Unitasking

Multitasking: isn’t that supposed to be a hallmark of a successful mother? I used to be pretty good at it, but now, I’m trying my hardest to break myself of the urge and forget how it’s done.

Ten weeks ago, I gave birth to my second child. I had attempted to prepare myself mentally for the added labor involved in caring for two children as opposed to one, but the magnitude of that transition is one that really has to be experienced first hand. My first day alone with a two year old and a newborn could be described as many things, but not rewarding. Labor had seriously thrown something in my back out of joint. I could move, but my movements resembled more closely those of a hunched arthritic senior than the spry thirty year old that I was. Most of that morning was a blur, but I do remember that there was a lot of crying. Everett cried, but I suppose that was understandable. Clara Grace cried and threw herself down on the floor in one of her two-year-old convulsive fits. I cried, and changed diapers, and diapers, and more diapers, and somehow made lunch for my daughter before blissfully tucking her in for an early nap. I knew I somehow had to prevent the next day from being even half as chaotic. After a twice-interrupted night’s sleep, I braced myself for the ordeal with a few cherished moments in my safe bed and then, with an already familiar whimper from the bassinette, my day began early.

It was during this second morning though, that the epiphany came. I was on my way to change Everett’s diaper when I stepped on a colorful, wooden block. Instinctively, I bent to retrieve the misplaced toy. “Want some yogurt.” Clara Grace called from her high chair. Block and Everett in hand, I detoured to the kitchen, only to realize it was very difficult to open a yogurt container one handed. On my way to the high chair, another toy lay directly in my path, and the impulse to grow an imaginary arm and pick it up was maddening. “I can’t do this,” I thought in a panic. No matter how much I do, three times that is undone even faster. Out of nowhere, that logical part of my brain for which I am extremely grateful overrode my pounding blood pressure and shallow breaths. I realized in a stark moment of clarity that getting more than one thing done at once was going to be impossibility. What I needed to do, was to do one thing and only one thing at a time, but to do that one thing to the best of my ability.

So now, when I’m feeding Everett, instead of making mental notes of every plaything Clara Grace is strewing across the living room in order to collect them the moment he unlatches, I’m remembering to trace his oversized baby ear and soft, ample cheek. When I set lunch down for Clara Grace, instead of using her captive moments in the high chair to throw crusty breakfast plates into the dishwasher, I’m enjoying a conversation with her over my own cheese sandwich and apple. And in the afternoon, when Everett is not willing to go down for a nap without me close by, instead of longing for all the masterpieces I could be writing with just a bit of free time, I’m relaxing in bed and breathing in the beautiful fragrance of fuzzy infant hair.

Of course, this theory of unitasking has its limitations. Priorities sometimes override the perfect system. For example, If I’m cooing back and forth to Everett while changing his poopy diaper, and suddenly hear a noisy thud that sounds uncannily like a two year old falling from the height of, oh, say the kitchen table, baby talk is put on hold. Or vice versa, if I’m enjoying a wonderfully creative play-doh session with Clara Grace and then notice an inordinate amount of warm barf suddenly running down my neck and sleeves, experimenting with bumpy shell imprints can wait.

I certainly haven’t become perfect at this new way of organizing my day. Unfortunately for all concerned, I often find myself relapsing into that frazzled, hypertensive drill sergeant. The strange thing is that when I find myself in that mode, the house doesn’t stay any cleaner, we don’t get out the door any sooner, and we never ever have much fun. Conversely, another funny thing is that ever since I resigned myself to letting certain things go, I find that everything I needed to get done eventually does get done. When I get a chance to clean or do the laundry, I make sure to make the most of that time and low and behold, our house is still standing.

So, excluding relapses and momentary snags, my days really have seen a vast improvement. Even despite the great results I’m finding though, eliminating the urge to be more productive than humanly possible still proves a constant battle. It’ll take about eighteen years or so to fully work the bugs out of the system I suppose. By the way, I haven’t asked a mother of three or more whether my discovery of unitasking still applies and I don’t think I’m brave enough at this point to test it out myself.