It's been 7 days since both twins have been home, which will henceforth be referred to as la casa de caca, on account of the 16 diapers we blow through in an average 24-hour period.
These kids.
Oy.
How can something so cute and adorable and little and precious create so much poo?!?!
I'm not even mad...I'm just impressed.
Don't get me wrong - they're wonderful. They have the softest skin ever, and these teeny tiny little fingers, and these beautiful eyes and they make the funniest faces in life. But then, while they're staring up at you all quiet and beautiful and holding on to your index finger, and you're totally having a pampers commercial moment and thinking that life just couldn't get any better...
...
...they release explosive diarrhea that you can feel through the diaper.
Or they suddenly scrunch their face up and get all red and scream for no goddamn reason whatsoever.
Or they puke, without changing facial expressions at all. Just a sudden oozing of formula out of their face holes and holy crap on a stick, someone get me an old priest and a young priest!!
Feeding has been, by far, the biggest challenge. Feeding them one at a time takes up a huge chunk of the day. Like, literally one-third of my waking life - which is about 22 hours and change these days. Feeding them at the same time works famously if you have two sets of hands, but I refuse to get in the habit of depending on Brian for these things, because he'll be doing that whole "breadwinner" thing soon and I'll be largely on my own.
I tried feeding them at the same time by myself once.
It involved 2 boppys, 2 bottles, 2 hands (and I cannot stress enough that I only have 2 hands), and 2 screaming, sputtering infants that needed to be burped.
In other words, it was an EPIC FAIL, and both me and the carpet now suffer from PTSD.
But I guess trial and error is the cornerstone of parenting.
Well, that, and gin. Or whatever hard alcohol you happen to have lying around.
Kidding!
I'd never drink hard alcohol while actively parenting.
(Everybody knows I'm a beer and wine kinda gal)
But it's not all bad.
There are long periods of time when the kids sleep, and life feels relatively normal. Brian and I have our morning coffee. I blog and prowl facebook. Laundry occasionally gets washed, and I've even managed to squeeze in two glorious horseback riding sessions in exchange for two nights of Brian meeting his dad and brother at the bar for Happy Hour.
Of course, this is all about to change.
Again.
Brian is going back to work full time next week, and I'm supposed to start freelance writing again in December. What little downtime we have will be jam packed and we'll barely be able to breathe between juggling work and babies.
It seems like every time I get comfortable with life, the next few weeks promise to up the ante.
I suppose it's better than everything happening at once (which must feel like being dropped in the deep end of an olympic-sized pool with concrete shoes), but I'm terrified, none the less.
Shit is always about to get more real up in this joint.
But I'll survive, because I've yet to hear of a case of somebody dying from too much baby screaming.
So that's life right now.
Change diapers, feed, burp, repeat.
It's not bad - just different.
And now I'm off to catch a quick nap before the twins wake up and realize they haven't eaten in, like, two whole hours and flip their shit.
Baby mamma out.
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