Parenting often seems to be a juggling act and the balance between extremes frequently eludes me.…
Mommy Failure Moment
You don’t know pain as a mother until you listen to your 4 year old crying and throwing up in her room by herself because there is only one you and that you is currently trying to keep her very active and mobile 7 month old sister alive and in one working piece.
After Aven fell off the bed this weekend and almost climbed out of her crib the very same day, all our energy is going into following around and keeping her safe. Even the most baby proofed house wouldn’t do the trick as she is able to pull herself up on furniture but not always stay upright, leading to many bumps and bruises if you aren’t there to catch her. Not to mention the whirlwind that is her sister – leaving a path of potential choking hazards in her wake. She’s getting much better, but still. Constant supervision of the baby is the only way right now.
When my heart can take no more, I pop Aven into her exersaucer clearly labeled “do not leave children unsupervised” and go into the next room to give what little comfort I can to Adri as she battles her way through yet another migraine. I snuggle, rub her back, work through breathing exercises and hold her hair when she throws up just like my Mom did for me. About 5 minutes later when Aven has had her full of being confined and is probably sitting in a very dirty diaper and completely starving, I switch it up, leaving Adri again so I can care for her sister.
Now please don’t get the wrong idea, I have a super amazing, loving, hands on hubby who was unfortunately at work at the time, caring for other sick kids at Children’s Hospital therefore without the luxury of leaving early to come help out with our own sick kids. I couldn’t simply bring Aven in the room with Adri because, even at her happiest, Aven is a chatterbox! A giggle-y, cooing, squealey noise machine. Not exactly conducive to helping a little girl with a migraine.
The straw that broke this mama’s heart was when I had managed to calm Aven down again and get her in a relatively safe place, I popped my head in to check on Adri only to find she had fallen asleep. Alone. Without the comforting arms and soothing voice of a Mama that is in every memory of my childhood illnesses. As I sat on the floor bawling into my Kleenex, Aven tugged on the corner, understanding the covering of my face to be an invitation to play her favorite game of peekaboo. I obliged, whispering “Boo” in between swipes of tears.
Tell me Mamas, how on earth do you manage to keep 2 active children with 2 – often conflicting – sets of needs safe and sound?