I breathe in, I breathe out. I pinch myself and it hurts, on the verge of feeling pleasant as my mind stops racing to acknowledge physical pain. I must be alive, right? I'm checking in from the ... I want to write abyss but that's not right. My life is the opposite of void. It is a bottomless pit filled with pandemonium. Almost like I'm chained to the wall in the middle of Alice's Rabbit Hole. Yes, that's it. I'm Alice, floating in an endless Rabbit Hole yet chained to life's responsibilities, an invisible chain created in my mind feeding off the endless feedback from society, pushing mothers and their children to be smarter, faster, better so they can win ... what race? Pushing mothers and wives to lose the weight, look perfect, never fart, be housewife and whore. Part of me wants to fully support my family, pushing whatever is left of me aside, part of me wants to run for the hills and part of me knows it will never be enough. What a happy pie graph filled with glitter and rainbows.
Man I sound crazy.
Since last I wrote my twins are on the verge of their third birthdays - 17 days. Where has the time gone? Some parents think, "Oh my! Time flies!" However, I can't grasp that philosophy. Time flies but you're traveling in mud.
In mid-June, my autistic son went from therapy twice a week to therapy Monday to Friday. It was a summer program at his school with ABA, speech and occupational therapy as well as swim lessons. He was thriving in school so I figured why not? I want to take advantage of every service offered, within reason, especially when the insurance is footing the bill and time ticks down until he starts Kindergarten. His twin and I will figure out something to do during his school hours, I figured, so away we went.
We also returned to the prestigious institute where he was diagnosed with autism for a food therapy evaluation. Basically he eats milk, cheese, fries, an occasional chicken nugget, carbs like pretzels and chips, applesauce, cookies, Cheerios, pancakes, gummies ... I just want to get a damn vegetable into the boy. So, a group of quacks evaluated and concluded he needed therapy either once a week or once every two weeks. That would mean me driving to their offices two hours one way, offices that are surrounded by not-so-nice neighborhoods.
So, after talking with folks at his school, we decided my son could start eating lunch there and they could help him instead of carting my crazy train all across the state. It was a hard choice - do I take advantage of every opportunity or do I follow my intuition? What if they could have helped him better than his school? What if the sun dies out tomorrow? What if I get hit by a thunderbolt right now for all my bad thoughts? What if a pit opens up in the floor and Satan pops out and starts dancing? Gosh I am crazy.
One son at school, another at the playground, the park, the beach, the library, the store ... wherever they will let our wild asses go without costing an arm and a leg.
When it came time for the summer camp to end, his therapists suggested he continue daily, but instead of three hours a day he moved to five. So, here I am with a son in a special school for autism from morning to mid-afternoon five days a week.
My boys still get services through the Infant & Toddlers Program in our county but you get what you pay for when it comes to therapy. My autistic son gets OT, Speech, Development and PT through the school system in addition to his private school. As for his brother, I am doing a program through the school system to learn how to handle his ... enthusiastic temperament, aka Dennis the Menace. I think the title is Positive Solutions For Families. How flowery. I want to get him into some sort of preschool program, where they can deal with his inability to listen and follow directions, etc. but money rules everything around me and I ain't got none.
So, I'm alive. I took a shower yesterday, so that's positive. My legs aren't too hairy, I drink too much wine, I'm tired, I need to get a job so my one son can go to preschool but I haven't worked for years and have no skills other than madness. So, there's that.
Wednesday, September 21, 2016
Friday, May 27, 2016
2.5 Year Old Fraternal Twin Boys - Girl You So Cray
I am a stay-at-home mother of 2.5 year old fraternal twin boys. Well, I try not to actually stay in our home because if I did I would go insane from the evils of Cabin Fever. Well ... maybe I already suffer from a bout of insanity because it's said the insane don't recognize they are insane.
And no, I don't mean the Insanity workout the hens tweet and Facebook pictures of themselves doing, sweaty and breathless, desperately seeking confidence from outsiders so they can continue their lonely, sad existence. You exercised. Congratulations. No one cares except you and that isn't enough because you're pathetic.
