6am. I awake to Baby Mango crying. I stagger to his room where I quickly whip the boob out in the hope he will feed and go back to sleep and there will be peace for another hour or so. He takes it, but then sits up with that smirk that says ‘not gonna play your way mumma’. At the same time I can hear his brothers in their room giggling and shouting something in their boy language at one another. Looks like the new Groclock isn’t going to help me. I feel deranged from another night of wakefulness getting up boobing an infant and a toddler who now demands to not wear nappies but insists on wetting the bed. Regardless, the day is under way. Game on.
The older Vicklets hit the floor running. A game of yelly chasey is under way whilst I rub the sleep from my eyes and wonder why they have been gifted all the energy for the entire household again today. They keep running over their baby brother and closing the door on him.
I try to change Baby Mangos nappy as he tries to wrestle for dear life and get free. He does and poo hits the carpet as his bottom does. He screams as I hold him down to get this sorted. How can a ten month old almost out strengthen me?
Someone is hungry, they feel the need to tell me. I ignore them. The chef is still waking up.
Little Vick screams at the top of his lungs because, it’s fun. It’s 6.13am. WTF.
Baby Mango is climbing the table. Again. I remove him. He climbs straight back up. I remove him. He climbs straight back up. Sigh…..
The boys disappear into their room. Some reprieve. Hallelujah! I could make use of the time but instead sit like a zombie. Time passes. Finally, I stagger to put the first load of pee infested washing on. It’s 6.21am.
I suddenly realise the silence from that boys bedroom is sounding seriously concerning. I enter to find they have pulled down an entire washing basket full of clean, folded clothing onto the floor where they have also added a huge box worth of costumes AND they’re stomping on it all. Mummy anger fills my body and I leak just a little bit of stabby-ness because didn’t I tell them yesterday NOT TO DO THIS AGAIN???
Whilst I was out of the kitchen Mango got into the bin.
Much nagging happens but finally all Vicklets attend the table for breakfast. Mango pulls Little Vicks bowl over. Milk and Weetbix launch across the table and onto the floor. Mango looks impressed. Little Vick cries. We start breakfast again. I do not eat, HELL NO! I’m too busy policing the antagonising that’s going on across the table and trying to feed Mango who is refusing to eat.
Boys commence running around and yelling and generally trying to kill each other. One escapes! Little Vick has gone outside in the rain with bare feet and is getting his PJ’s dirty and wet. Oh such joy to my eyes! I share some stern words to which scares him right back in.
Lots of nagging about the need to get dressed goes to deaf ears. I eventually catch one to start the dressing process. Whilst I am doing so Mango is climbing up me because he did indeed wake up too early and now wants to be put back to sleep. Ignore said baby who is now grizzling in my ear whilst I try and get his brothers to help themselves to get dressed. More nagging. Lots of boyish shenanigans. More huffing. Deep breathes.
Mango vomits on the carpet. I clean it up, just after he has crawled through it.
I put Mango in bed and close the door. He screams. Too bad, I need to go to the loo. Baby Vick seizes the opportunity to go into his baby brothers room and climb the change mat and jump into the cot with his brother and wrestle him. I know because his oldest brother stands at the toilet door and commentates it all for me. I get Mango back out. I don’t have time for this settling business and I give a time out to Baby Vick who doesn’t think it is justified. He removes himself from the time out spot. I put him back on. He removes himself. My patience has been drained. I get yelly. He cries. His older brother continues to commentate as if we don’t know what is going on?!?
I realise I did not buy bread yesterday for school lunch. Fark! I resurrect my pride by announcing I’m going to allow Little Vick to have a lunch order today. Surely the ultimate of treats? But apparently it is not so sparkly because I don’t have enough change for a chocolate milk and to top it off I have the right money which means he will miss out on getting change from the canteen, like his friends do. The world is so unfair!
Baby Mango continues to climb shit. I rescue him a dozen times in between all of it.
Baby Vick hits Little Vick. Little Vick relays the entire proceedings as I pack a school bag and instructs on how I should discipline his brother. I unleash a very scary Mummy stare at said brother and then tell them to ‘scram, I got stuff to be doing’.
Silly mistake mummy. Said children have fled to another bedroom to create havoc. I enter to discover my already made bed has been stripped. Pillows, doona and all are now on the floor. Baby Mango has pulled down my lampshade and spilled my glass of bedside water on the floor and all over himself. Horrors of all horrors, my brand new laptop was on the bed and has now been flung to the ground also. Cue: major mummy meltdown. All the yelly, stabby shit I hate leaks right on out of my mouth. I’m too tired for this.
I am starting to understand why Baby Vick called me Miss Trunchbull from Matilda.
I feel guilty, instantly. Tears roll down my cheek as I change Mango again, wrestling style of course.
I look at the clock and we are late. Hugs are given to bandage up my guilt and stop Baby Vicks tears because quick sticks, we need to be on the school train pronto.
I make Little Vicks snacks for school whilst yelling for the Vicklets to get their shoes on. Baby Vick has taken his socks off again. I yell for him to find them and I can feel the stabby-ness rising again. This is surely ageing me.
Mango pulls out all of the wipes from the wipe box.
Someone hits someone. Too much.
I concede, I feel like a mess.
We arrive at school five minutes late. I feel deflated by my efforts. I’m embarrassed we’re late again and deflated by my yelly mummy self. I say farewell to Little Vick, glad to be lightening the load for a bit and quickly chip in ‘to enjoy his lunch order’ as an effort to patch up all the craziness.
I cry in the car.
I dream about having a day off. Just one day.
I dig deep and push on.