Mullis: Motherhood’s time conundrum

My oldest daughter was home for Spring Break. She isn’t home often, so we took some time to visit my youngest sister, her toddler, and her newborn.

Although my sister was happy to have us, she asked us to arrive after her 2-year-old daughter’s morning nap and to leave before her daughter’s afternoon nap. I agreed, suppressing a grin.

I remember those days when nap times were sacred.

Stepping into my sister’s house was like stepping back into my own life 18 years ago.

Her well-appointed living room looked like a daycare center, full of toys and dolls and blankets. A baby gate blocked every threshold, and a baby bathtub occupied the regular bathtub.

Playsets covered her coffee table, and spongy squares covered her hardwood floors. Although these squares were meant to soften the frequent falls of toddlers, her daughter bore the mark of independence – a boo-boo over her temple.

The guest room was now a changing station and a catch-all for diaper boxes. Her baby son went through three outfits while we were there, so we saw this room a lot.

When her son wasn’t consuming or dispensing food, he was snoozing.

During lunch, while nursing the baby and cajoling the two-year-old to eat instead of painting her sippy cup with peanut-butter, my sister explained the baby was most awake at night. She had gotten four hours of sleep the night before and not consecutively.

I remember those nights, wincing at every noise, making deals with God.

While bouncing the baby and wiping the toddler's fingers, my sister confessed wanting this time to go faster. She wanted to sleep. She wanted some structure. She wanted a few hours of not being touched.

Meanwhile, my oldest, whose hair was piled artfully on her head and whose outfit was trim and stylish, asked to hold the baby. She talked about studying abroad in Italy this summer and how it was coming up fast.

My sister gave the ironic smirk of the sleep-deprived. Nothing was going fast for her. She was marking days off on a calendar just to know time was passing at all.

I smiled but bit my tongue.

Oh, time is passing all right. Soon these peanut-butter painters and pajama-wearing insomniacs will be leaving home, and touches will be few and far between. I didn’t say this because it wouldn’t be fair. Parenting young children can be monotonous and brain-draining and, quite frankly, a little torturous. You can’t help but wish some of it away.

I did when my kids were babies.

And I wished a little away during toilet-training and grade-school homework and junior high drama and cases of senior-itis. Believing things will get easier when your kids are older can sometimes keep you sane.

Now I have baby-adults whose lives I can't contain in my living room and whose falls I can't soften with spongy squares.

I didn’t mention these thoughts. I just cooed nonsense to my nephew, feeling ridiculously fulfilled when he cooed back. I relished playing hide-and-seek with my niece, which consisted of her chasing me around or hugging me tight while squealing, “Where are you? Where are you?”

It would be hypocritical to tell my sister how precious and fleeting this time is. Besides, she can’t understand it now.

I couldn’t when I was her.

Instead, I “hid” one last time, a giggly toddler’s arms clasped around my neck, knowing my niece would grow tired of this game soon enough.

Nicole L.V. Mullis will be a teller in the upcoming Mosiac Storytelling Showcase March 22. Check the Enquirer website for details.