Can you tell I'm a little burnt out? Little crispy, weary and worn out? Maybe I'm crazy. Like a mix of Gnarls Barkley "Crazy" and Disturbed's "Asylum" crazy - a dancing clown suppressing darkness.
Sound like mom of the year, right? I think I'm realistic, which is hard to come by among moms these days. When you think of a good mother, what comes to mind? Your mom? June Cleaver? Lois Griffin? Tommy DeVito's mom in "Goodfellas?" Beverly Sutphin in "Serial Mom?" Definitely not Margaret White in "Carrie" but you catch my drift.
My boys are happy and healthy. We joined a Monday morning playgroup, my autistic son gets therapy twice a week in a school setting (which my husband and I jumped through hoops for - therapy and the diagnosis itself), they both receive therapy through the school system for delays, when the weather is nice we go to the park, I take them to the library and grocery shopping even though they act like rabid skunks while there, we only watch "Sesame Street" when we watch TV, I feed them mostly healthy foods and milk or watered down juice, I don't spank and try not to yell, I don't cuss in front of them, they are healthy, well-fed and happy with a regular nap and bedtime schedule. They live in a reliable and warm environment. I don't shoehorn my needs before theirs like taking them to inappropriate places or making them do things they're not ready for just so I can do what I want.
So my insides are possibly blackened from delirium and I drink wine every night and don't always eat as well as I should but, at the end of the day, I'm doing my best. Isn't that what makes a good mom? Whatever your best may be, you're doing it and you're doing it well - not like fake-ass LL Cool J but like a human being.
Why can't moms be real? Why can't we say our kids can be frustrating? Why can't we say we don't enjoy most of it? I'm not having the time of my life right now. Yeah, when one of my boys reaches for me, hugs me and leans his head on my shoulder - it's one of the most amazing experiences I've ever had in my lifetime. When he won't go to sleep at bedtime and drives my husband and I crazy for 1-2 hours kicking the walls, terrorizing his brother, trying to get naked, breaking shit in his room, crying over nothing - no I don't enjoy this. I don't like changing diapers, watching motherfucking Elmo, cleaning up messes, listening to drama, taking care of two creatures who don't listen and don't respect my authority, etc. Why am I expected to like this? It's still taboo to not like your kids and express this viewpoint. Hell, it's still taboo for people to not want to have kids. It may be 2016 but the majority of people still one way or another expect you to get a job, get married and have kids (in whatever order). If you don't have kids we think you're selfish - or my husband and I are secretly jealous of you free time and lifestyle.
No I don't want to give my kids back. Yes I love them unconditionally. But why can't I say that it sucks?
And no, I don't mean the Insanity workout the hens tweet and Facebook pictures of themselves doing, sweaty and breathless, desperately seeking confidence from outsiders so they can continue their lonely, sad existence. You exercised. Congratulations. No one cares except you and that isn't enough because you're pathetic.
Can you tell I'm a little burnt out? Little crispy, weary and worn out? Maybe I'm crazy. Like a mix of Gnarls Barkley "Crazy" and Disturbed's "Asylum" crazy - a dancing clown suppressing darkness.
Sound like mom of the year, right? I think I'm realistic, which is hard to come by among moms these days. When you think of a good mother, what comes to mind? Your mom? June Cleaver? Lois Griffin? Tommy DeVito's mom in "Goodfellas?" Beverly Sutphin in "Serial Mom?" Definitely not Margaret White in "Carrie" but you catch my drift.
My boys are happy and healthy. We joined a Monday morning playgroup, my autistic son gets therapy twice a week in a school setting (which my husband and I jumped through hoops for - therapy and the diagnosis itself), they both receive therapy through the school system for delays, when the weather is nice we go to the park, I take them to the library and grocery shopping even though they act like rabid skunks while there, we only watch "Sesame Street" when we watch TV, I feed them mostly healthy foods and milk or watered down juice, I don't spank and try not to yell, I don't cuss in front of them, they are healthy, well-fed and happy with a regular nap and bedtime schedule. They live in a reliable and warm environment. I don't shoehorn my needs before theirs like taking them to inappropriate places or making them do things they're not ready for just so I can do what I want.
