I'm still alive after the events of yesterday. But I sure felt awful this morning as I hid under my covers debating on whether to get out of bed or not. I did get out. Jonathan had an important meeting yesterday afternoon and couldn't come home like he usually does to take Atticus to his ice skating lessons. So, I was going to do it. Why not? Other moms venture out of their houses with four kids, one of them being a four week old baby. Why can't I? Everything went okay and by the time we were done with the lessons and walking back through the mall towards the exit things were going great. I was walking happily along with my gaggle of ducklings around me. I could even hear music accompanying me as we moved along. Happy jolly music. My almost three year old was even kind enough to push the stoller for me. Bad idea? Yeah, really bad one. In a split second I was snatched from my beautiful daydream and forced to move quickly (not easy because of my largeness) to collect my newborn baby from the floor. Yep, Cinci tripped, pulled on the stroller handles bringing them to the floor, and flipping the poor baby onto his face. I scooped him up and ignored everything else. He was alive, breathing, crying, and farting non stop. Poor baby, poor baby. After I calmed him down he seemed okay. But do you really ever know? I'm sure my mother is worrying about him as she reads this. (Mom, no need. I'm sure you're reading this post three weeks after the fact anyway.) So, there I am in the middle of the malls food court making a huge scene. I'll spare you the details.
In a nutshell we got home to even more drama. I spent the next two hours trying to be that successful mother I'm always striving to be. Cooking a nice dinner of scrambled eggs and frozen peas. Then the bedtime routine. I can't believe I pulled this one off. Four things at once.
1. Acting interested in my 6 year olds reading homework.
2. Rooting for my almost 3 year old as he struggles to poop on the potty.
3. Hold a screaming baby who wants all my attention.
4. Scrape off excess skin from my 4 year olds feet and apply the medicine. He's got planters warts.
After making it through that, they are finally all in bed and I can focus on the baby. But 15 minutes later Cinci calls to me and wants me to "fix his bed" because he destroyed it while I was working on Sherman's feet. Talk about OCD. I told him he'd have to wait until Daddy got home. I continue feeding the baby and I hear a thump and then wailing and I think to myself, "I'll bet there's blood. I'll bet there's blood so don't be surprised." I round the corner of the hallway and sure enough there's blood, all over Cinci, just like in a horror film. Blood streaming down his face, from his nose, and from his mouth, and dripping all over the floor.
He's okay. Everyone is okay. I'm okay. It was just one of those days. Life goes on. I learned so much from the events of the day though. During these moments where time slows down and you have to act fast and prioritize fast, that's when your true colors show through. And so far, my colors are pretty. During these scary moments I never find time to yell or scream, I just move forward calmly. I wish I could be like that all the time. Why can't I get through the days normal events without yelling and screaming? I have no idea. Weird. When the baby fell I got to see my 6 year old turn into a man for a second. He didn't stand there and laugh or act silly like he had been a moment earlier. He starting picking up all the stuff that had fallen from the stroller to try to help me out. I'm so glad that his true colors are pretty too.
