Life With Two

Is harder.

Much harder.

I've now adopted a new measure of success (borrowed from Maria at Ordinary Time) that goes something like this...

"Success is only having one person crying at a time, with bonus points if that one person isn't me".

It has definitely been a challenge learning how to handle the needs and demands of two very needy and demanding children, while still being able to give myself the time I need to take care of myself... and occasionally my husband.

The newborn has been easy. She is really the most mild mannered baby. She only gets fussy when she has... um how do I put this delicately... "tummy bubbles" and she usually only wakes up once or twice during the night and then goes back to sleep. In fact, I can't remember why I once thought that taking care of newborn was hard-- she stays where I put her, she doesn't throw things out of the shopping cart, her cries don't resonate around the church chapel, she doesn't throw tantrums in the middle of the parking lot and have to be carried "potato sack" style back to the car kicking and screaming, and her needs are pretty simple.. eat, sleep, poop, and look adorable. I think I could handle six newborns with the energy it takes me to handle one two- year old.

My main challenge is managing a little boy who, while he adores his little sister, is having a hard time adjusting to life where he is not the center of the universe. He loves to hold and kiss Rose and can be incredibly sweet to her, but he definitely has his moments... okay LOTS of moments. Let me illustrate it this way. A few days ago I found myself sitting on the toilet (sorry about the details) and holding Rose in my arms, because no matter where I put her she was in danger of being "loved to death" by her big brother. If I left her in her bouncy seat she got bounced and squashed. If I left her in the car seat she got rocked. If I left her in the baby hammock she got swung. If I left her on the couch she almost got pulled on to her head. If I left her in the crib she got balls and other heavy objects thrown at her. Looking back I realize I should have just locked the bathroom door and that would have solved my problem, but you never think of those brilliant (and obvious) plans in the heat of the moment! Thus, I found myself with my pants around my ankles, holding my baby, warding off a two-year-old, trying not to scream, and wondering how my life could get so crazy.

It is moments like those that make it hard to remember WHY I ever wanted to be a mother in the first place. Why I wanted to trade in school, a career, world travel, and private bathroom time in order to calm to the raging tantrums of a two-year-old and answer the pleading cries of a newborn.

But then I get moments like these







and I remember why I wouldn't trade what I have now for all the free time, tantrum-less trips to the store, and non-spit-up-on shirts in the world.

Because even though having two is twice as hard,
it is twice as nice.