Baby Slinger

This morning Phil delivered Ramona to our bed at about six. She was having a little asthma and I gave her a breathing treatment and waited to see if she was well enough to go to school. We lay there halfway between sleeping and waking, as I counted her breaths per minute and the seconds between coughs. Sumner bounded in about 45 minutes later, wanting to wrestle and cuddle in a rather active manner. We wanted to lay stillish. I asked him to stop, be quieter, relax, cuddle gently, but he wanted to tickle my armpits and dive under the covers. I got rather snappy with him.

Finally, we all got up and went about getting ready for school. I began making my cup of tea and oatmeal. Although Sumner ate an apple and yogurt at 5:20 and then more yogurt at 6:30, he was suddenly ravenous. Yet he needed to get his socks on, take his medicine, brush his teeth, and bundle up for school. He whined and stomped and didn’t cooperate. I think it was more about the snappy mother than an empty belly. I handed him a re-warmed leftover pancake as he walked out the door with Phil.

Then Ramona was hungry. Although my tea was getting cold, I cut up some fruit for her and scooped up some yogurt. Finally I sat down to eat my cold oatmeal and lukewarm tea and scan the paper.

And then the talking began. Oh, Ramona has a lot to say in the morning. Champion Chatterbox is the nickname she inherited from me. My mom says I used to chatter in the morning. There was lots of "Did you know that my teacher is actually a mommy?" and "When we move to New Orleans I am going to wear bows in my hair." I had to ask her to "just be quiet for a few minutes.” Again, I was rather snappy. For God's sake, I hadn't even been able to finish my tea.

Phil came back from dropping Sumner at the bus stop and immediately noticed how snappish I was. I tried to conceal it, but it seeped through. I was wishing that caretaking/parenting/ family/ relationships could be simpler. My house is organized now, so why can't the family fall in line? We have schedules, routines, rules, and expectations, so why can't I get a hot cup of tea?

While Phil was easing me out of snappy with some gentle teasing and the tea began to do its de-grouching work, Ramona wondered into her bedroom. She was talking, a lot. A few minutes later, as I was kissing Phil good-bye, I peaked in at her through the crack between her open door and the door jam. Here was a future-woman-mom (who may also be a teacher) who had it figured out. She had fashioned out of pop beads a baby holster and placed two babies on one side and one on the other. This allowed her the freedom to talk to them while she brushed her hair and sorted through her barrettes. I am sure she could also drink a cup of hot tea and make her family operate on remote control.

That's what I need: a baby holster. But I don't have babies any more, they're kids. So I guess I'd settle for a couple of horse poles that I could crosstie them to when I need some peace and quiet. Or a mute button. A mute button could be a good thing.