A friend recently commented after a night of baseball in which he had to sit behind many families with kids, that he didn’t know how anyone managed parenting with sanity intact. He even suggested that the squealing children could be used pretty effectively in Iraq as some sort of advanced torture device to break down the mental capacities of prisoners.
I remember feeling that way once also. Since I had my own though, I am immune to the chaos 90% of the time. It is like white noise in the background. The incessant screaming, pleading, fighting, giggling and squealing have been categorized with other sounds like the air conditioner, ceiling fan, that I hear so frequently that I don’t even really hear them anymore. In fact I am capable of maintaining my mommy like demeanor (up to a certain amount of decibels and syllables of course) without even being cognoscente that I am really speaking. It is that automatic.
Jeff’s replay of last nights fiasco is a perfect example of unconscious mommy maintenance:
“ok sit there. sit there. I just told you to sit there. no, don't go over there. do you want to eat this? no, this. THIS. you just ate that. put your feet down. put them on the ground. yes. no. sit here. don't sit there. come over here. no, here. come back here”
However I would like to add that this is usually supplemented by kid banter:
Iwantsome cannnnndy… canIhavesome cannnnndy? I don’t want peanuts! I hate peanuts! Mommy, Lilly took my spot! I want to sit next to mommy! MOOOOOOOVEEEE LILLLLYYYY! MommmmmmmyLillywooonnnttt mooovvvveee!
All this can be handled on an unconscious level without even noticing their squabbling or your response.
I think this is a protective mechanism deep in the maternal psyche, so that mothers don’t kill their own young. It is the boiling pot adaptation. Nature turns up the heat so slowly that you don’t even notice you are being cooked alive, rather than just dumping you straight into the pot of boiling water. Because when they are first born they are cute mostly quiet little bundles of baby blubber that sleep a lot, allowing you to collect shreds of your sanity in these peaceful hours of respite.
Eventually though they start sleeping less and less, then their lungs develop, becoming louder and louder and right when you think you might actually be able to handle parenthood (just barely) their motor skills kick in and they are able to move around more, becoming faster and faster, so that by the time they are loud manipulative, fast thinking, moving destructive forces, with a sixth sense for when you are on the phone, or in an intimate moment, you barely even notice the affront to your sensibilities.
So when a friend in a moment of sympathy shakes their head and comments “ I don’t know how you do it.” My usual response is “Do what?”