As a mom of three, keeping up with everything is a challenge for me and here’s something I wrote about it:
It has been a scant 20 seconds since I gave at least three hugs and kisses to each boy, tucking them back in after they got up to close the closet or move a shoe or something of that sort. The door creaks open and one is now thirsty; the other is, therefore, also dying of extreme thirst and they both pad into the kitchen. I tell them goodnight one more time and sit on the couch, holding my breath. What other stalling tactic will I see next? How long before I hear the door again? I don’t, but then my seven month old remembers it is still evening hours which means she should scream her lungs out for absolutely no justifiable reason. It is her job as a baby – who does little else – to exercise those new lungs so I’m up again, cradling a tiny warm body in hopes she stays quiet for a little while, because after a nine hour work day where my office is a revolving door of grad student with their own set of problems, the last thing my fragile psyche can handle is more senseless crying.
A friend once told me that the hardest thing is going from zero kids to one. That first kid is a doozy but as you add more, it’s never so bad. You’re more prepped, they explained. You’ve done it before and at least know what to expect. Ok, I’ll give my friend that: as I had my second and third children, I went into it knowing how the kid thing works. But I don’t know if it’s “not as bad” so much as it is just entirely different. One to two seemed like my problems enhanced exponentially. They didn’t just double but intensified based solely on each individual issue that arose. The thing I had going for me that second time was that I had another boy so I felt comfortable in doing boy things. No new clothes needed to be purchased. The nursery stayed as it was; all the toys were good to go as boy #2 aged. Sure, having two boys amplified the sound in our household tenfold and there were a lot of pretend guns and cars and dinosaurs. But it was also pretty magical. Still, I don’t think zero to one was harder than two to three. Dividing my attention amongst everyone is by far the most difficult part. I’m pulled in so many directions: the boys, husband, jobs, my own basic desires like, you know, going to the bathroom.
There are days when 24 hours is enough. I get work done, the kitchen cleaned, dinner made, kids in bed, AND find time to work out and watch an episode of Inkmaster. Still, there are days when you’d think I hadn’t the slightest idea how to be a mom. Jeans didn’t get washed or we’re out of apple sauce and the dogs are jumping on kids and kids are crying and this mom has had it. There have probably been times when my neighbors thought they should call the Child Services because I’m ranting about my kids’ lack of sense. I would kill for just one or two more hours to wash dishes and maybe – just maybe – I could even read a book.
I chatted briefly with a guy who works at a downtown eatery I’ve been frequenting for years. I knew he was getting married over Spring Break so we talked about it and he beamed happily explaining his honeymoon in Paris and Rome. Then he said, “Well, back to the grind. That’s the way it is.” And he’s right. This is life; the good stuff presents itself here and there and sometimes you get a break but day to day this is what we do. We’re busy, we have to get stuff done, we give ourselves over to inevitability of responsibility. You could go crazy thinking about what the point of it all is but then, when my oldest son comes out of his room again, even after the second glass of water, and gives me a sweet kiss on the cheek and a tired “I love you”, then I know why I do all this. I know.