So my insides are possibly blackened from delirium and I drink wine every night and don't always eat as well as I should but, at the end of the day, I'm doing my best. Isn't that what makes a good mom? Whatever your best may be, you're doing it and you're doing it well - not like fake-ass LL Cool J but like a human being.
Why can't moms be real? Why can't we say our kids can be frustrating? Why can't we say we don't enjoy most of it? I'm not having the time of my life right now. Yeah, when one of my boys reaches for me, hugs me and leans his head on my shoulder - it's one of the most amazing experiences I've ever had in my lifetime. When he won't go to sleep at bedtime and drives my husband and I crazy for 1-2 hours kicking the walls, terrorizing his brother, trying to get naked, breaking shit in his room, crying over nothing - no I don't enjoy this. I don't like changing diapers, watching motherfucking Elmo, cleaning up messes, listening to drama, taking care of two creatures who don't listen and don't respect my authority, etc. Why am I expected to like this? It's still taboo to not like your kids and express this viewpoint. Hell, it's still taboo for people to not want to have kids. It may be 2016 but the majority of people still one way or another expect you to get a job, get married and have kids (in whatever order). If you don't have kids we think you're selfish - or my husband and I are secretly jealous of you free time and lifestyle.
No I don't want to give my kids back. Yes I love them unconditionally. But why can't I say that it sucks?
Sunday, March 13, 2016
Two Year Old Fraternal Twins: Mombie Madness
I have not posted since May 2015 - 10 months and counting. I could have gotten knocked up and had another hellion by now! Excuse me while I fist pump and breathe a sigh of relief!
So, my fraternal twin boys are closing in on two-and-a-half years old. I gave up counting months after their second birthday because it was getting ridiculous.
I just read over my last post (thank you Constance for commenting!) and it seems like a lifetime ago. It's the same crazy ballgame, I'm the same crazy umpire but it's a different inning.
My boys have been receiving therapy through the local school system for developmental delays. They both started with speech and developmental therapy for speech delays and help with fine motor movement, etc. The program is a year long and then there's a reevaluation to see if the child needs to stay in the program or "graduate." Baby B is set for graduation in a few months as he's talking up a storm - we can almost have a conversation. He needs to work on staying on task but what 2 year old doesn't? He's definitely deep into the terrible 2's (and from what I've heard 3's is worse! Pass the vodka) but that's normal.
On the other hand, Baby A has a long road ahead of him. Don't get me wrong, he's made great strides. He went from basically non-verbal (not babbling) to having a handful of words. His fine motor skills improved, he's learned some sign language and he follows simple directions. Soon after therapy started it was evident he was troubled with something more than just simple delays. He soon received an evaluation by an occupational therapist and it was determined he has sensory processing disorder and proprioceptive disorder. Basically he needs to move more than others and he's a bit clumsy.
While I have seen great progress with speech and development, his occupational therapy was nice but I didn't see much in the way of results. He was still constantly moving, still clumsy, still in his own world - a lovable loner yearning for sensory input. When I took him for his 2-year check up, his pediatrician strongly suggested an evaluation by a certified institution specializing in children with delays.
So, long story short he got an evaluation by a doctor. Then another by a speech language pathologist. Then another by an audiologist. Then another by a developmental pediatrician. Each doctor kept seeing things in him that needed another opinion by someone more knowledgable. Finally my husband and I were told that our beautiful, happy, sweet boy has autism.
I would be lying if I said I was over the news. I have come to terms with the news. I mourned my son for a while, I mourned the life I thought he would have and the person I thought he would have become. Then I realized this is who he is - he has autism. He runs around, typically in his own little world, smiling, laughing, obsessing on letters and numbers, holding on to random objects for hours at a time. He's socially awkward but not a hermit. There's nothing different about him but now we have a name for the sometimes troubling things he does. That's the hardest thing to come to terms with - he hasn't changed. He's still Baby A. He still loves the letter P, the number 2 and Elmo. He loves to count and read "Five Little Monkeys." He hasn't changed. I randomly remind myself he has autism. Life is so busy I often forget and then it hits me and I go, "Oh yeah. Well ... so what?"
