19 Month Old Twins: We Do What We Can Because We Must

Major blowout alert. Repeat, major blowout alert.
Today after a nutritious lunch, 75% of which was thrown on the floor, Baby A smelled a little unfresh. I had already taken Baby B to his pack-n-play in the living room, which I do everyday before a brief storytime and hopefully-not-brief naptime. So, I thought I should check Baby A's diaper before the pnp transition and, if it was a huge poop, change it before storytime instead of letting him "get out all the toots," as I refer to it, before a diaper change, possible clothes change and bedtime for bonzos. Fill her up on Pump A!
So, as many mothers do, I leaned him forward and peeked at the situation. What did I find? Poop on my hand. So, I commenced with diaper change. I told Baby B we would be right back and took Baby A's shirt off to use as a buffer on the changing table. Down went shirt, down went Baby A, off came pants, open went diaper and this was a situation alright.
Blowouts have happened before, obviously since I am a stay-at-home mom of twin toddlers. There's the brief sigh and mental assessment. Then there's the gathering of wet wipes (my husband and I use the number of wipes needed as a scale of destruction - i.e. "Oh it was a F7 situation," because tornadoes and blowouts have so much in common ... ). So, I began cleaning and quickly noticed these wipes weren't cutting the mustard. Then I noticed poop on his arm.
What in the world. So, I lifted his butt and took a peek underneath. Poop. Everywhere. Another brief sigh and mental assessment. Well, this lucky duck is getting two baths today! I put his poop filled diaper in the diaper not-really-a-genie, gathered up the poop covered blankets and outfit, gathered him up, dumped poop covered items in empty washing machine (thank God it was empty) and placed his little poop covered body in the bathtub.
Just another day in paradise, right?
I relayed this incident to my husband via text. After some back and forth my husband texted, "I would have barfed." I sat there looking at his text. I have been cleaning up poop for almost 20 months. It went from black hot lava to a mustardy, seed festival to what sometimes seems like adult poop. Poop. It was like in sixth grade when I took sex ed and, at the start of the class, the teacher made us say, "Vagina vagina vagina penis penis penis." In this case it's poop poop poop poop poop poop. I've dealt with it so much it's almost as if the word lost meaning, like when you say a word so many times it starts to sound funny.
Him: "I would have barfed."
Me: "There's no barfing in mothering."
Him: "Cause you're tough. I couldn't do it."
Me: "No it's because you can't. It's survival mode. There's no room for you, just them."
He thinks this is amazing but I think survival mode is what it sounds like, surviving. I finished cleaning Baby A, got him dressed and went on with the day as usual. There's no time for a reaction and if I did react it would only be wasted. My kid is covered in poop. Feces! Fight or flight - I can't flee from this one. Baby B is waiting for his stories! Stick to the schedule mom!
If a tree falls in a forest and no one is there to hear it, does it make a sound? My kids don't have time for my feelings because they're toddlers and don't empathize. I wake up when my kids wake me up. From there it's go-go-go until they take a nap and I can eat my lunch, do a YouTube mommy workout video (with the blinds closed!) and watch something mindless on television. When they wake up it's go-go-go until I eat my dinner that I cooked. No time for nonsense. We do what we can because we must.

19-Month-Old Twins: What About Dear Ol' Mom?

