When I have children. . .

C’mon, admit it. Back when you were childless, you were part of the Child Police. Any time you were at a restaurant, movie theater, airplane, or other public place and children were disruptive or there was a crying baby, you were there to turn, look, locate, and stare disapprovingly at the Parents Who Could Not Control Their Children.

Your children would sit quietly in restaurants. Your children would color while waiting for the meal. They would gratefully eat what was placed in front of them and the thought of tossing their portions to the floor in protest wouldn’t even occur to them.

Your children would no more dream of disrupting a movie theater full of patrons than say, you would. On the airplane, your children would never even think of amusing themselves by say, kicking the seat in front of them, or lifting that little table up and down more than once. Run up and down the aisles? It wouldn’t enter their little minds. They would sit down, fold their hands in their laps, and quietly listen to the music on the plane’s audio system. Perhaps you would enjoy a nice discourse on the clouds going by, or why the sun moved from one side of the airplane to another.

I have actually seen a child like that. It was my neighbors’ kid, a beautiful little redhead who could be taken anywhere. Her mother would lay her down for a little nap late in the afternoon so she could cook dinner in peace and this little darling would actually go to sleep at bedtime. My neighbor once expressed concern when I wouldn’t let my child take a nap at 5 p.m., seeing as he appeared to be tired. I explained that if you let the kid take a nap that late in the afternoon, he’d be up half the night and I needed a few hours of sleep if I was going to be in shape for when he paged me at 6 a.m. the next day. She was bewildered at the idea of a child not going to bed at the assigned time and utterly shocked at the thought of waking up before 8 a.m.

But, back to my children. All I can say is, Hah! When I had children, none turned out the way I had imagined back in my childless days. Not even remotely. With our first child, we couldn’t go anywhere that required him to stay still for 3 consecutive seconds. Only when he turned four did we dare venture out to casual eating establishments, like Chinese take out. But then the second one turned one and mobile, so we were back to square one. When our third arrived, we gave up going out altogether unless there was an equal adult to child ratio. Better yet, if the adults actually outnumbered our boys. That way there was backup for when the assigned Lion Tamer needed to stop for breath.

Movies? Please. Restaurants were something saved for when you had a few extra twenties lying around for a babysitter. And who has extra anything with three kids in the house? Now I’m the one developing the ability to NOT NOTICE the glares of adults around me when I step outside the house with my children.

I’m hoping this skill will serve me in good stead when I have to manage three children ages 6, 3, and 1 by myself on a flight from California to Florida. We’re moving, and my husband thinks it would be “too much” for the children to endure the cross country trek via car. I suggested that he fly with the children, and I drive our car to our new home. For some reason, he wasn’t too enthused.

My neighbors with the redhead are expecting another child any day, and all I can say is, I hope this next one is one of those that runs up and down the aisles on the airplane.

The Birth Order Difference

The Mommy Diaries©

by Kirsten E. Kennedy
with a little help from Matthew, Andrew, and Lukey, and from my best friend, Josh

The Birth Order Difference

Assume you have more than one baby, for whatever particular reason seems good at the time. Namely, a playmate for the first one, which will actually give you some free moments during the day to get your makeup on (this is a documented reason parents give for having another child, laughable as it is.) Or, your birth control decided to take matters into it’s own hands. For whatever the reason, there’s another baby in the house. You’ve discovered the idea that the children will entertain one another is ludicrous, at best, and that you have no time to dream about makeup, much less apply any because you’re constantly brushing up on your refereeing skills.

In psychiatric circles and other esteemed areas of academia, there’s a term called, “Sibling Drift”. This describes the phenomenon occurring at your house when more than one child occupies the premises.

Sibling Drift, Mealtimes
The first baby, when it’s time to eat, you get out their pristine highchair, fasten a bib around the baby’s neck, and make sure all four food groups are adequately represented in the baby dish. Second baby, you wrestle the kid into the high chair, snap a bib on, and try to keep child 1 and child 2 from tossing food across the table at each other.
Third baby: You remember to feed the kid.

Sibling Drift, Naptime
First baby: naptime is adhered to regardless of social events, weather, or visiting friends and family. Trips in the car or stroller are carefully choreographed to match up with child’s naptime. Naps are reluctantly given up, only at the instigation of the child.
Second baby: Naptime is a little looser. Baby can be stretched a few minutes in order to accomplish certain parental goals, such as grocery shopping. Older child is kept quiet so younger sibling can get some rest. Naps are given up when younger child realizes older sibling doesn’t have to take them anymore.
Third baby: those car seat carrier combinations sure are handy!

