Easier Each Day

So, word on the street is things get easier.  That's what mothers of two keep telling me.  Either they're telling the truth or they're lying through their teeth just to make me not pack up and run off to Miami to do something easy like be a cop in one of the most crime-ridden cities in America.



 


Not that I would.  I love my little squishy ladies.  But I've definitely thought about it in the middle of a sleepless night, just tipsy enough on warm white wine, reading a People magazine by the light of Pinterest on my cell phone, hoping the things rubbing on my legs are just Oreo crumbs and not mud because then I'd have to wash my sheets in the morning and I don't have time for such things!

And any mother who says she's never daydreamed about running off to Meh-he-co with Bradley Cooper and a suitcase full of wine and margaritas is lying.

But since I love my baby daddy, and Bradley Cooper hasn't called in a while, I'm gonna be right where I am with my lady loves.  And every day it's easier.  Or harder.  But mostly easier.  And it's getting to be so much fun to see the few interactions they have.  Addie likes to sing to Tula, and often I'll find her in her crib screaming, "TULA ROO LA ROO LA!" over and over again.  It's so cute.

And then there was the time I left them alone for like three seconds and Addie picked Tula up, carried her across the room, and then got bored and chucked her on the floor head first.

But then the next day she voluntarily came up and gave her a kiss, and then I cried so hard Addie started to cry, so that was weird.

And then the day after that Addie kicked Tula in the face while I was feeding her.

But then she shared her blankie with her, something she never ever shares.

And so on and so forth.

It's a challenge, but it's a dang cute one.

9 weeks cute!

(Not pictured: "and blessed with the tears of Jesus")

My pediatrician recommended beer for milk production.

Uh, ok.  If I have to. 

Apparently I carry Tula around a lot, because this is how I found Adeline the other day with her baby.

And then like this.

And sometimes you need to spend quality time together, but the only place to do that is in da crib.

Love.

Terrible Almost Twos

Well, we've reached the point where Addie needs to be disciplined.  Unfortunately, we've also reached the point where time outs are hysterical, swats on the butt are hysterical, loud yelling is hysterical, the silent treatment is hysterical, and calling boarding schools for early placement as a threat are also hysterical.

I do not say this lightly - it sort of makes me feel like a failure as a mother that my daughter is not afraid of me.


Not that I want her to fear me in a children-are-to-be-seen-and-not-heard sort of a way from the 50s.  Or the 20s.  Or whenever that was the thing.

And also not in the way where I want her to fear me because I might beat her within an inch of her life for losing the remote to the TV (though that is understandable and would probably hold up as self defense in a way in a court of law).  For the record, I'm not into spankings or anything of the sort.  My parents never hit us and I was plenty scared of them a lot of the time. Not that I think people are wrong for using that method of discipline - do what you need to as a parent is my new favorite motto. But it's not for me.  Lots of people think the fact that I let my not even 2 year old chew gum is deplorable.  YOU DO WHAT YOU HAVE TO DO TO GET BY, and if a piece of gum is gonna silence my child for a trip to the grocery store so that I can have a peaceful shopping trip instead of a tornado nightmare trip where she knocks down a stack of oranges and empties all of the whole bean coffee from those plastic dispenser things onto aisle seven within the first three minutes of arrival, guess what? I'm gonna give her the damn gum.  But a lot of moms wouldn't do that.  So there you go.  We're all different.

The way I want her to fear me is enough so that when I suck in air really loudly she's afraid to run into the street instead of what she's doing now which is looking at me with a sneaky twinkling in her eye and then running as fast as she can into the middle of the street.

*sigh*

I'm working on it.

In other news:

Someone is 8 weeks old today!

I didn't want to share this photo because it's crazy gross, she's mid-puke here.  But then I realized it was photography witchcraft because she was smiling when I took the shot, there was no puke anywhere afterwards, so pretty much I took a photo of a vampire puke.  Or Amish puke.  Amish can't be photographed right?  

I walked out the other day to find Rody like this in the seat of shame.

I'm not sure how he got here or what he did to deserve it but it's been two days and no one has moved him.

It must have been really bad.

Helping me water in the nude.  Is there another way?

Productivity

I know I should be using my double nap time (that's what I call it when the ladies are asleep at the same time - then I high five myself and do a little raise the roof action to the dog while I whisper "What what!" because I'm not gonna full out a what-what and risk waking the babies just because I'm happy. My happiness can wait until naptime is over, ok.) to be productive with housecleaning, or bill paying, or napping myself so I don't live the rest of my life with circles so dark under my eyes I look like Nick Cage at the end of Leaving Las Vegas.

