Doo and I have four teenagers. I like this phase of parenting, not only because it’s less physically demanding but also because most nights are free from motherhood responsibilities. I was recently reminded of those literal dark times, though, after one of our twins had her wisdom teeth removed.
We found ourselves planning ahead for the overnight druggings in much the same way we use to divvy up feedings. “I’ll take the 10 p.m. hydrocodone if you can get up at 2 a.m. for the prescription Motrin.” Somehow, I got the short end of the stick with the early morning assignment, and though I like to think I can rise to any challenge, this one kicked my butt. I’m simply too old for such nonsense!
Long ago, when my babies were actually babies, I was the queen of getting up in the middle of the night. I could make an Enfamil bottle one-handed in under a minute by moonlight. Sure, I occasionally fed the wrong kid (even boy/girl twins look identical at 3 a.m.) and would sometimes purposefully ignore the cries of hunger for a few more minutes of sleep, but ultimately I did my job and did it well.
Not so much anymore. Middle age and midnight feedings/patient care do not mix. The alarm scared me to death because I’d forgotten why I’d set it. My eyes couldn’t read the Rx labels, even after turning on the light. And I nearly killed myself retrieving a cup of water when I tripped over a discarded boot. A far cry from my parenting glory years!
That’s OK, though. I much prefer where I am now. Peace out.