Never let the kids outnumber the parents...

Over a plate of ribs and french fries on a visit back home with a six month old baby,  my little brother (always the funny kid) uttered those seven words and I steadfastly have agreed with him ever since.  I am in awe of the friends of mine who have three, four or more (wtf?!) kids.  I don't know how you do it.   Maybe you all have nannies?  Or maids?   Or maids and nannies?!   I am 99% sure that we are done after having our most recent bundle of joy.  Maybe the key to more children is less animals?  One of my favourite sayings is "this farm is a mess", a tribute to my teenage years and reading to my youngest brother.  Who would imagine twenty years later I would have bought the same book for my own kid and live by its mantra on a daily basis.  Between the dog, the two cats and the fish there is always someone who needs food or water or a walk or a belly rub.  Coincidentally those all apply to the people in our house also 😀.

Among the daily dramas that occur on the main floor of my house this is just one example:

It's before 9 am, not sure exactly what time because there's no way I've had enough caffeine to care, but both kids are done eating breakfast and I'm attempting to get everyone moving for a productive day.    I hear the big kid yell "I have to go to the bathroom!" as her little feet thunder like a heard of elephants* across the room.  I set the baby down on the floor where she immediately grabs a handful of cat hair/carpet fibers and shoves them directly in her mouth.   Meanwhile the dog is barking at the door like a ferocious feral dog at an invisible person on our front step and in the background I can hear the charming notes of Baby Shark blaring from the tv for the thirty second time this morning.  I yell at the dog to stop and in one swoop pick up the baby and shove a finger in her mouth fishing out a clump of fuzz.   

"I POOOOOOOOPED!!!!"  Comes a screaming 4 year old voice from behind a bathroom door.

"WIPE YOUR OWN ASS!!!!" We're a bit liberal on the swearing front, probably we will try to reign it in. 

(Meanwhile, Dad is downstairs hearing all of this from his WFH set up... thanks covid 😡).

I am done.   This kid can tell me about the positions of the sun and moon, can tell time on the hour, but refuses to wipe her own butt.   I wrangle the dog into his kennel one handed, the other arm holding the squirming baby as you would a sack of potatoes and I throw open the bathroom door.   

"You are almost 5 years old, I am busy with the baby, you need to do this on your own. I will not wipe your butt forever." 

"But it's a huuuuge poop".

Baby plunked on the floor with something moderately appropriate for her to chew on I inspect the damage in the bowl.  Geez kid, it's barely as big as a bite size oh Henry!   I take a deep breath and commence the clean up.   She's upset because I'm yelling, I'm upset because I'm yelling, Ramsay is used to my yelling and Ellie just yells to fit in.  That girl is loud.   We all leave the bathroom and have a talk in the living room.  She wants to be a big girl- booster seats, and going to school next year (thank god it's next year).  I tell her the teacher won't wipe her bum, she has to learn.  I offer treats, I offer toys.   She says she'll practice, I say thank you and resume my daily duties of separating the dog and baby.  

*I recall vividly as a child/teenager hearing my parents yell at us through the house "stop thumping around, you walk like an elephant etc... I never understood why it was such a big deal, or why they cared. As a parent now I realize what they were mad about, and I find myself yelling the same thing and then stopping in my tracks thinking  "I am becoming my mother" 😘...also, I still walk like an elephant.  Do as I say children, not as I do. 

That was only a five minute excerpt of one of my days.  And I only have two kids.  How does anyone do this with more crib midgets?  I rely so heavily on Madison for help and am grateful for her assistance, even if it is unwarranted sometimes.  She is adamant that she sits beside Ellie at meal times so that she can help feed her, which only has a fifty percent success rate of making it into Ellie's mouth. Thankfully Ellie is moving away from the baby cereals that require utensils because screw those things! I am so damn tired of picking up baby spoons from under the kitchen table, and she now is eating finger foods.  Girl loves any food I offer her, and has begun her very first sips of homo milk!  Which is super exciting until you remember that I have to clean up after her and she is full on in the 'I'm gonna drop this on the floor and watch mommy pick it up 43 times a meal because it's so funny to me and the dog needs to lick up all the milk my spillproof cup will leak out'.  grrrrr.  If anyone reading this can recommend a truly spillproof cup I will buy you a bottle of wine.   

In the course of the 3 hour awake window Ellie has from 6-9am I remove the dogs tongue from her mouth probably thirty-nine times, and I remove her grubby paws from gouging out his eyeballs at least that often.  The poor dog spends a significant amount of his day in his kennel, or thrown *ahem*gently guided lovingly down the basement stairs where he can't try to french kiss my child.  He barks less for some reason when he's stuck between 2 inches of plywood door; maybe he knows dad is just down the stairs and dad yells at him when he barks.   I feel terrible leaving him there to mope but I cannot break up the two of them anymore.  I am so tired of, and feel super guilty, having to separate them all the time.  Ramsay was my first baby.  I know he's jealous, I also know he's an asshole.  So fuck it, he was an only child for the first 7 years of his life, he can chill out on the stairs for 6 months while this runt learns to keep her paws off of him.   He sure doesn't try to deep throat Madison anymore... must be that delicious formula breath?

If I have managed to keep Ellie entertained and Maddy is at daycare (YAY!!!  I love my dayhome lady) I have a smidge of time.  I spend a few minutes googling what milestones Ellie should be at now, she's approaching nine months and because I have absolutely zero sense of time or the days of the week it hits me like a ton of bricks that yeah, this kid is gonna start walking and eating "people food" as we call it and changing sleep habits pretty much right now.   I'm sorry, isn't it still April 16th or so?   In the last ten days Ellie has moved from her army crawls to proper upright crawling and now she can take her walker anywhere she wants.  I, more than once, have caught her on the bottom step of the staircase and heading north.  I drop the bottle I'm washing and run to the staircase to watch the action unfold.  This will either end poorly or not.   I have a severe case of 'second-child syndrome'.   I can only assume that this gets worse the more children you have?   By the fourth or fifth kid the oldest just raises the youngest right?   

She crawls slowly up the stairs, pausing to turn and look at me for approval.  Go on baby girl, you climb away.  You're getting heavy anyway.  She gets to the top of the stairs and is obviously proud of herself.  A huge smile on her face she turns quickly and nearly does a header down the stairs she just conquered.   Baby girl, one thing at a time.   The elbow shaped noodle with a rich, creamy orange sauce is bubbling away on the stove and I'm sure I just heard the water boil over.  The dog is squeaking at the back door so he can run and nose dive under the neighbours fence.   I glance at the clock and contemplate how long until nap time, what we're having for dinner and when Las Vegas will reopen so I can get the fuck outta dodge.  Mama needs a break.  

A few months ago, on Father's Day, we left the kids with grandma (it seemed appropriate, I wanted a break on Mothers Day too myself!) and went for a fun afternoon downtown.  We drank tequila while eating food our kids wouldn't even try, watching the people strolling on 17th ave.   

Mike asks me out of the blue: "Would you have another one?"  

Without skipping a beat my answer comes pouring out of my mouth: "In a heartbeat".