I may or may not be going crazy - or cray as the kids say. I'm not over-exaggerating like many do nowadays when anonymously complaining online. I may be going crazy, like the nuthouse up in Togus crazy. Like here's a paper cup with your pills dear, I'll watch to make sure you take them. Stick out your tongue dear, let me make sure you swallowed them.
It happened Wednesday. I was sitting on the floor of my twin's playroom while they whined and played around me. I can't say it was a lighting bolt thought or monumental realization, the likes you see on TV or read in popular literature. It was more like I was tired, really tired. Not sleepy tired but emotionally tired.
I do the same thing everyday because my kids are on a schedule (children crave structure, right?). After a while it wears on you - the constant picking yourself up and putting a smile on your face because your kids and husband deserve a smile. I haven't gotten a haircut since June because why? I go to the gym a couple times a week if my husband's work schedule allows since we have one car. We usually have something planned for Saturday, like seeing friends or doing something, and Sunday I go to the grocery store alone (which is 45 minutes away). The rest of the weekend we straighten up the house. Then it's Monday again ... isn't it always Monday? I can't take the boys anywhere alone because they are wild, emotional little people who don't listen to me.
So, I was sitting there and one of my twins was doing something frustrating, probably Baby B since he is often difficult, and I couldn't pick myself up. I couldn't put a smile on my face like I had been doing off-and-on for 19 months. I just could not. I'm a flashlight and my batteries need a recharge. It was Wednesday but I thought it was Tuesday. When I learned it was actually Wednesday my first thought was - well what's the difference? As Trent Reznor sings, "Everyday is exactly the same."
The other day or week, who knows, my husband mentioned something about what we were doing last year at this time and I thought, for goodness sakes I've been stuck in this house doing this routine, or a similar routine, for over a year. A year of my life. When the boys were born I was 29 and in a week I will be 31. The lost years of my life.
Now I know many mothers around the country would be disgusted with that idea. Mothering is a blessing. Double the fun, double the blessing. Enjoy it now because they will grow up before you know it. Yes, I am not heartless. I love the hugs, the laughs, the smiles, the snuggles, the babbling, how they look when they are resting peacefully in their cribs - I am not heartless. I simply am over it. I am burnt out. At the end of each day and the end of each week I am a shell of a person and I feel guilty because my family deserves better so I feel even worse. Double the baby, double the guilt. However, this is the one profession where it doesn't matter.
It doesn't matter if I really don't feel like changing my kids diaper for the fifth time today. It doesn't matter if I don't feel like making them a healthy meal or dealing with their temper tantrums or giving them a bath. It does not matter how I feel because I still have to do these things, I still have to be their mother. Would it be wrong of me to say mothering mostly sucks? It is the hardest and most wonderful thing I have ever done in my life but it is so draining. I am burnt out, like trying to light a cigarette butt.
I feel like a failure because I can't empathize with them. They are babies (I call them old babies because although they are 19-months they are still babies). They don't mean to be difficult, they don't mean to hurt my feelings, they don't know what's going on, they can't even talk. I should try to help them and be gentle and patient, right? I shouldn't get my feelings hurt when Baby B, the only somewhat verbal one, doesn't call me Mama (he doesn't call me anything) and, when upset in the middle of the night, only wants his father to console him. I know this but feelings are feelings.
Luckily I have an empathic better half who listened to me when I shared this. He wanted me to share this with a private Facebook mommy group that rocks my stay-at-home-mommy world. They are supportive and keep it real while offering a place for advice. One of my twins may or may not have a speech delay (chronicled in my last post) and I turned to the group for advice.
However, I am hesitant to share this with them. I'm pretty sure there are other women in the group who are going through similar situations but what's the point? It's something I need to deal with myself. Keep on keeping on. Sharing it on this platform, anonymously, is somewhat cathartic as I've released it from my crowded mind but I don't necessarily want to empathize with other moms or hear the cliched rhetoric that I won't empathize with because I'm knee deep in chaos. I'm tired of empathy. I'm tired of feeling guilty for feeling.
So, what to do? Breathe, keep calm and carry on.

