Momming Ain't Easy...

There are 24 hours in a day as far as I can remember. Where they all go, however, leaves me mystified. In fact, I don't really acknowledge days anymore at all. My day is more or less divided in terms of "how long it's been since" or "how long until." For example, it's been 5 minutes since I was up to my elbows in poop, it must be time again! Okay, so maybe not up to my elbows. That could be a slight exaggeration. Maybe just up to my forearms. And maybe not every 5 minutes, but there's at least one diaper thrown into the laundry room every hour. And I swear, this new little munch mouth gets a clean diaper on her bottom and makes it a point to poop in it immediately. "Score! A new diaper!!!" *Insert gigantic truck-driver fart noise here.*

I do everything around eating, sleeping and defecating. And not even my own eating, sleeping and defecating. Nope, that would be impossible as I don't have enough time or hands to sleep or eat. As for the defecating part, I'll admit that I have come to the conclusion that diapers for adults are a grand idea! When you've used the throne with a baby in one arm breastfeeding and spitting milk all over you and a little monkey doing his best to undo the toilet paper, open the bathroom cabinets and check out the inside of the toilet bowl, you will understand where I'm coming from. And actually, eating is not much different. Just simply put the monkey in a highchair to make a solid mess and the baby in my arm to make a liquid mess and that leaves one free hand to maneuver bites across baby into my mouth and over to the wiggling monkey's mouth before said mouth begins whining impatiently. Sometimes, not eating seems easier.

And who knew that it would take an act of God to go grocery shopping with two kids? It's not even about the shopping, it's getting out of the house, into the car and to the grocery store during one of these few hour windows. If we go in the morning, it has to be early enough to be back before it's time for the monkey to recharge so I can run around the house like a crazy person with a baby strapped on myself trying to move mountains (also known as get the house clean, laundry washed and FOLDED and PUT AWAY, eat and try to shower or at least wash my face or at least brush my hair... probably just brush my hair). If we go in the afternoon, it must be quickly enough after the nap to get home and cook dinner before everyone's bellies start growling louder than the voice in my head that screams, "YOU CRAZY WOMAN! TWO KIDS UNDER 2??? TWO IN DIAPERS??? ARE YOU INSANE??? YOU SHOULD BE LOCKED AWAY!!!" (Just to be clear, I actually only mentally yell that at myself occasionally. Usually when I'm hungry and grumpy with too few hands to get the food in my mouth NOW!!!!) What makes this whole thing tricky, is that someone always poops on the way out the door, which leads to diaper changes which reminds Naomi that she wants to eat, which leads to sitting in the chair breastfeeding as Lawson freaks out that we're not going bye bye yet, which leads to milk all over me and a new outfit and gives Naomi air bubbles which makes being strapped into the car seat impossible. By the time all of these things are dealt with and both kids are in the car, Naomi is wide awake and NOT having being stuck in her seat and makes herself sweaty screaming at the top of her lungs all the way to the store. Luckily, Lawson loves going 'bye bye" and smiles the whole way there. Naomi then sleeps the whole time I shop and Lawson whines for every item I put in the basket between striking up a conversation with all the passers by. By the time I've learned the names of all the grandchildren of all the grandma's at the store and gotten tips on how to deal with sibling jealousy from the deli lady, the guy stocking the dairy section who's wife is a retired midwife and blah blah blah blah blah, and the cashier, and oh yeah, gotten my groceries, I load the car and wake up Naomi as I buckle her in just in time to drive back home as she screams. This little piggy cried "WAHHH WAHHH WAHHH WAHHH WAHHH " all the way home.

Yes, life these days is measured in minutes or hours since or until "insert messy, repetitive task here", and that's not half bad as far as I'm concerned. It's just part of being a mom. Mom, I now completely understand why you woke up at 6am, even on the weekends. You wanted to make yourself human before you started running around like a chicken with it's head cut off. At least if you woke up early, you'd be a bathed headless chicken with make up, clean hair and armpits that didn't smell like death. I should take a cue from you and drag myself out of bed before 7:30am. Dustin might thank you. I can only imagine coming home to this mess on a daily basis lately. Maybe that's why he's been working so much lately... I should also say thank you. Momming ain't easy, but you made it look effortless and that is no small feat.