Imagine the scene: two adults and two kids need to get out of the house by 8am. The alarm is set for 6:30 so at least one adult can shower before the kids get up. While doing her hair and makeup and drinking coffee and singing to the baby so he will wait a few more minutes before nursing, the 3yr old dumps all of his toys into the middle of his bedroom floor, then pulls off the sheets and blankets from his bed to add to the mess and then dumps all of his stuffed animals on top of the gigantic pile. Makeup and hair sort of done, she changes the baby, then changes the 3yr old, then takes them both downstairs to make breakfast. Husband chooses this moment to take a shower, so she nurses the baby standing while making the 3yr old’s breakfast. Then the banana is too stringy, the toast too brown and the milk not apple juice.
Somehow toys and bottles and extra clothes and briefcases and purses and lunches make it into the car. It is 8:07. Everyone is going to be late. And when they get home, there will be dinner(s) to make, because let’s face it, what 3yr old eats what his parents eat?, and tantrums to calm, and bedtime routines to do before the two adults can sit down for a few minutes with absolutely nothing to do.
And at that moment she will realize that while she did not save the world today, she took care of two children, managed to get herself to work with mascara on, pump 3 times (even if it won’t be enough for the ravishingly hungry baby tomorrow), solved a difficult technological challenge in a freezing office, didn’t go crazy on the commute home and had enough brain power left to debate her husband on presidential candidates, all before 8:59, which somehow has become bedtime.
And then she will do it all again tomorrow.