What?!? Those of you who know me well, know that there is NO WAY I ever balanced a duck on my head or had one within a couple
feet yards miles of my head (I have a somewhat irrational fear of birds- but that’s a long unrelated post for another time) and you also know that I probaby wouldn’t know a soufflé if it was served to me. Those of you who don’t know these things about me (but do now), may still question what the heck any of it has to do with motherhood and why it would be included in my Motherhood Manual.
Here’s the link… it would be easier to balance a duck on your head while making the perfect soufflé than it would be to do what many mothers of toddlers and infants have to do… nurse a baby while potty training a toddler. There’s an image in my head that I really wish I had the artistic skills to portray accurately. If I had any drawing skills beyond those I cultivate with Draw Something, my “Welcome to Motherhood” line of greeting cards would put Hallmark out of business. Let’s see if my words can do it justice, though (and if any of you are
budding wealthy, looking-for-investment-opportunities artists, you can contact me in the comment section below to discuss money making options in the greeting card business)…
Let me set the scene ala Hallmark-esque imagery…
a woman serenely nursing her infant
infant gently suckling
woman gazing adoringly at perfect infant
toddler sitting beside her reading his board book
toddler quiely taps the mother and tells her that he needs to go potty
mother nods approvingly
toddler steps into bathroom a few feet away, returning shortly with a big smile to the proud mother
the scene is complete… the duck is balanced and the soufflé is lightly browned.
Yah, right! Welcome to my world… souffléed duck spilled on my head. New scene (less Hallmark, more reality.) Here we go…
me sitting on the couch nursing my infant (who upon hearing ANY sound whatsoever would firm up his clenched mouth grip on my nipple, continue sucking, and whip his head around to see what made the sound… thus stretching me like a balloon animal. At which point, if the noise warranted a response from him, he would suddenly open his mouth, spilling all the milk he hadn’t swallowed and sending my boob slingshotting back against my body much like the aforementioned balloon and with a similar pppbbbbbtttt spray).
my infant would then return his head to my chest in a frenetic, grunt-filled search with his mouth (similar I would think to what a starving piglet would sound and look like)
during this I would
gaze stare incredulously at my demanding little pig infant
my toddler would sit beside me reading his board book (unless he was making bad choices with a turkey baster)
next my toddler would turn to me and say “I have to go potty… NOW!” At which point the previously mentioned head whipping, milk spraying, balloon animal making process would occur for the umpteenth time
my toddler would then hustle to the bathroom and yell “I can’t get my pants down!” Or, something more toddleresque but meaning the same. I would then continue nursing (like I had a choice with my son, death grip de Vries, latched on) and walk to the bathroom to help said toddler.
Now, here’s the image I wish I could portray with a drawing…
me, squatting down (thighs of steel), still nursing, trying one handedly to pull down the toddler’s pants (which, of course, probably included a button or something else ridiculous to have in toddler clothing), and then attempting to direct the toddler’s spray into the toddler sized potty.
[side note] Whoever designed toilets for toddlers must have never had a toddler. The little potties are smaller than a regular toilet… because the toddler’s aim is so good?!?!? Toddler boys could be stood on the side of an olympic pool and told to pee in it and I guarantee some innocent bystander on a lawn chair five feet away is going to get hit with spray. However, give them a small heater vent opening in the floor?… they can nail that one (different story).
back to my story-
the toddler is done peeing. With trembling thighs, I help him pull up his pants.
we emerge from the bathroom, having left pee and probably milk on the floor and possibly on us.
the toddler is happy, the mama is proud, the bathroom door is closed. We go back to our loud messy nursing and reading on the couch.
Souffléd duck on our heads.