Spend 30 minutes trying to convince my small person to sleep. Finally watch his beautiful eyes flutter shut. Wait five more minutes just in case. Lay him down very, very carefully and stand, awkwardly bent over the cot, with my hands on his back to help ease the transition. I can't feel my left arm or my right leg. Don't move for fear of waking him up. Count to 100. Remove one finger at a time hoping he won't wake up. Sneak out of the room and speed downstairs to make a coffee before Ellie realises I'm there. Have a few precious moments with just one child. Read books, play games, really make the effort to be there in the moment.
Snack time already. Make snacks, clean up snacks. Quentin's screaming - nap time is over. Bring him downstairs and get his snack. Clean up the 20 pieces of mushy, half-eaten pretzel from the nooks and crannies of the high chair, his bib, his hair, the floor.
Check the time. 10:30 am. How am I going to make it through this day? Check the weather. It's pouring rain but we're going out anyways. I can't stand the four walls around me.
Wrestle Quentin into his fleece, then his splash suit, then the pram with the rain cover while he screams and writhes. Babies are surprisingly strong. Occasionally shout to check on Ellie's progress of getting ready.
'Use the toilet!' 'Find your wellies!' 'No you can't wear a princess dress!'
30 minutes later we're all outside in the rain. It's better than inside where I am counting the minutes.
Another walk around the same block, pointing to birds, pointing to dogs, plodding along at the same pace of my very slow 4 year old.
Check the time. It's 11:30, time to head back for lunch. Ellie hands me a bunch of flowers she's picked. We add it to the collection in our entry way. Suits off, shoes off, wash hands. WASH YOUR HANDS. I say this 10 times before it actually happens.
Make lunches, feed the kids, clean up lunch. Try to leave the kids playing during prep and clean up but have to go back into the playroom 4,732 times to remind Ellie to share, check on what that crying/whining/screaming is, or why there silence (always worse than when you can hear them). Get Quentin to spit out the wad of tissue paper he's eating. Crawl around on the floor under the dining room table trying to find all the food Ellie dropped so Quentin can't find it and eat it later.
Check the time. 1:15. Nearly the next nap. My days revolve around naps and snacks and meals and trying to make it to bedtime. I made it yesterday, I can make it today.
My favourite nap, the one where Ellie plays on her own in 'Quiet Time' and I get a blissful 45-ish minutes to myself. The first time I've had a moment to think or breathe or just be since I woke up. I rock the small one furiously as he is refusing to nap, choosing instead to hit me in the face repeatedly while laughing. I know he's just a baby. I know he's just learning and exploring. I'm frustrated anyways. I NEED this break to make it through the day. I rock and rock and rock until I can't feel either arm and for some reason I can't stop singing nursery rhymes in my head. Finally, he falls asleep. Count to 100. Then another 100. Be sure he's asleep before I put him down or this might break me. Finally he's down and I sneak out and I run for it. What will I do for the 45 minutes of me time?
Make a cup of tea and drink it while it's hot. Mindlessly scroll on my phone, enjoying the fact that no one needs me for this moment. Try not to check the clock to see my minutes of freedom ticking down.
Second nap is over, now we're in the homestretch. Message neighbours to see if anyone can meet for a play, a walk, a bike ride. Head to the park and work off some energy. Get everyone dressed to go outside again. Get everyone snack again. Clean everyone up again.
Time to make dinner. Something quick and easy and no one will complain about. I don't even like cooking, but people need to eat. Try not to stress about how much/how little everyone is eating. Get up 45 times during the meal to get forgotten milk, water, fork, spoon, balsamic vinegar, butter, cheese, fruit... Cut up Quentin's food into tiny pieces so he won't choke. Check his soup to be sure it's the right temperature. Cut Ellie's chicken into bite-size pieces. Finally sit down to eat my cold food. Send the kids up for bath and clean everything up. Scrape the food that wasn't eaten into the food bin, clean the floors again, wash the trays, wash the pots and pans.
Bath time. This is finally more calm and fun. Do some splashing, brush teeth, sing silly songs. Check the time. 5 minutes to go. Wash up the small one as he screams bloody murder and signs 'All done' repeatedly. Get him out and pyjamas on and read books. Nearly there, I can do it. Feed him while singing his lullaby and watch him drift off. Hear the big one screaming through the wall, waking up the small one. Excellent. Rock and rock and rock again until he's back to sleep.
Now it's the moment I've been waiting for since I woke up. Both kids are asleep and I finally have the rest of the night to myself. I should call it an early night, but then I'll just have another day, just like today, to get through. These are my precious hours to do the things I actually want to do, to be the person I want to be. Instead of just the cook, cleaner, entertainer, rocker, exhausted, grumpy, tired mum. It's my time to have an uninterrupted conversation with Paul, who I've barely managed to speak to today despite his working from home. So I go to bed too late (again) and wake up exhausted (again) tomorrow.
And people keep telling me these moments are precious and to enjoy them. And yes, perhaps every day there are 5-10 minutes that are fun or funny or joyful each day. But the days are long and repetitive, thankless and relentless. If those people enjoy those moments so much they can come on over and do the day for me. Or have they forgotten just how awful it is to have small children? Small, exceptionally needy, emotionally and physically. And I'll take from bedtime onwards, in those moments where no one needs me and I can just be me.
-Written during first lockdown... reread during the second. Whilst the little one is easier and we have help now, I remember. And it's okay to feel this way. Any maybe this might help someone. I hope it does.
