Like I mentioned in my last post, scheduling and planning is what keeps our household running
But, there is a less than tangible answer to our question of surviving multiples. It mostly has to do with this momma's attitude or adjustment there of.
Before the babies were born, before I even got pregnant, I had this idea of what being a mother would be like. It may or may not have included designer diaper bags, lunch dates with friends, a Mary Poppins style nursery, delicious dinners and a clean house waiting for the Mr. when he got home from work. However, when we got pregnant (with 3) and the little ones actually arrived, our reality was far different than anything I had dreamed up in my overly romanticized brain.
We were actually in literal survival mode. For 3 1/2 months, while my babies lived at the hospital, needing machines and professional medical staff to keep them alive, all I did was pump, sleep, eat and drive up and down Parley's Canyon. That's it. That was our life.
Then they came home and although the definition of survival was changed a bit, we were still on survivor island. Were they clean? Were they fed? Whose turn was it to take a nap? (I include every body that lived under our roof in these classifications.) That's where we operated.
Diaper bags and lunch dates didn't even cross my mind. When things calmed down a bit (babies sleeping more than 3 hours at night) I was able to step back and remember that earlier idealistic vision of my life with a baby. (Or three.)
It was absolutely NOTHING like I thought it would be. But I was happy. My babies were happy. Dad was happy. We had a good life. A really good life. It helped me shape my attitude about the true definition of priorities and what was important for our family. (Because nothing about my "before" vision was bad, it just wasn't going to be our reality.)
I try to carry this over in all I do. At the end of the day, some things get done, some things don't. I try to focus on what did happen and it's importance. Does Chris know I'm still in love with him? Did I play with my kids? Did I read to them? Did they go to bed with full bellies and clean pjs? (Notice I said clean pjs, not gender appropriate. Quick confession: both my boys have slept in pink and purple pjs before.) Do they know they are loved?
At this season in my life, the dust that piles up doesn't need to know how much I care. The floor of my van doesn't need nearly as much attention as the little bodies it carries around. Those that know me best might think it's odd to not see a pile of unfolded laundry on the couch.
And I'm ok with this. I do what I can. I give the living, breathing souls the best of me. (Don't always make the mark, but I try.) And everything else gets whatever I can muster up.
I know it won't always be like this. Someday I'll be that woman, wiping her counter, even though it's already clean, wondering if it's too soon to call the grandkids to invite them over for Sunday dinner. Again.
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