Friday, May 31, 2013

Numbering My Days

"Teach us to number our days, that we may gain hearts of wisdom."  

Since becoming the mother of two children, I have noticed something occurring that I would never have dreamed would happen.  I have lost track of the days.  

I have worked night shift in a hospital, and days, nights, and evenings in a nursing home.  I thought I knew the meaning of losing track of the days.  Every day was the same, for the most part.  I came in, got report, took vitals, gave out medications, dealt with crisis, gave out more medications, dealt with more crisis, gave even more medications, gave report, and went home.  Then the next day I did the same.  There was no such thing as weekends, or holidays; nothing changed except the Coumadin dose. 

Then I became a full-time stay-at-home mom.  I did the same thing every day, but I still knew when one day stopped and the next began.  There was a rhythm, a routine, and most of the time I could tell you the day of the week and month.  I could tell you exactly how old Ladybug was and give you the gestational age of Turkey, as well as tell you exactly how much longer I had till my scheduled c-section date.  

And then Turkey came along.  And bless her little heart, she has rocked my world.  

Now, I'll pour myself a glass of milk, drink a sip, think "this tastes like it has Sprite in it," and then realize it's sour because it expired four days ago.  I realize at 2330 at night that it's Ladybug's "x" month birthday.  I'll think to myself that the library books are due in two days when in reality they were due yesterday.  I'll tell myself to remember to pay a certain bill and then get an overdue notice because I think it's April when it's actually May.  Someone will ask me how old my children are and I'll say 18 months and 7 months, and then correct myself and say wait, actually... she's 20 months and she's almost 9 months.  Which means she has a doctor's appointment coming up, at an office three hours away from here.  Might ought to find out when that is...

Any hour of the day, you might see lights on in my house.  I may be up at 0500.  I may be up at 2000.  Then again, I might be asleep at either of those hours.  Or I might be asleep at 1600 because I was up at 0200.  I sleep in my clothes.  I do housework in my pajamas.  I forget when the last time I had a shower was, other than Sundays and Wednesdays.   I'll be walking out of the bathroom and pick up the toothpaste and think "why didn't he put this back in the cabinet" and then realize, that must mean I haven't brushed my teeth since he left.  Yuck.  

I don't know if this is just what happens to a stay at home mom after a year, or if this is caused by having two children, or if it's caused by having children less than a year apart.  Perhaps it's caused by moving.  Perhaps it's caused by being an unorganized hodgepodge of a woman.  Maybe it's made worse by not having a husband coming home every day at a certain time; after all, if no one sees you besides your toddler and baby why bother dressing decently?  

When the preacher told us to number our days, and told us of a man who filled a jar with marbles and took one out every day to remind himself of the passing of time, I understood why better than I would have at any previous time of my life.  I feel like I blinked and flew from laying in the hospital bed writhing in pain and saying "he'd better hurry up and get here but ooooooohhhhh holy cow don't wait on him!" to having a baby about to crawl.  I look over at her stretched out sleeping and think, what happened to that little curled up bony baby I used to have?   I picked up Ladybug to put her in bed last night and wondered, when did she go from my baby to my toddler?  When Ladybug was the same age as Turkey is now, I was in my last trimester, waddling and barely able to roll over.  

No wonder we young mothers are told to cherish the moments.  It's so easy to let them fly by and think we are never going to get out of this stage of life.  Yet we blink, and our newborns are running towards the street.  At least that's how it seems.

Enough of that... my poor toddler just woke up and it sounds like she's coughing up a lung.  I hate allergies. =/

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