Everybody knows that I struggle with wanting a fourth baby - I've written about it many times. Well, on Monday's and Tuesday's I get to watch my niece for for about three hours, from 3 o'clock until 6 o'clock.
Up until this past Monday I've had it totally under control. Dinner planned, the kids occuppied in the other room (although constantly begging to see/touch/look at/play with/stare at/just do something with Caitlyn), bouncy seat, white noise app on my iphone ready and bottle ready to go. I know. Prepared, right?
Well, on Monday life happened.
The kids were taking turns playing with her - which means she sits in her bouncy seat and they make googly eyes at her - when a stink overtook the kitchen. Ahhh, the smell of poo from a breast fed baby. I quickly jumped into action, whisking her away and onto the changing pad. Where I totally struggled with her cloth diaper, getting more poo on her stomach in the process of changing her. Violet of course hovered over me giving me a play by play of what I should be doing (because she's changed a lot of diapers at 8 years old) and commenting on the smell.
Just as I got Caitlyn clean and was putting the new diaper on her, John began his 'potty' yell. This means he yells, "MOOOOMMMEEEE, I have to go POOOTTTEEEE." And I say, "Then go." And he goes. But the yell to me from somewhere in the house and my response must take place. This time the first yell was followed by the dreaded second yell. "I have to have a BM!"
And then I get Caitlyn dressed and she's fussing and I know it's time for her bottle, but John is going to need me and the water is boiling and she's fussing and Violet is talking and Sarah wants to know what is for dinner . . .
And I forget about John.
I put Caitlyn in her bouncy seat and start to warm the bottle, when I hear John yell, "Mommy I'm done!"
But Caitlyn needs a bottle and I can't let her cry -- she's not mine! I mean, if she were mine I'd be OK with that for a few minutes, but she's not mine!
I hurry to the bathroom, just around the corner from the kitchen and turn the knob.
I tell John to open the door. "I don't want to."
OMG. That must mean there is an epic mess in there.
I turn the knob again and try to use logic on an almost 5 year old, explaining that I cannot help him if he doesn't unlock the door.
He unlocks the door.
And in my head, my inner dialogue is this: I have to wipe a bum and feed a baby. I mean, I'm totally going to wash my hands, but there's no down time in between! I'll scrub them. Then warm the bottle. Then scrub them again. It'll be good.
I dash back into the kitchen.
Sarah is sitting next to Caitlyn, making googly eyes at her and Catilyn is cooing and smiling, happily distracted for the moment.
I turn off the boiling water before I boil the pan dry and all is well.
And I'm only a little sweaty.
I also can laugh about it.
I'm also listening.