From the mouth of babes

Baby B likes peppermint. He rummages through my nightstand regularly, because once I found a decrepit Star Brite Mint in the drawer and gave it to him. One mint, one time. Now he asks "Mommy, have it mint? Baby B eat it mint?" whenever we go into my room. During the holidays he would make a bee line for the Christmas trees in the houses we visited, would ask for a candy cane and crunch it up on the spot. He also likes to get his teeth brushed, d’ja know why? He wants the toothpaste. When it’s tooth-time he will say, “Candy cane mouth!”

They tend to scold the things that cause them injury, like each other, of course, and any furniture they crash into. From Baby B: “No! Bad Baby A! No biting! Naughty!” From Baby A: “Bad chair! No hurt Baby! No chair hurt Baby A!” And once, hilariously, from Baby B, as he was holding the cat’s tail, “No Meow Meow! Let go! Owweee!” The cat wasn’t too fussed, just puzzled. He gave Baby B a look to say, “Shouldn’t I be yelling at you, dude?” Thank goodness he’s so patient and understanding...and lazy. Methinks he just can’t be bothered to get up and run away.

Both babies say “it” a lot. They use it as a conjunction. “Baby B hold it fork,” "Daddy drive it car," “Baby A read it book,” “Mommy take it bath,” and so on. Sometimes, especially when Baby A is releasing on of his bizarre stream of consciousness sentences, “it” sprinkled liberally about gets confusing. Last night he said “Mommy hold it knife cut it Meow Meow outside it cold knife it no hold it Baby A.” I was cooking, didn't want him to touch the chopping knife and earlier I had let out the cat. You got that, right?

I wonder if the UN has a position for a simultaneous translator from Toddler into English? Now that would be a job for me.

I'm off the ledge, thank you.

Well hello there, Internet. I’m off the ledge now, and ready to get on with my life, AKA The Survival of the Glibbest. I am sure it’s the weather/being cooped up/being a little unwell still/missing my spin classes for a few days that have made me feel crabbier and less tolerant than usual. I have my appointment with the crunchy granola endocrinologist, all set up. He has promised to look at more than just the lab results when dealing with my thyroid disorder. I hear he actually asks "How do you feel?" I have reasonably lofty hopes about this fella – I was referred by a fellow hypo-thyroidic woman, and I read some good stuff on the Internet about his approach. Maybe I really am a bit out of whack. (Now, Don’t say “Duh!” quite so loudly, Signorina Fiorentina…)

However gloomy as I have been, these past few weeks, I have not lost my all of my glib-itlities. Why just this afternoon I made a gal pal laugh out loud. I told her, when she called me on the cell, that I was taking my boys out for a Republican Party nap. She thought I meant that I had put them in the car for a drive because they were being so naughty – therefore – Republican. I actually meant that I was driving around solely to get them to nap. I didn't really need to be in the car, therefore I was unnecessarily burning fossil fuels. But her interpretation was kinda accurate. I hope I won’t soon be calling those drives ANWR Naps. Let’s cross our fingers as we watch C-Span, eh?

Glibness is a trait my boys have definitely inherited from their mama. Baby A charms his teacher at school by singing "Twinkle Twinkle" as he goes about his business all day, and the front office administrator told me that she was just in love with Baby A. He had broken away from his class, on the way in from the playground, had come into her office. He then proceeded to tell her all about her office – the books, the snowman picture, the flowers and so on. She said, “Oh, he’s just like a little man, who knows exactly what is going on! But he’s so small!” (Today was Valentine’s Day, so to seal this “relationship” I asked him to give her a big bunch of roses. He walked right up to her, and said, “Take ‘em!” and she was just so delighted. They were great roses, a light pinky purple, and he did look so sweet carrying them the door. I swear; all the oxygen was sucked out of the room by her intake of breath. I hope this means she’ll waive the late fee if I’m late with the tuition…)

Baby B has his own charm, and a way of repeating something I have told him, but for days and days and days and days. Over a month ago there was an emergency street cleaning/snow-clearing ordinance on certain streets in our fair city. That meant that all cars had be moved off certain blocks by a certain time or they would be towed. However, since the signs that explained all this were quite small, and only posted on two telephone poles along an entire three block “state of emergency” street, about fifteen cars were towed away at once. The towing occurred at 12:00, just as our playgroup burst out of the church where we meet, right before the watchful eyes of our playgroup. All the toddlers (my two included, ‘natch) were very concerned by this and needed lengthy explanations as to what was happening. Preacher Mom told the children that the cars were being naughty, because they were not supposed to block the street. That seemed to sink in, and we dispersed. It really sank in for Baby B, who, for weeks afterwards, informed me “No block street! Naughty Naughty!” every time we passed a line of parked cars. Yes, every time.

