Mommy 101

I think the hardest part about being a mother is never really knowing if you’re doing the right thing for your child. Sure, there are books and countless posts from other moms, but sometimes it just feels like I’m flunking Motherhood 101. These thoughts often hit me amidst the endless whining of my 21-month-old toddler and the relentless back-and-forth with my 4-month-old baby.

At work, you get feedback or at least some sort of direction. But as a mom, it’s a daily battle with unpredictable attitudes, dodging spoonfuls of unwanted peas, and, of course, becoming an unintentional expert in diaper forensics. I mean, who knew poop would demand such meticulous attention?

Some days, it genuinely feels like my kids have teamed up, plotting in their secret baby code, to see how far they can push me before I morph into a cartoon character and start speaking in gibberish. Staying home on maternity leave has given me a peek into life as a Stay-At-Home Mom, and let me tell you, it’s no picnic. Being a working mom is tough too, but at least there’s the luxury of a coffee break without peas being hurled at you—and the occasional adult conversation that doesn’t involve negotiating nap times.

It’s mainly the constant whining and the escape attempts when the toddler hears “no,” or when he gets jealous of the attention his baby brother’s getting. But some days are truly wonderful, filled with giggles and playtime that melt my heart. Yet, with those joys come the sneaky mom guilt and the pressing questions: “Am I doing this right?” “Am I a bad mother?”

Honestly, if I manage to get through the day without turning my life into a slapstick comedy, I consider it a win.

Take yesterday, for example: our day began like a rerun episode of “The Chaos Chronicles.” The baby was up first, crying out for his morning breastfeeding session while I desperately tried to remember what sleep felt like. After waking up, I changed him and nudged my husband out of bed to let the dogs out. He came back, and we embarked on the morning routine in the bed we share with our 21-month-old, who’s decided his bed just isn’t up to par, but that saga is for another day.

Back in bed, I set up my little feeding station, nestled the baby, and just as I start feeding him, my husband masters the art of the ninja escape to go shooting with his buddies. At this point, my toddler’s sixth sense kicks in like clockwork, and he knows Dad’s left the building. Cue the screaming, and we’re off to the races.

In a flash, both my toddler and I are undressing and leaping into the shower, hoping the water can drown out the whines. We emerge to the sounds of the baby crying in the bassinet, and the next phase of the morning circus begins. It’s dressing time, diaper time, teeth brushing, and baby retrieval timed to the second. I gather my glasses from the previous night, scoop up the essentials and the boys, and do my improvised balancing act down the stairs. I usually throw all the stray items into a garbage bag, strap the baby to me, and wait for the toddler to attach himself for the descent. That’s just the first hour.

Next up in our reality show is breakfast, a daily gamble. The trick is not knowing what’s going to be “in” today. French toast? Nope. Eggs? Absolutely not. A bottle and yogurt-covered blueberries? Somehow, that’s an acceptable compromise. Meanwhile, I’ve become a “laptop mom,” because without a screen, my toddler transforms into a tiny bear with no respect for personal boundaries or parental sanity.

With him temporarily pacified, I pour what feels like a life-preserving glass of coffee and coax the baby back onto the boob to halt any impending meltdown. And there you have it—just another day in the life, all before 8 AM.