It’s 9:40 AM on my
easy day, known to the rest of the world as Wednesday. This is the day all three of my kids are in
school for a few hours, hence it being the “easy” day. So far today, I’ve nursed one baby, filled
three sippy cups of milk, and three thermoses of water. I packed three lunches, cutting 1 sandwich
into a heart shape and 2 into the shape of penguins. I wiped up two milk spills and drank four
cups of (half caff) black coffee. I made
4 beds, opened 16 blinds, and let the dog out twice. I lost one contact lens, then found two on
the floor (yuck...clearly need to sweep more thoroughly!) I brushed four sets of teeth, located 5
mittens (the 6th is still hiding somewhere), and packed three
backpacks. I started one load of
laundry, poured two bowls of cereal, and toasted three pieces of bread. I opened one yogurt container, wiped up one
spilled cereal, and broke up two arguments over the cartoon selection. I brushed two girls’ hair and made two baby
pigtails. I ignored one tantrum over the
baby wanting to cut her own toast with a knife and comforted one preschooler
whose toast got eaten by a pesky dog.
I listened to “Let it Go” four times, overheard part of
the same Barney episode twice, and rocked out to some old school Nirvana once
(while out of earshot of the kiddos). I
carried two kids to the bus stop, raced back inside for two due library books,
and waved goodbye to one excited first grader.
I changed one diaper, made three phone calls and read twenty-seven emails. I prevented one naughty baby from coloring on
the new couch and wedged four resistant arms into winter coats. I buckled two kids into car seats, drove to
one awesome preschool and trudged into the building carrying one kid, two
lunches, one purse, and two backpacks, arriving right at 9:15. In short, it was a typical, if not
smoother-than average morning for me.
As I was rushing through all of this, it struck me how
much of my day—every mom’s day, really—is determined by the numbers. To some extent, motherhood is all about the
numbers.
There’s the important numbers, like how many kids you
have, how old they are, maybe even how old you are. Then there’s the less important stuff, like
how many bites it takes your preschooler to eat a banana (seriously, I have a 4
year old who can drag a single banana into a 45-minute, 30-bite ordeal) or how
many Barbie shoes you may or may not have thrown away the last time you
vacuumed.
There’s another number that always seems to run my day,
and that’s the number on the clock.
Pre-kids, I was never late. I was
virtually always early, in fact. Now,
I’m occasionally on time, never early, and no matter how early I start getting
everyone ready for school, the 8:31 bus pickup time always catches us by
surprise. Then there’s preschool
drop-off, preschool pickup, dance class, baby music class, bus drop off time,
and gymnastics class. Nap time, dinner
time, bath time, bed time…there’s never enough time and I’m always checking
that number on the clock.
When we have a newborn, the numbers that matter are
simple: how many times did baby eat in 24 hours and how many times did she pee
and poop? At some point, hours of sleep
start to matter too (for baby, not you… that’s not going to be a number you’ll
have the luxury of worrying about for another decade).
Numbers become a source of stress once our kiddos reach
toddlerhood, if not before. Then, we get
lectures on their health numbers—their weight, height, whether their
percentiles changed. This is also the
age when we all start comparing the milestones… If your neighbor’s son walked
at 11 months, should you be worried that your 13 month old still crawls? If your 2.5 year old isn’t potty trained,
well you bet your aunt can tell you all about how hers were out of diapers by
20 months. How many words does your 2
year old say? What time does he go to
bed? How often does he bathe? It’s all about the numbers.
It’s not much better when they reach elementary
school. Between the standardized testing
that begins in September of the kindergarten year and the weekly Rocket Math /
Minute Math speed tests, your kid is measured by numbers. Then for the parents,
there’s the constant discussion of the class size, numbers of kids from certain
income groups or neighborhoods in each school, and the unending fundraising
goals.
We’re still in the toddler-preschooler-and early
elementary school phases, and I’m already dreading the big numbers…you know,
the SAT scores, the number that dictates when they can drive, vote, drink, date
(can we make a law for that one???)… EEEEEEEEEEEK!
There’s the professional numbers, which vary from job to
job, but for me, involve billable hours each week and year, numbers of
continuing education classes I’ve completed, word count of my latest novel, and
deadlines for manuscript edits. And
don’t forget those personal numbers that matter…you know, like the last five
pounds of baby weight (and how many times I’ve lost and regained it), how many
miles I’ve run each week, how fast, etc.
I’m not a math girl, never have been, and never will be.
All of these numbers really make me want
to do like Elsa and LET IT GO!
Sadly, I don’t anticipate suddenly letting go of the
focus on the numbers. I’m pretty sure
that even if I consciously try not to count, I’ll still know when Jeremy whines
about changing a diaper blowout that I changed the last eleven. So, my goal for the rest of the week is to
focus on the fun numbers… the number of baby giggles I elicited; the number of
spins my preschooler does before toppling over, and the number of time Sophia
says “like” or “awesome” before catching herself talking like a teenager and
laughing uproariously.
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