The day of a stay-at-home Mom

The day begins as many do for any Mom, an unset alarm clock that wakes you with the peaceful blast of a cry. "Oh, just one more minute" was a thing of the past. No more sleep for you because you know that you can't let a newborn baby cry for to long, nor do you want to. As your new baby is in need you wipe the sleep from your eyes and you dig deep to find the patients to get up and calmly do what any regular person would struggle to do with a full 8 hours of continuous sleep. Notice the word "continuous", because that is not a thing anymore at these beginning stages of parenting. So, you sluggishly awaken and get your hungry, wet, needing to be burped and put back to sleep angel. Phew! Back to sleep for a little while. Just kidding! You have another kid. So if you're anything like me, then your day has only just begun to touch the tip of the iceberg. It's a whopping five o'clock in the morning and you are just finishing feeding the new baby and there is no time to sleep because you need to pump out the rest of the milk that your sweet baby fell asleep on that now remains in your right boob. As you finish that, you quietly make your way into the kitchen to make your oldest sons breakfast and pack his lunch for school that day. In addition to that, you make your loving husbands energy drink, because you know he really struggled with having to wake up and go back to sleep multiple times during the night, as well as lay out his breakfast for that morning. Where has the time gone? Now, it's time to wake up your oldest son to go to school. You lay out his clothes for the day and tell him to "be quiet" so that he doesn't wake your one year old who is sleeping in the room next to his. Yes, there are 3! You make your way back downstairs to find your husband still in the bed. "Sweetie, it's time to get up". He complains about this and follows with "but I'm so tired". You bite your tongue. "Tired?" you think. Really? Don't get me started. Your husband leaves, your oldest son leaves, and now your one year old is awake. You get him out of the crib while giving him morning kisses and hugs as you make your way to the changing table. After you have changed him you find yourself yet again in the kitchen making another breakfast. Only this time you have to physically feed it to the child because let's face it, if you don't it will look as though he has decided to finger paint himself, his highchair, the walls, and the floor. All done! Now to catch a break. Just kidding! There is the unset alarm clock again. You heat up some pre-pumped breast milk and make your way into the room and pick up your sweet scream machine and feed him. He has found himself quickly into a milk coma. Now, you have to pump and get the built up milk supply out of your breast which painfully feels as though someone is trying to slowly cut off your nipple in order to get you to tell them what they want to know. As you finish you find yourself in the kitchen, again, washing all the morning dishes and bottles while bopping around to the tunes playing for your one year; "The wheels on the bus go round and round", while trying to decide if you'd rather stab yourself in the eye with the fork, that you just loaded into the dishwasher, or listen to this song again. Now, Mr. Fussy pants wants out of his chair....but wait, you need to go to the bathroom. Oh, "he can just come with me". As you are making your way into the bathroom the new baby is now awake and crying and needs your love too. "Oh, he can just come with me too". Because let's face it, who in the world wants to listen to two babies scream their heads off while trying to go to the bathroom. That just sounds stressful. So you sit there, using your porcelain throne, while holding one screaming baby and trying to get the other one out of the trashcan, all while yelling "no! You can't eat the toilet paper. Give that back! Open your mouth now!" As you combat your way back to a standing position, you begin to think to yourself "maybe letting them scream while I use the restroom wouldn't have been so stressful". You head back into the focal point of your life, the kitchen, and you happen to glance at the clock on the stove. HOLY MOTHER OF GOD! It's only 8:30am....