. Do you think to yourself, how could this get any more complicated?
Enter: a slew of motorized scooters.
Fellow Disney Mom, I know there is nothing more damning to a family of small children waiting to board a bus at the end of the day than a motorized scooter. I’m with you, and I understand. I know that you’re silently cursing the person riding that scooter, eyeing up their supposed handicaps and then feeling terrible for your negative thoughts. You’re counting the people in front of you and wondering if you’ll get a seat on the next bus. Each person in front of you is weighed in terms of whether or not they’re likely to give up their seat for you and your child. You’re more physically and mentally exhausted than you knew possible.
And yet you do not fight this war in your mind alone because I’m right there with you. And I’m doing what you’re doing too. And I’m feeling terrible about it. But it is what it is, Fellow Disney Mom.
You see, the reason you think this way is not because of them. It’s because of you. Because your day has been an emotional roller coaster of “Hold me mom” and “I’m hungry” and “I want this!” and “I’m hot” mixed with “This is amazing” and “Mickey!!” and “I love you.” You probably haven’t used the bathroom yourself since before lunchtime and you can’t remember the last time you had something to drink.
But you certainly remember every melt down or every time your child hit the person in front of them in line. You remember your child squeezing you with excitement while waiting to hug their favorite character. You remember exchanging a knowing smile with your husband while your baby holds his little arms up in his very first roller coaster ride. You’ve brought yourself to the edge of not having any more to give without falling completely over it. You have been torn between experiencing Disney World yourself and watching it through the eyes of your child.
And as you think your body could not be more tired, you see your husband, baby on one arm, backpack ready on his back, camera bag across his hip, and stroller in hand, sweat forming on his forehead, and he looks exhausted. He’s struggling to keep his eyes open while he looks down at your little one and says, “Had a good day, buddy?” which is met with a resounding yawn and a quiet, “Yes dad.” And you smile to yourself, knowing that life could not get sweeter than what you have right here.
Don’t worry Fellow Disney Mom. I’m with you, and I understand.