But instead I've spent today's nap time trying to illegally download Rosetta Stone because I decided at a sleep deprived 5am that I would learn French.  And so would my kids.  And we would be one of those annoying families where at home we only speak French.  Except for when we're out at a restaurant together and then we also only speak French.  Or at the mall when I'm trying to get my kids attention in the Victoria's Secret because they're not allowed to put bras on their heads and yell "Boobs!"*, then I will do it in French.  Basically anytime we're together we speak French and it's annoying to all.  

(*Adeline actually does this already.  She's a joy.)

I'm pretty sure this has been a good use of my time since we have tons of free time to learn a language from pirated cds.  I couldn't even read ahead in my History book in High School to try to get ahead because I'm a kinesthetic learner*.  I need to write it down while someone is explaining it to me.  Plain ol' reading goes in one, uhm, eye and out the other.  So I'm pretty sure plain ol' listening is not gonna do the trick especially because I have developed a very highly tuned ear to zero in on only important things and if there's an episode of Real Housewives of Orange County playing somewhere on my block I'm fairly certain my ears are gonna pick that up instead of some French lady trying to make me conjugate verbs for her.

(*What! I can't believe I just remembered that word!  Just this morning I couldn't remember MY OWN MIDDLE NAME.  I'm not exaggerating here people.  I'm pretty sure having children is synonymous with early onset dementia.) (sidenote: I just wrote early onset diabetes as a mistake.  For the record, having children could also be synonymous with diabetes.  Although at my age I doubt it's early onset anymore.) (double sidenote: my sister still gets confused and thinks we're in our 20s.  Which a) makes me happy because it must mean she thinks I'm youthful like her.  Until b) I remember she's in her mid-30s also and thus I have to worry about her early onset dementia chances as well.)

Also, I took a break from Rosetta Stone-ing to try out some lipstick. I haven't worn lipstick since 1997.  I'm really into it right now.

I'm also really into that little squishers hanging from my arm.

Do not feel sorry for her.  She loves that position, despite the look of hate on her face.

Oh joy of joys.  This one burst my heart.

So does this one.  Good God.

She is literally in the middle of saying, "Push it..."

Yes, she's referring to the baby in her lap.  And yes, I stopped it.

Sisters are fun.  

Two At A Time

So it turns out being a mother of two is waaaaaaaaaaaaaaay harder than being a mother of one. Now, I don't want to put down anyone who only has one kid because having one kid is hard, having anything even resembling a kid is hard. A small puppy. A needy fish. A tangling houseplant. Taking care of something that is alive is mother f*$#ing HARD.

I understand cursing now Mom.  Pretty soon not even bleeping your own spelling will work. 

(Also check out the word to the left of her, it's like she tried to spell her own name! Genius? Probably.)

But everyone kept telling me that going from one to two was easy. That it was like throwing a cup of warm water in a bathtub. I don't know if that's a real saying, actually I don't think it is but it seems like it should be one because throwing a cup of warm water into the bathtub doesn't do a ding dang thing except make a person wonder why someone is standing near a bathtub with a cup of warm water, why in the world would someone have warm water handy, cold water - yes, hot water - ok if you're in the middle of making a cup of tea when you get summoned into the bathroom, unless you get summoned in with the hot water for the tea and you're standing in the bathroom chit chatting with whomever is taking a bath for so long that your tea water gets cooled down so now it's warm and then she says something offensive and you respond with a not so polite retort and then she's all, "Why don't you just go drink your precious tea!" and you're all "Why don't you bathe in it!" and then you chuck the warm tea water into the bathtub... forget it, it's a bad saying. Don't use it.

My point is, going from one to two has been tricky. With the first one I could just sit there and stare at her all day but with this one I have to sling her around while I try to wrangle an almost two year old who suddenly thinks it's hilarious to run into the street because of the look on my face when she does it. Oh yeah, that's the other thing - my anger and/or dismay is the height of comedy to Addie. I've tried so many different ways to let her know something is not ok and all of them, every single one, is like I've just told the best joke in the world.

I'm too cool for this backyard.

But with the second one things got crazy.  With two there is no me-time right now.  There is no me-and-him time right now.  There is no time to brush my teeth regularly.  Because they both need me all the time.  Right now. RIGHT NOW.

But it's ok, because it won't always be like this.  They both won't always need me.  And when that day comes I'll be simultaneously happy and a little sad.  Sad because they're my babies! But then I'll remember my mom, and I'll tell them as they stomp away from me in the mall to join their friends and would I please stop embarrassing them is that I'll always be here.  And they'll always need me, it'll just be in a different way.  And I'll love them FOREVER even though I have bags under my eyes and puke in my eyebrows right now.  Because look at their faces:

Happy and gorgeous at breakfast!

Also totally happy at breakfast!

Look at those eyebrows.  Am I gonna get my wish and have a redheaded child?  

This is the only proof I actually have brushed my teeth.  A splotchy mirror.  It's also proof I haven't cleaned my mirror.