If I Had a Penny...

...for every time I heard the phrase “Wow! You have your hands full!” I seriously could afford a part-time nanny.

(This is a perfect opportunity to say Thank God for my mom, who actually is like a part-time nanny since she comes to help out every week. Thanks, Mom!)

Not long ago I was on one of my favorite websites, Café Press. I love this site; you can find anything imaginable. Just type in a keyword or phrase and chances are someone has designed something fun on the subject that can be made into t-shirts, aprons, hats, buttons, etc. That said, I have encountered some worthless, boring, tacky designs.

Was wasting precious time online one day when I ran across the cutest and most appropriate design featuring the phrase, “If you think my hands are full, you should see my heart.” (Maybe someone hint-hint will buy me the tee or tote for my birthday.)

I LOVE this. Because it’s true, really. I hear it EVERY single day – even when I don’t have all the kids in tow, because they are obviously so close in age – that my hands are full. And each time I think to myself how blessed and privileged I am to have all these amazing, unique, tiny boys in my life, in my heart.

Full indeed. And I wouldn’t trade it for the world!

Chubbs

We are rounding the corner on Quatro's 4 month birthday, and I am still breastfeeding. This is amazing, because it is longer than I breastfed all of the other three combined.

Of course it also means I am in unchartered territory, at least for me. And as every breastfeeding mom will agree, there are endless opportunities to second guess your ability to adequately feed your infant.

I have found myself doing just this, continuously. Is he getting enough food? Why is he pulling off? Should I supplement with formula? When do I know he's getting enough food during the day so I can help push him to sleep through the night? It's endless!

And then the other day reality hit when I was photographing. Do you see how chubby this little guy is? He must be getting enough food! Why am I always second guessing myself? Look at those rolls! See those cheeks! Check out that double chin! How about those thighs!

Clearly, I need'nt underestimate my ability to feed him.

Nappy Madness

Yesterday I was changing Cubby's fifth (?!) stinky nappy of the day when I noticed Tadpole staring at me contemplatively. I gave him a quizzical look and he observed, "Mommy, you change nappies really super duper crazy fast."

(Yes, that is one English word that has held over from my London mommying days - nappy. Try as I may, I cannot seem to say "diaper" without sounding disgustingly deliberate and feeling silly. They are, and always will be, nappies to me.)

"I've changed a lot of them, honey, and practicing something a whole lot usually means you get better and faster at doing it."

This got me to thinking about how many consecutive days of nappy changing I've had: about 1,500. Let's just say I averaged 10 nappies per day, which is probably conservative given the nonstop newborn nappies and the fact that I've had multiple kids in nappies for all but about 400 or so of those days. Anyway, if it was only 10, that means I've changed about 15,000 nappies so far. Wait, can that be right?? FIFTEEN THOUSAND.

And I am not done. Figure in about 26 more months of nappies, or 780 days, which equals another 7,800. Which totals 22,800.

Now. If each nappy takes about 2 minutes to change (conservative, once again, because I am not factoring in chasing down the stinky child, cooing at the cute but wet baby, rounding up and changing into a new outfit after the last one suffered from a poo blowout, refilling the nappies in the changing table, searching for a new packet of wet wipes with a wiggly naked baby in tow, etc etc, etc...) that's 45,600 minutes. Or 760 hours.

Which means that I will have spent the equivalent of one continuous, non-stop month of my 30s doing absolutely nothing but changing nappies.

This doesn't include pull-ups. Or sick days. Or friends/playdates/babysitting nappies.

Twenty two thousand? Really? Did I do my math correctly? That just seems absurd.

And then I wonder where all my time goes.

Now to think about how much landfill space I've used, and how much money I've spent........

Cuddles

I’ve started this little ritual of cuddling with the older two boys in their beds at bedtime, and it has ROCKED MY MOMMY WORLD.

Perhaps I am the last mommy on earth to do this, and it is normal routine for moms to curl up in bed and bond with the kiddos at night. So I’ll start by telling you why, up until now, I haven’t.

My weight would sadly collapse a pack-n-play, so I don’t do it with baby Quatro. I’m not about to high jump over the crib walls to squeeze into the fetal position with my wiggly 22-month old, so no in-bed cuddles with Cubby. Until we moved into the new house, Tigger was in a toddler bed – and though I’m short, I still hung off the end. And crawling into the bottom bunk with Tadpole was possible, but not likely given that the boys were all in the same room and I never really thought about just snuggling with one.

Now that we’ve moved, the older two boys bunk, unbunked, together in one room (the littler two share another). With the twin beds parallel to each other, it is now physically possible and actually comfortable to lay down with them.

