The first hints of dawn barely pierce the curtained room, yet my internal alarm is already ringing. I pry my eyelids open, just a sliver, to catch the digital clock’s glow from beneath the television. It reads a bleary ‘6-something’. Morning again? A silent groan escapes me. It feels like I’ve only just closed my eyes, moments after the last midnight feed, when the world went quiet, offering a fleeting promise of rest. As I wrestle with the conflicting desires to either fully awaken or surrender to the comforting embrace of sleep for just a few more precious minutes, a subtle shift beside me announces the inevitable. My youngest, nestled in an enviable state of deep, peaceful slumber, begins to stir. Her tiny lips part, a silent, instinctive signal that Mother Nature’s provision is due. This is her eloquent, wordless request for the nourishment only I can provide, a daily ritual that marks the true beginning of my day and the continuous cycle of mom life.

With a gentle sigh, I pull her closer, her small, warm body fitting perfectly against mine. The early morning feeding session commences, a quiet dance of instinct and need. She nurses contentedly, eyes still closed, a tiny, rhythmic slurping sound filling the hushed room. Five minutes melt into ten, then I carefully shift her to the other side, ensuring balance for both of us. My mind, however, is already sprinting ahead, mapping out the labyrinthine tasks that await. What accomplishments will today bring? Beyond the constant ‘higgu hagga’ – the beautiful chaos and ceaseless demands that come with ‘mommying’ three spirited girls – there are external obligations calling. My eldest, ‘Girl Number One,’ has an open house at her school, an important milestone requiring my presence. The pantry shelves whisper of depleted stock, necessitating a trip to the grocery store. And then there are the vital vouchers from the Department of Public Health, essential for supplementing my baby’s nutritional needs. The mental checklist grows, a testament to the multifaceted role of a modern, busy mom.

Before my internal monologue can conclude its relentless inventory, a faint rustling from the adjacent room signals another awakening. It’s Girl Number One, ever the early riser. Soon enough, her small form materializes at the doorway, a shy peek transforming into a radiant smile that lights up the dimly lit space. She heads straight for the bathroom, a paragon of morning routine discipline. I hear the gentle trickling of water as she attends to her needs, followed by the satisfying whoosh of the toilet flushing – a semi-waterfall sound that has become a comforting backdrop to our mornings. Moments later, she reappears, her smile wider now, a beacon of innocent joy. This early morning ritual of smiles has been hers since her baby days, a heartwarming tradition that never fails to lift my spirits, no matter how tired I feel navigating the demands of motherhood.

I return her smile, a silent exchange of affection that needs no words. Then, our daily morning conversation begins, a familiar melody of innocence and inquiry, a cherished start to our day.

Her: “Good morning, Mama.”

Me: “Good morning, my dear. How did you sleep?”

Her: “I slept well.”

True to form, she’s bursting with tales. It could be a vivid dream she just woke from, her grand plans for the day ahead, or a beloved story she’s about to recount for the umpteenth time. I gently interrupt, asking her to momentarily suspend her narrative so as not to disturb her sisters’ precious sleep. Our animated chit-chat, I promise, will resume downstairs, a shared secret between us for a few more moments before the full swing of our daily routine begins.

By now, the baby’s vigorous sucking has softened into a gentle flutter, her tiny mouth using my breast more for comfort than sustenance. With practiced ease, I delicately withdraw, tucking my nipple back into my shirt. I motion for Girl Number One to follow, and together, we descend the stairs, leaving the quiet sanctuary of the bedroom behind and stepping into the bustling heart of our home, ready to face the day’s parenting challenges.

As soon as our feet touch the living room floor, she promptly reminds me of our cherished prayer session. “We need to pray, Mama!” I gently tell her to wait for Girl Number Two, who is still wrapped in the lingering tendrils of sleep. Our morning devotion, I explain, is a family affair, a time for all three of us to come together. From the basement, I can hear the soft, rhythmic snores of Mr. N, catching some much-needed rest. He only just returned from his night shift a little over an hour ago, his quiet presence a grounding force in our busy household, embodying the collaborative spirit of our family life.

It isn’t long before the distinctive, robust rhythm of Girl Number Two’s footsteps announces her arrival. She bursts into the living room, a wide, infectious grin spreading across her face. “I sweep in the morning!” she declares proudly. It’s her adorable interpretation of “I woke up in the morning,” a charming linguistic quirk where “woke up” often becomes “sweep.” This consistent, endearing mispronunciation is a small, everyday joy that underscores the unique personalities of my children, adding a touch of humor to our vibrant mornings and reminding me of the preciousness of these early years in their development.