So, as Pete the Cat says, I am still walking along and singing my song. We joined a local playgroup for some socialization (for ME and the boys!) and have been trying to get out more - thanks to the weather and the Brica By-My-Side Harness Backpack - I know, a freaking leash! But I'm telling you it has been a lifesaver. I get some crazy-ass looks (especially since I live in a very small town) but now we are mobile! Mobile and safe! They still manage to terrorize the local library and cause a scene every single damn time we go in there but there's only so many items you can buy on Amazon!
Baby B is going to start Applied Behavior Analysis (ABA) therapy soonish (if insurance can get with the program) as suggested by his developmental pediatrician. My new motto is: you never know until you try. I've heard good and bad things about ABA, as I've heard good and bad things about most everything in life, but I owe it to him to give it a go and see if it helps him thrive. He recently received a physical therapy evaluation and will start therapy to address low tone, which is a whole new can of worms I am NOT going to google and drive myself crazy over. His therapist recommended swimming so my big butt dons a skirted mom-suit every Monday night and Baby A and I hit the pool for the Water Babies class.
Honestly I don't know how I feel about Baby A having autism and various delays. He has five therapists and he's only 2! I have twins, one with autism and I have to be his advocate (something I have had to deal with many times already ... story for another day) so, needless to say, my cup runneth over. I don't want to try to put it into words because I won't do my feelings or him justice. I am feeling all the feelings and I love him very much so let's change the subject ...
My better half and I are trying to lose weight. He less than me (isn't that always the case ladies?!) but still it's a struggle. Losing weight - whether 5 or 50 lbs - is never easy, especially when you have twins! That was actually supposed to be the theme for this long overdue post but I got to talking about the main attraction - my sons! - and got lost as I am prone to do since they literally take up my entire day every day. However, it hit me that I have been trying to lose weight since 1995. Twenty-one years of gaining, losing, emotionally eating, fad diets, cleanses, letting myself go, new workout programs, a twin pregnancy where I gained 75 pounds ... that's crazy.
The boys are going to be 3 in October so I can't blame it on baby weight anymore. It's hard to find motivation lately because life is so chaotic and emotionally draining so I am trying to focus on eating healthier and getting more exercise because I will feel better and be a better mom and wife. I need to fuel my body. Now, I get my damn cheat meal (more like a day) on the weekend! That's non-negotiable but I need to work on actually deserving the cheat - which means stop randomly cheating during the week!
I'm a mombie - a mom zombie - but as I tell my boys often, "We're getting it done. It may not be pretty but we are getting it done!" What's "it?" I have no idea just as I have no idea what I'm doing!
So, my fraternal twin boys are closing in on two-and-a-half years old. I gave up counting months after their second birthday because it was getting ridiculous.
I just read over my last post (thank you Constance for commenting!) and it seems like a lifetime ago. It's the same crazy ballgame, I'm the same crazy umpire but it's a different inning.
My boys have been receiving therapy through the local school system for developmental delays. They both started with speech and developmental therapy for speech delays and help with fine motor movement, etc. The program is a year long and then there's a reevaluation to see if the child needs to stay in the program or "graduate." Baby B is set for graduation in a few months as he's talking up a storm - we can almost have a conversation. He needs to work on staying on task but what 2 year old doesn't? He's definitely deep into the terrible 2's (and from what I've heard 3's is worse! Pass the vodka) but that's normal.
On the other hand, Baby A has a long road ahead of him. Don't get me wrong, he's made great strides. He went from basically non-verbal (not babbling) to having a handful of words. His fine motor skills improved, he's learned some sign language and he follows simple directions. Soon after therapy started it was evident he was troubled with something more than just simple delays. He soon received an evaluation by an occupational therapist and it was determined he has sensory processing disorder and proprioceptive disorder. Basically he needs to move more than others and he's a bit clumsy.
