To all of you who said as soon as you're sleeping more, it won't be as tiring...
To all of you who said, once they crawl or walk or hold their own bottles, then you'll have much more free time...
To all of you, I'd like to say, YOU ARE LIARS!
Ok, fine. I am past the exhausting stage where sleep is a far off and mysteriously imaginary friend. My kids are now usually pretty good about sleeping through the night for at least 12 hours. But on days like today, when my son is up at 5:30 shrieking like someone is slicing his left arm off, I don't think to myself, Oh how nice that I'm past that first three months. Instead I think, Why won't that #*$% kid sleep?!
And yes, I am able to straighten up the kitchen a bit while they're eating lunch. However, this cleaning time is usually interrupted by a moment of terror when one or the other kid starts choking and I have to instantly transform into Rescue Hero Mom and rush to save their lives. Most times, though, they've worked it out by the time I get around the snack bar to their chair and, instead of requiring a hard smack on the back, merely smile up at me and continue shoving food in their face like a Somolian refugee.
Yes, when they were little, they were exhausting. But at least they required little or no physical exertion in my part. I remember days of laying on the couch, watching America's Next Top Model for hours and only stirring to make some bottles, change a few diapers and eat some Almond Rocca. Don't think I was a neglectful mother or anything. My kids just slept all day (hence, the no sleeping at night) and playing peek-a-boo with a sleeping child is borderline crazy.
But the older they get, the stranger the tasks I must learn to perform. Relaxation? What's that?Here are the latest in my long list of professions:
Contortionist: A necessary skill when attempting to change a diaper. One must learn to hold down more flailing toddler parts than they have limbs while simultaneously attempting to thwart the excrement on said toddler's butt from becoming the newest wall decoration.
Weightlifter: My son is a beast. His weight is approximately that of a baby hippopotamus. And he has become stronger than me. Picking him up conjures images of World's Strongest Man competitions in which truck-sized men with sweat glistening and neck veins bulging procure hernias while lifting heavy objects for no sane reason at all.
Spotter: My son is also an aspiring rock-climber. He needs to be watched at all times, lest he feel the sudden urge to practice swan dives off of the couch which he can now get on to by himself.
Animal Tamer: Taking two 14-month-olds anywhere has been aptly compared to venturing out of the house with 2 full grown wild goats (Thanks for that blog, Mo!). Imperative tools for these outings include feed (graham crackers usually have the desired effect of distraction and enough nourishment to momentarily satiate the beasts), water (mixed with juice in a lidded cup is preferable, but keep an eye on the cup as it is a favorite to be thrown at strangers), and restraints (anything with straps and buckles will do). I'm still searching for government approved muzzles. Some form of entertainment is also recommended, but if you fail to bring that, making ridiculous faces usually does the trick of entertaining the children, while simultaneously humiliating you.
So, as you can see, life has definitely not become any easier. It has become much more interesting, though. And definitely more fun. I'd pick watching these two run around and knock each other over the head with things over America's Next Top Model any day. Besides, a steady diet of Almond Rocca was definately not helping with the loss of the baby weight.
