I nurse the baby for about an hour after convincing her daddy to : 1) pick her up from where she’s tossing, 2) unwrap her from her nearly obsolete swaddle, and 3) hand her to me. I strap her right wrist and fist into my nursing 🤱🏽 tank when I clip it back over her favorite side (the right). Then I eventually convince Daddy to re-swaddle and put her back down. I don’t blame either of us for the nightime grouchiness – not in the light of day. Neither one of us has slept, not really. Not since #4 was born… I think I’ve slept well once in these months after delivery by c-section.

There are 3 🧺 laundry baskets in our room at the moment (a triumph), and 😲 only 1 of them has unfolded (clean) clothes in it. But I’m concerned about the 😟 basket out in our hallway, in front of the closed doors to the master. There’s definitely poop to wash out there, and it can’t stay there forever…waiting for me…and my necessary Laundry Gloves 🧤 

I’m also worried about my son. He doesn’t want to go to school anymore. And I wonder: Can he be too bonded to me. 💭 Shouldn’t he identify more with his father? I think it might be a bad idea to tell Hubby that I wish he’d teach him more about hygiene – that they could both benefit from that interaction – Daddy teaching his son… But I feel so strongly that it’s needed 🙏🏾 

And why won’t my lovely girl 👧🏽 use toilet paper?

Why is she having such a time of it learning to wipe thoroughly when we keep trying to tell her? 👆🏾The expression on this dude’s face tells the story of the state of the kids’ bathrooms. It is really embarrassing to be in this situation.

We thought #3 had had a late breakthrough learning to tie her own shoelaces… But now I’ve just decided to buy her more Velcro ones in her favorite color 🤦🏽‍♀️ 

I have to write down the reasons that another child should be denied 🙅🏽 the next big thing she asks for (which I probably will not – deny her), because otherwise I’ll totally forget. Memory Wipe. Also known as: Mom Fog 🌫 …

It’s just past 3 am. Also known as the witching hour… That’s how many of my days begin now. The content of her day may vary, but one mom of young children understands the challenges and victories of another mom of young children.

One mom is using a wall of cardboard boxes as a fortress barricade for her 1 year old, so she can get her run in; another mom is sequestering her sick kids from the other Littles at the local library, so they can out into the winter world; and, I am hefting a car seat across streets and grassy medians. All I really needed was a measurement of my blood glucose for a wellness screening, but now I’m headed up what feels like a miles-long sidewalk for a physical.

The appointment starts after an hour of waiting and concludes with another wait for lab work in a tiny room filled with elderly people. All I can do is hope that all the things in my backpack and purse (nursing cover, pacifier, bottle, exactly 2 diapers, a new bag of wipes, 2 ziplock bags filled with clothes, a changing mat, and an infant nursery care kit, etc.) will be enough to face the potential storm of a baby waking up after a long nap in an unfamiliar place.

Writing this, I had to ask myself: What is the bottom line after considering how hard this role can be? Something a good friend said to me popped into my mind. She said: Everyday, regular life is sacred. You know what that means? Poopy Time, Discouraging Time, Silly Time, Annoying Time, Witching Hour Time, Embarrassing Time – every moment spent in this role of Parent of Little Littles is an honor. This sometimes invisible life is honorable.