It is hard...
Hard and wonderful. Being the mother of two kids in diapers.
Especially when one of them is into climbing windows, eating toilet bowl cleaner, and hugging the cat.
And the other one is into imitating a milky geiser, partying from about one am to 5 am, and pooping every time he eats.
But the hardest part from me right now, apart from sheer exhaustion...
Is the divided attention. The emotional stuff, the personal time.
I HATE not being able to read Hop On Pop to Mose whenever he says "Pease!?" Not being able to run in the sprinkler with him.
"Pease, Mama? Pease?"
And I HATE that Lewis isn't getting what Mose got-- a couple of months of all day skin-on-skin snuggling. My eyes staring into his eyes whenever they open. My kisses on his soft little head every third second. My voice singing his name to him when he cries.
Instead, I'm dashing, always dashing, from one obligation to the next. Mose falling from the windowsill trumps Lew spitting up in his swing. But Lew spitting up trumps Mose "sorting" the kitchen garbage. And Mose sorting the trash trumps Lew needing a diaper change. And Lew needing a fresh diaper trumps Mose wanting to do spins (he likes to dance) in the kitchen... and so and so and so...
And so every moment is a moment of evaluating "what matters most".
And since I'm the mom, it's up to me. What matters most. It's my call.
Lord, help me.
"Pease?!"
Especially when one of them is into climbing windows, eating toilet bowl cleaner, and hugging the cat.
And the other one is into imitating a milky geiser, partying from about one am to 5 am, and pooping every time he eats.
But the hardest part from me right now, apart from sheer exhaustion...
Is the divided attention. The emotional stuff, the personal time.
I HATE not being able to read Hop On Pop to Mose whenever he says "Pease!?" Not being able to run in the sprinkler with him.
"Pease, Mama? Pease?"
And I HATE that Lewis isn't getting what Mose got-- a couple of months of all day skin-on-skin snuggling. My eyes staring into his eyes whenever they open. My kisses on his soft little head every third second. My voice singing his name to him when he cries.
Instead, I'm dashing, always dashing, from one obligation to the next. Mose falling from the windowsill trumps Lew spitting up in his swing. But Lew spitting up trumps Mose "sorting" the kitchen garbage. And Mose sorting the trash trumps Lew needing a diaper change. And Lew needing a fresh diaper trumps Mose wanting to do spins (he likes to dance) in the kitchen... and so and so and so...
And so every moment is a moment of evaluating "what matters most".
And since I'm the mom, it's up to me. What matters most. It's my call.
Lord, help me.
"Pease?!"
1 Comments:
Hang in there! Mommy guilt is something new that you have to adjust to...it happens when you have more than one child.
It will get easier!
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