I have never considered myself to be a planned, organized type of person. I, regretfully, am more of the spontaneous, “let’s see what happens” type. It doesn’t serve me well in many ways and has often caused me quite a bit of stress. For example, that time in college when I started writing a 20-page paper the night before the due date… And then did that two more times for the same class, even though I told myself I would never EVER wait until the last minute again. Not a great choice… thrice. Or every single week when I “plan the week’s meals” but decide to change it up last minute and make something I didn’t plan and didn’t have ingredients for so need to run to the store again so that I can make the meal that was definitely not on the agenda. I fly by the seat of my pants way too often. Not great qualities for a mom. Or a teacher. Or just a human being in general. {I’m all of those things. 😬} I always tell myself I will be more organized and intentional moving forward, but it turns out that it’s just in my blood to be an overall, disorderly shit show most of the time. However, over the years of learning how to be a mom (constantly learning!), I have discovered that even I, the most unstructured of moms, enjoy having routines in place. In fact, one of the things I find myself struggling with more than I ever could have anticipated is the frequency with which daily routines change and transform.
Living with tiny humans is very fickle. When our firstborn was an infant, I remember being surprised at how often our “normal” changed. For example, newborns have no “bedtime.” You are just kind of surviving around the clock. But after just a couple of weeks, maybe months, you start finding bedtime routines… and then bedtime changes again after a couple more weeks. At first, you feed your newborn every 2 hours. TWO HOURS!!! 💀 Once you’re done feeding that bottomless pit, they are hungry again. But a few months later, it becomes more like every 3-4 hours, and then you can actually consider leaving your house and seeing daylight again since you’re not glued to the couch feeding a hangry little 8-pound tyrant. Initially, your baby takes naps all day long… like, all day. I mean, when they’re not eating, that is. But then they eventually switch to three naps a day. Soon after, they find a solid two-nap-a-day schedule, and you get into a nice routine. Nothing stays the same for more than a few weeks at a time. It is kind of exciting! But it is also kind of very stressful. You finally get yourself into a groove, and then your little human is like, “Oh, you’ve gotten comfortable, have you?? How about THIS?!?!!” 😈😈😈And then, I’m just assuming, they do an internal evil laugh and start plotting the next life-altering curveball they’d like to throw at you.
As your baby grows older and turns into a toddler, routines continue to morph. Sleep regressions, teething, developmental milestones, and all of the things cause your child to never stay stagnant. Like, my middle son, Dane, used to sleep in until 9:00 am every day. It was the most dependable part of my day, and I thoroughly enjoyed that consistency. Then suddenly, one dreaded day, he started waking up at like 5:00 am. He didn’t warn me; he just instantaneously began his new schedule, and I didn’t even get to negotiate or ask any questions. It just seems a little like a dictatorship to me, but I can talk about that another time.
If you ever find yourself in a really solid routine that feels comfortable, absolutely, without a doubt, something will happen to ruin that. Like your kid will hit a new developmental milestone and turn the whole world upside down, or someone will get sick and destroy any sense of normalcy you thought you had. Just like that, all bedtimes will be ruined. Meal times will be history – it will just be like all-day grazing. You won’t know what day it is or maybe even what year. You’ll find yourself wondering when you last bathed your child when you find crusted yogurt in their hair, but you’ll also kind of feel relieved to see that they have yogurt in their hair because that means they probably ate yogurt at some point. Win.
I know all this is true because I’m living that reality as we speak. We had a really healthy holiday season. I should have known we were due for punishment, but I was naively blindsided. In January, Eric got COVID. I had just finished my second round of COVID in October, which was brutal, so I thought certainly, absolutely, without a doubt, I would be in the clear this time around. But of course, I wasn’t in the clear, and, of course, I got COVID… again. And, of course, I didn’t just get a quick, gentle round of COVID; I apparently got Long COVID and was coughing until I was dry heaving and pissing my pants for three super fun weeks. I also had coughed so hard at some point that I literally injured one of my back ribs. Like, maybe I broke it. Or maybe it is completely gone now. Or maybe the muscle around my rib started on fire and burned into ashes. I really don’t know, but it’s not good. How does this happen?! But, whatever, ribs heal on their own, and it is what it is. Aside from that, I am actually still struggling with shortness of breath and the occasional coughing attack, but I will take it after the past three weeks from Hell!
And then, surprise!!! Something else really neat happened. I had finally decided to go back to the gym since I could mostly breathe again and thought I’d just be extremely badass and power through my rib pain. But what actually happened is that, since I was nursing my rib pain, I, in turn, pulled something on the other side of my back. WHY?!!? So, then I went home and was like, really hurting and wondering how I got to be such a pathetic human being when all of a sudden, I kid you not, I had the tiniest little cough sneak out, and I felt something in the original injured rib pop. Like.. a BIG pop. And I literally could not move for like 5 minutes. I was on the ground wondering if I was paralyzed or something, and my 3-year-old was trying to climb on my back because he thought I was solely on the ground to give horsey rides. WHY!??!
Anyways, I’m bringing this all up because I want to explain that before I had COVID in January, I finally thought I had my life all figured out. (That’s really not true; I have never once thought I had my life figured out EVER. But I did, at least, find myself in a comfortable routine!) I had been going to the gym very early in the morning, getting home by 5:45 am, and having a really incredible chunk of time ALONE before the kids woke up!!! It was B E A U T I F U L. I would take a shower ALONE, do the dishes ALONE, fold some laundry ALONE, listen to my audiobook ALONE. Then, eventually, I’d happily and patiently get the kids ready for the day because I had all of this time to peacefully prepare for the day! Oh my gosh, I can’t even think about it. It was pure magic. Well, obviously, when I got COVID I had to stop going to the gym. Then I tried to go back to the gym and had to stop going again after my rib and back made me function as well as a geriatric. And without my 4:45 am gym sesh, my world came crashing, tumbling, and burning down to the ground. Flames everywhere. ☠️ And those routines I worked hard to create, along with the muscle I was trying to build, very quickly vanished. And I have an inkling they won’t come roaring back, either. 🙄
So, there really is no moral to this story, except for this: if you find yourself a nice routine with your little humans, it probably won’t last long. Either your kids will sabotage everything, or you will break a rib. Good luck!! 😂