Diary of an Omniturnal Mom

Omniturnal mom has taken a little break since baby number three started sleeping through the night. Of course, every once in a while, her day starts literally when the new day starts. And those are always the days where there is some etched-in-stone appointment first thing in the morning. They know. They just know. Even when mommy doesn't say anything. It's like the little buggers are clairvoyant.

Monday, 12 a.m.

Mommy has been asleep for at least an hour when she hears wailing that seems to be coming from the older son's room. It's hard to tell, though, since the past few nights she's also been woken by an owl hooting in the backyard. (Asshole.)

It's Danny. He's just yelling in his sleep for no apparent reason.

2 a.m. 

Danny wails again. Mommy goes in to find him bolt upright in bed, wide awake, saying, "I'm hungry." Seriously? A bowl of chili, corn chips, two glasses of milk, an apple scone and an apple were not enough for this 40 pound pipsqueak? Mommy does a quick calculation and determines that giving the malcontent a cheese stick would be quickest route back to bed. She can't believe this is and always has been her best idea, from infancy and booby juice right up on up to shoving a cheese stick in the 4 year old's face at 2 a.m.

2:20 a.m.

Mommy is snuggled back in bed. She hears wailing again. It's the girlchild. Mommy prays that girlchild didn't hear or sense that her brother is munching on a cheese stick in his bedroom. She does not want to have to go downstairs again. Mommy goes to check on her and finds her in the hallway on the way to the bathroom, crying, "I've got to go pee pee."

Well, hallelujah. At least one child gets up to pee in the middle of the night. But there's no need to wake the hole house, okay cupcake?

6:30 a.m.

The baby, who is actually a toddler now, is up for his morning feeding. He squawks a bit when she puts him back down, but mommy manages to get in another hour of sleep, which is better than sex and chocolate combined at this point.

7:30 a.m.

All the kids are up. Mommy is dissatisfied with the state of her hair that she just washed the night before. She looks kind of like Phil Specter on what he thinks is a good day. She considers taking another shower. Two showers in 12 hours? She can't remember the last time that happened. 

But she is quickly sidetracked by the act in ring number two, a k a the kids' bathroom.

"Mommy, Owen is splashing in the toilet," Fiona says. Mommy remembers that Danny just went to the bathroom and thinks, "Well, might as well clean him up and take that shower."

She cleans up the mess and the baby and puts more clothes on him and flushes the toilet. Then she hops in the shower. Her last words were a reminder to her daughter to flush the toilet and put the seat down and close the bathroom door.

Perhaps that was too many instructions in a row for a 2 year old.

Perhaps mommy was being overly optimistic.

Perhaps mommy just desperately wanted to leave the house for a doctor's appointment that morning without feeling as though she just returned from a wilderness camping trip.

She returned from her shower to find a bathroom massacre involving baby wipes and more toilet bowl splashing. And, no, Fiona hadn't flushed the toilet. Or put the seat down. Or closed the door.

Pee-pee water all over the floor, the step stool, the toilet, the baby and his clothes, the girl and her clothes and now mommy's freshly showered feet. Baby wipes in the toilet. The baby squeezing a wad of baby wipes sopping wet from pee pee toilet water.  

It seems the past 8 hours have been a perfect reminder of why mommy does not want any more children. (And, yes, the shower was totally worth it.)