17 Month Old Fraternal Twin Boys: Does My Toddler Have A Speech Delay?

As if I didn't have enough stress, I've found more things to worry about!
With twin toddlers, it takes a lot of effort on my part to get through the day. Well-rounded, nutritious finger foods, more milk less juice, playtime, safety first, naptime calmness, bathtime fun, routine, a little TV and a lot of books, clean diapers, and so on.
I save most of my worry for right before bed when my Melatonin-ed, Valerian root-ed, Benadryl-ed butt is supposed to be winding down. The other night I was Googling and found myself on a Baby Center page for Warning Signs of a Toddler's Language Delay. After reading a couple paragraphs I suddenly went into panic mode and quickly texted my husband (who was downstairs saving us all from brain-crazed zombies via Xbox One). Join me in the freak out dear husband of mine. Of course he's super rational and wanted to know why I was still awake, why I was Googling shit, who made this "stupid list" and, after I told him, "what the hell they knew."
My main worry with Baby A is he does not respond to his name. He does not talk and only recently started babbling (like a week or so). While he waves (wildly with both hands) and shakes his head (sometimes randomly), he does not point. He's uses the consonant B but only B (Ba sounds). I don't think he understands bye-bye but he might understand no (or he might be getting upset because I raised my voice). He does not point out things of interest. These are all listed under "By 12 Months." I won't even start on the "By 18 Months" list because there's so much he's already not doing.
Baby B says two words: "Dada" and "Gaga" (for light as he is obsessed with turning lights on and off around the house). He sometimes waves his hand (more like opening and closing his fist), does not shake his head but does point. He's been babbling for a while now. I don't know if he understands bye-bye but he does understand no, although he doesn't stop doing what he's doing. He points at things of interest but just started doing this recently.
Their 18-month wellness checkup is approaching so I plan to wait (two weeks) to bring my concerns up with their pediatrician. My rational side thinks children develop at different speeds so I should try to relax. This side believes they are still young so, if there's a problem, at least it is being addressed at a young age. My irrational side thinks they are behind because I'm a bad mother and failing them! The ratio of rational to irrational fluctuates - right now it's 60% unstable and growing because Aunt Flo is approaching.
Compare, compare, compare. Ugh. Look at how much smarter, faster and better my child is than yours! I win at life!
God I am tired.

