An ordinary day in the life of an average mom who forgets her phone, never replies to people in a timely fashion, forgets the Karate uniform and has approximately three hundred places to be and things to do. Sometimes I wonder how I survive, sometimes I feel genuine gratitude that the problems are small but mostly life is just happening while I’m busy cleaning coffee and Listerine off of the floor.
This was my day.
5 am: Wake up to pee again and struggle to fall back asleep. Get a charley horse and contemplate getting up to beat my legs with a stick to make them numb. Pregnancy is awful. Fall back into fitful sleep while making ten mental to-do lists.
7:45 am: Husband turns on lights, wakes me up and demands that I help him take care of the kids. Fine, but only if I have to. I begrudge everyone for ten minutes while I wipe the sleep off of my eyes and my brain.
8 am: Husband scrambles eggs, kids watch cartoons and mom packs lunch.
8:15 am: Breakfast battle ensues. Force remote out of kids hands, make them sit down to eat and listen to a string of complaints about how much one kid hates eggs/French toast/cereal/life (in general, not just the cereal brand).
8:20 am: Get shoes on and jackets/backpacks gathered.
8:30 am: No seriously, hurry up and get your damn shoes on, we’re already late. Why does it take you ten minutes to put on crocs? Your fingers are nimble, you can do better.
8:31 am: Baby screams as daddy drives away to school drop off and work. “DADA DADA DADA!”
8:35 am: “DADA!”
8:40 am: Make coffee. Shit, are we seriously out of coffee? Why am I the only one who buys stuff for this house anyways? Clearly, I’m unreliable.
8:45 am: Baby is in the kitchen being eerily quiet. Turn the corner to find that the baby found a K Cup under the counter but instead of saving it for me, he has chewed through the foil and we are now seeing what the insides of a K Cup look like all over the floors.
9 am: Done cleaning the floor, done cleaning the baby. Time for some TV with “Kelly and Michael”.
9:05 am: Baby toddles in with his favorite book, the same one we read fifty times every morning. There goes any chance I had of not beating my head into a wall this morning.
9:30 am: Hey baby, I’m all done reading that book now. Maybe you need some independent play time so mom can wash her face and brush her teeth. I go into the bathroom, followed by a whiney baby saying “up up up up up” while he waves his frantic little hands and starts to cry. Pick baby up and attempt to do the face/tooth washing one-handed, but become frustrated and decide to put the baby down. The baby then climbs the counter, reaches the shelf, pulls down every bottle and gets one open before I can even bend or wrangle.
9:45 am: Clean giant puddle of Listerine off of the bathroom floor and clean the baby, again.
10 am: Attempt to put the baby down for a nap. Spend twenty minutes getting punched in the face while captain adorable tries to fall asleep.
Oh what luck!
10:20 am: Whew, the kid is sleeping. Tenderly tip toe out of the room like I’m diffusing a bomb. Success! This feels like spring break. Only now instead of doing Jello shots I get to dig out a bra to wear and unload the dishes. Same thing.
10:30 am: Dishes done, attempt at finding a bra is futile so I opt for a nursing tank top. I’m pregnant so nobody actually cares that my boobs are sad looking and in need of some support. Yoga pants, check.
10:45 am: Organize a few of the things the kids destroyed this morning and try to find the baby’s shoes while also folding laundry.
11 am: I realize time is flying and I need to sit down now if I’m going to get to sit down at all for the rest of the day. The TV sounds good right now. I flip through boring, relentless and mind-numbing morning shows starring some musical guest that released their first album twenty years ago and the View is now their big “come back” platform. I text husband, “we’re out of coffee. I guess someone is going to have to die today” and spend ten minutes entertaining day dreams that he’s running out to get me coffee. He’s not, obviously.
11:30 am: The baby is whining upstairs in the crib. I waddle up the stairs to go pick him up. I waddle back down the stairs holding him. I feed him some grapes and milk, pull out his shoes and get him ready to go to school pick up.
12 pm: School pick up. The nightmare portion of the day. The school is situated at the top of a huge hill in the woods that I trudge up while holding the baby’s hand in mine. The baby gets distracted by every stick he sees on the grass and twenty minutes later, we reach our destination. The kids are waiting outside on the playground for pick up, and by waiting I mean running around and/or hiding from their parents. I finally find my child among the many and begin the process of gathering the things he scattered all over the school. I stuff the things I recognize as mine into the little backpack and spend ten minutes telling my kids that we’re leaving in two more minutes. Half an hour later…
12:30 pm: Exhausted pregnant lady on the verge of screaming is now hauling two kids and a backpack down a steep hill towards the minivan. It’s the new walk of shame.
12:40 pm: The kids are buckled in, the things are gathered and I’m only having moderate contractions. Oh, I forgot to sign the kid out of school for the twentieth day in a row. Whatever, at this point I’m going to pretend I never knew a sign out sheet existed and just play dumb. I need a coffee from a drive thru window and I need it now.
12:45 pm: From the backseat, “waaah mommy, why are you getting coffee? I wanna gooooo hoooome! Waaah!” I successfully resist the urge to yell profanities at the small children in the backseat. I chug my coffee in twenty record-breaking seconds and immediately my blood pressure returns to normal.
