7:35am- I wake up in a puddle of milk.
The sheets are soaked, my pajamas are soaked, and inexplicably the 8-month-old is too. I change my clothes, change the baby, and wash my face. It’s pleasantly surprising that we slept in so late.
7:50am- Two tousled little girls—our 4-and-2-year-old daughters—tumble into our room. They squat together on the vent to enjoy the warm air; mornings are just starting to get chilly. I am informed by my firstborn that I woke her up by blowing my nose too loud.
8:00am- I brew a glorious cup of coffee, toss back my meds and vitamins, and start unloading the dishwasher (with a small helper).
8:02am- My Stern Mom Voice emerges for its first run of the day. Four waters are filled, four bowls of oatmeal are made.
8:29am- The big kids finish their breakfast. The 2-year-old, still in her pajamas, buckles on blue Mary Janes and announces she is ready to take a walk. Instead a game called Fisherman (the rules of which are inscrutable) is played with her older sister.
8:39am- The baby, with a peanut butter mustache of the highest quality, finishes her breakfast. She nurses and I finish my first cup of coffee. We head upstairs to get dressed and brush teeth. The 4-year-old requests an outfit that’s “pretty and festive” (WITHOUT bows or buttons). We’re going to the dentist.
9:38am- Secure three girls in three car seats and depart for our appointment. Daddy was able to take off work for a few hours, so I get to be the passenger princess in our 10-year-old Honda Odyssey. I plan to read in the car, but instead we say our neglected-til-now morning prayers and relish six minutes of silence.
9:58am- We roll into the dental clinic with two minutes to spare. Sorting out insurance at the front desk makes me immediately sweaty. This is invariably the case.
11:08am- We finish with the dentist. I forgot my phone in the exam room, and have to go back to get it. Mortified, I realize that at our last appointment I lost my wallet in the waiting room. Do I have a Reputation now? Back at the car, I distribute granola bars—the opiate of the masses. Cue at least six more minutes of peace. The baby falls asleep in her car seat, and we schlep inside.
11:33am- I mediate a tearful brawl. My Stern Mom Voice wakes up the baby. I nurse her, then start a massive load of laundry.
11:44am- We are treated to the dulcet tones of the Frozen soundtrack. All seem to find catharsis through the Power of Dance. My oldest girl makes me a beautiful picture frame out of sticks (where did they all come from??) and blue painter’s tape. tO MOM, she inscribes it, FRom Ro RO <3
12:02pm- I make a quick lunch for the kids—protein bagels, apples, and bell peppers—and another coffee for me (creamy and sweet this time). Eventually I scarf down some leftovers from last night’s dinner, standing at the counter with the baby on my hip.
12:50pm- We undertake a tactical mission: leaving for a walk. Somehow using the bathroom, finding shoes, and putting those shoes on our feet takes considerable time and resources.
1:11pm- We finally embark on our walk. It is a perfect Autumn day, cloudless and crisp.
1:14pm- Someone wipes out on the sidewalk. I kiss the boo-boo, and we forge on.
1:54pm- The baby is asleep in the carrier. I institute Quiet Walk Time (shakily enforced).
2:10pm- We arrive home to play in the yard, all happy to be outside. I sit in a lawn chair with no plans to move unless someone is bleeding. The big girls are busily occupied. All three children are barefoot now.
2:19pm- Dimpled hands deliver me a bouquet of flowers.
2:44pm- The baby wakes up, nurses in the sunshine, and plays in the clover (!). I would like to bottle this moment, to burn it into my brain somehow. Her little four-toothed smile is instant dopamine.
3:20pm- Inside now, we sustain morale with chamomile tea and slabs of cake. (My Postpartum Fitness Journey is going great, thankyousomuch.) We light a candle, read a story, and play a game. I move over the laundry.
3:55pm- Afternoon Quiet Time begins. We listen to several episodes of our favorite kids’ podcast, the Gnomes of Wondergarten (actually so good). I try to write a little on my laptop before it dies, but I’m typing with one hand since the baby needs to be held. Writing isn’t my paid profession—it’s somewhere between a cherished hobby and, when inspiration strikes, a compulsion—but I do make space for it when possible. Today Quiet Time is actually quiet; this seems ominous and foreboding.
4:23pm- I realize with horror that the couch, the wall, and the floor have been vandalized with green crayon. I scrub the scene of the crime with various solutions, to varying degrees of success. My laptop is now definitely dead.
4:45pm- Grocery day is tomorrow, so I scrounge up a random dinner: roasted chickpeas, arugula salad, fruit, and fried eggs. The arugula will almost certainly be met with skepticism.
5:20pm- Dad is done with work! I go lay down while the food cooks.
5:44pm- Remarkably refreshed, I come downstairs to discover the chickpeas are completely burnt. We shovel down a (very crispy) dinner, followed by… I can’t lie, more cake.
6:52pm- My husband and I divide and conquer kitchen cleaning, each doing our designated tasks while the other plays with the girls outside. It’s a lovely, cool evening—ideal sweatshirt weather. The 2 year old is swimming in her big sister’s fleece, and sports her pink rain boots on the wrong feet.
7:35pm- We round everybody up to get ready for bed. Baths would be ideal (see: barefoot in the yard), but the kids at this point are hysterically tired. We quickly hike on pajamas, brush teeth, and read stories.
7:52pm- I nurse the baby to sleep in my big, comfy rocking chair. She is precious. I admire her, and savor this rare quiet time with her, until her long-lashed eyelids flutter closed. Then it’s time to respond to some text messages, scroll Substack, and get some more writing done. Usually I would be reading, but today I’ve been visited by a Muse.
9:46pm- I run downstairs to haphazardly fold the mountain of laundry, charge my laptop, and chat with my husband. A shower would be ideal (see: sweaty at the dentist), but at this point I, too, am hysterically tired. I think I’ll just fall into my milk-stained sheets, say my prayers, and try again in the morning.
Rebecca Clutter writes from Columbus, Ohio, where she is putting major mileage on her massive red double stroller. Her bookish ramblings can be found at .
Thanks for reading The Pom! This post is public so feel free to share it.
Follow The Pomegranate on Facebook, Instagram and Bluesky for more, and join our subscriber chat here on Substack. If you enjoyed this post, please forward it to a friend! Interested in writing for us? Check out our submission guidelines.