I send Girl Number One upstairs to retrieve the children’s Bible, a well-worn treasure filled with colorful illustrations. We gather round, embarking on the captivating story of the Walls of Jericho. As I reach the part where the Israelites marched around the formidable walls, my daughters can’t resist. They jump up, mimicking the march, their tiny feet creating a joyful procession around our living room, embodying the biblical narrative with youthful enthusiasm. After our story and prayer, it’s time to tackle breakfast, a symphony of sizzling pans and clattering dishes, a true morning rush for any busy mom. Just as the aroma of morning meals begins to fill the air, the baby awakens, her cheerful babbling adding to the lively chorus as she joins the crew. I tend to her immediate needs, ensuring she’s fed and content, seamlessly integrating her into the morning’s organized chaos.

To further reinforce the morning’s lesson, I turn on the TV and navigate to YouTube, searching for “Walls of Jericho for children.” A plethora of animated versions pops up, and I select one, providing a visual and auditory reinforcement of the biblical tale. While my girls are engrossed in the cartoon, their imaginations captivated, I seize a precious window of opportunity. I turn to my computer, checking my Blogger dashboard for recent activity and scanning Facebook notifications, a brief dive into the digital world before the next wave of ‘mommy duties’ arrives. This delicate balance of nurturing my children’s minds and managing my own tasks is a constant tightrope walk, but one that defines the modern mom life and its inherent challenges.

With the girls momentarily occupied, I plunge into the domestic duties awaiting me. The kitchen sink, a silent testament to our morning’s activities, boasts a formidable pile of dishes. I tackle them with practiced efficiency, the rhythmic sound of scrubbing filling the kitchen. Next, I move to the floor, sweeping away crumbs and traces of breakfast, restoring a semblance of order. Then comes the inevitable, and often chaotic, ‘shower time’ for the girls. I usher them into the bathroom one by one, starting with Girl Number Two, then the baby. In between the splashes and the suds, I manage to steal a few moments to chat with a friend on Facebook Messenger, a quick lifeline to the adult world. The baby, ever clingy, refuses to be left alone, her cries escalating into insistent wails. Resourcefully, I enlist Girl Number One as her personal cheerleader and entertainer, singing songs and making funny faces, while I swiftly dress Girl Number Two, a testament to the multitasking prowess required in a busy mom’s life.

Finally, all my little ladies are dressed, their morning preparations complete. I send them downstairs, instructing them to play quietly while I seize the opportunity for my own swift shower. It’s a race against time, a quick rinse before the next round of demands. As I emerge, reaching for my clothes, the baby’s soft sobs begin, quickly escalating into a plea for my undivided attention. I quickly apply some nourishing gel and olive oil to my natural hair, gathering it into a practical ponytail, a simple yet essential step in my self-care routine. The sobs transition into full-blown screams, a clear sign she needs to be close. Without hesitation, I scoop her up, placing her securely on my back, and use a large, familiar cloth to strap her to me, her small body a comforting weight against mine, a symbol of our unbreakable bond. This is the reality of many African moms, combining tradition with necessity, keeping their babies close while navigating the daily routine.

With the baby securely fastened to my back, a tiny shadow clinging to my every movement, I meticulously apply a touch of make-up. It’s a small act of self-preservation, a way to feel a little more ‘together’ amidst the beautiful chaos of parenting. As soon as my face is done, I spritz on a favorite perfume, a final touch before we venture out. Then, with practical foresight, I prepare a small bottle of diluted one hundred percent apple juice for the baby, knowing she’ll need sips of refreshment during our upcoming adventures. This carefully orchestrated preparation is a cornerstone of successfully navigating errands with children, a strategy for keeping everyone content while on the go and managing motherhood challenges.

Mr. N, now refreshed from his brief sleep, joins us, ready to lend his support. Together, we embark on our first excursion: Girl Number One’s open house at school. It’s a wonderful experience for her – she explores her new classroom, plays with newfound toys, and begins to acquaint herself with her new teachers, her excitement palpable. Next, we make a necessary stop at the city community center, inquiring about various programs and resources available for families. Our journey then transforms into a retail tour, moving from store to store, meticulously checking items off our extensive grocery list. We conclude our bulk buying mission at a vibrant African store, a treasure trove of familiar ingredients and culinary comforts, stocking up on essentials that bring a taste of home to our kitchen. This family outing, though packed with errands, also offers moments of connection and shared experience, a true testament to our dynamic family life.

By the time we pull back into our driveway, the streetlights are aglow, and the clock on the dashboard displays well past 7 pm. The day has stretched long, its demands relentless. My first task upon entering the house is to quickly unravel the fresh groundnuts (peanuts) we purchased and set them to boil, a promise of a comforting evening snack. Then begins the Herculean task of transferring the numerous plastic bags overflowing with groceries from the car into the house, a logistical challenge in itself. The baby, sensing my temporary unavailability, begins to fuss, signaling her desire for a nursing session. However, the timing is far from convenient. I cleverly distract her, pouring a small amount of water into her bottle, turning it into an impromptu toy, buying myself precious minutes to manage the escalating evening demands. This constant negotiation between my children’s needs and household tasks is the very essence of a busy mom’s life.

