October 2009 Archives

When I was a kid, I never thought it was odd to have a sister that was just 15 months older than me. It seemed really natural. My sister and I rarely fought, we played together all the time, and I counted her as one of my best friends. When we traveled we were always equally excited about our destination because there was no difference between the age-appropriateness of the activities we enjoyed.

When my first child was six months old, I happily announced to the members of my mom's group that my husband and I were going to try for baby number two. My announcement was met with shock and, yes, horror. Two under two? What could I possibly be thinking?

I was pretty shocked myself to be met with such a negative reaction. Yes, it was challenging taking care of a newborn. But I'd never had any reason to doubt that I wanted to have my children close together, so that they could share childhood experiences in the same way that my sister and I had. Two under two was the plan I'd had pretty much my whole life--and add to that the fact that I was already in my 30s and running out of productive child-bearing years, and it seemed like two under two was a pretty obvious choice.

But no one else thought my husband and I were making a good choice. People warned me to "wait at least a year." They said our decision would actually be bad for our son, who would have to leave his babyhood too soon to make room for his new sibling. They told us we needed to spend more time enjoying our son before adding another child to the family.

I don't recall listening to this advice with anything but anger. I realize now that the "norm" is to space kids about three years apart, but most of the siblings I knew with three or more years between them didn't play peacefully together like my sister and I had. They fought, and they even went so far as to claim that they hated each other. I couldn't see how such a combative relationship was "better for the children," as everyone was telling me.

And what right did all those people have to tell me what was best for my family?

I know they meant well. People never believe that the choices they made for their own families could be anything other than perfect. They think they can just drop their own decisions into other people's situations and everything will come out just as rosy. After all, it worked for them so why shouldn't it work for everyone?

Now I not only have had two under two, but three under four, and soon to be four under five. And I haven't regretted my decision even for a second. My kids have that relationship I always wanted them to have. They play together, they like the same things, and they are on their way to having lifelong friendships with each other.

Two under two was right for us. I know it's not right for everyone, but it was right for us.

Let's be honest: caring for three kids ages four and under is challenging. It's challenging when you're getting eight hours of sleep every night and are in good health. It's next to impossible when those two factors are out of whack.

I came down with a cold on Sunday. Normally when I have a cold, I take Nyquil. I may feel terrible during the day but at least I can get some sleep at night. Being well rested helps me cope with my day to day routine, even though I'm stuffy, achy and scratchy.

Of course, Nyquil is one of those meds you aren't supposed to take when you're pregnant. No Dayquil either, or cough syrup, and decongestants, though allowed, have questionable safety ratings (pregnancy class C).

So I've been going to bed at night sans-drugs, and I haven't been sleeping well at all. For two nights in a row I've given up and gone out to the living room to read and feel sorry for myself. I've gotten a lot of reading done, but once morning comes I'd trade all that progress in my entertaining but intellectually-limited novel for a coherent thought or two.

It's tough to take care of kids in this state. Kids, being kids, are full of demands. And they never ask for everything they need at once, they always wait until you sit down and try to close your eyes before they come up with new ideas for things they can't live without. I fetch my son a glass of apple juice, I sit down, and 30 seconds later he wants me to go out to the car to get the toy he left there last night. I get my daughter some milk and goldfish crackers, I sit down and try to close my eyes, and 30 seconds later she wants me to change the batteries in her drawing board.

Then there's the usual dishes, dinner, tidying-up etc. Remember the days when you could stay in bed when you were sick? I actually had a lovely dream the night I came down with my cold. In my dream, I called up my boss and told him I was too sick to come to work. Then I woke up and realized that my bosses are preschoolers and my job doesn't have sick leave. Damn it!!!

Why do I keep reading all these stories about missing kids?

My husband asks me that all the time. I really don't know the answer. I tell him, "because I just want one of them to have a happy ending."

Of course, they hardly ever do. In most of these high-profile cases of kids who are abducted by strangers or who simply vanish without a trace, the ending is tragic. They are found dead, or simply never heard from again. Their killers are neighbors, trusted members of the community, sometimes even their own parents.

It boggles my mind when I think about these people who kill children, and what a horrible act of selfishness they are committing. I think about the mothers of these kids and about my own love for my kids, and about the agony of knowing that you were unable to fulfill that all important parental role, the role of protector. I think about the horror of knowing that you lost your child because some bastard wanted to commit a 10 minute act of perversion and your beloved daughter happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. How all that love you had for your baby is suddenly converted into life-long grief and suffering, all the potential of a young life is snuffed out because of someone's sick, selfish whim.

I went out and bought an alarm system a few months ago. No one will ever sneak into my house late at night and take one of my children away without me knowing about it. But that's not the only way to protect your kids, and I worry constantly.

How can you tell your children to never get into a strangers car, and be absolutely sure they never will? How do I know that my daughter won't feel like there's an exception to the rule when someone says "your mom is in the hospital and told me to come get you?" How can I be sure that she'll never be grabbed while walking home from school? How can I protect her without smothering her?

My husband says I should stop reading all those missing kids stories, but I think reading them does do one important thing for me. It keeps my mind aware of the potential dangers that my kids face every day. It reminds me to keep reaffirming what they already know about who it's safe to be with and who it's not. It's never too soon to talk to your kids about these issues. In fact, I think we'll have another chat when they get up from their naps this afternoon.

Meanwhile, I'm still waiting for one of these stories to have a happy ending.

I think I'm a pretty good mom, but like all moms I have my ups and downs.

I'm not a good mom when I'm late. When I'm rushing, I tend to shout a lot, I have no patience for kids who don't want to put their shoes on or who want to grab one last toy for the road and I am generally grumpy.

I'm also not a good mom when someone pukes. I'm really, really not very good at that.

My husband is so much more compassionate.

Daddy: "Oh Hailey, you threw up? Oh, poor girl. Let Daddy help you."
Mommy: "Aaaagh!!!! Puke!!!!!"

Hailey threw up in the car this morning on the way to drop Dylan off at his new school. My first reaction was to roll the windows down and cover my nose to prevent a second round of vomiting from yours-truly. Meanwhile Dylan is bouncing up and down in the back seat shouting "Ew, Hailey, gross!!!"

Dylan's wonderful preschool teacher brought down a warm rag, an empty shopping bag, a half roll of paper towels and some much needed sympathy, but it was up to me to strip down my three year old daughter and mop the vomit off of my brand new floor.

Then we got home and I had to figure out how to take the carseat out of the car, because it was literally saturated with vomit. This involved kneeling on the chair so I could loosen it enough to get it off the LATCH assembly. Gack.

Then I had to take it apart and get the fabric off of it so I could launder it and mop out the vomit from the plastic base underneath. Gack, gack, gack.

Oh the joys of motherhood.