Some days, I feel like a competent parent and a decent human being. Other days, I am left questioning how I managed to leave the hospital with a human infant… four times. Today was one of those latter days.
It has been quite a while since I tackled the task of making beds and changing sheets—perhaps since the last ice age. With one queen bed, two sets of bunk beds, and a crib, that amounts to quite a bit of bedding. To do the math: 1 queen + 2 bunks (4 beds) + a crib equals a mountain of linens, not to mention the 500 stuffed animals and 15 stray socks I found in the process.
I tend to avoid this chore like I avoid exercise or volunteer duties.
As I was putting the finishing touches on my 3-year-old’s bottom bunk, my 8-year-old piped up, “Mommy, can you make my bed too?”
“Of course, sweetie! Your bed is next,” I replied, feeling quite proud of myself for a brief moment, until the moment I attempted to climb to the top bunk, which felt as daunting as scaling Mount Everest. The ladder seemed to mock me, as if saying, “Look at her struggle. She can’t even manage this!”
Upon reaching the top, I was greeted by a shocking sight.
It was like a prison cell up there—no sheet, just 15 books stuffed under her pillow, and absolutely no fitted sheet. Did I mention there were no sheets at all? The “mattress” was merely a toddler bed pad, split into three sections. It was thin and frankly, I felt like a failure.
“Ummm, you don’t have any sheets. How long have you been without them?” I asked.
“I don’t know. A while, I think,” she replied.
“Why are you sleeping on those thin pads? How did this happen?”
“Something happened when you were fixing the beds last time. I think you couldn’t finish? I don’t remember. It was a while ago.”
Her memoir titled “I Don’t Remember. It Was a While Ago” could be a bestseller among parents.
The only thing missing was a metal cup for her to rattle against the bed guard.
To make matters worse, the unused top bunk of my son’s bed was luxuriously equipped with a double mattress, an eggshell mattress topper, sheets, two pillows, and several blankets—perfect for the invisible person who sleeps there.
I spent the next two hours dragging mattresses, fluffing pillows, and rearranging bedding. I tucked corners and placed the softest sheets I could find on my daughter’s bed. How did I overlook this for weeks—no, months? Oh right, the ladder!
As I kissed her goodnight at the bottom of the bed, I realized no one puts a baby in a corner—unless it’s the corner of an unmade prison cot.
On the upside, I walked away with a renewed appreciation for my daughter. She never complained, never asked for sheets, and never fussed about sleeping on uncovered mattress pads that were likely drifting apart every night. She simply climbed up to her barren bed and kissed us goodnight.
The old fable tells of a princess who feels a pea under numerous mattresses, but I believe a true princess would do exactly what my daughter did: she kissed her family and made the best of a less-than-ideal situation.
So despite my shortcomings, I have a bona fide princess on my hands. Here’s hoping she marries into royalty; we could all use some Egyptian cotton around here.
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Summary:
Parenting can be a challenge, especially when it comes to household chores like making beds. In this humorous account, Jenna reflects on the chaos of unmade beds and the surprising resilience of her daughter, who never complained despite her less-than-ideal sleeping conditions. The narrative highlights the importance of appreciation and the little things that often go unnoticed in parenting.