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Multitasking

Multitasking

Having four kids is the definition of multitasking. You know what else is multitasking in its truest sense? Breastfeeding a 2-month-old while wiping a 3-year-old’s poopy little bottom. Yep, at the same time. I’m becoming an old pro at doing things one-handed these days. Making a snack And I’m not talking about opening a granola bar....

Having four kids is the definition of multitasking. You know what else is multitasking in its truest sense? Breastfeeding a 2-month-old while wiping a 3-year-old’s poopy little bottom. Yep, at the same time. I’m becoming an old pro at doing things one-handed these days.
IMG_0799Making a snack
And I’m not talking about opening a granola bar. No, my toddler can be infuriatingly specific when it comes to his snack. A toasted bagel with cream cheese sounds easy enough, but it means dragging out the toaster, pulling apart the bagel and actually applying the cream cheese, all with one hand while cradling the baby in the other. Almond butter on a banana is a little easier, but my go-to is always grapes in a bowl.
Story time
Too easy! I get to sit down and everything. Bring on the books, buddy.
Playtime
If this means parking myself on the bean bag in the playroom, so my son can serve me at his “westowant,” it’s a breeze. Puzzles are OK too. Legos are a nightmare.
Working
I work on the computer, and it’s maddening to type with one hand. Still, slow but doable when deadlines are looming.
Laundry/wiping counters
Trying to fold laundry while nursing is an exercise in frustration, but if I get stuff folded while she’s sleeping, it’s easy enough to put everything away while she eats. Wiping down crumbs is simple, too, as long as I can sweep everything into the sink.
This list goes on and on, and while it’s nice to get several things done at once, it robs us both of the pleasure that’s an inherent part of nursing a baby—me, baby, a quiet moment for just the two of us. So when my husband is around, or pretty much any able-bodied adult, I take full advantage. “Daddy’s home,” I say. “Go ask daddy.” And then I turn my attention—all of it—to my littlest girl.