The answer to, “How do you do it all?” is simple. Nobody does it all. If you bake your own bread and mill your own wheat, then you probably don’t polish your silverware. If you polish your silverware, you probably don’t parse Latin verbs with your kids. If you do Latin with your kids, you probably don’t have a garden. If you have a garden and do all of the above…you probably don’t take a shower. And I’ll bet your garden has weeds.

I had another chance this week to discuss the How-do-you-do-it question from a still wet behind the ears mom. Why she’s asking me, I figure, is just for the sake of conversation. She can’t imagine I do it all. I mean, if she bothered to look, she would have noticed that I didn’t even bring my Bible to church. Let alone the diaper bag. (One can scrounge a diaper from a hidden place in the van, if necessary…)

When the mom with the newborn told me about her day and its trials, she related her baby’s routine and his nighttime bath.

And I remembered. I remembered when I had my firstborn and gave him a bath every evening before bed. I remembered that I dressed him in sleepy-time clothes and powdered him up. I remembered that I would comb his peach-fuzz hair. I’d even brush his one tooth. I’d talk and sing to him, rock and cuddle him. He even had a mobile in his crib that sported working batteries.

Then I remembered my #4 baby. We didn’t even own one of those plastic baby tubs. Takes too much storage space. A box of baby wipes is much more efficient. Sure, we’d rinse her off in the sink when one of the diapers failed to contain its contents, but she had to wait until she could sit up to have a real bath. With the other girls, of course. Currently, we line them up, three-in-a-row, and wash their hair in assembly line fashion. Not wanting to ruin their childhoods entirely, I do use (generic, of course) lavender-scented baby shampoo. Then, we dress the baby in cozy blue pajamas, a remnant of an over-indulged firstborn. I feel no guilt.

For the record, when I sorted through the newborn clothes for our #5 baby, my husband put his foot down and told me that no son of his was going to wear pink pajamas. Even if it was only for around the house.

With each addition, the grooming and manual tasks get streamlined. But don’t for a second imagine that their caretaking gets short-changed. Number five will not have special baby Q-tips and coordinating sleeping booties, but he will have more hugs, lovin’, attention, prayers and holding than any baby in the neighborhood.

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Our 20-month-old was just getting over the flu a few weeks ago. My oldest boy asked if he could have another job to earn more money before we left for the store. I conceded, and we left together for a quick shopping trip. He pulled out his money, counted it several times, and checked the prices carefully on everything. And then he purchased a glob of candy for his baby sister. Because she didn’t feel good.

And so, my conscience remains ever clear about #4’s babyhood bath time. It’s all good.