17 Month Old Fraternal Twins: Are My Toddlers Assholes?

"Toddlers Are Assholes." There are books, Facebook groups and online bitchfests based on this popular phrase. It makes me wonder ... are my toddlers assholes? What makes a person an asshole?
There's no rhyme or reason to one of my twins as he is a ticking time bomb. He is currently organizing his race cars on the windowsill and will, at any moment, throw them on the floor and scream while waving his arms manically. Why? I haven't the faintest idea.
He's often found stealing toys from his brother without any sign of remorse before quickly tossing them aside because he didn't want them in the first place. He dumps Legos on the floor after I clean them up (sometimes while I am cleaning them up), throws his sippy cup of milk and then screams for me to retrieve it, slaps me in the face (literally) and constantly complains. He gets frustrated easily and enjoys slapping or occasionally biting his brother when he doesn't get his way or, sometimes, as a way of playing. He needs constant attention and often does things he shouldn't repeatedly (mess with the air vent and take the safety plugs out of sockets). He throws toys behind the couch and complains. Cause and effect means nothing to him. When he's defiant he gives me a look resembling, "What the fuck are you going to do about it lady?" I am a stay-at-home mom yet he does not know the word "mama," only "dada" for his hero. If he cries in the middle of the night and I console him, it's no damn good. If his dad consoles him, it's just what the doctor ordered - this happened this morning at 5 a.m. when I went in first and could not stop the drama. Dad swooped in to the rescue and quieted him in 38 seconds.
His brother is mellow in comparison - as a mother of twins I can't help but compare. He likes to play alone and often can be found running back and forth across the playroom while excitedly screaming. However, he dislikes order and when there is too much food on his tray (ie more than one piece) he throws most of his meals on the floor but, as toddlers typically go, sometimes he doesn't and he eats like a civil toddler (whatever that means). He goes on attack mode when his brother attempts to organize toys on the windowsill and shakes his head back and forth when you try to feed him even if he wants said food item. He does not know any words and recently started babbling. He isn't high drama like his brother but he also isn't free from problems for dear old mom. Oh, and by the way, he grunts loudly and his face turns bright red when he poops. Not a good look.
They both enjoy ripping my glasses off my face throughout the day when I let my guard down. Are they assholes? What makes a person an asshole?
I think there is a great push away from the traditional idea of Mommy Dearest - this patient, kind woman who takes care of the kids, the home and has dinner on the table at 5:30 for dear old dad, all while wearing a lovely outfit with good hair and nice daytime makeup. She doesn't need time off because she adores this lifestyle. She is always last and doesn't complain because her glass is half full.
So, instead of a little different some mothers are going completely opposite. Let me let my hair down and bitch about my life. My kids suck, I give up and are letting them watch TV and eat junk food while I guzzle booze. My kids first word was fuck, lol rotfl omg "You're the reason mom drinks honey." My husband is lazy and doesn't do enough. These are the women who work AND who, come Sunday night, can't wait to go back to work because they can't stand their kids.
Now, I think it's healthy to vent, as I am in the form of blogging. My dramatic twin hit me in the face with a Nalgene bottle today. I cleaned five poop-filled diapers today - one smelled like a fish bowl that hadn't been cleaned for weeks. My sons don't appreciate me. When I notice on the baby monitor they are waking up from their nap I sigh because fun time is over. I'm no saint. One of my favorite times during the week is going alone to the grocery store on Sundays. However, if I dwell on the fact they act like assholes it makes me angrier when they are frustrating and I miss the times when they, lo and behold, act like sweet, little angels. So, I try to remind myself they aren't assholes, they are toddlers. I can bitch and moan, lose my temper and stress out but the boys will still be frustrated with life. They can't tell me what's wrong, they don't understand what's going on, they crave structure and a schedule because of this, blah blah blah. I need to work on patience and worrying about their asshole-ness is not going to help me become patient.
Dreading tomorrow isn't going to help me deal with tomorrow.
Yes, they act like assholes but without malicious intent. They shit their pants and complain when I change their diaper just as much as they would complain if I left them in it for hours. They get frustrated easily, they don't listen or follow directions, they don't appreciate me, it's always no damn good ... but that's what it is because they are 17 months old. I can't expect the impossible - it's not fair to me or them. Yeah, they act like assholes but they will continue to act like assholes whether I stress over it or not.
Let's say my problem child just took his snack, which I know he wants, and dumped it in his pack-n-play. He fusses and throws his bowl on the floor. Should I ignore him and post about it on Facebook so other moms commiserate and my horrible existence gets assurance? Or should I go over there, put the snack back in the bowl and help him eat it?
They're 17 months old and a fellow twin mom told me once they become easier and it gets better when they are around 4 years old. So, what ... am I supposed to be miserable and bitter for another two-and-a-half years? I still have to take care of them and deal with the drama whether I am positive or negative about it so why not try to be positive?
My game plan - try not to react to their asshole-ness. I'm imperfect and so is life but I can always try my best. I want to be somewhere between Trophy Mom and Asshole Mom because that's the best for everyone involved.
Are my toddlers assholes? No. They're toddlers.

UPDATE:
OK. So, my toddlers are now almost 2-and-a-half years old and I would like to officially retract my statements, especially referring to them not being assholes. Yes, if I were to find some damn free time and be able to read for pleasure and instead of reading Janet Evanovich, or something similarly simple, were to read a psychology book on children ages 2-4, I would understand why they act this way but honestly I don't care. Yes, I know they are just learning about the world and blah blah blah but they are complete assholes. They are irrational, they complain about the stupidest stuff - Baby A screamed hysterically because his brother had reached up and turned a light on in the car ... like come on dude, chill out! When I tell Baby B not to do something he looks at me and quickly does what he's not supposed to do because he knows Mama Bear is barreling down on him. But we can't yell, we can't react, we need to calmly show them the way of life. It's a lesson in insanity day after day. So, yes, toddlers are complete and utter assholes.