I still hadn’t really considered doing it regularly, until one night a few weeks ago when they were still wound up from the activities and guests of the day, asking me a thousand “why” questions, and generally delaying their bedtime with a variety of amusing childlike ‘needs’. I think there were some tears going on, too, but honestly I can’t remember why because the next ten minutes melted away any negative memories of that night.

I slunk in next to Tadpole, for starters – I do remember he was the one that was upset. As we whispered little words and hugged, he relaxed and I softened. We shared the joys of the day and I asked him if there was anything upsetting him that he wanted to talk about. He did. That doesn’t happen very often.

Don’t get the false idea that it was this intense, dramatic conversation with revelations left and right and bright new insight into my eldest child’s mind. It wasn’t. But it was real, and innocent, and sweet, and necessary, and memorable – at least to me.

And here’s what floored me. With all the testosterone, aggression, energy, and general “boyness” that goes on daily, the nighttime cuddles with both boys have been calming, joyful, lovey-dovey, and… coveted. Just one night of a five-minute cuddle and chat with each of them, and we have all been left hungry for more. A night isn’t complete now without that treasured time.

I’m a sentimental mess, and this kind of stuff adds kindling to my emotional fire. I can have the best or worst day, I can be physically and mentally drained, I can even be questioning what on earth I have done popping out four boys in such rapid succession – but 10 minutes at the end of my day for nose kisses, secrets, happy and sad recaps of the day, and closeness makes every. single. moment. worth it.

Impromptu Science Lesson

One thing I like about my boys is their curiosity, especially when it comes to science. There are numerous science projects you can do with kids, from creating volcanoes to constructing cacti.

Today we were talking about taste buds and ended up doing an impromptu science lesson. Hurray for the Internet (to find ideas quickly) and food (always a lure with the boys)!

Prepping for the taste testing of BITTER, SOUR, SALTY, and SWEET things:


Let the tasting of wacky items commence:



This sort of constructive project typically brings out the camaraderie in my boys:


By the end, Tadpole was going experimental crazy, mixing brown sugar (sweet) with cocoa (bitter) and pickle juice (sour):

First

On the first day of school this year, I was first in car line for pickup. If I don’t blog about how this miracle came to be, you will not believe it. That would be because I was a complete. and. utter. wreck. Oh no, not emotionally. Just physically. Getting the boys rounded up and out the door was a feat in itself. But the rest of the morning? A mess. Here’s what went down.

Tadpole had class from 9-12, and Tigger a shortened day from 9.30-11. Just by stating that you know there was trouble brewing.

Fortunately, we made it to Tadpole’s class on time. We barely got in before the door swung shut behind us, but we made it. Then I had 30 minutes to kill with an eager “why-hasn’t-my-class-started-yet” first-time preschooler, an exploration-happy 22 month old, and a baby who typically feeds at 9.30am.

I decided to sit outside Tigger’s classroom where there just so happens to be a contained area of outdoor toys just large enough to entertain but not so big as to lose kids. (Or so I thought). Tigger and Cubby went at it full force, while I decided to sit on one of those utterly uncomfortable toddler-sized chairs to feed Quatro. Let’s just say that 15 minutes passed with various comedic but not wholly unfortunate events which included a super fussy feeder who was sweating so much in the early morning FL heat that he couldn’t stay put long enough to log two minutes of consecutive nursing time, and a restless eager one year old who managed to sneak out the gate of the play area.

Anyway, at 9.22 I couldn’t take it anymore, and decided to request that Tigger be allowed to enter his new classroom. Luckily the teacher was Tadpole’s from last year. She was familiar with me and my frequently frantic family, and she let us in. Ah, I thought, I will get Tigger settled and take the younger two out to the car as soon as possible.

It was then that I noticed that Quatro had a poo. Not just a nice, teeny, sweet-scented baby poo, but a fully blown out one that had progressed down the sides of his legs.

As luck would have it, the classroom contained a small bathroom with a baby changing station, so I excused myself into it, leaving Tigger and his brother Cubby in the classroom to explore. Error number one. Or one hundred. But who’s counting?

It wasn’t until I started changing Quatro that I discovered he actually had poo everywhere – all over his new onesie (mind you, as a fourth boy he only has about 2 outfits that are all his, not hand-me-downs, and this was one of them) and all over his back even up to his shoulders.

No worries, I am quick at changing a nappy and besides, every good mom knows to carry around extra outfits for her newborn, and I had repacked the nappy bag that morning and confidently remember putting a spare green “up all night” outfit and a turtle/seashell onesie in the bag.

Apparently the changes didn’t make it into the nappy bag though. [Indeed, I came home to discover the outfits sitting unmoved in the exact place on the kitchen counter that I had repacked the nappy bag.]

