Baby’d Out

Clearly Sheppard disapproves of this post.

As every mother will do, I have to preface this post with a declaration of Love!  For my twin boys!  I LOVE LOVE LOVE you guys!

However, I am getting a little baby’d out.

Smith is a little more forgiving

Every time I told someone I was having twins when I was pregnant, they’d raise their eyebrows, give a little whistle, and say, “Congratulations” which actually sounded like “Good luck, sucker!”  But I shrugged it all off because I am an achiever.  I find a certain sense of pride in my ability to do things that are difficult.  I like to run.  I like to kickbox.  I like to attend each and every cursed -er…uh….blessed field trip in Pre-K, Kindergarten, and First Grade.  I like to laugh at my father’s right-wing jokes.

That’s right, I truly enjoy the accomplishment of doing the difficult.

What lunatic could grow tired of this?

So I kind of felt like this Twins thing was going to be a breeze.  No sleep?  Don’t care.  Nursing all the time?  Whatever, loser.  Maintaining balance of attention between all 3 children?  Could do it in my sleep.  Hanging on to my identity as a woman not only a mother?  Duh, have you met me?

However, I believe I have been served.

At nine weeks plus a little, I officially announced to Anson last night that I was Baby’d Out.  Meaning: I will now admit that my never-say-die grin and can-do attitude are doing very little to assuage my feeling that I’m going mental.  This could have a lot to do that it’s winter.  I can’t get out of the house much.  So I’m in the house.  A lot.  With two infants.  Every single day.  And night.

24/7 with these guys? What could go wrong?

I realized that I was possibly a little on edge when Anson asked me last night how my day was, and you know – what did I do on this fine day?

What did I do today? I hate that question.  Because it’s this cycle of the same thing over and over and over and over and honestly I am a little embarrassed that I’m wearing the same pair of comfortable leggings and sweater that I was wearing last Tuesday.  It’s Friday, right?  Oy.  But the question makes me nuts – “What are you going to do today?” or “What did you do today?”  Because I basically only do two things during the time Roan’s at school:  clean and feed.  Clean the kitchen.  Feed a baby.  Clean a baby’s bum.  Feed myself.  Clean a bathroom.  Pick up a baby from the crib to feed the baby.  Clean the baby’s bum.  Clean the other baby’s bum again.  Feed the babies.  Try to obey the command of all sleep experts of having my twins nap and eat at the same time.  Knot brows in consternation at my inability to have my twins nap and eat at the same time.  Carve five minutes out while both babies are asleep (A-Ha!  I did it!) to put hair in ponytail.  Ignore fact that one baby is actually not asleep.  Feed the baby.  Remind self that ponytails every day of the week are the tale-tell sign that a woman is not taking care of herself.  Wait.  What about these leggings?

Balderdash, Ballyhoo and Bull.  I can’t even swear properly anymore.  My bad words come out in a sing-song voice with my eyes big and wide.  Yeh, it’s brutal.

Don't let the smile fool you. Smith is winding up for a mean right-cross.

Clearly I need some “me” time.  I mean, obviously.  I see it.  But it’s just hard to come by.  Last weekend I got to go for a run for the first time since I had these guys, and the cold weather, wind, and fatigue couldn’t erase the pure ecstasy I felt running – by myself – with nobody with me - nobody on me – nobody talking to me – nobody asking me to do something for them.  Just moving my feet and listening to age-inappropriate songs.  I will get another run in this weekend.

The truth is that soon enough the weather will get warmer.  And then things will be different.  I will be at the park with my boys who don’t need me quite so intensely, and I will have a cup of coffee in one hand and a smirk on my face as someone is asking me how it’s going with twins, and I will reply, “Oh this?  These guys?  Easy.  Since day one, easy.  Couldn’t be easier.  In fact, I should have had triplets, it’s just that easy.”

Did you buy tickets for the gun show?

Because I’m also quite accomplished at remembering things in the way I need to.

Reminder to self: program this post to auto-delete before that date comes.

[P.S.  I'm wondering if you'll take the time to nominate Pistols + Popcorn for a Cribsie award?  If only they had a category for milk production...but since they don't, let's go with "Web"?  One other suggestion from me - Appaman would be a great nominee for "Fashion" (Notice the ulta-cool onesies on the twins in this post....Appaman, but of course). Click here, it only takes a moment, honestly.  Thanks!]

7 thoughts on “Baby’d Out

  1. I remember feeling the same way when my daughter was born, also in the winter months. And magically as you predict, the spring came around and we could leave the house and yes, everything got better. Hang tight. It’s right around the corner.

  2. You have a sister named Kellene that desperately wants to hang out with these 2 and send you away for a day\days! Why do I live in Colorado? What good am I to you?! Those little babes are absolutely adorable, but I get it. You need a little time each day to recompose. That’s why you have another sister named Lori!
    Hang in there…you are an amazing mom and have incredible boys
    Love you Jodes….now go clean up something!

  3. Oh man, I hear you. Get out and run and don’t think twice about. Baby and kid snuggles will be waiting for you when you get home, and you’ll love ‘em even more!

  4. I so understand your feelings. Our son was 22 months old when our twins were born and we survived a year with 3 in diapers. I so strongly remember not be wanted, not changing diapers and craving the ability to sit down and enjoy a meal without interruptions or another child on my lap. Now that first year is nothing but a blur.
    Take a breather, go for a run alone because before you know it, they will be celebrating their 18th birthday.

  5. hahaha, thanks for the good laugh! Now I know the lady across the street is going nuts and just won’t admit it either:) Hang in there little momma!

  6. Pingback: Pistols and Popcorn » My Starry Eyes

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