A Fine Balance

I've come to discover that being a mom is all about the timing.

My day is an intricately choreagraphed dance, a delicate pas-de-deux (or rather, pas-de-trois, I should say). Extend the leg here. Flick the hand there. Don't forget to spot when you turn, or you'll get dizzy. Each step must be completed in sequence and on time or it all falls apart. Or I fall apart. Nowhere is this more apparent than on the nights that Mr Earth is not home. He is in rehearsal for a play which takes him out of the house at bedtime at least three nights per week, more when the show goes up.

The Boy and I had comfortable partnership going. A routine. Everything happened like clockwork. There were good nights and bad nights, but the difference between the two was the gentle ripple of hair in a stray breeze. Nothing that couldn't be righted easily. And if Mr Earth or I couldn't be home at bedtime, while it was unfortunate, it was no problem.

And then the Little Guy joined the dance. After stumbling around for a bit, we found our rhythm again. It's different, more complex, but finally manageable. Instead of a couple, we now have a quartet. While it may have all the grace of a do-si-do hoedown, it still works. Except for on nights when one of us isn't home. One child is left partnerless, and one parent left to take up the slack. Since I am still breastfeeding, that task usually falls to me.

The evening program starts at 6:45pm and usually lasts until about 8:45pm. It can be a very long two hours involving much crying, whining and general unpleasantness. Not all of this behaviour is due to the children. Bathe the Boy, diaper, pyjamas, story, milk, unwind with one (not-short-enough) tv program, brush teeth, pink eye medication, wash hands, all the while juggling the entertainment of an increasingly tired Little Guy. Then upstairs to bed, dump the baby in the crib, take the Boy to the potty, tuck the Boy in with songs and funny voices. Then pick up the baby, downstairs for special excema bath, apply creams, feed. Hear door open on the monitor. Stop the baby mid-feed and take him upstairs to see what's going on. Change the Boy's poopy bum. Go back downstairs and finish the feed, put pyjamas on and swaddle. Turn lights down low, let baby suck on finger while jiggling him to sleep and hope he doesn't scream too much. If he does, listen to Boy shout "I can't sleep (Little Guy)!" over the monitor. When assured that the baby is finally asleep, take him upstairs turn on the sound machine and put him down. Breathe a sigh of relief, and relax. And wait for him to wake up again.

I could compress this routine somewhat. I could bathe, cream, feed and swaddle the Little Guy while the Boy drinks his milk and goes to bed alone. That's what my mom would suggest. But it also leaves the Boy to essentially put himself to bed, and we lose that time to connect. And, he's three. I don't think he should be able to put himself to bed yet, even if he would do it. Not to mention that the Little Guy needs, nay demands, and absolute quiet and distraction-free zone when being put down for the night. So, I continue the fancy footwork, and hope that in time, it will again become like clockwork.

And tomorrow night, I go out for dinner with friends, and Mr Earth does the bedtime dance. And has to do bottle-feeding on top of it all. Wish him luck.