Also, there was a day when we drove past a car sliding on the ice lump left by a snow plow. You know what I mean – that speed bump the city plows leave blocking your driveway after you have spent two hours shoveling it all clear? Well, this poor lady’s city plow speed bump was solid ice and she wasn’t going forward or back. I pulled over, hopped out, and put a towel under the front tire. That way, when she started the car up again, and I gave her a push, the tire had something to grip. Two pushes and hey! Presto! She was on the road! Of course I had to explain it in detail to the boys. Baby B was really impressed and every time was pass the drive way he says, “Lady stuck car! Lady stuck car snow! Lady stuck snow!” Yes, every time we pass the driveway on the way to school, three days a week, twice a day, he says his thing. Every time…


I know all toddlers say the craziest things – so far mine have said -

Baby B “Tractor sleeping, sleeping with blanket!!” This is because there is an old tractor under a tarp in our neighbors yard. He wants to go for a ride and we had to explain why he couldn’t.

Baby A “Baby A no sleep! Need yip cream!” He calls his lips “yips” because he has a hard time with “L”. Baby A sees me apply a multitude of creams and unguents before I go to bed. One night I told him I couldn’t sleep unless I put on my night cream, so now, apparently, he can’t either.

Baby A likes to kiss things goodbye. He once kissed a Christmas tree “Bye Bye”, and then told me “Tree bite Baby A! No biting, tree!”

Both babies love the Yellow Submarine soundtrack. We listen to it often and they each have a favorite song. Baby B calls All Together Now “A-B-C-2-3!” for obvious reasons and Baby A asks for Hey Bulldog by saying “Yay b’dog! Yay b’dog!” until I play it.

Until the DH took away the TV, tired of the fighting over who watched what when, the twins liked to watch Bob the Builder. Now that they think the TV was broken, they ask to watch it on line, very occasionally. Baby B will refer to it as “Bada-bida”

Hey, this could work out…his aunt does live in New Jersey. When he gets older, she can take him take him to that bar – you know, The Bada-bing.

Uh-Oh!

110% of happiness

Hello dear reader, thank you for the comment! I know what I have to do – eat, sleep, and exercise. Yes, I have done it. That is, on Monday, Tuesday and today I went to the gym but I really don’t feel any better. I just feel drained and overwhelmed by all these demands on me. Where are we going now? What are we going to do? When are we going to eat? What are we going to eat? Where are the socks/mittens/coats/cats? Where are my marbles? I can’t be the only one responsible for all this life! Why am I the one 110% in charge of everyone’s happiness? Do I have to be the one at fault for any mistakes? Or is that just the way it is?

Don’t any of you feel that this mothering gig is just way too much emotional effort for little to no return? When are they going to say "Thank you"? How old do they have to be to realize that I am making everything happen? How old do I have to be to give out? I mean, what is the good of all this sleepless drudgery? How much can you endlessly entertain and listen and talk and sing and dance and cook and clean and tidy and wash and fold and put away before you collapse in a frustrated heap at the feet of your messy, noisy, willful, ungrateful children?

Now I know why my mother dislikes her own children. She is just plain old sick of the sight of us all. She was a stay home mother for 12 years, and got completely burned out. Is the same thing going to happen to me?

I know there are mothers who think that being a “mommy” is just fantastic. They think that motherhood is so fulfilling and that their children are just the most amazing and delightful creatures on earth. They think that their husbands are perfect and their houses are dream-like, their friends are just so fabulous and supportive and understanding and on and on. I spoke with a mom like this at my school the other day. We wait in a gaggle in the hall, wait for the classroom doors to open and for our progeny to burst out and attack us. This one mother is hoping for her third child. I asked if that weren’t going to be a bit much to handle, three under age five, and she said, “Why? I just love having two children and I want another baby.”

Another mother is expecting her second in a few months and I tried to tell her how it can get so tough with two. She gave me a blank look and said, “Well I can’t see that it will be too different from having one.” Yet another mother, who has a six year old and a three year old said, “No, it won’t be too different. I have never felt overwhelmed or regretted having a second baby.” The pregnant lady was reassured. I was ashamed.

It all made me feel like some kind of freak. About a year and a half ago I wrote a post on how, in my own experience, with my own history and with lack of support I had at the time, I found it so amazingly challenging to just stay alive whilst nursing twins. I aslo wrote that it seemed no one understood me. Someone wrote an anonymous comment that basically said if I CHOSE to define myself in such a way that I suffered more than other mothers of twins, than yes, no one would understand me. I think she was commenting that if I said, “Woe is I! It is so much harder for me than anyone else!” I will alienate people and then yes, no one will understand, because no one will be listening. I am having a lot of those same feelings again – it’s harder for me to keep up with the boys and to stay above water than ever before.

