Okay, so the title may have led you to believe some untrue ideas about my nineteen-year old college sophomore life. I have not, as is implied, birthed five children in the last five years since my menstrual cycle began (I was a bit of a late bloomer). In fact, though I have been dating the same man for 1 1/3 years (I keep close track of these things), I am still very much a virgin, not for lack of temptation. And, considering my sassy tongue and unbridled love of semi-dirty country music, I’m thinking the Virgin Mary storyline would not apply to me either. No, I’m not a literal mother of five. The five beings I am talking of mothering are my two one-year old brothers and my three dogs (all boys as well).
To clear up any other questions, my mother is not dead or out-of-the-picture, etc. My mother is up every morning at 6:30 (sometimes earlier if one of the trouble twins decides he just has to eat at five a.m.), getting babies changed and fed, letting dogs out and feeding them, and playing mediator between the five at all times. She is a saint.
Continuing along my story, this summer I decided Mom could use a little extra helping (okay, so that may be a bit of an understatement) and took on the job of mother’s helper for her about 15 hours each week. How lucky I would have it, I thought to myself, sitting on my butt all day, holding one dog on my lap, watching the babies play nicely as of course they would, while the other two dogs were off on their own being the little angels I knew they were.
The weathered mothers, those who have gone through or are going through the toddling stages with multiple children at the same time, are right now shaking their heads and laughing at my naïveté. For the rest of the people reading this who have not yet had the experience of motherhood, let me fill you in on an average morning in my household.
6:37: Alarm bleeps deafeningly loud in my ear and I hit snooze (my alarm clock is seven minutes behind the clock downstairs and I have yet to figure out how to change the time and thus I set everything for seven minutes before I would set any other clock).
6:40: I am rudely awaken from my snooze by the wet nose of a puppy who desperately has to go potty. As he does his little potty dance (kind of a spinning in circles thing with a few jumps here and there), I drag myself out of bed, throw on a sweatshirt and slippers and groggily follow his perky bound down the stairs. He does his business and comes back, only to beg at my feet for breakfast. We head for the laundry room where Mom has already fixed his breakfast (hard dog food with a few soft treats because otherwise he won’t eat) where I proceed to sit on the dryer for the next ten minutes as the puppy will only eat if someone is in the room with him. With that last bite of food, I cheer for the puppy and head to the pantry for my own breakfast.
6:55: On my way to the pantry, I hear a thump, thump coming from the ceiling above me. Bam-Bam is awake. My stomach complains loudly as I turn from my journey to sustenance and head back up the stairs. Opening the door to my brother’s room, I am greeted by a huge grin as he runs to the other side of the crib so I can’t reach him to take him out. I smile because we play this same game every morning I get him up. Finally, after bunny and blankie have been thrown into the clothes basket more times than I can count, my brother is ready to get out.
7:05: I place my brother on the changing table for a clean diaper and he starts to wail. This part I have never quite understood since we have the same routine every morning. I hand him the diaper to hold and keep him quiet as I dispose of the soiled one. I then fight him to get it back and securely fastened before he decides to wet the wall.
7:10: Down the stairs I go, breaking up a fight between two dogs on the middle of the stairs by placing one in the gated play area and the other in my sister’s room.
7:15: I sit down on a stool in front of my brother’s high chair to feed him his morning oatmeal and fruit. With the spoon almost to his mouth, my brother decides he simply must feed himself and grabs the spoon. The oatmeal flies, my brother giggles, and I find myself going up the stairs again for a new shirt. In the meantime, he manages to tip over his sippy cup of milk on one dog’s head and feed the rest of his Cheerios to another. Of course, much yelling has ensued throughout all this and Brother #2 is now awake.
7:25: I walk into Brother #2’s room as Mom takes over with Brother #1. One of the dogs follows me. Walking in, I am greeted by yet another grin and I think that this morning can’t be too bad after all. I go to pick him up and turn around to see the dog making off with a teddy bear. I leave it be for a few minutes as I change Brother #2’s diaper (I later find the bear on the floor in the hallway… nose-less).
7:45: Both babies have now been fed and Mom and I join them in the playroom for a few minutes of drinking coffee and watching the Today Show. No sooner have we sat down than one of the dogs starts whining at the door telling us that his morning drink of water has made it through his system and he has to go. I get up and let him out, accidentally leaving the gate open. When I return, Mom is herding two toddling babies from the kitchen back to the playroom.
8:00: I sit for the second time, looking forward to eating my breakfast, a savory Toaster Strudel. I bring the pastry up to my mouth and am about to take a bite when I hear a shrill “EAT!” I look down to see two pairs of eyes gazing longingly at my breakfast. I make the mistake of giving each boy a piece. Soon, not only are the boys signing “more, please” but one of the dogs has decided to join me on the couch and is making suggestive lunges at my plate.
8:15: My stomach growling, I lay on the floor as my brothers use me as the personal jungle gym. Soon I’m breaking up a wrestling match between them over who gets to sit on my face. Luckily, no one was harmed, although I doubt my nose will ever be the same.
8:30: All walkers/tricycles/wagons are removed from the playroom due to reckless driving.
8:45: Wooden blocks are removed from playroom due to their use as assault weapons.
8:50: Set of stacking toys is removed due to lack of sharing.
8:52: Toy cars are removed due to fact that one brother has moved on from crashing the cars into each other to crashing them into his brother’s head.
8:53: One dog is removed due to battery to baby by means of dragging around the floor by a sweatshirt sleeve (let it be noted that the baby was giggling and no evidence of bodily harm was found).
8:55: One baby is removed due to continuous breaking and entering into the stereo cabinet.
9:00: Everything is calm for the time being, marking a peaceful end to my mother’s helper work for the day. As I head up to take a shower, I take one more look at the playroom. My little brother is looking straight at me. I know I should stop making eye contact and get out while I can but something in his eyes beckons me to stay. I kneel down and hold out my arms and his little chubby legs waddle quickly toward me. He flings his sausage arms around my neck, grabs my ears, and brings my face down so he can kiss my lips. Wet and sloppy as the kiss is, I smile and shower him with return kisses. Suddenly, the whole crazy morning is forgotten and my heart is warmed by the loving, cuddly baby in my arms. All the trouble is worth this one simple moment. As I stand up and my brother breaks the tranquility with a scream at the gate because he is left in the playroom alone, I retreat into my happy place (a.k.a. my bedroom with the door shut and the music drowning out all sound). Though still early in the morning, my day is now complete.
