Some mornings with twins make you cry.
If they aren't already serenading me with their hungry cries, I wake the kids up at 7 am every morning. Part of staying at home with two little babies is keeping a rigid schedule so you don't go crazy. Also, so you can schedule feedings around the Ellen show. This morning I got bold - crazy even - and put both of the kids next to each other on the couch so I could feed them their bottles at the same time. With twins, doing things simultaneously comes with the territory; I feed one, I bounce the other in their bouncy chair with my foot. I cuddle one with one arm, rest my hand on the other's chest. I heat up bottles, and pound my head against a wall. I have never been a star multi-tasker, and now is not the time to be learning while I run on cerebral fumes, but every day as a new mom I find that a mother has no choice. She just does.
So this morning I was obviously feeling a little ahead of myself. A little more than one month into motherhood, with twins who are still learning the delicate intricacies of taking a bottle without spitting, choking, or slurping, and there I am, squatted on the floor, balancing two bottles in my hand, a computer on my lap, listening to Matt Lauer croon on about dieting in 2010. I burped Joshua. I burped Annabelle. I let them finish their bottles, all the while gazing at me in all of my mom glory, their vacant stares saying, "Wow, mom. You are amazing." And I truly was in that moment, my knotted hair cascading down my shoulders, covering up multiple spit up stains from...2 days ago? 3 days ago? When did I change my clothes last? No matter. I'm a mom. A super mom. A super smelly mom. I mean, a smelly super mom.
I whisked (not true. I don't "whisk" anything anymore. see: fumbled) both of my babies up the stairs, and let Annabelle wait in her crib while I changed, powdered, lotioned and buffed her brother to baby perfection while we all listened to The Beach Boys' greatest hits. By the time we got to Good Vibrations I was done with Joshua, so I put him in the crib and started getting his sister ready for the day. I was on top of the world! I was doing it - I was momming! My twins were going to look better than I was, and it wasn't even 8am! I danced Annabelle over to the crib, laid her next to her brother, and gazed at my freshly polished babies. Annabelle was a vision in pink, Josh was wearing his most adorable sweater from Baby Gap, and they looked so edible I wanted to gobble up their little hands and toes right there. And as I made my face closer, closer into their bobbing heads, Josh, possibly out of fear, projectile vomited all over.
All. Over.
I don't need to tell you what he covered with his spit up, because it was everything. Him. His sister. The crib sheets. My shirt. My computer screen. Your computer screen. It was everywhere, and now my so fresh and so clean, clean babies were back to square one. Actually, worse than that because now they both reeked of baby puke and I needed to change their sheets.
It was an awful feeling. An awful, deflating feeling. Just when you think you have one thing down with your newborn baby, something - usually spit up - happens and you are back to feeling like you will never know how to properly take care of this little, helpless human. You will always be one step behind, you will always be guessing what their cry could mean this time, always be washing load after load of their little socks and pants and onesies in a vain attempt to keep them clean for longer than...an episode of Ellen.
I really like that Ellen.
The rest of the day passed with little spit up and various states of diaper oddities. By the time we got to the final feeding before bedtime I was exhausted and ready to crawl into bed at 7pm. After both kids were fed I settled Joshua into his bouncy seat and cradled Annabelle in my arms. While Josh watched his Dad play video games and Annabelle snoozed on my chest I rested my head on the couch cushions. My family was fed, happy, clean, and quiet.
Some nights with twins make you smile.
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