1 pm: Pick up my grandma and get on her case about her meds again, make sure she calls her pharmacy, chase the baby away from all of the dangerous and unbaby-proofed stuff in the house. Drive everyone to my house to pick up the phone that I just realized I left behind. The kids have a doctor appointment at 2:30 so if I play my cards right we’ll only be five minutes late instead of thirty.
1:30 pm: Everyone is unloading into my house, the baby runs away. Chase him down the driveway at top waddle speed. Get lured into pouring cups of juice, cutting up grapes and breaking up fights over cheese sticks and toys.
2:30 pm: Oh shit. The doctor! Somehow in the melee I forgot the doctor. Everybody get in the car, now! There’s no time for shoes or jackets! Just go!
2:35 pm: Arrive at doctor with half of our clothing, but still only five minutes late. We burst into the waiting room, panting. It’s a shot visit, so I pull out all of the stops and promise a trip for toys and chocolate after our shots.
2:40 pm: Every surface of the waiting room has been sufficiently touched or licked by my kids. If we didn’t have measles and Ebola before, we do now. They call us in. They have a nasal spray option for the four year old. Thank god almighty that this day is not a total wash.
2:55 pm: My screaming toddler recovers from his shots, we put away all of the office toys that the kids destroyed and we all emerge from the office sporting new puppy stickers that should say: “I survived”.
3 pm: Walpharm. We stop at the drugstore so the kids can pick out the toys that I stupidly promised them while I wait in line for my own flu shot. I might be signing up for a staph infection, but whatever, just give me the shot so my kids can buy all of these monster trucks and chocolates and get out of your store. My grandma realizes she wants a flu shot too. Double that wait time then. Better hurry up pharmacist, I can’t hold back these kids from wrecking your store down to the studs.
3:30 pm: Home sweet home. Fifty dollars’ worth of monster trucks, Halloween candy and batteries later, we are unloading at our house. The kids rope me into pouring milk, getting granola bars and making me help them find that one little lost thing that they have to have right this minute. The thing I haven’t seen in six months that I probably gave away. That thing.
4 pm: I slump down on the floor while the kids play. I’m convinced that I can close my eyes while they play together. But that’s not going to happen because their version of playing together is actually just them fighting over toys and me putting the toys on top of the fridge. So that’s pretty relaxing.
4:30 pm: Today is make-up day at Karate. Riiiight. Shoes back on, back out the door. I forgot the uniform. But my husband saves the day because he knew I would forget the uniform again and he pre-emptively grabbed it on his way to work so he could meet us there all prepared. I make my grandma stay with the toddler as her penance for being my blood relative.
5 pm: We’re hungry and tired but damnit if we don’t get into that karate dojo and high kick with the best of them. Of course that didn’t happen. My kid spent the entire class crawling on the floor when he should have been standing, chewing on his karate belt and managing to misinterpret every direction his instructors gave him. Oh well. Mom ran out of shits to give when she woke up this morning and the toddler ate her coffee.
6 pm: Home! Karate uniform changed, dinner is on the stove and the kids are killing each other. There’s a loud boom and someone is screaming. I halfway care enough to peek at the damage. As expected the toddler is screaming on the floor. My husband takes over dinner so that I can play with the kids in a last ditch effort to keep them alive. We play…phone. The baby loves to pretend everything is a phone. So for way too long we sit at the table holding non-phone objects and repeat “hello, hello, hello” into them as if they are real. This is stimulating stuff.
6:30 pm: Dinner! We all sit down to eat. I immediately start stuffing my face, my preschooler throws a tantrum because dinner is spaghetti and not hot dogs or happy meals, my toddler smashes his food into his face and my husbands’ eyes roll straight out of his head and onto the floor. My grandma thanks god that she’s hard of hearing and we all dig deep, deep down inside of our patience reserves to ensure that nobody snaps. Ah, family.
7 pm: The baby announces from his booster seat that it’s “bath time” and demands to get down by just pointing and screaming. Husband does the baths, grandma does the dishes and mama does…the sitting. Because, pregnant.
7:30 pm: the kids are in Pajamas, reading stories with mama who’s just trying not to cry or fall asleep.
8 pm: Close the door to the kids bedroom. Breathe a heavy sigh of relief. It’s time to drive Grandma home.
8:30 pm: Get home and stress eat six thousand calories of Halloween candy, hide the evidence in the garbage can and take a shower. Discover one of my kids clogged the drain with play dough. Oh my god.
Life as a mom isn’t glamorous and it isn’t exciting, but it’s really, really busy. We have nothing to prove to people who don’t see our worth, but we do more than we know for the people who depend on us. Take a look at your day, is it any wonder you’re exhausted? You’re awesome moms. You’re doing it all, and you’re doing your best, even though it feels like a mess and it ends with a headache.
I never did find my actual phone and I’m sure there are a hundred messages waiting for me. Sadly I couldn’t check them on the toddlers toy phone. There’s a pile of letters I had to send out today, and yesterday and the day before and I still haven’t done it. Tomorrow is another day for that.
I cannot wait for my 5 am charley horse.