Oh heyyyy there blog.
I remember you.
I remember the days where I had the time and energy to tap out a witty commentary on the magic of motherhood whilst sipping my Merlot after the kids went down for their 8th nap of the day.
I remember the days where the boys would just hang out, all strapped in to their bouncers, happily batting at a colorful, suspended whatnot while I bantered on about the "challenges" of being a parent which, at the time, measured up to me having to switch them from the swing to the playmat every few hours, lest they get bored and start to whimper in their teeny, tiny baby voices
I vaguely remember that there was a time when I had to mix up two bottles every 4 hours and, horror of horrors, plug the aforementioned bottles into their pie-holes for about 10 minutes while they sucked it down without a word.
Yanno...because they had no opinions about what they ate, as long as it was liquid and formula-y tasting.
In other words, I remember a time where I thought I had it rough.
pssshhhht.
Whatever.
Don't make me laugh.
Somewhere, the world's smallest violin is playing a sad, sad tune.
If you'll excuse my french, those days weren't shit compared to the screaming, eye poking, hair pulling, electrical cord yanking, curtain swinging, sock losing, toy stealing, "I'll do whatever I damn well please and if you try to feed me that carrot again, I'll SHOVE IT UP YOUR ASS" days I have now.
HO-LEE GOD, people, I had no idea what was in store for me.
There I was, all motherhood is certainly a little challenging, but I love every minute of it and oh, I think the timer went off on the meatloaf I'm cooking for dinner. My how time flies when your kids sleep for 3 hours at a time and you're just SO BUSY getting the household chores done.
Little did I know, the things I was complaining about...the chores and the dinner preparing?
...turns out, they were LUXURIES.
That WHOLE TIME I was complaining about having to fit parenting and housework into a single day, I had no idea that it I was lucky to be able to do both. That one day I'd have to decide between getting a shower and making sure the children wear actual clothes and not pajamas all day. That I'd have to choose between feeding the children and feeding myself. That I'd go to bed and dream about having time to sort the mountain of clean laundry in our bedroom like teenage girls go to bed and dream about meeting some swarthy, misunderstood boy who reads poetry and smokes cloves.
*sigh
Until tomorrow night, balled up underwear and random socks...
Mi Amore...
But I've digressed.
Life, while still wonderful, is full of little people who express themselves through a series of howls, shrieks, screams, and (during my more successful parenting moments) laughs. Occasional laughs, mind you. I haven't exactly received my "Parent Of The Year" plaque, although they ARE still alive, which is rewarding in it's own way.
In any given day, there is much rolling of eyes and gnashing of teeth (all 8 of them). Mostly because I won't give them my iPhone or I insist on feeding them fruits and vegetables instead of cheerios and chocolate grahm crackers.
These kids usually know what they want, and when they don't get it...they cry.
Also, they cry when they don't know what they want. (You'd be surprised how often that happens).
Aaannd, they cry when they know what they want, get it, and then change their mind.
In other words, they cry. A lot.
But it's all part of the process of becoming people, I guess. You figure out what you DON'T want, and the rest sort of works itself out (especially if one is eating a chocolage graham cracker while this process occurs).
But.
I still wouldn't give it up for anything.
Not only because I love them and think they're possibly the coolest little people on the planet, but also because it gives me an excuse to let the house to go pot.
I kid.
Sort of.
It's just that it's so WILD to go from this little meatloaf, which just laid there and blinked at you from it's nest of swaddling, to this individual who has preferences and tastes and habits. Isaac loves grapes. Simon loves to clap. Isaac's scared of the dark, and Simon can't keep a sock on his left foot to save his life. Sure, it seems obvious, but watching your newborn turn in to a toddler is the equivalent of finding out your sofa and coffee table have been caught up in a scandalous love affair.
For realz, observing anything morph from a stationary, emotionless object to a multi-dimentional being is crazy-with-a-K.
And baffling.
And super entertaining (it helps if you don't get out much)
So that's my 12 month summary.
It's like 80% craziness and 20% suicidal and 100% wonderful in every way.
I'll try to check back in more frequently, but let's be honest, it probably aint gonna happen.
Stay tuned for another report...when the boys go off to college. Which is in all likelihood the next time I'll have a shower and a hot meal in the same day.
