Autopilot had always seemed like a very dangerous concept to me. Of course, we are talking about the opinion of a woman whose knowledge of flight can be summed up in the words, “Flight number 895, now boarding,” and planes of the paper variety that the boys always seemed to make better than the girls. Now of course, I know better.
I now know that autopilot is not, in fact, a safety feature built into a plane in case the pilot has a heart attack or other personal malfunction. No – I’ve discovered the very concept was an idea that originated with and was adapted from…Mothers! Why, this concept is as old as motherhood itself. It’s just that modern mothers have not all been taught how to use it. It’s something we figure out along the road, all by ourselves.
Oh, how well I remember life before the implementation of this wonderful cruise control...
I slowly open each bedroom door to double-check the children before I retire. I am tired, too. I mean, bone-crushing tired! So tired that I can already feel my pillow beneath my head. So I set about to tuck in the covers and kiss cheeks in room number one, on to room number two, and….ooooooh-eee! What is that smell? Ooooh…my poor, poor baby! Asleep in his semi-digested dinner!
Turn on the light and take stock. Jammies are shot. Sheets are shot. Pillow is shot. Blankets are shot. Baby’s hair is plastered. All this translates into one complete child change, one complete bed change, at least one load of laundry, one carpet scrubbing, and one bath. All of a sudden, I want to cry! I am so tired! All I wanted to do was check the babies and go to bed! Now I will not be in bed for at least an hour! You have already dismissed the idea that Dad could help. The same man whose stomach can handle the diet of a Billy goat is suddenly turned inside out at the very thought of cleaning up this stuff. So, you set about to do what must be done.
Motivated almost completely by a spirit of self-pity and martyrdom, you rinse and scrub and wash and change and fluff. Note the brevity of this description. This is a literary trick akin to “Killing the fatted calf and feasting”, per the Bible, which takes a series of unspeakably nasty events and summarizes them by their single-sentence outcome. Nifty, huh?
Ah…at last. Baby is sleeping again, sweet and clean, the dryer is humming. You crawl into bed beside your snoring spouse, and collapse into a satisfied slumber.
How long have you been asleep? Was that a whimper? A cry? No! I am sleeping!
“Mom!”
You open one eye, thinking, “No way…”.
“Mom!”
If I just fall back asleep I won’t have to answer that…
“Mo…..glurglubght….” Both eyes open at the same time both feet hit the floor. The worst has happened. The baby’s bellyache was no isolated incident: this is The Flu! As you enter the room, you can’t believe it. Anger. Disbelief. Pity. Self-pity. Exhaustion. Depression. Hysteria. Momentary catatonia.
This is the desperate situation where a mother learns to use the autopilot command. This is serious emotional overload. When every stress meter hits max – “BEEEEEP” – over you go into maternal overdrive. After much analysis, I have come to pin-point the trigger mechanism as the look upon the face of your child that needs you at that moment of mental melt-down. The moment the eye connection is made – “BZZHHT” – welcome autopilot! You are now at a cruising altitude and may unfasten your seatbelt and feel free to walk about the tasks of motherhood. You are in the autopilot zone.
You do not take stock. You do not rush. You do not analyze. You cease thinking and start doing. Because you have ceased thinking, you are able to calmly help the child into clean jammies from the warm tub and assure him that everything is okay now, get the sheets all rinsed and into the wash, the carpet cleaned the bed remade and a bucket by the bedside. And when you are awakened an hour later by the same sound, different voice, you do not even check the clock. You do not hit the ground running. You merely get up and do. And despite what the uninitiated may see in these outwardly chaotic scenes, you have the peaceful assurance that all is well. You do realize, somewhere in the back of your mental cockpit, that you will ultimately disengage this marvelous function and you will have to put down the landing gear and hope for a smooth landing. But for now…it’s all under control.
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