A Day in the Life of a Military Mom

By Amanda Fellows I woke up this morning at 0745 with this feeling that today was going to be my lucky day. You see, throughout the night I was blessed with not being puked or pooped on by a sick little boy. This is a big change, given the record of the last few nights. At 0750 my darling awakes, calling me with the call I know best as a mother, “Waaa! Waaaa!” Up and at ‘em! On the move I go. Get up, get the baby, hug and kiss him all the way down the stairs. I feel his bottom and consider this a rare occasion because his diaper is not full! Wow, maybe he will take it easy on me today! At the bottom of the stairs, as usual, I find an unusually large yellow lab begging for breakfast. He is starving, don’t you know?! I fill his bowl and at that precise moment my son fills his pants. No, EXPLODES in his pants . He says what he knows that lets me know he needs a clean diaper, “Buh!” Yes, son, I am fully aware that you need your pants changed. So, off to the diaper changing station I have so cleverly designed for myself. Diapers are low, wipes are running slim, and the prescription butt cream is somewhere in the basket, but somehow we will get through this. Diaper change: done! Then, off to the kitchen to make some much needed coffee. My phone beeps. Emails come in. Texts pop up. Oh, the day has begun. All the things that beg of me and I am honestly not sure I know how I got signed up for all of this. It takes me over an hour to reply to an email because of “buh’s” that need to be changed ( desperately changed ), clothes that need to be washed because the diaper didn’t fulfill its end of the bargain, baths that need to be given because, let’s face it, baby wipes were not created for this kind of clean up, counters that need to be bleached because I am honestly not sure what my son got into with his hands that is now being shared everywhere in the kitchen. Maybe I will get to that cup of coffee soon… Time passes, “buhs” get changed, hands get washed. The phone rings: it is my love calling from Afghanistan. Ah! Finally, a break from everything and a talk with my husband. It’s the one phone call I get, so live it up! I am reminded of things I need yet to do- maintain vehicles, get tax information around, pay bills…oh, just what I am longing to do! Sorry dear, even as we speak, nature is calling! So, I take two calls at once: my husband’s and my own. My son follows me to the bathroom where he stands in front of me, gets red-faced and things get audible from his backside… “Buh…” I hear. Yes, yes I know. Again. This will have to wait a moment- momma has a buh of her own to deal with right now. And the crying begins. He wants on my lap. Of all places, really, the toilet is where you want me to hold you? I tell myself not to argue. Suck it up . Hold the phone in one hand, baby in another, and worry about the rest when you have the time or a free hand. Both “calls” conclude and I am off to about the fifth visit to my depleting diaper changing station. Buhs changed. Hands washed. Phone rings. Oh yes, I forgot in the midst of all this that I am scheduled for a call from the university. I answer, hand my son Cheerios, and walk down the hall. The lady informs me this will take about 20 minutes. “Are you KIDDING me?” I think to myself. I don’t have that kind of time! I have buhs to change, snacks to fill, dogs to tend to, mail to prepare.. I say a silent prayer, “Lord, please….” And I don’t know what the rest of the prayer is because, well, I can’t think straight. As my pulse quickens, I look behind me to find a little boy and dog following. Cheerios falling as if they were manna being dropped from Heaven. I am thankful for this moment; I smile. I conclude the call and look down at my phone to find an email that I began replying to about an hour ago. Do I dare to try to finish it now? Another interruption from a buh comes, and finally, “send.” Ah. Finally. The clock tells me it is 1100 and I ponder the idea of taking a shower. It’s definitely time, but I wonder if someone will allow me to such a privilege while he is awake… I take the dare. I’ve done this before without him “contained” and I want the little one to have some independence, so I know the drill. Remove all perfumes from the bathroom. Lock the cabinet door. Put the trash can, plunger, and toilet paper in the locked up laundry room. Push all lotions at least four inches from the edge of the counter top. Give the boy a full snack cup of Cheerios and show him the bathroom rug to sit on. He does… for a moment. I am prepared for this though. I just talk to him from the shower, “I trust you!” and “ You are such a good boy!” are often my remarks. So far so good. My hair is full of fresh feeling suds, eyes are closed as to not get soap in them, shower is nice and hot… and then there is this draft… I wipe my face and look behind me to find a little boy, snack cup in hand, with the shower door slid open and taking in a view of all the goods mommy has to offer. “Hi!” We smile, and I tell him again to go get the dog while I shut the shower door. Things seem to be going well for a moment and it’s then that my eyes meet my razor… oh yes! I do have one of those! I had forgotten what shaved legs feel like! The boy is in the hallway tossing Cheerios to the dog, so yes, I dare to shave my legs! You see, the week has yet to allow me the time to do this, but I am not too concerned because, like I said, my husband is in Afghanistan. But for me, oh for ME, the luxury of shaving my legs sounds intoxicating! And so I do, happily. I gently remind myself to shave both legs, because I know in the midst of everything it is honestly easy to forget. I am thankful for both legs. Then I hear it. “Whoosh!” Was that..? I crack the shower door, suds in face. Yes, it was the toilet. I find a boy, snack cup in hand, wedged between the sink and the toilet just flushing away! Luckily, I have a rule to keep the lid down, so I know things aren’t being washed away to sea! I beg of him to stop, and in that moment I think about how I am honestly thankful. I am thankful that the military is so kind to offer us this on-base housing , knowing that while it is “my” house, when we leave, this toilet stays here, and I am confident it will be worn out at the rate my son is going to town on that flushing handle. I am thankful my children will have all of these fabulous learning experiences done with before I have my own home to own. I also realize, unless I get out of the shower, that boy is unlikely to stop flushing. But I am almost done, so I hurry with the razor. I hear a noise I am not familiar with, so again I crack the door open. I find my son so proudly displaying my iPhone in his hand as he puts it on the back of the toilet lid. I guess the phone wasn’t far enough from the edge of the counter. Oh well, what can he hurt, right? I wash my face and I pray the anti-aging face wash isn’t a hoax because I swear I feel myself aging even as I exfoliate. Thud! Oh no- did my phone just go in the toilet? Is it on its way out to sea? As I ask myself these questions in milliseconds, I decide that maybe it’s not a bad thing if it is swimming with the fishes. I could always try that rice trick I heard about that is supposed to pull the moisture from the phone. Or I could just let it go. As long as I make arrangements for a phone call from my love by tomorrow, I am not sure I will miss that thing… To settle my soul and start the planning process of what needs to be done if the toilet swallowed my phone, I peek again out the shower door. I find it laying on the floor behind the toilet. Just as well- just sanitize that thing! I shut the shower off and am so kindly helped by a little boy who opens the door for me and shows me the lotion that apparently I didn’t push far enough away from the edge of the counter either. I hear the poor toilet still running from the countless flushes it endured. My boy smiles. I smile. I love this moment. I decide that even in the craziness, the shower is my sanctuary. So far, it is just me in there. The world outside the door continues, but for the longest five minutes of my life I am able to do some much needed maintenance on these legs, reduce wrinkles on my face, and see the brightest Cheerios smile that I have ever seen through the glass door of my sanctuary. I dry off and step back into reality-not that I ever really left. A mother never does. I stand in front of the mirror to examine my “wrinkle-free” face and find the face wash fails on its end of the bargain too. Oh well. “Buh!” I hear it. That poor diaper is about to give way. I hope for a moment that maybe it’s just gas. I reach down to feel my boy’s bottom… nope, there is definitely a lump and that thing is definitely packing heat. Off to the diaper station… Off to what I like to call, just another day on my beloved, perfect, safe-haven of a military family funny farm. Connect with us on Facebook!

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