The Art of Multitasking

I am multitasking extraordinaire. I realised that last week, as I sat at the table, laptop in front of me, going over uni readings and formulating a response (started back off-campus two weeks ago), my right hand wielding pen, making notes for blog, my left steadying electric breastpump as milk dripped into bottle, eyes occasionally glancing up at the window to ensure I wasn’t frightening the neighbour’s children. The craziness of this situation was made somewhat worse by the ‘ee-oo-ee-oo-ee-oo’ sound coming from the breastpump.

This picture is in stark comparison to Prince Charming who, when holding Baby automatically goes into helpless mode.

PC holding Baby: Can you please pass me that blanket over there?

Me: What, that blanket that is right next to you, as in the blanket that is right there, in arms reach, you mean that blanket that is over the other side of the room from me, meaning I will have to stand up, take my reading glasses off because I get dizzy looking around with them on, walk around the table, step 5 metres across the room, bend over, pick up that blanket that is thirty centimetres away from you, stretch out my arm and pass it to you, walk 5 metres back, dodge the table and the nappy I have knocked on the floor, put my glasses back on and sit down? Is that the blanket you mean?

PC holding Baby: Uh. Yes.

Me: Ok. (Feeling like an enormous nasty pastie)

The other night I was cooking dinner, standing on one leg. The other leg was rocking Baby back and forth in her pram, my left hand stirring something that looked scarily like poo, although it was meant to be dahl, my right hand attempting to chop up coriander.

The day that my multitasking skills failed me was the day I tried to carry my bag, my keys, my iPhone, a blanket, my sunglasses and Baby out to the car. As I neared the car my iPhone, yes – my IPHONE – came tumbling out of my grasping hands. My mouth gaped and a slow motion ‘noooooo’ escaped my quavering lips. It landed face down on the step. I went to the car and put everything down, strapped Baby in. As I walked back to the porch, I silently spoke to myself, breathing, calming, warning myself of what might be. I picked up the phone and turned it over. Sure enough, my shattered reflection shone back at me, the screen a thousand shards of glass.

It was that day that I saw a bottle of red wine by the microwave. It was midday. It’s lucky I didn’t have any spare hands.

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