Whirlwind this phase is. Loud, cries, whines, questions and some more questions, milestones, fast. When, where, why?
Bringing two people in to the world is - challenging. Turns out the bringing wasn't really the hard part, the doing is harder. And then it's not them, but the adjusting, the stretching, the compromising, the sharing. That's alot of change when you're 4. From being the one and only to being one of 3. Some days she wants to get rid of them. That makes me sad. Some days, I can't blame her - the well meaning good hearted, genuinely nice people whose eyes light up when they see them, twins, they're like unicorns or something - they look right through her. Like she doesn't exist or like she's a 3rd wheel. Not all. But many, so many that it hurts her. She is my first wheel. The foundation of my motherhood. So important to me. This is the hard part for me. She is fierce, and stong, and independent, but she still needs me - usually right at the exact same time that I am up to my elbows in something else. Dinner, baths, nursing, laundry, dishes, diapers. When she gets desperate for attention, she acts out. She acts flat out crazy, a disobedient lunatic. And i get angry. How can someone so small dredge up so much red hot fire in me in an instant? That's not what she needed. Sharp words, furrowed brows, mean tones, less than nice words, yelling. I can't get out of my own way. Guilt. It piles and piles on. I pray. Alot. Until bed and pajamas, and more diapers, and more nursing, and sometimes hugs and sometimes go to bed now I have had enough. On good nights there are kisses and hugs and books and I love yous and prayers, even many bad days turn to good nights with I'm sorrys and I forgive yous. I pray some more. They all go to sleep and it is so quiet. Quiet enough to hear my thoughts. Quiet enough to write. Quiet enough for the guilt. Thinking, thinking, thinking about what I should have done different, done better. My husband is here somewhere. Oh there he is. My love. We zone out on the couch content to be near each other. I write, he snores. In the reflection I work hard to find the moments, the joys, the worth it. It's there. Everyday. I try hard to hang on tightly to those moments. I find myself flung into them suddenly smiling, laughing, giggling only to be pulled violently away by an unhappy outburst, a fall with tears, a potty break.
Today, little B took her first steps. Clapping, cheering, and a huge proud grin from the timid walker. Worth all the tears and the battles of wills and do's and don'ts. Priceless. Daddy was there. Big B was there. Little C's endless smile keeps me going many days, she's mischievous already, I see it in her eyes. She takes great joy from small things and dances each time she hears music. Joy. The big girl, she put a big bow on top of her head and gave me lipstick kisses this afternoon, even after I raised my voice at her too many times. She knows and gives grace. Today, I caught her in my rearview mirror enjoying the warm sun on her face as we listened to the radio. Many days she stops in the midst of what she is doing and says Mommy, I love you. I never want to forget the way she looks and sounds when she says that. She's so stunning. As the day slows and I can barely keep my eyes open anymore I get ready to crawl into bed. Wondering what my "second shift" might hold tonight. Will I be up once, twice, or six times? I think our record is around 8. I don't count, I also don't look at the time. It helps me keep my sanity. I drink a lot of coffee and pray.
