Fifteen Minutes to My Unravelling

I should have known we were headed for trouble that day.  Silly me for not foreseeing that fifteen minutes of quiet time was too much to ask for nursing my newborn baby (who did not nurse well with distractions), when said baby had three older siblings ages two, four and six.  But fifteen minutes was what I had decided to ask for that day and I was determined to get it.  Have you ever noticed how the harder you try to make something happen, the more elusive that thing becomes?

And so it was for me that day.  Over four years have passed since, and yet it still lives on in my mind as the day I knew for sure that I was in over my head.  It was the day I came to accept the possibility that having four kids just might be the end of me.

It was that same day, however, that I learned an important lesson about the chaos that is having four kids (and yes, we have added another one since then and I can tell you it holds true for five as well).

Now, let me set the scene for you.  My three month old nursing baby Plucky, had recently started to become aware of the world around her.  She became easily distracted by noises, refusing to nurse if there was anything even mildly entertaining happening within earshot, so I had taken to retreating from the vicinity of my three older children and hiding in her bedroom whenever she needed to nurse. 

I had just started potty training my two year old, Bright, which is a nightmare in its own right and she was sitting at the kitchen table coloring.  Mellow, my four year old, was playing with Legos on the living room floor, and Energy was bouncing around the house, hopping from one activity to another in his unique way.  Oh, and my husband was out of town.

I asked Bright if she needed to go potty and she answered with an emphatic no.  Plucky was getting hungry so I stole off to her bedroom to nurse her in peace.  I settled down into the soft armchair, sighing as I did so, as it was the first time I had stopped moving all morning.  I got Plucky all situated and she began to nurse eagerly.

Anyone who has ever nursed a baby knows that once the milk starts flowing, it doesn't stop, and mine had just begun to let down when Energy bounded in the room, exclaiming, "Mom, I'm hungry.  Can I have some popcorn?" 

Plucky opened her mouth and turned her head to size up the distraction, milk spraying her in the face as she did so.  I struggled to get her back to the task at hand while milk spurted everywhere.  I told Energy that he could have some, if he could make it himself.  I was pretty sure he knew how, since he had done it just a few days ago and had become, as of late, an expert microwaver.

Only once he had left and slammed the door shut behind him did Plucky re-focus and return to her job.  I heard Energy rustling around in the kitchen and soon he piped up with, "Mom, how do you do this again?"  I debated not answering, knowing that my voice would cause Plucky to lose focus again, but also knowing that if I remained silent then Energy would be back in the room in no time, so I shouted out some directions to him, Plucky glancing up at me in surprise as I did so.

Once again, she re-focused and I thought I was in the clear when, only moments later, I heard the words every mother of a potty-training child dreads to hear.  Bright shrieked from her perch at the kitchen table, "Mom!  I'm peeing!"

My reflexes took over and my focus on the breastfeeding baby was trumped by my focus on the potty training toddler.  "Run to the potty!" I screeched at her, jumping up from the armchair.  I cradled Plucky in one arm and hoped she would continue nursing while I rushed to the kitchen to assess the damage.  Of course she couldn't, but she was hungry by this point and voiced her outrage at my sudden movement.

As I ran down the hall to the peeing toddler, I passed Energy in the kitchen.  He was staring at the package of microwave popcorn in his hands and queried as I rushed by, "How do you do this again?"  I might have answered with a mystified, "Ummm", or I may have remained silent.  I don't really remember.  But I do know that I wasn't able to form a coherent answer to the question in that moment.

I arrived in the kitchen to find Bright, standing on her chair in a puddle of pee, trying unsuccessfully to hold it in.  Mellow glanced up and, seeing me entering the room asked nicely, "Mom, will you play Legos with me?" 

Now, Mellow seldom requires my attention, preferring to play by himself most of the time, so when he asks to be played with I usually try to accommodate him.  Of course, now was not the time and I answered him with a terse "No".  His little face fell and he burst into innocent tears.  I immediately felt awful, despite the undeniable fact that I couldn't play with him at the moment. 

Pee was dripping down Bright's legs and, still holding Plucky in my left elbow, I grabbed her under the arms with my right and helped her hurry down the hallway to the bathroom, leaving a trail of pee in our wake. 

By this time, baby Plucky was not a happy camper and was wailing enthusiastically, trying to locate the source of her meal while I bustled down the hallway.  Mellow was sobbing brokenheartedly in the living room, and Energy was getting increasingly more frantic and frustrated by my lack of assistance in his microwave popcorn endeavor.  Bright, my fashionista who did not deal well with failure, was also crying; weather from the fact that she hadn't made it to the potty in time or as a result of her outfit being ruined, I will never know.

It was at this moment that I wondered if we had done something horribly wrong when we decided to  have four kids.  I recalled the 'no return policy' that came with each one of them and I wondered if I could really do this.  Of course, that was just the crazy talking and I soon came to my senses.  I love each one of my children and each one is an incredible blessing.  But there is no denying that being a mom is hard work.

So, the lesson of the day?  Crises happen.  They do, it's just part of life.  And having them on a daily basis is par for the course when you have as many kids as I do.  Though you may not agree that my debacle deserves the classification of 'crisis', it certainly felt like one to me in that moment.  And perception is everything.

But, no matter how bad the crisis gets, there is always an end.  For me, that day, the crisis lasted a mere fifteen minutes when all was said and done, though I have to say that it felt a lot longer than that at the time.  I got the pee cleaned up, helped Energy with the popcorn, nursed Plucky and put her down for a nap, then apologized to Mellow while I sat and played Legos with him.  Order was restored and peace returned to our home, if only temporarily.

Having lots of kids is hard.  And there are moments when I wish someone would fire me so I could just go home and sulk before looking for a new job.  But the hard is mostly short-lived, and knowing that gives me the strength to get through the hard bits of each day.  It also helps me appreciate the peaceful times and enjoy the many moments of non-urgent chaos.

So, though I learned that day that it only takes fifteen minutes to unravel me, I also learned that there will be plenty of time to stitch myself up again before heading back for more.