While I have seen great progress with speech and development, his occupational therapy was nice but I didn't see much in the way of results. He was still constantly moving, still clumsy, still in his own world - a lovable loner yearning for sensory input. When I took him for his 2-year check up, his pediatrician strongly suggested an evaluation by a certified institution specializing in children with delays.
So, long story short he got an evaluation by a doctor. Then another by a speech language pathologist. Then another by an audiologist. Then another by a developmental pediatrician. Each doctor kept seeing things in him that needed another opinion by someone more knowledgable. Finally my husband and I were told that our beautiful, happy, sweet boy has autism.
I would be lying if I said I was over the news. I have come to terms with the news. I mourned my son for a while, I mourned the life I thought he would have and the person I thought he would have become. Then I realized this is who he is - he has autism. He runs around, typically in his own little world, smiling, laughing, obsessing on letters and numbers, holding on to random objects for hours at a time. He's socially awkward but not a hermit. There's nothing different about him but now we have a name for the sometimes troubling things he does. That's the hardest thing to come to terms with - he hasn't changed. He's still Baby A. He still loves the letter P, the number 2 and Elmo. He loves to count and read "Five Little Monkeys." He hasn't changed. I randomly remind myself he has autism. Life is so busy I often forget and then it hits me and I go, "Oh yeah. Well ... so what?"
So, as Pete the Cat says, I am still walking along and singing my song. We joined a local playgroup for some socialization (for ME and the boys!) and have been trying to get out more - thanks to the weather and the Brica By-My-Side Harness Backpack - I know, a freaking leash! But I'm telling you it has been a lifesaver. I get some crazy-ass looks (especially since I live in a very small town) but now we are mobile! Mobile and safe! They still manage to terrorize the local library and cause a scene every single damn time we go in there but there's only so many items you can buy on Amazon!
Baby B is going to start Applied Behavior Analysis (ABA) therapy soonish (if insurance can get with the program) as suggested by his developmental pediatrician. My new motto is: you never know until you try. I've heard good and bad things about ABA, as I've heard good and bad things about most everything in life, but I owe it to him to give it a go and see if it helps him thrive. He recently received a physical therapy evaluation and will start therapy to address low tone, which is a whole new can of worms I am NOT going to google and drive myself crazy over. His therapist recommended swimming so my big butt dons a skirted mom-suit every Monday night and Baby A and I hit the pool for the Water Babies class.
Honestly I don't know how I feel about Baby A having autism and various delays. He has five therapists and he's only 2! I have twins, one with autism and I have to be his advocate (something I have had to deal with many times already ... story for another day) so, needless to say, my cup runneth over. I don't want to try to put it into words because I won't do my feelings or him justice. I am feeling all the feelings and I love him very much so let's change the subject ...
My better half and I are trying to lose weight. He less than me (isn't that always the case ladies?!) but still it's a struggle. Losing weight - whether 5 or 50 lbs - is never easy, especially when you have twins! That was actually supposed to be the theme for this long overdue post but I got to talking about the main attraction - my sons! - and got lost as I am prone to do since they literally take up my entire day every day. However, it hit me that I have been trying to lose weight since 1995. Twenty-one years of gaining, losing, emotionally eating, fad diets, cleanses, letting myself go, new workout programs, a twin pregnancy where I gained 75 pounds ... that's crazy.
The boys are going to be 3 in October so I can't blame it on baby weight anymore. It's hard to find motivation lately because life is so chaotic and emotionally draining so I am trying to focus on eating healthier and getting more exercise because I will feel better and be a better mom and wife. I need to fuel my body. Now, I get my damn cheat meal (more like a day) on the weekend! That's non-negotiable but I need to work on actually deserving the cheat - which means stop randomly cheating during the week!
I'm a mombie - a mom zombie - but as I tell my boys often, "We're getting it done. It may not be pretty but we are getting it done!" What's "it?" I have no idea just as I have no idea what I'm doing!
Thursday, May 28, 2015
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.
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.
Friday, May 22, 2015
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.
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.
Wednesday, March 25, 2015
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.
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.
Wednesday, March 18, 2015
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.
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.
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