When I took my twenty month old daughter to Gymboree sporting my newly 14 week maternity bump; a mother approached me and said “Two is a game changer. You should have waited until she was at least in kindergarten.” I thought her comment was a bit overly dramatic and I arrogantly said: “Girl I teach middle school, nothing is more challenging than that” (which I firmly believed). During the rest of my pregnancy, I avoided any talks about the challenge of having two with utmost confidence and delivered a healthy little girl. Just like that there were two--a newborn and a toddler 28 months apart... and what came with my family of four was a side order of losing my sh** on a daily basis.
The first day I came home, I expected this sublime picture of my girls snuggling on mommy’s chest but what occurred instead was child one taking her Doc McStuffin stethoscope and swinging the hard part full force against the newborn's tiny head. I started to scream “She killed the f******* baby!” which resulted in tears for her and a visit to the doctors immediately for us (luckily we all survived with just a tiny mark for the newborn and Lexapro for me).
The next morning after getting interrupted four hours of sleep; the newborn was taking a bottle as the toddler completely stripped off all of her clothing for no apparent reason and pissed on the floor (even though she was potty trained) all while holding a waffle in her hand because why not? I started screaming “No! Is this real life what are you doing stop peeing” as if she can stop her piss midair. I stood frozen like Elsa on what to do next, with one hand feeding the baby and the other one trying to rip my hair off my head. Tot rock began to cry but not because I was about to cry and she sensed it but because “I don't even want a waffle! I wanted cereal with the marshmallows.” Not the healthy kind of cereal just the marshmallows in the cereal.
When I finally recovered from the breakfast chaos it was time for me to drop her off at preschool for half the day. My eager tot who loves going to school decided to throw the biggest shit fit because how the hell did I not know she was in the middle of playing with her mashems? As she is in the midst of her meltdown which I never witnessed until now, the newborn took the biggest man poop which seeped all over her outfit and required an immediate bath. Now I have to clean the foulest smell of shit off the baby while convincing tot rock after this cleaning it was school time. Already late, I get the baby in the car while being a detective and trying to find where tot rock hid her shoes. By the time I am actually out the door dragging her in the car I have lost all motivation to go anywhere but hide in a cave.
The whole time with just me and the newborn I felt a sudden wave of emotion: was I giving my toddler enough of my time? Was I too hard on her when I told her to stop rocking her sister so damn hard in the rock and play nearly resulting in shaken baby syndrome? I felt I failed my toddler. For two years it was us against the world and now I added a person in tightly form relationship: will she ever forgive me?
This pattern of emotions and madness continued through the week and weeks became months. It was like Groundhog Day: the newborn would nap while tot rock would be wide awake looking to be entertained or the toddler would nap while the baby would look at me wide eyed. I decided I needed to wear the baby if I wanted to clean or do anything productive but then I was noticing my shitting time, the time I just wanted complete silence was spent wearing a baby with my tots tiny fingers reaching under the door. My dinners were not even suitable for a dog; mostly overcooked because I was afraid to go the near the stove while baby wearing the newborn and or keeping my eye on tot rock so she would not draw on the wall or flush Thomas the Tank down the drain again. Once, I tried to cook a potato in the microwave which resulted in loss of power, a potato on fire and the fire department being called--so I determined I needed a strategic meal planning routine in efforts to cook with two babies. I also determined it was okay to hold off on some activities for a while. This decision was reached when I got the power to take them both to Chucke E Cheese --and tot rock got stuck in the tunnel and required my help resulting in my handing the newborn to a stranger and climbing the Ebola laced tubes at age 34.
However, with all the shit losing moments I concluded that the love I felt seeing my first baby look marvelously at her sister was beyond worth me feeling like I was in need of a yellow straight jacket. The way we all meshed perfectly as a family of four made it all worthwhile. Some days the guilt consumes me because I always feel like my older one has to suffer while I attend to the baby and even vice versa. And while I am not well rested still months later as I returned to work and try to balance the working mom life; one thing is for certain: there are two...and I could not be any more grateful for that
