They said it would be hard.
They said I was gonna have my hands full.
They said it would be six weeks before I felt normal again.
It’s been eight.
And I don’t. Not really.
Because everything’s different.
Everything has changed.
I have two kids under two. And it’s hard.
I know I’m not the only one. I’m not the first. Nor the last.
Knowing that doesn’t make it easy.
But it does give me hope that it gets better.
It has to.
I’m ready to get back into a routine.
We had a good one going before sister came. Now the routine is dependent a lot on her. Her nursing schedule. Her pooping schedule. Her fussy times and her awake times. Which is usually during nap time so I get nothing accomplished and in the evening when I’m completely pooped and frankly just want to fall into my bed. And sleep for hours. Which ain’t happening anytime soon. (Sometimes I look back longingly and remember sleeping in as a teenager, or shoot, a 30-something and just wish I could do that again.)
But at the same time sister came, Marcus started school, too. So now, if he’s not at work, either mowing or at the station, then he’s probably at school. Which is necessary for our future (read: I’m not complaining). But all this means that it’s all me for mealtime, bath time, and bedtime most nights. And all of that now coincides with sister’s fussy time. Which means she wants to be held or nursed or changed or something AT THE SAME TIME. Which is impossible.
So now little man’s bedtime routine is shot all to H-E-doublehockeysticks. And my once easy to get to sleep little angel is having a really hard time going to sleep these days. It doesn’t help matters that we’ve moved him from his crib to a big bed recently, either. I know, I know, I should probably have waited. But he was climbing, y’all. About to fall out of bed. And besides, it was difficult lifting his big, almost 40-pound body over the rails. And it was killing my back. So whether he was ready for it or not, it’s done.
This little beautiful bundle of joy has disrupted the whole house. She has had food dropped on her from me holding her while I eat. She gets to cry a lot longer than I ever let Eli cry. And the funny thing is, it doesn’t bother me near as much to let her wail. Is that terrible? Don’t answer that.
But she’s so stinkin’ cute, none of that matters.
I knew it would be hard. We talked about it before she came.
About how difficult this year would likely be with daddy in school, big brother turning two and adding her to the mix. And I know it will get better. The kids will grow up. Marcus will become a nurse. And I will get to sleep in again.
Until then, I survive by … Face Timing my husband so I can see his beautiful face when we’re apart. Thank you, Steve Jobs. … Drinking way too much coffee for a breastfeeding mother … Running late to just about everywhere, because that’s how we roll these days … eMeals for dinner … Feeding my son pb&j for breakfast and lunch. Don’t hate, it’s easy … Living with toys in the living room, a dining room table that needs to be wiped down constantly but rarely ever gets it, a cluttered mess of papers on the desk, shoes that need to be put away, clothes on the chair in my bedroom, vacuuming once (maybe twice) a month, dust on the furniture, clean laundry that stays unfolded, and giving lots and lots of kisses to my babies.
Nope. My house isn’t as clean as I like it to be. And I don’t blog nearly as much as I want to. But I can live with that.
Because of all the jobs I’ve ever had, this is by far the most difficult. It’s not for everyone.
But this is the life I choose.
It was meant for me. Even as difficult as it is and as tired as I feel right now, I can deal with it. Because I know that this is just a season.
I know it will get better.
And it’s right where I want to be.
Photo credit goes to Jenny Hintze of J.Hintze Photography. Aren’t they awesome shots of my little loves? Click the link to see more shots from that day.