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.