You’re {NOT} Gonna Miss This…

I’m always hearing how I’m going to miss this stage of life, but per a discussion with my mom-friend, Katie, I felt prompted to write about the things I won’t miss. A real list, by a real mom. Buckle up, it’s a bumpy ride.

I won’t miss…

  • Pregnancy
  • Nausea & Morning Vomiting
  • Swelling
  • Not being able to take effective OTC medications
  • Compression socks
  • Back braces
  • Breastfeeding
  • Pumping
  • Lost sleep
  • Nervous breakdowns
  • Loss of freedom
  • Anxiety
  • Crying hysterically
  • Being peed on
  • Being pooped on
  • Being vomited on
  • Being vomited on & into my mouth
  • Buying diapers
  • Buying wipes
  • Being 3 large cans of formula a week
  • Baby fingernails
  • Sick infants
  • Needing the help of others
  • Strangers comments in public
  • The expectations put on new mothers
  • Buying baby equipment or toys only to discover baby hates them
  • Watching baby get shots
  • Jaundice
  • C-section recovery
  • Unpredictable menstrual cycles
  • Baby fight club
  • Baby jealousy
  • “You’ve Got Your Hands Full!”
  • “They’re identical, right?”
  • “I don’t know how you do it, I couldn’t.”
  • “Wouldn’t you rather have had one of each?”
  • Those bulb nose suckers
  • Carrying my children up & down the stairs to the hall
  • How EVERYTHING goes in their mouths & the paranoia of cleaning out their mouths
  • Trying to make plans
  • Finding a sitter
  • Not being able to do things spontaneously
  • Puke in the car seat

Honestly, there’s probably so much more. This is just off the top of my head. Don’t get me wrong, I LOVE my kids, I love being a mom, but this stage of life is hard. I don’t like pretending that it’s not.

In fact, for clarity, I’m sitting here in my pajamas. The same ones I’ve been wearing for 3 days. I didn’t shower today. (I brushed my teeth & dry shampooed.) I didn’t leave the house today.

But my kids were bathed, fed, changed, napped, & played with. The thing is, my babies don’t judge me. My babies don’t care how much weight I’ve lost since their birth. They don’t care that I can’t remember the last time I hit the gym or that I didn’t wear makeup today. My babies don’t care that I take anxiety meds to feel better daily or that I dry shampooed instead of showered because I wanted to hold them a little longer. My kids care that I showed up & was actively present in their lives, here & loving them.

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Be Strong; Be Kind

When I lived with my mom or my parents off & on through the years, most every night she would kiss me goodnight & say, “I pray for you to be strong.”

I guess she probably did pray for this. But I often wondered if my mother praying for my strength had the same effect of when I’ve prayed for patience. Have you ever felt you suffered greater trials when praying for patience, as I have? I wonder if her prayers for my strength brought more pain.

Probably best if I don’t dwell on that line of thought.

I spent a lot of years being strong. Being strong is hard work. Being strong is exhausting. All that being said, the years I had to be strong were when I was a child. I spent s lot of years trying to fulfill this nightly command. I remember thinking that if I cried I’d be a disappointment.

I can’t be a disappointment. It goes against some part of my moral code.

So I cried at school, or after everyone was asleep. I cried because I couldn’t change the circumstances I was subjected to. I cried because I was too young to change my life. & then I’d wake up & be strong. But I have been strong when I’ve needed to be strong. I have survived many difficult years. It…worked out, I guess.

I don’t pray for my baby boys to be strong. I don’t want them to feel obligated to never cry or let their guard down. I try to create a life in which they don’t have to be strong, they don’t have to survive, they don’t need to cry because they can’t change their lives, and they don’t weep because of what they’ve been subjected to. They cry because they’re jealous of one another, they’re rotten & understand the feeding schedule, & they’re eager for more life.

I do tell them to be kind.

Every day.

For the most part, they are. Perhaps that’s what I want most for them; to be kind citizens of the world. I guess as a mother, you just do the best you can. I believe all moms are trying to do simply that.

