Parents of One Perfect Child Under Preschool-age.
I found it hilarious in that "it's funny because it's true" way, and also because I saw a lot of myself in that article. Back in the good ol' days, when it was just me, Big Kid, and my husband, I was a total POOPCUP. My baby was the smartest, funniest, sweetest little human being to ever grace the earth.
I had all of the time in the world to encourage these wonderful traits. I used to do flashcards with Big Kid. He was about a year old, and we would sit down with a big stack of flashcards and Big Kid would say the words. We would video tape it. We were so proud. He was, quite obviously, a genius! I mean, most babies his age weren't even talking!
You know what I realize about this scenario now, looking back?
I USED TO DO FLASHCARDS. WITH A BABY.
No need to tell me to get a grip. Three kids later, that grip has been firmly gotten, thankyouverymuch.
(That sentence may qualify for the worst sentence in the history of sentences, but you catch my drift.)
Back then, when I was a perfect parent to one perfect child, I was sure that certain things, such as weaning, potty training, and general child-rearing would be a breeze.
To his credit, Big Kid has made this parenting thing pretty easy on us and those things were, and continue to be, very easy - at least with him.
Imagine my horror when Toast came along and he was - GASP! - his very own person. Still completely awesome, yet very, very different from his big brother.
And then Beam joined our family. And then Muffin showed up.
And suddenly, I forgot what the hell a flashcard was and was just trying to make it through the day parenting four kids under the age of six. Needless to say, life has changed in many ways. Some of those changes were good (Don't drill your baby using flashcards!). Some of those changes are questionable. If you have three or more kids, you can probably relate. Read on.
Sleeping Arrangements
When I was pregnant for Big Kid, husband and I spent hours designing the perfect nursery. We had a theme. We scoured yard sales and shopping centers for the perfect nursery accessories. We tried (in vain) to paint a custom shelf. We purchased an expensive crib set full of deadly comforters and bumpers and actually used them (the horror!). Everything was ready for his arrival. He had the perfect spot to lay his sweet head and dream.
With four kids, we don't give a crap where anybody sleeps. The only thing we care about is the fact that they DO sleep. Currently, Big Kid, Toast, and Beam share a giant bedroom that they have deemed Kiddie Fun Land. When it's time to settle down in Kiddie Fun Land, we tuck Beam into her crib (so that she can't escape) and Toast and Big Kid pile into a single twin bed, along with no fewer than two pillows, three stuffed dinosaurs, and nine blankets. Yes, nine blankets. They have their own beds, but they prefer to sleep together and we prefer that they sleep, period. We turn on ten minutes of Dora the Explorer and we run out the door.
Bath Time
In the name of full disclosure, bath time doesn't happen as often as it should. When I only had one or two kids, I was religious about bath time, and they had a bath every day or every other day. Nowadays, I notice that the kids start looking sketchy and I start psyching myself up for the marathon that is bath time. First, I warn them that they will, in fact, be taking a bath tonight. They groan. Big Kid negotiates for a shower, but sometimes I just tell him no, he's taking a bath because it's easier for me (HA!)
I usher the kids upstairs and dig out four pairs of pajamas. I run back downstairs for diapers because I forget them every single time. I run back downstairs a second time to grab extra towels from the dryer. I turn on the water and get Muffin undressed. He's first in line for a bath because he's the cleanest and also the quickest. The other kids typically gallivant around the house naked while I bathe, lotion, and dress the baby.
Once Muffin is done and I have removed his bath seat, I yell for the other kids to pile in. Big Kid balks.
"Is this DIRTY bathwater?!"
"Oh my GOD, it's only a little pee. Get your butt in there!"
(Told you, questionable parenting.)
To appease him, I drain some
Face wash, face wash, face wash.
Hair wash, hair wash, hair wash.
Pass out wash cloths, let the kids play and scrub down.
Then I dump water over them one last time and usher them all out of the tub and back to Kiddie Fun Land.
The kids put on lotion and get dressed. Beam insists that she needs to put lotion on her boobs. I remind her that she doesn't have boobs. The kids jump on their beds while I gather up dirty clothes and towels and pray to God that bedtime is coming soon.
Breastfeeding
Breastfeeding can be stressful, especially for first time parents. Even though it's "natural," there's nothing natural about it. Most of the time, you don't know what the hell you are doing and neither does your baby. There is a steep learning curve involved.
I've breastfed all four kids, and there were sharp differences in the beginning when I compare Big Kid to Muffin. With Big Kid, we charted everyone of his feedings. We wrote down the time that he latched on, how long he nursed, which side he fed from, if he pooped, or peed, or both. Husband was great at charting these Baby Basics. If he didn't poop or didn't latch on every two hours on the dot, I panicked a bit.
With Muffin, although the nurse wanted me to keep track of all of this stuff, I was an old pro. Nurses would ask, "When did he last eat?" and I would say, "I don't know! Maybe 20 minutes ago?" "How long did he nurse for?" "I don't know... until he was done and fell asleep." I could tell it made them crazy but you know - fourth baby and all. I didn't care.
Driving Around Town
A single car seat will fit into just about any vehicle that you own. Big Kid and I used to cruise around in a little five-speed Honda Civic. Man, I loved that car.
Four car seats, however, require a specialized vehicle called the Minivan. (Yes, I could drive a big SUV, but I do love my van). Instead of just simply loading your baby up, putting the car into first gear and taking off, you have four kids climbing over and under to get to their appropriate car seats. You follow, buckling each one as you go, banging your head on the ceiling light, and breaking your hip trying to maneuver your way back out the giant door. You are no longer driving a cute car. You are driving a trash can on wheels. Someone could live for days with the extra food, sippy cups, and clothing that you have stashed into your Stow and Go compartments.
Going Out to Dinner
When we had only one kid, going out to dinner was a regular occurrence. Back then, it didn't cost $60 to feed our family, and we were quite certain that we could make it through the meal without anyone having a meltdown. We would get Big Kid all set up in his high chair with his adhesive place mat, some Gerber Puffs, and order our meals. We would order vegetables for the baby, because we wouldn't dream of feeding him French fries at such a tender age. We would talk to Big Kid and gush over him and hope that the waitress and everyone around realized how well behaved and adorable he was.
Going out to dinner now is a carefully calculated risk. Who has napped today? How hungry are they? (If they are too hungry, forget it. Waiting for a restaurant meal is going to be a nightmare.) Is the restaurant going to be busy? Do they have any drink specials?
We load up the minivan, usher the troops into the restaurant, and repeat, "Six please, two high chairs," when the hostess asks us "How many?" We are quickly ushered to the most remote corner of the restaurant and spend four minutes playing Musical Chairs before everyone is settled. Husband and I order drinks, and the kids order a round of chocolate milk. The kids begin to quietly color on their kids' menus while husband and I try to talk. There is no fawning over our adorable children - we are just praying that they are quiet enough not to be noticed by the rest of the patrons of the restaurant. Sometimes desperate measures are taken to maintain calm through the meal. We bribe them with dessert. We throw French fries around like water. We spike their chocolate milk with a bit of rum.
(Kidding!)
We eat as fast as we can, pay our bill, and leave our server a fat tip for getting us in and out quickly. On the way home, we say that we will only be going out to eat again if we can go without kids and enjoy our meal, because we just spent $57 for food that we barely tasted.
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