17 Month Old Fraternal Twins: You're The Reason Mommy Drinks

It's 2:30 p.m. on a Monday. I'm braless, in an unmatching outfit good enough to be smeared in avocado, boogers and tears. I am watching "Sesame Street" with one of my twins as he babbles, and eats strawberries and Goldfish. The "Me Am What I Am" episode featuring Cookie Monster and the youthful Mario Lopez, to be exact. I've seen this one four times, maybe more. The other twin is still napping.
Plans for the day - take a walk in the stroller because it's 55 degrees outside, a far cry from the snowy arctic we've been living in forever (really only a couple months). I'll love the fresh air and exercise, the twins will hate being restrained because they are toddlers yearning to toddle. The effort of putting on their shoes (which they hate) and jackets, getting the stroller, strapping them in and carrying the behemoth outside will be good for maybe a 15-minute walk if I'm lucky before the bitching and moaning is too much. You know the toddler whine? The long utterance lacking in pitch that erupts from their mouths every five minutes or so covering any horrible inconvenience from having their diaper changed to not being able to put two Duplo blocks together. One of the only noises known to man I cannot ignore. I just can't do it.
Then it's back home for running madly around their playroom until dinnertime while I clean up their toys over and over again, then bath, book reading and bed. Tomorrow's the same as yesterday. Hopefully as the weather warms my husband will help me take them places on the weekend for some change of pace and scenery. We have one car and I have two crazy toddlers without a fenced in yard so I can't get out during the week by myself with them.
If I were to write this in my online mom's group the consensus would be I deserve a glass of wine, maybe a few glasses. "You're the reason mommy drinks," is commonplace.
I love drinking. The escape, the warm feeling, the carefree, optimistic happiness. Day drinking on a Saturday is music to my ears. However, I can't drink.
I don't remember exactly when it happened - my best guess is a few months ago - but if I drink I will not sleep. Now, I take Benadryl, melatonin and Valerian root every night as sleep aids, otherwise I ain't getting any shut eye. So, adding alcohol makes you think I might sleep even better, right? I was a weekend drinker for a while but now I wake up around 1 a.m. and am awake until 4 or 5 a.m. if I drink.

Wait a second ... the other twin just woke up and is upset. I would be too if I napped for two hours in the middle of the day ... oh wait, no, I'd be on another planet because that would never happen ...

OK. So, for whatever reason I can't drink anymore. I've tried drinking earlier in the day, thinking it's something to do with my body digesting the sugars and blah blah blah science! I haven't figured it out yet but sometimes I don't wake up for such a long period of time if I drink a lot of water and stop drinking early.
Maybe it's a good thing? This past weekend I was in bed and asleep early each night, alcohol free. It's better for my mind and for my waist line too since I need to lose about 20 pounds so ... my sweatpants fit better?! No, I need to lose weight for the times I live among humans and my in-laws babysit because those happen often enough to keep me sane, God bless them.
So, should I shut my mouth and live this healthy, clean life free from alcohol? Or should I find a way to drink like the drinking earlier thing with added water?

16 Month Old Fraternal Twins: Chaos

I am perched on the arm of a cushionless couch in what used to be my formal dining room. Now this space is a gated community for two crazed old babies. Yes, old babies. They walk, they run, they eat regular food, they explore and seem childish yet they are still babies. Still shitting their pants, still helpless, still needing constant surveillance. The fun never stops.
I am a stay-at-home mom of two boys in the third week of their 16 months on Earth, as my Baby Center weekly email recently pointed out. They're rocking 2T/3T, eating adult food in high chairs, sipping on whole milk from sippy cups and napping once a day. They aren't talking, although one of them is deep in the babbles. They sleep all night and party all day, including jumping off the couch in the play room - don't worry, couch cushions are strategically placed for the inevitable.
Who am I? An invisible peacekeeper in a messy French braid, smeared glasses, (clean!) sweatpants and T-shirt, sans bra, about to embark on my third cup of coffee. I console, I clean, I feed, I wash, I hug, I turn on Sesame Street or the sound machine, I give. No Bon Bons or daytime TV in sight. After the 9 to 5, I switch from Mommy Dearest to Adoring Wife with whatever energy I have left. Some days are better than others but all days are long.
I'm invisible but ever present for consoling and reassurance. Today is the same as yesterday and tomorrow.