Maybe we’re best a combination of this quote from the new Cinderella:

I Was Taught Wrong

My doctor prescribed me anxiety medicine for the first year with children. She said I’d need it. She said it would help with the panic attacks. She said it’d help my blood pressure. She said it’d ease my headaches. And I smirked in my head because I’ve been taught that you don’t need medications for feelings, you don’t need medications for your head. But I needed relief. That was back in August.

She was right. I do feel better. The panic attacks are gone. I can breathe. I don’t feel doomed or inept. My blood pressure has been tip top. I’m not a feeling-less zombie. I’m not unbalanced without anxiety medication.

I was taught wrong.

I cannot imagine continuing on the journey of full time teaching while being a mother of twins feeling the way I get in August. I would cry hysterically because I was so overwhelmed by my job, by being away from my children, etc until I was a feeling-less zombie. In case you were taught wrong, too, I’m here to liberate you, it is okay to treat anxiety, depression, bipolar disorder, etc. You take care of your body when it’s not well, why wouldn’t you take care of your mind?

It’s a roller coaster. Balancing this home life and work life ordeal. It’s full of ups and downs and just when you think you’re finding a rhythm…the bottom drops out again. It’s not a bad life, but there are some challenging phases.

The current challenge: Illness.

My home can’t stay healthy. It’s so hard and defeating. Nathan had a cold, then Lincoln. Then Logan & I got eye infections. Then Logan got a cold, then I had the flu. Then everyone had a cold. Logan had an ear infection. Now Logan has the flu.

& I’m just sitting here like

Mama needs a break.

But for now, just another cup of coffee. Because my blood pressure is fabulous. Because I am calm. No panic attacks here. No flipping out. No hysterical crying. Just a lot of praying, a couple cups of coffee daily, and the love of twins. 🤷‍♀️.

“You’ve Got Your Hands Full!”

“You’ve got your hands full!” The phrase that draws a wry smile from my lips and rolled eyes when I turn the corner. Yes, yes, I know. Twin boys. Infant twin boys. Crawling, jabbering baby boys. Lincoln is pulling some mangoes off the shelf while Logan watches him.

I’ve my hands full. Full of babies. Full of diapers and bottles and wipes. Full of feeding schedules, sleeping schedules, & two working parents. Hands full of 45+ pounds going up and down the stairs to second floor home while wiggling and crying, shouting and giggling.

I’ve my hands full. There’s not a moment of the day that I forget it. There’s not a moment of the night that I forget it. I’m a mother. A mother of twins. When I dream, I dream of my children, as many mothers do. I don’t dream often, because I’m tired. I’m tired because my children keep me on my toes. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

When I dare venture out with my boys to the grocery store, I’m there because I need to be. We need to be there. I’m not there as entertainment. My kids aren’t there to show off. We don’t need the reminder that I’ve got my hands full. No one in this family needs the pity of strangers.

My hands are full of love. My hands are full of family. My thoughts are consumed with the most important people in my life. My life has purpose.

If you think my hands are full, you should see my heart. My hands are full, but as I evaluate my choices of what to hold on to; I wonder if there would be something better to keep my hands full…

…but I don’t think so. 😊

Dear Sweet 9 Month Old Baby

Dear 9 Month Old Baby,

I love the way you fall asleep staring into my eyes, softly touching my face. I love your soft hair and pushing it around you head. I love the way you reach for me when you wake up, when I come home, or walk into the room. I love your long eyelashes and how they lay across your cheeks. I love how you know and understand when I say, “Come to Mama.” I love your little nose, but I just hate when it’s running raw. I love how you splash in the bath and blow bubbles all around. I love watching you play with your brother. I love how you gurgle like a Wookiee. I love how you move with purpose. I love how everything is an adventure; from the toilet to a wooden spoon. I love how you babble on to yourself, is, or the tv. I love when you hold your pacifier like a monocle. I love how you have your own blanket. I love how you roll over on your belly when you sleep. I love that you love routines. I love that you just want to play or cuddle. I love that you are a total goober. I love that you hate socks. I love how you stare at yourself in the mirror. I love feeling your heartbeat. I love how you sigh in your sleep. I love seeing you love your dad and brother.

I’m pretty sure you love me & I’m terrified one day you’ll wake up & you won’t.