Tales From the Bassinet

10:00 p.m. Finally - the kids are asleep, the youngest one is safely in her bassinet - not crying for a change - and the bath water is running. As I step into the steamy nirvana, I push aside the flood of chores I could be doing right now - the laundry I could be folding, the dishes I could be washing, the bills I could be paying, the toys I could be organizing...

Thirty mintues to soak... please, Abby Kate, just sleep for 30 minutes.

I sink down into the water and enjoy the silence of my quiet house as the challenges of the day play through my head. Challenges such as the dirty diapers I lost count of by 11 am, the piles of goldfish I swept up eighteen times, the many moments I firmly told Christa, "Stop getting into that," and the large mountain of dirty clothes from the day that proves my kids are surely the messiest children in America. As I start to relax a little, guilt washes over me with the bath water for the moment I screamed at Christa for throwing her cup on the floor. Sure she shouldn't have thrown it, but I lost my cool without listening to what she wanted - "ice cold water" - not lukewarm water. She was very clear; I was the one in a hurry. Sure I wouldn't have yelled at her if she had just been better behaved during the morning, but she's TWO, and I'm.... not two.
Five minutes into the bath, just as the temperature and water level are getting really good, I hear it. Jet Fighters shooting each other down directly over my house might be a less scary sound.

Waaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!

Come on, Abby Kate! Mommy's had such a hard day - is 10 minutes to shave my legs really so much to ask??

The crying continues as if Hershey's has just announced they are going out of business. As I reluctantly hurl my legs over the side of the tub, patting myself dry while saying, "it's OK - Mommy will be right there," to no one in particular, I reach for my bath robe, the bags under my eyes feeling like they weigh a hundred pounds or more.

It's going to be a long night.

As I walk over to my clearly distressed infant, the intense frustration subsides as I wipe her tear-stained cheeks and reach to pick her up. Silence fills the house once again. As she sucks on the pacifier and holds onto my finger like it's the softest teddy bear in the world, I melt, and feel guilty for taking so long to get to her. My mind fast forwards to when she's older and I will give anything to be able to comfort her so easily. Surely my hand will not always have the magical powers it possesses now. One day, she might prefer to sleep at her friend's house over cuddling with me at 10 pm.... or 2 am for that matter. And I have a feeling that a pink pacifier will do little to cure her first broken heart.

I sit in the rocking chair, soothing my youngest daughter with minimal effort and sort of missing the older one sleeping soundly in her bed. Suddenly the messy house and hairy legs don't seem like such a big deal. I have many years ahead of me to have folded clothes, organized things, leisurely bubble baths, and a good night's sleep. I've been told that when that time comes, I'll ache for these days of being needed constantly by two sweet girls. As my little girl closes her eyes again, I lean over and kiss her chubby cheek, and feel a little sad that one day, I won't get to kiss that cheek anytime I want to. I whisper, "I love you," into her ear, and for a moment, it seems that all is right with the world.

Thank you, God for giving me these precious children. Please help me to be worthy to be their mother. You're a bit high-maintenance, Abby Kate - but I wouldn't trade these days for anything in the world!