When my daughter Nikki was about 16 months old, I had twin boys.
One day, I took one of the twins to the nursery to change his diaper. While I was in the other room, I heard the front door open. I ran into the living room and couldn’t find my older two kids anywhere. I started to panic. Without thinking, I put my newborn on his mat, told Nikki to watch her brother, and ran outside. I found my kids playing in the parking lot. When they saw me, they ran away, laughing. My husband came home while I was chasing them, and I told him to go upstairs to check on the other kids.
I finally caught up with them and dragged them back inside, my heart 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.
When I got back, my husband was holding our son with a proud look on his face. He told me what he had found when he walked in. Nikki was crouched next to her brother, Jeremy, rubbing his forehead and singing him a lullaby she had made up. When my husband went to pick him up, Nikki said, “Mommy told me to watch him. I love my brother.”
I’ll never forget that moment. 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 want to clarify a few things. At the time, I had five children. My oldest was almost 5 and had figured out how to unlock the door, but it was locked. I wasn’t being irresponsible. I stepped away for just 2 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 the twins were born.
Please, don’t mom-shame. I’m doing my best, just like every other mom.