With Girl Number One’s eager assistance, we methodically put away the groceries. The upright freezer becomes a veritable repository of culinary delights: smoked turkey, beef stripes, beef skin, tender chicken breasts, and drumsticks. There’s even a succulent beef steak, earmarked for next day’s ‘soya’ (skewered meat) preparation, carefully placed in the refrigerator. Each item finds its designated spot, a small victory in the ongoing battle against kitchen clutter and a testament to our family’s diverse culinary preferences.

The pantry shelves receive their new additions: Ovaltine, fragrant coconuts, creamy coconut milk, versatile corn flour, and yam flour (essential for traditional pounded yam). Fresh garlic and ginger, ripe plantains, and hearty yams also find their homes. Throughout this organized chaos, Girl Number One is a constant stream of chatter, an incessant torrent of questions flowing my way, each query a testament to her insatiable curiosity. Meanwhile, Girl Number Two is kneeling, a small, somber figure. It’s her punishment for an earlier transgression – an ill-advised poke at the baby while she was peacefully sleeping. Evenings, it seems, are a delicate tapestry woven with both domesticity and discipline, a true reflection of the daily parenting journey.

The groundnuts finally reach their perfect tenderness. I drain them, letting their warmth dissipate at the sink while I complete the final stages of grocery organization. The baby, ever my shadow, persistently crawls to my feet, seeking contact, a small magnet drawn to its mother. I offer her a series of improvised ‘toys’ – some used boxes and cartons – anything to momentarily distract her and buy myself a few more moments of uninterrupted productivity. This continuous dance between tasks and tiny hands is a hallmark of parenting young children and the relentless demands of a stay-at-home mom.

The older girls happily crunch on their boiled groundnuts, a simple yet satisfying protein for the night. I then hand each a crescent roll or croissant and a comforting cup of chocolate milk, a small treat after a long day. While they enjoy their snack, I quickly prepare some French fries for Mr. N, who is currently catching precious sleep in preparation for his night shift. The baby, having had enough of her makeshift toys, begins scooting around, a whirlwind of energy. I take out the evening garbage, a final chore before the bedtime countdown truly begins. With toothpaste carefully applied to their toothbrushes, I send the girls upstairs, instructing them to brush their teeth and prepare for bed. Downstairs, I wash the newly soiled dishes in the kitchen sink, a never-ending cycle of tidiness and the constant juggling act of a busy mom.

Finally, I scoop up the baby and head upstairs. I ensure my little ladies are comfortably clad in their pajamas, a soft uniform for the night. We share a few moments of playful interaction, a final burst of laughter before settling down. We pray, thanking the Lord for the day’s blessings and challenges, and then I tenderly kiss them good night. There’s an undeniable sense of accomplishment and peace that washes over me as I tuck them into bed. Two down, one more to go. My breasts, now several hours since the baby last nursed, are full and heavy, a gentle ache reminding me of nature’s persistent rhythm. I chew on a few of the leftover boiled groundnuts, a quick refuel, then turn on the TV, settling onto the couch for a much-anticipated nursing session with my youngest. This quiet moment, a blend of exhaustion and profound connection, is often the first true pause in my bustling day, a brief respite in the journey of motherhood.

As my baby girl nurses peacefully, her small hand clutching my shirt, I finally allow myself a moment of passive absorption. I scroll through my favorite blogs on my phone, seeking out interesting reads and snippets of inspiration from the vast expanse of the internet. When she’s done, fully satisfied and drowsy, I gently place her on the rug to play for a few precious minutes, buying myself a small window of opportunity. I open my laptop, torn between the desire for a late, well-deserved dinner and the persistent urge to pen down a story, to capture the day’s chaotic beauty in words. Yet, the exhaustion is profound. I only manage to drink a warm cup of Ovaltine, its comforting sweetness a small solace. Updating the blog, it seems, must wait for another, less demanding day. The energy simply isn’t there, a common confession of a mommy balancing life.

I offer baby girl another small feed, and this time, sleep claims her completely. As her soft breaths fill the room, I acknowledge my own utter weariness. There are truly only three things that occupy my mind, a singular, overwhelming desire that eclipses all others:

1. Sleep
2. Sleep
3. Sleep

Can you see now why I often describe my life as being in competition with a roller coaster ride? Each day is a thrilling ascent, a dizzying plunge, and a constant, exhilarating loop of love, demands, and endless motion. It’s a journey filled with incredible highs and exhausting lows, a testament to the beautiful, relentless journey of motherhood, and the challenges of balancing family and personal needs.

P.S: I just had to republish this reflection because the past few days have been eerily similar, a continuous cycle of these very events. The only significant difference now is that my baby girl no longer nurses; I have to feed her REAL FOOD. Ha! Another chapter, another challenge, another beautiful shift in the ever-evolving saga of mom life, constantly adapting to the needs of my growing children.