I must have the neediest children on the planet. I feel as though I am constantly being pulled in three different directions every five minutes. Case in point:
This morning I tried to do some schoolwork with Brother at the kitchen table. Sister is playing Barbies in her room and Baby is at the table with us, making a mess with the pegboard and pattern blocks, but happy and entertained. Sister yells at me from her room about six times. I walk through the house to her room to see what it is she needs, thinking it must be something extremely important. "Could you put this shoe on my Barbie?" she asks. I try to explain to her that she could bring the shoe and the Barbie to me instead of screaming for me to come to her. While I am talking to her Brother starts yelling from the kitchen that he is finished with the assignment I gave him and can he please have a graham cracker? I trek back through the house to find Baby has abandoned the mess she made and has buckled the belt on her booster seat, a neat, new trick she has learned. But now she is grunting for me to unbuckle it so she can buckle it back. I unbuckle it and reach to get Brother's graham cracker and Baby has buckled it back and repeating her request for help by the time I turn around.
Yes. This is a fun game we could play for hours upon end.
As I am unbuckling Sister yells again for me. I walk back through the house to the bathroom where she is on the potty and asks me for a book. I gather six, figuring that should be enough to last. She asks me to read one to her, but I explain to her that I can't right now, but I will later and we need to finish up in the bathroom because we have to make a trip to the store for lightbulbs because Brother's room is completely dark and we are out of lightbulbs...yada, yada, yada. While I am prattling on Baby comes in behind me and grabs the curlers from under the bathroom sink and begins to scatter them.
Another fun game.
Then Brother comes in and grabs me by the back pockets of my pants and begins pulling on me and saying something while Sister is telling me why my reading her a story will help her poop, all the while I am trying to keep my balance and not step on Baby and the minefield of curlers on my teeny tiny bathroom floor.
Do you know what happens when you pull a rubber band too hard?
We go to the store where my children spend a large amount of the time whining, complaining and disobeying. Not to mention I ran into an old church friend again. And I looked like a baglady, again. Actually I looked like a baglady with unruly children.
At lunchtime Brother is sitting at the table waiting for food. Baby is also at the table, eating cantaloupe. Sister is playing Barbies in her room again. While I am making Brother's food I decide to take a quick bathroom break. I give Brother his food and walk through the house to the bathroom. As I am leaving Baby immediately begins to chant, "Mama! Mama!" which is preferable to her usual screeching that sounds like a cross between a wookie and a bat. I'll spare you the gory details of what went on in the bathroom, but needless to say I wasn't quite finished when Brother starts hollering as though he's just seen a black widow or an anaconda slither across the table. "MOM!! MOM!!" I hurry, as much as possible, and run back to the kitchen to see Baby, making the sign for "more" cantaloupe and Brother, who is having a dire, life-threatening hot dog catastrophe. Half of the bun had slid off into his plate.
And I ask him, "Son, what did you expect me to do for you while I was in the bathroom?" He looks at me as though he knows the answer to this question but has a feeling it's not quite the right one. "Come here," he replies, with a slight question mark. I begin the lecture on being able to solve some problems for yourself. Blah, blah, blah.
I am nearing the end of my proverbial rope and from where I stand there are two options:
- Hang myself with it.
- Tie the kids to a chair with it.
The latter is looking do-able.After lunch comes naptime.
Let me just interject here that what follows next contains referrences to breasts and breastfeeding, so for all you squeamish men reading this, click away now. I don't want to make you uncomfortable. And if I happen to go to church with you and you read this anyway, please don't let me know you read it or I will never be able to look you in the face again.
Okay. Baby is 18 months old and still nursing. To make matter worse, I nurse her to sleep. And if that's not bad enough, she sleeps in mine and Hubby's bed.
Don't look at me that way. I had a colicky infant and two other children at home to teach and take care of. I was desperate when we started the habit and it worked for us. Yes, it will be killer to wean.
Moving right along.
Before naptime we read books. I am nursing Baby while I read the first book and she falls quickly to sleep. I take her to my bed and lay her down. I return to the sofa where I read another book to Brother and Sister. I get Sister in her bed and Brother to his bed and began to feel excited about no one saying "Mama" or "Mom" or any derivitive thereof for about an hour. I sit down at the computer, anxious to blog and relieve some of my stress. I check some email and then pull up my little Blogger account to get started.
It sounds like the pitter-patter of little feet. Except all the little feet around here should be in bed, with children attached to them.
Maybe if I ignore it, it will go away.
It is Baby, who is on a thirty minute nap kick. She smiles and reaches out for a hug, looking all cute and disheveled from her power nap. I pick her up and say, "No. Bed," and carry her back where we begin the nursing process all over again.
Now, for any of you who have nursed your children to sleep, or laid next to them until they went to sleep, you know what a feat of acrobatic prowess and cat-like stealthiness it takes to remove yourself from their side without waking them up. I am a master. But Baby has caught on, and likes to wrap her little hand up inside my shirt, making it more difficult to detach.
Okay, guys. This is your last warning. Boob talk ahead.
I lay still, watching her eyelids droop, blink, and finally close. I listen for the rhythmic breathing and feel for her arm to go limp. I make my move. I bend my thumb and it makes a slight popping noise. Ever so slight. But she hears it and starts. I freeze. Motionless. Silent. But she grabs my breast with both hands and latches on.
Hey, wait a minute. That's MINE! I had it first!!
Her eyes slowly flicker and then close again. I'm stuck. She has me tight within her clutches and isn't letting go.
So, here I am, trying to blog while Baby plays with a bottle of peroxide, Sister is yelling at me from the potty and Brother is watching a video I think is much too violent.
But I got my blog done.
Tomorrow I break out the Nyquil.