For now, I no longer have anything to anticipate! Walking, weaning, eating at the table, going to school - it's happened. No longer do I have any excuses or reasons to believe it will get better! As soon as I meet some other mothers, as soon as it is summer/winter, as soon as we get through the hectic holiday season/the slow summer/the birthday madness - it's happened. No longer do I have a crutch to lean on! They are now two and a half. They go to school three days a week, for three hours a day. I belong to a gym. They are weaned and can sleep for ten hours straight. They can eat with forks and spoons and have a little group of friends to socialize with. We have three playgroups to choose from and people actually call me sometimes. So what is my excuse now? I see that life is going to be like this for years and years to come, and that makes me cry.

I am still fat, I am still tired, I am still overwhelmed, I am still frustrated, I am still depressed.

I don’t sleep with them every night, and I still toss and turn.

I have weaned them, and didn’t lose an ounce, let alone the ten pounds everyone said I would.

They are in school and I still can’t get jack done.

They don’t need me every second like they used to as infants, but I am still freaking worn out. I may still be tired from the illnesses we just recovered from. But isn’t that just another excuse?

The other day someone was over and saw my wedding picture. This guy said, “Wow. You have aged quite a bit.” The picture was taken a mere three and a half years ago. I look in the mirror and compare myself to that picture and I have to agree. In the wedding picture I could be twenty-five. In the mirror I could be forty-five. If I had know that having a baby or two would be so stressful, demanding, demeaning, messy, insulting, difficult, exhausting and headache inducing I would not have done it.

People ask me if I want any more children. “How about going for that girl?” they ask, with a smirk. I say, “I used to think I wanted three children – like the family I grew up with. Now that I have twins I realize - I want just one.” That always gets a laugh, but I mean it. The mother at the school door said she never regretted having her second child. I realize my remarks will alienate me from the rest of the world and therefore no one will listen, but I regret my first. I regret the loss of myself.

I lost myself before I even gave myself an opportunity to discover who I am. Now I won’t ever get that chance, unless I push my family away to get the space to explore. My parents did it to their children and I hated the experience. I won’t do the same to mine, so it’s me I give up on. I give up.

Deep signs abound - of relief and frustration

The relief is from knowing we are all well and that no one is about to vomit in the near future. So we are good as far as our health is concerned. Baby A is eating like he has a hollow leg to fill and Baby B is back to his normal self. That is, he is loud and crazy and shrieks for no reason but to hear himself bounce off the walls. It’s so sweet. They both slept about eight hours last night, ate two waffles each for breakfast and finally went to school today. It was the first time I had been baby-free during the day in my own home for two weeks. I was going to start crying non-stop, instead of just intermittently, if I didn’t get alone time at home. I really need some peace, you know?

I am delighted the babies feel better, but I still feel like I was just cooked in a microwave – flabby, pasty and tasteless. As if all my nutrients were leached out by the 2,500 megahertz it takes to reheat a frozen Mama.

I know part of this is because I was sick, then the boys were sick and then I was overtired, but had to keep hopping to take care of them. Also I didn’t get to the gym for fifteen days straight. I know I am addicted to exercise - if I don’t work out, or walk or get moving at least three times a week I am grouchy, tired and moody. Plus I don’t sleep so well, which means I am not as efficient as I need to be. I had a little time to work out today and feel better for it, but I am still down and dumpy and lumpy.

And that’s just my butt.

And my abs.

And my arms.

And my thighs.

Basically I hate how I my body looks (and my eyebrows are pretty nasty these days as well) and there are days when I could just explode with frustration at the mirror. I work out, I eat less than I want to, I keep the fats and refined crap-ola to a minimum, I don’t drink and I still look like a trash can. I really do think those people who tell me I look “fine” either have extremely low standards for “fine” or they need to run to the optometrist, ‘coz that prescription ain’t workin’ toots.

It’s those darn short-stature-lumpy-heavy-legged-thick-arm-person genes I inherited along with my critical personality. It’s so hard to fight genetics! Yes, I know, I know I am hard on myself, but if I let myself get away with – Oh, I look fine, let’s have some banana cream pie – I will be a total troll.

No wait, according to Mumsie, I already AM a troll. Or at least a Troll Mama, which is the same thing.

Deep freaking sigh or frustration. Deeeeep freaking sigh.