I flew solo today for thirty minutes.
Alex had left for the library. I was holding Hugh on the sofa, the girls were playing with Play-Doh at the table. All was serene. And then my mother dropped a bombshell.
“I guess I’ll go take a shower.”
The room reeled. I clutched Hugh and all that I know to be true as tightly as I could. Fighting waves of panic I made a strenuous effort to keep my voice calm as I replied, “Good idea.” Then burst out with, “HURRY!” (Poor Nana.) She headed to the shower.
And there I was, holding down the fort in the living room with all three children. Fully awake (at least, they were). As Nana departed the ten paces to the bathroom I assessed my advantages: (1) It was not near meal time, but the after-breakfast lull in everyone’s feeding cycles. (2) Harriet was strapped into her booster seat and she is unable to unbuckle herself. (3) One bladder had recently visited the potty, two were covered with diapers, I felt I could hold on to mine.
Start to finish I was at the helm for one half-hour. Hugh slept. The girls play-dohed. No one cried, not even me. It was a very encouraging experience. Full steam ahead toward the new normal.