Not that I like to remind myself of how old my itty-bitty wittle baby is getting, but sometimes it must be done for point-making purposes- back over 3 years ago (SOB) when I found out that I was shockingly (and I thought impossibly) pregnant with Parker, understandably I had a lot of concerns.
Of course there was the freaking out about all the health complications I’d had with Holden, and wondering if my body could ACTUALLY contain another human again (it had seemed to hate it so much the first time around). I hadn’t wanted another child so soon, so I spent a lot of time freaking out about whether or not I’d be able to spread my love to another child, how would THEY like each other, WOULD they like each other, will I like this new baby? WHY ME??
A lot of why me’s. My 2nd pregnancy was basically a gigantic pity party that not even porn-preggo boobs could pull me out of, but mixed in with all the crazy irrational shit flying through my hormone overloaded brain, I did have some valid concerns.
Numero Uno was always “Can I actually handle two children at one time?”
I certainly didn’t think so.
I mean, one seemed hard enough to manage- what with the running and screaming and destroying and pooping and potty training and bed-time forcing- how in the even fuck would I be able to swing TWO? What if one wakes up while the other is sleeping? What if they both need things while I’m doing things. What if one needs something while I’m doing something for the other?
I swear, my head nearly spun like poor little possessed Regan- minus the split pee soup vomit (that would be baby’s job, duh!)
By the time Parker arrived, all the bitchiness must have shot out of my hoo-ha as well, but the worry still remained. I learned the hard way the first time around that you do NOT get sent home with an instruction manual, and the nurses have better things to do than follow a new (or even not so new) mother home to do the heavy lifting.
I won’t sugarcoat over the fact that having a newborn and a 2 year old was hard. REALLY hard. And exhausting. And frustrating- but that was all very temporary. All it took was getting into a new groove, a new routine, and learning to once again function on very little sleep. It was an adjustment period if you will, which like the newborn phase of life, does not last very long at all.
Even throughout sickness and the hatred of all foods- there was one thing that became abundantly clear over time: Having two kids was EASIER than just one. Yeah, I said easier and not “holy ballsack this is WAY HARDER”.
When I realized this, I thought for sure over time I would change my mind. I mean, eventually my toddler would stop being so eager to bring me diapers or a towel, or helping with the laundry. Soon my baby would be a toddler, an ornery toddler with words to use against me- and then I’d have two mouthy children to deal with instead of just one. Instead of playing nicely together, they’d be able to fight over crap- and even though ALL of that is reality; even though the kids bicker and bitch and snap at each other and make me dream of running away and becoming a trapeze artist… maybe it even makes me TOTALLY crazy to say, but having them both is easier than just having the one.
WHY? Have I lost my mind? Have I finally been pushed over the edge by toddler sharts and kindergartner attitude?
Maybe. But just like when I was a psychotic pregnant mess, I make valid points.
When the kids are together, even if they are at each other’s throats or bopping each other on the head with swords or yanking back and forth on a toy (WHEN THEY HAVE TWO OF THEM)- they are occupying each other. When one kid is refusing to eat, all I have to do is compare him to his brother and he changes his stubborn little mind. When one goes to bed, the other follows suit.
It’s one of those good influence thingies. I don’t know why it works, but it WORKS. They might hate each other, but they love each other more- and they especially love to BE like each other (yes, this can sometimes lead to VERY bad things and graffiti walls), or maybe it’s just monkey-see, monkey-do… either way, it tends to work in my favor more than against it, making my life a hell of a lot easier because GASP! I can actually GET THINGS DONE DURING THE CHILDREN’S WAKING HOURS!
Never did I think I would see the day again. I get to make their meals with only a slight chance of “maaaah-meeeee, I need youuuuu!”, and my trips to the bathroom are not nearly as interesting as they were when there was no one else in the house to entertain Holden.
Any time I question this fact due to mind-numbing headache from their screeching at one another, all it takes to bring me back down to earth and reality is Holden leaving for school… and Parker attaching himself to me like a land-leech. Seriously. ON me. Every single bathroom trip, every time I try to make his lunch. If I go upstairs to get dressed or even just grab something, he is right behind me dragging his pillow up the stairs. Everything, shit he does NOT need me for, if Holden isn’t around- it is DIRE I help him with. Then I remember that life with Holden was exactly the same way- and I use to go on and on about how “independent” he was.
No no, independent is when the sibling is around to take some of the neediness away- and it.is.fabulous.
Now, I’m not saying having two kids is BETTER than one- but what I am saying is if you find yourself about to pop another kid out and are flipping your shit anywhere near as much as I was… have no fear; pottying alone is near!
I'm either "I HAVE 3 FRIES LEFT DON'T TOUCH MY PLATE!" or "Please take this so I can't eat any more of it!" There is no in-between.
Dear people writing articles on ways to get siblings to get along, I'll save you the time. The answer is "Don't let them play together"
Please stop Complimenting my kids’ “Good” Behavior goo.gl/fb/rwfojS
Hard pass from me pic.twitter.com/VayvW1eopK
I've gotten to the point where I'd let my kids summon a demon with a Ouija board before I'd let them play Monopoly together again.