Inventions

I have heard it said that necessity is the mother of invention.  But in my experience, mothering is the necessity of invention. 

I remember being too pregnant to bend over and put my socks on.  It was so embarrassing to ask for help.  Especially after the 7th or 8th time, when 911 dispatch told me to stop calling.  Not a true emergency!  So, I decided to invent Step-in Socks.  They just sit in your shoes and you step into them; assuming you can find them over your ginormous baby belly.  Which I never could.  Fail.

When our newborn was finally ready for her crib, er, when we were finally ready to put our baby in her crib, okay, when our toddler was too big to sleep with her toes in our ears on our bed anymore, we began the dance.  "The Dance" looks like a sweet, parental art-form, but is in reality a cross between  science and superstition.  It appears to be a beautiful bonding moment, but has more cold, calculated, choreography than most parents will readily admit.

The Dance starts with a sleepy child and preferably non comatose parent.  Essentially, there are two schools of thought with how to get your child into their rightful place at night.  There is either the gentle, gradual placement or the dump and run method.  We used a combination of both.  We would  hold the child and sing them a lullaby while swaying in front of their crib.  These tender moments often were infused with  the horrible smell of rotten milk and soiled clothing, but I knew that was just me.

The child fully asleep now, (I could tell by her weight increase and the drool saturating my shirt), it was time.  I slid carefully closer to the crib, and she stirred.  With a quick sway, sway, hum, hum, I staved off a close call.  She was out.  I carefully moved her in a tight, fluid arc into her crib, held my breath as she was suspended briefly over the rail, and released it as she settled without a sound onto the mattress.  Success!

From past experience, I knew the door was the final obstacle between me and my sleep.  It wouldn't creak, because I had heavily oiled it, but the doorknob made a sound when turned.  It probably wasn't very loud under usual circumstances, but sleeping babies are a natural sound amplifier.  I was convinced that even the change in air pressure in the room when I opened and closed it woke my baby up.  So, one would think my choices were clear, stay in the room and sleep on the floor or risk using the door.  Thanks to my invention, a third option existed, to use the Mommy Door.  So, I got down on my hands and knees and crawled through.   It silently swung back into place as I pulled my feet through.  Success!

A few days later, I told my husband all the steps in the dance, exactly how it worked, and went out for coffee with friends.  When I got home, I heard the wailing before I even got in the front door.  The baby was still sound asleep in her swing in the living room.  The Daddy was yelling for 911, Crisco, and a crowbar.  Fail.

Running out of milk might not be considered a natural disaster, but it sent me into panic mode when my 6 kids were younger.  The oldest was 7, then 6, 5, 3, 2, and newborn.  The days of running to the store quick were long gone.  It felt overwhelming to think about putting on all those shoes and coats, getting kids into the van, driving across town to the store, waking up no less than two of them, putting some in a cart, wheeling them through the grocery store, the whining, asking for stuff, arguing, wandering off,  climbing out of the cart, pooping themselves, grabbing everything as we passed by, sitting on the eggs, or saying embarrassing things to perfect strangers like, "My Mom fell asleep on the toilet this morning", or "Are you a man or a woman?".

Luckily, my last invention solved this dilemma.  Instead of having to hear one more person say, "You sure got your hands full" I simply drove through a Drive Thru Milk Mart and ordered my necessary items through the window.  "Yes, I'd like a gallon of milk, a dozen eggs and a loaf of bread."  The kids were sleeping peacefully in their seats behind me.   I imagined driving around a little, drinking my Pepsi and enjoying some quiet time before heading home.

I reached into the pneumatic tube for my groceries and pulled out a pint of milk, two eggs and a slice of bread.  Apparently that's all that could fit into the capsule.  Fail.

Back to the drawing board.