Big Boy Beds

We have made the transition.  A few weeks earlier than I would have liked, but there you have it.  Big. Boy. Beds.  The transition has been rough, to say the least.  It's honestly ruining a number of relationships and dynamics in our household right now.  As I'm typing this during "nap" time, I hear Dean and Warren fighting, dresser drawers opening and closing, things slamming.  In the past week we experienced bite marks, hitting, overturned furniture, various ointments smeared over the room, clothes strewn about, etc.  I miss my babies in their cribs.

The initial days were filled with the basics...not wanting to nap, getting out of their cribs, pulling clothes out of the drawer or books off the shelf.  Nothing major, just a little time spent picking up once the designated "rest" time was over.  As week 1 progressed though, they rapidly became bored with these minor indiscretions.  Thursday started out rough, as they ripped each and every page out of their 2 new books.  By 1pm, after 3 days of no naps, they were exhausted.  I put them down, confident they would be asleep in minutes.  As I fed Hannah, I patted myself on the back for the quiet that was happening in the other room.  I didn't hear much of anything.  A few murmurs every once in a while, but no screaming as in previous days.  I sat downstairs and played with Hannah, ate a quick sandwich, thought about what would take priority on my first day with naps during the week in a while.  And then I heard a giggle.  Hmmm....let them play, I thought.  Then I heard a dresser drawer.  "It's easy to clean up the clothes.  Not worth the argument now" I thought.  Then came the "stop it Warrie."  Sigh...up I go.  I was not prepared for the sight when I opened the door.  Clothes were everywhere, not a single item left in the drawers.  Dean and Warren were soaking wet.  Wait a minute...not wet...greasy.  What is that??  Oh, an entire tub (TUB) of Burt's Bee's ointment.  Gross.  Into the bath they go. As I'm asking Warren what happened (he keeps saying, with a huge smile on his face, "I put the stuff in my hair. I put the stuff in my hair") I learn that the "stuff" was also put on the chair, floor, clothes, and wall.  Eek.  I return to the room, swivel the chair around, and find it COVERED in the "stuff."  A little bit of butt paste mixed in and, well, you've got hours of clean up.

Friday nap time came around, and I have removed some of the clothes from their drawers after 5 loads of laundry the day before to get said "stuff" off.  Books are gone from their shelves, table is removed so there is no climbing.  And the chair is still drying out from the deep clean the night before.  Their room is bare...or so I think.  Somehow, they managed to overturn the entire dresser.  And find Dean's fancy prescription cream to smear all over the dresser and wall and remaining clothes.  Into the bath they go...  I then take and shut them into the playroom to begin the clean up process.  Screaming begins and I find 2 fresh bite marks on Dean and some whelps on Warren's back from a wooden stick.  Sigh...  I put in a movie and all is quiet for about 5 minutes.  I resume the clean up process.  In the back of my mind I hear a few banging noises, but they are boys, and no one is crying, so it's a win.  Or not...  I walk back into the playroom and Dean grins up at me.  "I got the fishy Mommy."  Huh?? I turn back to look at the TV where Finding Nemo was playing and see a whole lot of lines and black space that was not there just a few minutes ago.  Yeah, you got the fishy buddy...

These are the days, these long days, when I feel like a complete and utter failure as a mom.  I cannot balance Hannah's needs with the boys' needs with my own.  Everyone gets just a little piece, but no one gets all they need.  And by the end of the day, we are exhausted.  And I'm ready to quit.  To retire.  To hire full time help.  Something.  Days with twin two-year-olds stretch me to my limit.  And then....then we have conversations like we did in the car today.  Warren and Dean are sitting in the back saying "Nutter Butter".  They had just gone to the grocery store before picking me up, so I'm thinking they got a peanut butter treat.  Nope.  Peanut butter? Nope.  As they keep repeating it, I realize they're saying "another brother" quoting a book we have at home.  Ahh...  Andrew says "do you want another brother" (deep breath as I imagine adding another brother into this craziness).  And Dean gets so sad.  No, I don't want another brother.  I want to have Warrie.  Ahhh....melt.  "Warrie my  best friend"  Ahhh...the cuteness.  The tender heart.  That child.  They really do love each other so, despite the fighting and trouble making.  And they road the rest of the way home singing songs and holding hands and loving their brother. <3

3 Months

I cannot believe our little girl is already 3 months old.  Time has just flown by!

At the end of 3 months, I already know so much about her.  How she likes to be swaddles, how she likes to be held, what songs will put her to sleep, what positions are most comfortable.  I know what her smile looks like when she is happy and what her cries are trying to tell me.  These are all things I wasn't able to know having twins, or maybe it was having preemies, or some combination of those factors.  Regardless, this sweet little girl is a breeze and complete joy.  I couldn't have asked for anything better to add to our mix of crazy.

And yet, I constantly feel like I am not enough.  It's so incredibly hard to balance time with the kids, to split myself amongst 3 little needy people.  When I am reading and doing puzzles and running with the boys, poor Hannah is left to defend herself from the floor.  When I am nursing Hannah or putting her down for one of her naps, the boys are left on their own.  This means I am returning to a room that is destroyed, books strewn about and things ripped off the walls.  Or, they are being babysat for that 10 minutes by a quick TV show...followed by the tantrums that I make them turn it off.  Don't get me wrong, these are good struggles to have, but it is a difficult stage of life.

I read (the beginning anyway) of another article on infertility earlier today.  And I am reminded that this crazy, messy life filled with temper tantrums and biting, silly smiles and laughter, tears and so many firsts is EXACTLY what my heart longed for.  In these quiet moments when Hannah is sleeping and the boys are destroying something I'm sure I'll be cleaning in just a few minutes, I am reminded that this is what I prayed for.  For a home that is full, for little feet running through it.  Though we always miss our Reagan's feet, though I always know life should be a little more crazy and my heart aches for that, I am so thankful for these moments.

So...Hannah ends 3 months right on track, rolling over, smiling at herself in the mirror, finally starting to enjoy tummy time, LOVING her thumb, and not too far off from graduating to the next size of clothes.  We don't have an exact weight or length (man, it takes some getting used to to not have bimonthly weight checks and appointments...) but somewhere just shy of 12 pounds and 25 inches.  Whew!