“Welcome to the twos! It lasts for about three years!”
This is the response I got from my ever-supportive friends Lola and Kara when I told them that sweet little impish ray-of-sunshine slice-of-heaven Smitty totally lost his mind last night. And I do mean totally lost it. Here’s a little word snapshot: Smith, face red, nose runny, tear streaks down his cheeks, sitting in his high chair last night with his body trying to go horizontal in what is decidedly a vertically designed chair. Screaming. Catching his breath. Then screaming again. But louder. Mostly angry because I’m trying to feed him pizza, which he loves – I could have been offering him anything: ice-cream, chocolate whatever. Kid was so beyond himself that I just had to rotate his chair towards the wall so I could just feed Sheppard who was taking advantage of the moment by being an angel. He was smiling and showing his dimples and making cute mimicking noises of Smitty’s distress.
Roan did not approve of my facing-Smitty-towards-the-wall tactics. He kept asking if he could get Smitty out of his chair and I kept saying “no.” I don’t know why. Mostly because I was afraid that there would be blood. That Smith would devour Roan and spit out his bones, despite his older brother’s advantage in size and agility. Smith was off the rails. Dangerous baby. I needed them both to live.
After coaxing a few bites into little crazy-pants, and getting a meal into his twin brother, I dipped them both in the bath (Smith still screaming, except when he would forget how mad he was and smile or laugh only to launch into an angry song again), hurriedly slapped some PJ’s on them, and retired them to the tranquility of their cages…er….cribs. Which is all Smitty wanted anyway. He was tired. Easy as that.
This is what is happening because my dudes are switching up from two naps a day to just one. And guess what? I’m doing it right. I’m following all the advice and guidelines and whatnot, but these are the results. My Smitty is overtaxed and doesn’t know how to contain that so he explodes. Shepz is a bit heartier, so he can manage it. But this switch in the schedule, which is about 2 weeks in the making so far is kind of rocking their world. Still, it’s the right thing to do, the right time to do it and we will be ok. After all, we all survived sleep training, no? What’s a little schedule-tweaking?
After I got the boys down (and I may or may not have whispered to Shepz on his way into the crib that he was my favorite twin on this day. What?) after I got them down I had enough stress and adrenaline running through my body to totally hijack and transform my normal collapse on the couch into an undeniable and absolutely unquestionable need to run. Anson had arrived home while the boys were on their way to dreamland, so I threw on my gear, plugged in a playlist my friend Toby made me, and got out into the world.
And it was good.
The air was cold, the light was amazing, there were a few rain showers and the soundtrack was exquisite. By the time I got home I was practically levitating. Usually I have a hard time running in the evening. My energy is pretty low, and my need to chill is pretty high. But this? I’m just announcing that if this is actually a preview of my boys being two, and this two-ness lasts for a few years, prepare to see this Pistol ready to run marathons and triathlons and the like. Running helps me decompress. What do you do?