Sibling Drift, Toilet Training

First baby: you are bound and determined to have that kid out of diapers by the age of two, like your mother says you were. After a great deal of persistence, (and not leaving the house for two weeks, you claim success sometime between 2 and 2 ½ years old.
Second baby: if you’re lucky, this one follows bigger sibling into the bathroom and gets the idea by 2, 2 ½ or so. I am not lucky. What makes it a little harder this time is that you have more places to go, and it’s not feasible to not leave the house for two weeks, due to various playdates, gymnastics lessons, preschool activities, etc. By 3, you claim success (sort of).
Third baby: You barely have time to go to the bathroom. You ignore your mother, all your friends, and find a pediatrician that reassures you that bedwetting is perfectly natural until age 4.

Sibling Drift, Crying
First baby: you are having a conversation with say, your brother. Baby starts crying. Brother wants to finish what he’s saying, but you cut him off with a curt, “my baby is crying”, hang up the phone, and go see to the baby.
Second baby: you are busy reading a story, talking on the phone, or engaged with your older child. Baby starts crying. You excuse yourself from the activity, then go tend to the baby.
Third baby: Dinner’s burning, you’re changing child 2’s diaper, and child 1 is scribbling with green permanent marker on the wall. (you didn’t even know you had a green permanent marker in the house.) You finish changing the diaper, turn off dinner, and wrestle the green marker away from the would be artist. Then, you go get the baby, who by this time, is inconsolable, having to wait so long for you.


Sibling Drift, Toys
First baby: toys start showing up when the child gets mobile and is bored with your pots and pans. Soft, age developmentally appropriate toys slowly accumulate, but are still contained within reasonable limits.
Second baby: skips over baby toys after 6 months of age and wants to play with older siblings toys. You get a big plastic tub to keep all the toys in. You spend a lot of time breaking up fights and discussing the concept of sharing.
Third baby: your house no longer even remotely resembles the love nest you and your husband so thoughtfully arranged. Your house is strewn with baby toys, which all manage to escape the big plastic tub you bought to keep them in. You stumble over them in the bathroom, kitchen, living room, the kid’s room, and your bedroom. In the middle of the night, you stub your toe on the way to returning at least one kid to their own bed,

Hey, with more than one kid in the house, you ought to be glad the house is still standing at all.

You're scaring the single people

The day comes when you are out with your baby in the stroller when you realize you’re scaring the single people. It all starts out innocently enough.

Your husband, being a kind, considerate kind of soul, encourages you to go out for a walk with your baby, leaving him home with the older two children. It being a sunny day, you jump at the chance, slipping on your shoes, grabbing your sunglasses and heading out the door with a cheery wave.

You’re in a chipper mood, despite the fact you were up between 2:30 and 4:30 last night with your teething baby. Never mind that the older two hopped out of bed at 6 a.m. It’s the weekend, the sky is bright, the baby’s finally asleep, and you’re out in the glorious fresh air.

You pass a Starbucks, think about it, but decide against it. (I mean, who wants to maneuver the Peg Perego stroller through the mid morning coffee crowd.) You assume the glances are directed towards your sleeping angel. You pass the café, where a line is out the door for. . . breakfast? no, surely not. It’s 10:30! (you've been up since 5:30 a.m.) These people couldn’t possibly have slept that late.

You keep going, smiling to yourself. Then, you pass another trendy café where people are sitting down, laughing, sipping their frothy coffee concoctions. This time, you notice a well dressed, neatly coiffed, manicured, woman with impeccable makeup look at you, then lean over to her similarly attired friend and say something which makes her look at at you and also laugh.

You think to yourself, “what the heck?” What’s their problem? So, you’re wearing two year old sneakers with ancient jeans and a t-shirt. So, you only finger combed your hair after the shower this morning and it’s (gasp!) somewhat windblown after your walk. So, you’re walking slightly hunched over because the freaking stroller manufacturers don’t think that 5 foot 8 inch tall women have babies.

Then, somewhere in your sleep deprived brain, you remember there was also a time when you sat sipping (not gulping) an overpriced beverage on a sunny afternoon while out for brunch with friends. You, too once went to salons to get your hair done every (hah!) six weeks. Remember makeup? Nailpolish? Facials? Being able to wear black without any smudges marring the pristine expanse? C’mon! You even remember discussing the news, the latest movies, or books that weren’t authored by Dr. Seuss.

You feel like carrying around a miniature copy of your diploma, not to mention your master’s degree, so you can whip it out and show it to those sneering childless women.Then, you remember way back when, when you got scared, too. Then you laugh, head home, and hope you’ll see those women again next week.