So I exited the bathroom with a naked baby in a diaper (hello, Raising Arizona), hoping that it wasn’t too obvious, only to find that Cubby had pulled bins and bins of toys out from the cabinets of the freshly organized “welcome-to-your-first-day-of-school” classroom. As I held the baby and corralled Cubby into his cheap, filmsy, “we’ll-use-this-only-for-day-trips-to-Disney” umbrella stroller from Target, the other freshly made-up, showered, and pressed Moms and Dads calmly walked into the classroom with their doll children.

To make matters worse, have you ever tried pulling a strong 22-month old away from a world of fun and games and other children, and buckling him into a stroller, one-handed? Just as I had basically dropped him into the buggy, I heard a large splat and suddenly felt this wet sensation all over my feet. I looked down, and to my horror, the baby had puked – no, this wasn’t just a spit up – but actually vomited his entire that’s-what-happens-when-you-feed-me-in-the-sweltering-heat breakfast all over my feet and the sparkling clean classroom floor. Sweet.

Capturing the next few minutes into words is impossible. You really had to have been there to witness me trying to hold frantic naked baby, clean up vomit, wipe my slippery feet, re-find and re-corral Cubby into said wimpy stroller, buckle in baby, find nappy bag again, mutter words of apology to pristine parents, graciously thank teaching assistant for help with out of control child situation, and excuse myself from the classroom, all while forgetting to actually say goodbye to Tigger, whom I was leaving for the first time in a school setting. Needless to say, retrospect wishes I had all that on video.

I would like to say the craziness ended there – and it almost did – except for the minor mishap of being 20 minutes late to pick up Tigger from his first day of school. (That is a whole different story.) Good thing the kid is relatively secure and calm and oblivious to the fact that every other Mommy had returned to take her child home for lunch and here he was, still hangin’ with the teacher.

Being that he is in a 2-1/2 year old class, I am required to physically walk in and retrieve him, instead of being able to simply pick him up in car line. So when I arrived at school, I went ahead and parked in the car line, woke my sleeping baby, unbuckled the Cubby of Pent Up Energy, left a car full of melting groceries, and quickly ran to Tigger’s class to pick him up. Thankfully he was blissfully unaware of my tardiness and was simply pleased to see me, which I was to see him, as well, and we all happily piled back into the Mommy Bus to wait for Tadpole’s class to be released for the day.

And that is the story of the day that Four Boy Mom managed to beat out all the other anxious moms to be first in car line. By the time Tadpole arrived in the car, I probably seemed calm and completely put together to the teacher who delivered him back to me.

But now you know… I wasn’t.

Breakthrough!

At three months, Quatro’s typical night schedule is this: feed at 6:30, down by 7:15, bottle from Daddy at 11, wake somewhere between 2-4 for a drowsy snack on the boob, and up again between 6-6:30. And finally last night: we had our breakthrough.

Or so I thought.

About 10, I drifted off to la la land, dreaming, oddly enough, of high school. Any mom can identify with what happened next: I awoke on my own and when I reached over for my handy iPhone, I was shocked to read 5:50! Nevermind that I was lying in a pool of milk; my night owl had made that first sleep-through-the-night breakthrough!!

Or wait. Is he ok? I raced down the long hallway, nearly tripping over the down-then-up step of our 1970s style sunken living room, to check on him. Not wanting the clever little tyke to smell my milk soaked shirt, I slyly reached a hand out to feel the rising motion of his chest, then rapidly tip-toed out.

I did the happy dance back through the hall, already planning in those few seconds the glorious things I would tackle and accomplish now that I would be a well-rested mommy again.

I lay satisfactorily down in my bed – oops, on a huge wet spot – and closed my eyes. Are you kidding? I was too excited (and soaked) to return to sleep, so I leapt up and decided that today I would properly get ready, taking time to not only dress myself before 8:00, but also to put makeup on AND brush my hair. Imagine that! Oh the luxury of it all!

Halfway through my eye makeup I heard a faint but familiar noise. I stepped to the bathroom door. What was that? I stepped into the hallway. OH MY, it was the baby, screaming at the top of his lungs. I whirled around to stare at the monitor, whose lights were dancing loudly but was not producing any noise.

And then it dawned on me that my trusty monitor had been silenced, probably by Cubby who has discovered it’s fun flashy lights and rapid almost-out-of-range beeping, and quite frequently mistakes it as a toy. My little guy probably HAD woken up around 3 am, but silent monitor left me slumbering peacefully in my bed, unaware.

Baby monitors have probably only been around for a few decades, and certainly have been mistakenly turned off or muted by hundreds of moms (or weary husbands!) before me. So I’m not alone in this experience. And Quatro was clearly completely fine.

But so much for the “breakthrough.”