All I wanted to do was take a bath after the terrible went to sleep. I don’t think that’s an awful desire. Don’t we value cleanliness in this society? I haven’t taken a bath since they were born.
Convinced they were asleep, I started to run the water. Got undressed and put an extremely fragrant Lush bath bomb in. Finally, a little me time. I step in the tub, and the moniter goes off.
Alex: mommy, mommy, mommomomomom.
Ben: ma. Ma. Ma!
Alex: mommy, daddy, I hurt.
I get out. Soaking wet, I run in their room. Flip on the light, and instantly get annoyed.
Alex: hi bye! Mommy.
Me: Alex are you hurt? What happened?
Alex: bath? Mommy?
Me: I was trying, but you said you were hurt.
(Alex holding out his hand)
Alex: it hurt.
Me: carefully looking at his hand, I find a hang nail.
Me: you are fine. Go to bed.
Me: yes, ben the thing you are jumping on.
I leave. Go back into the bathroom and add more water. Silence. Yes. They are asleep. As I’m about to get back into the tub, a loud crash and crying.
I run back in to find Ben stuck under his bed and Alex sitting on top of it.
And this is why I am insane. This is also why I gave up on doing anything for myself.
I call her Tonya. I’m not sure why. I guess she just seems like a Tonya. Now that I think about it, I’ve never actually met a Tonya. Anyway, she’s with me everyday. Twenty four hours a day, seven days a week. I grow very tired of looking at her day in and day out. But I don’t make her leave either. She reminds me of the terrible. More specifically, being pregnant with them.
She reminds me of the c section I had to get them out of me. The fears before hand and the joys of hearing their giant screams for the first time. She reminds me of the pain before and after.
Tonya is my twin skin. My rolls of stretch marks and scars. A reminder of battle my body went through to bring life to these two, amazing, energetic little boys. A reminder of what was and what is now. (I was no super model before).
Sure there are days (more then I’d like to admit), that Tonya and I fight. I do my best to hide her and cover her up. Some days I curse her every existence and other days I just say fuck it, what’s up, Tonya. Most days I don’t even really think about her too much. (I don’t have time to be overly critical of myself). I really just focus on the basics, brushing my hair, teeth, bathing, shaving my legs. To worry about what Tonya is doing is a bit of a luxury these days.
So really what I’m saying is ladies, give her a name. Become one with your twin skin. Eat healthy, exercise but if she’s not going to go away, embrace her.
I mean come on!!! She is the result of these two stinking cute tornados.
It was a beautiful spring day in south Jersey today. The terrible and I went to the park. They are funny there. They don’t care about the other kids. They are on a mission. A mission to discover as much as humanly possible. With that in mind, I took them on a nature walk. As I was watching them climb the hill ahead of us, I realized that there was nowhere I’d rather be.
Three years ago, I would have been at a happy hour. I would have been kicking back with a beer discussing how we can fix the Phillies. We would be laughing having the time of our lives. Not ever realizing how life could be so different.
I don’t think you can remotely understand how your life changes after you find out you’re pregnant. And then after that baby (babies) is/are born. Once upon a time, I thought we were busy. We weren’t. We were selfish. We had every right to be. Life was about the next adventure, the next party, the next big thing. We didn’t have to worry about sleepless nights or ear infections, baby proofing, toddler beds, stranger danger, or diapers.
To someone without children, those things may seem like a bad nightmare. And sometimes it is, but I wouldn’t, couldn’t change it for the world.
Motherhood is amazing. In the time it takes to pee on a stick and have a positive sign pop up, you have changed. It’s no longer about just you. It’s the both of you, (or three) of you. Fathers have nine months to come to terms with the idea. Mothers don’t. We worry, the instant the plus sign pops up. We become someone else. We become mommy. We may not be ready but we have no choice. We slowly transform into entirely different person. It happens. Our childless friends and family can’t understand they haven’t been through it. They are still selfish. Searching for that next adventure. And that’s good. They should. They should embrace life. Sleep late, go to happy hour, and party like it’s 1999.
As I walked behind the terrible laughing that them now running down the hill, I thought, my life is perfect.
Week one almost complete. We have five nights sleeping in our toddler beds under our belt. A few things I have learned in these past five days.
