No one prepared me for REAL motherhood. Those intense but everyday moments of motherhood.
A couple weeks ago Quinn woke up sick from a nap.
I kept Quinn in the boy's room with me so I could keep my eye on him while I changed the yucky sheets on his bed, changed his clothes, gathered anything else in the room that needed to be washed, and wiped down the mattress pad.
Amidst this I had originally closed the door and locked it leaving Maxson and Bryson out of the room so I could focus on the mess ahead and Quinn. Of course those other 2 boys are having a fit I left them out of the room. Through Maxson's frantic tears he goes down stairs finds a knife and is then able to unlock the door happily allowing himself in to the throw up room so now I have Quinn's mess as well as 3 needy children all in one small room.
I go to put Quinn in the bath, rush downstair to get a couple oils, Lavender and Wild Orange, to put in the bath with him. Of course when I get up there Bryson is trying his hardest to get in the bath with all his clothes on and Quinn has pulled out his yuckified stuffed animal from the basket of things I need to put in the laundry.
So we start the bath with just Quinn to have his own alone time. Bryson and Maxson are dying to get in but I talk in them out of getting in with Quinn enough to wait a few minutes.
I get Quinn out. Let the bath drain, refill it for Maxson and Bryson. Go downstairs to get Quinn a cup to throw up in. Try to get Quinn dressed I can tell he's starting to not feel well again. As I sit outside the bathroom door watching Maxson and Bryson in the water continually asking Max not to do this or that (dump water on Bryson's head, use tons of soap to make bubbles, taking toys away from Bry, etc) Quinn is in my lap pale as a ghost throwing up a little here and there as I keep comforting him.
Once Quinn's episode is done I go in the bathroom trying to crouch enough to make it comfy for Quinn to cuddle me while dumping the throw up in the toilet. Of course Bryson needs to get out of the bath tub and come look in the toilet and cup to see what I'm doing. So as I'm trying to cuddle with sick Quinn with one hand, pushing wet slippery Bryson back in the tub with another as he is grasping onto the cup or toilet to get a better look and I'm trying to flush the toilet as fast as I can before it touches anyone and then rinse the cup out to be ready for the next episode on Quinn, and surely Maxson is doing something I don't love in the bathroom.
It's that moment that i'm like "No one prepared me for this. No one told me I would literally be juggling throw up, sick children, and slippery fish children all at the same time and no one would be around to help."
When your first child is sick everything you do in life revolves around that one sick child. Your day and tasks stop all to comfort that little one.
Enter more children and one sick child and the day keeps going. Everyone else still wants to be fed and making messes while one just wants and needs to be cuddled and loved and held and for time to stop for them. But it can't.
The struggle of the juggle is real.
You press forward.
You keep going.
You get through it.
In the moment you do what needs to be done and as much as you can, and then afterwards looking back at it you're like "Woah, that was tough stuff and I made it through!"