One day, I took one of my twins to the nursery to change his diaper. While I was doing that, I heard the front door open. I ran into the living room and couldn’t find my older two children anywhere. I started to panic. Without thinking, I put my newborn on his activity mat, yelled at Nikki to watch her brother, and ran out the door. I ran down the apartment stairs and outside, where I found my kids playing in the parking lot. I ran after them, but of course, they ran away laughing.
My husband came home while I was chasing them. He came to help, but I told him to go upstairs and check on the other kids.
Finally, I caught them and dragged them inside. My heart was racing. I think that was the first time I really felt scared as a parent. I got them upstairs and sent them to their rooms.
My husband was holding our son and had a look of pride on his face. He told me what he had walked into when he came home. Nikki was crouched next to Jeremy, stroking his forehead and singing him a lullaby she had made up. When my husband went to pick him up, she said, “Mommy told me to watch him. I love my brother.”
I’ll never forget that. My baby took care of my baby. I’ll be telling that story for the rest of my life.
Nikki is still very close to her brothers. 💖
Edit: I just want to clear up a few things. At the time, I had 5 children. My oldest was almost 5 and had figured out how to unlock the door. The door was locked, so I wasn’t being irresponsible. I stepped away for just a couple of minutes to change a diaper. My other twin was asleep in the swing.
Yes, we lived in a 2-bedroom apartment, but we had turned the dining room into a room for me and my husband. My twins were a surprise, and we were house hunting at the time. We only lived there for a few months after they were born.
Please try not to mom-shame. I’m doing my best, just like every other mom.