1. If you give two 20 month old toddlers freedom, they will find and destroy things you didn’t even know you had.
2. Falling asleep in their room for three hours, will result in them thinking you will sleep in there every night.
3. Even during sleep, (I mean sound sleep). My children never stop moving.
4. Given the opportunity to sleep in a bed or the floor, my children will sleep on the floor every time.
5. They have the ability to headbutt you in their sleep and not wake up.
6. Bedtime is merely a suggestion. A suggestion that seems to be ignored now.
7. They insist on sleeping in one bed, together, side by side. Side note: I find this to be incredibly sweet and endearing until one pushes the other onto the floor.
8. My back hates me. In fact my body screamed at me today and said, sleep in your own damn bed.
9. Despite the complete lack of sleep, watching them get so excited to go to bed, makes it all worth it.
10. Sheets, comforters, pillows, and stuff animals are not wanted, or needed and will be thrown onto the floor, where they will later sleep soundly with them.
I can’t wait til the novelty of big boy beds wears off and we can all go to bed in our own beds before midnight.
Boys are gross. I would never dream to do some of the things they do. I would never dream of eating the things they eat. Never. Maybe its just my boys. I don’t think so but maybe.
I just picked a ladybug wing off Alex’s chin. It presumably fell off while he was eating the rest of her gross little insect body. Why? Why would anyone want to eat a bug? Ok, you are in a survival situation and a ladybug is the only thing you can hunt and kill. I get that. I don’t get why my child ate one while sitting in my living room watching Peppa Pig.
My other gross son, Ben, ate poop. Yeah, this is the most disgusting of all my stories. I was changing Alex and Ben reached over and grabbed a steaming handful of poop, ate it, then looked at me. How do you clean a baby’s mouth out after he eats poop? How do you look at him the same way? I can tell you the answer is, you can’t.
They fart and think it’s funny. It seems to be way funnier if they fart on each other, and the funniest when they fart on me. Side note: their father also finds this hilarious. I don’t.
They pee on each other in the bath tub. I find this completely counterproductive. They seem to be riveted by their penises. Awesome. Great. Just like their dad, uncles, cousins, and friends. Why are boys like this? I never seemed to care about my vagina. Nor did I ever think it was funny to pee on a girlfriend. In fact, I have never farted on another being, ever.
Could this just be my boys? I certainly hope not. If it is, I blame their father.
We are in day three of what I like to call: who needs sleep anyway?
In effort to keep our spider monkey children safe, we switched them to toddler beds on Sunday. Such a big milestone was sorta lost on them, even though I cried a little. They seemed more concerned with how much freedom was now bestowed upon them.
Night one. Running, jumping, dancing until midnight. A nice little cat nap, then running, jumping, and dancing until four am. A nice sound sleep til seven. Up for the day.
Night two. Exhaustion set in around 6:00. They went down for a sweet one hour nap. Bedtime rolled around and that nap totally bit me in the ass. After nine pm, I decided that I needed sleep and so they went to bed too. But they didn’t go to sleep. They played and played, and played until they passed out in the same bed around 10:30. Ok. I’ll take that. I’m not picky, just tired.
Day three. Nap time seems to actually be playtime without parental supervision in the room. The bookcase was emptied, the sheets were strewn across the floor. Diapers were cleverly placed in the window blinds. It was a mess. But on a positive note, they did fall asleep…in the same bed, one at the headboard and the other at the footboard. Pretty stinking cute.
I have no idea what tonight will bring, I just hope they don’t figure the diaper genie out.
Friends of mine just found out they are having twins. I’m not really sure who is more excited. Me or them. They will soon join the parents of multiples club. Boy oh boy, what a club it is.
Life is different with two at a time. You have to do things differently. You need more help. You need more stuff. You have more worries. You learn how to juggle schedules, feedings, doctors appointments, and diaper changes.
You become a master bargain hunter, (especially for diapers). You learn to budget money and time. You learn to sleep when they sleep. You also learn that daily schedules are a must. You eventually learn to live with a messy house.
But most importantly, you learn that being a parent of multiples is the coolest thing in the world. All the hard work pays off. All the sleepless nights are forgotten. All the worries seem trivial over time. It always works its self out.
Congratulations! Welcome to the club.
I am still tired.
I must get off this couch and fold the laundry.
I must get off my ass and mop the floor.
I must catapult myself off the couch and clean the bathroom.
I must put the computer away and clean up the living room.
I am tired. I am not moving from this spot.
That’s all I’ve got.
I am tired.