My feet hurt. The end.
Just kidding! My feet and my back hurt. The end.
Would you just look at that photo? They were ONE. That was an entire YEAR ago. Over 52 WEEKS ago. Two hundred and thirty five glasses of WINE ago.
It’s like, their little faces have changed, but they haven’t. Their little souls have matured and evolved, yet they still act like turds on speed. Their little bodies have lengthened and grown slightly taller, yet my belly still looks like a giant iguana just flipped everyone off and shed its skin.
In short: they’re out to get me.
Let’s talk about the last year, shall we?
1) I Run Craft Service:
Did you that the synonym of Mom is Caterer? You guys, it’s like I live on the set of a crappy B movie, and all the underpaid actors are in crank-a$$ moods, and have zero clue what they’re in the mood to eat. Yet somehow they eat everything and nothing. While throwing it all on the floor. And on the ceiling. And at the dog. And at me. All the time. While crying. Unless Elmo’s on, which . . . we’ll discuss that in a little bit.
All day every day I shuffle from the stove, to the microwave, to the fridge, to the toaster oven, back to the stove, “What can I get you? Are you hungry? Do you want an apple? How about some cheesy toast? What about a scrambled egg? More milk? Orange juice? Peanut butter? A slice of my battered soul? USE YOUR WORDS AND TELL ME WHAT YOU WANT OR ELSE YOU WILL SEE ME ON COPS.”
This is why I’m taking collagen powder, you guys.
2) And In This Corner, We Have . . .
. . . Natalie “Never Naps” Weidnerrrrr, weighing in at a solid 25 pounds, with a stack of deliciously deadly arm rolls with their own criminal record. And over in this corner we have, William “Whiney Mug” Weidnerrrr, also weighing in right at 25 pounds, with a head of hair so white blonde your soft contact lenses will explode right out of your eyeball sockets.
Don’t get me wrong – they’re total buds. They play well together (for the most part), still sleep in the same room (we’re pushing this as LONGASWECAN), and are starting to somewhat hone their craft for sharing (in my wildest dreams). BUT – you would not believe how innately competitive they are. But only with Aaron. Like two hungry wolves that just discovered a rotting bear in the middle of the cold, winter forest. Sorry I used that analogy, Aaron.
You should see it – they will claw their way up his body in a race like he’s freaking Mount Fatherest or something. I’m like, “Why don’t you guys fight over me?!” The only time they compete for my attention is when I’m on my computer. Oh sure, nooooow they want Mama. When I’m trying to PIN MY PASTA BOLOGNESE TO PINTEREST. Pfft!
Honestly, I think it’s because Aaron’s the “fun” parent. He’s the one that makes pillow piles and rolls around on the floor tickling them, while I’m usually the one preparing dinner or picking up that hour’s mess. I truly don’t resent our roles. I LOVE that he plays with them so much. But someone has to sweep. Someone has to load and unload the dishwasher 15,923 times a day. Someone has to take baby wipes and meticulously wipe those little nasty spaces at the base between each crib bar. You know how grody those little spaces get? Oh my gah, so much dog hair. I have no idea how. But I’m not OCD or anything.
And while he definitely helps clean, I’m just a weeee bit type A control freak maniac and prefer to obsess over it all myself.
This is why I’m taking collagen powder, you guys.
3) What To Do When You Can’t Do Anything:
My goodness, one to two is a tough age for littles. They’re too big to sit around and stare at each other’s drool all day, yet they’re too small to ride rides, jump off diving boards, roller skate, play an old fashioned arcade video game, or to understand why their mom is hitting on those creepy electronic animals at Chuck E Cheese. Not that this has ever happened! I think.
At this age, my only job is to not let them fall off a cliff, tango with a barb wired fence or try to drive a semi. Who has time for healthy activities when I’m trying to keep them from eating that dead mouse in the garden?
This is why they sit in the bathtub all day while I Snapchat. What, it is SAFE.
4) Nok, Hawk Uh, and Bayo Wayas:
Obviously that’s “milk,”thank you,” and . . . well, we have yet to figure out what “bayo wayas” is. Nat’s been saying those two words for WEEKS now, and we’re about to come unhinged trying to figure it out. I’m like, constantly in her face all, “Bayo . . . what is bayo!? Are you trying to say beautiful? Like mommy is devastatingly beautiful? Is that it, sweet girl?” She just looks at me and slithers her tongue through her teeth gap. My guess is that she’s a government spy, wearing a wire and “bayo wayas” is code for, “THEY WON’T LET ME WATCH ELMO TWENTY FOUR HOURS A DAY. OFF WITH THEIR HEADS.” We’ll talk about Elmo in a sec, I swear.
Watching speech development of two little kids, who are in the same home environment, reading the same books, in the same daily routine, is nothing short of a trip for us. I know I know, girls are quicker to develop than boys. I get it. But it’s a real struggle not to compare, ya know? Not compare is in, “WHY CAN’T YOU BE MORE LIKE YOUR SISTER,” which I’ve never said. Never! Maybe a few times. But more like, simply comparing the growth track, side by side. However, I can happily report that Will’s getting much better with his speech! He can count to ten (you get pregnant just hearing it), has an adorable array of words that sends me into a fit of sobs every time he talks. It is beyond cute. And you know what, we’ll get there. He’ll get there. He’s just being Will. And I have to be patient. (<-in my dreams)
Actually, the day he stops saying “nok” for milk, I will never love again. (name that movie)
5) Keeping Up and Staying Hip:
You might be surprised to know that as a mom of twins, I’m actually very on top of today’s pop culture. No, it’s true! I’m totally in the know of all the new songs, new artists, actors, athletes and groups of today. Mind you, it’s via the celebrity duets with Elmo on Sesame Street, but I am in the loop, darn it!
Talk about walking clichés, I cannot believe how much they love Elmo, you guys. I’m trying to figure out what happens in the DNA makeup during pregnancy that will later make the child a certified psychopath for Elmo. If you don’t think this will happen to your child, you are living a lie. Just prepare yourself now. Take the collagen powder.
Truthfully, I can dig Elmo. Even though sometimes I want to tell him to go to hell-mo. His high-pitched innocent baby voice makes me giggle so hard, especially when he’s dressed as a butterfly and sings about being best friends with little fluttering butterflies and flapping their little butterfly wings together in world peace and harmony. It is absolutely hysterical. It’s hilar-mo.
Still trying to get them on board with Law and Order, though.
6) I Mean, Come On:
Yes, I get up multiple times a night to fetch a rogue paci. Yes, I witness immeasurable meltdowns over a bouncy ball that won’t fit into a tiny lip balm cap. No, I don’t shower until after lunch time, when they hopefully nap for the one hour a day that I have to catch up on emails or pin that blasted recipe to Pinterest. No, my house still isn’t clean. No, my hair is definitely not washed. Yes, my eyebrows still have issues.
And there’s no other place in the entire world I’d rather be. Without question.
Will and Natalie – they truly are charming kids. They have a breed of infectious personalities that could never translate to an Instagram photo or a blog post. It blows my mind how much they’re growing, learning, singing, jumping, playing, squealing, discovering, beating each other up (<-no really), hugging and kissing each other (<-you’d pee your face).
And it just keeps getting better. And better. And better.
So, here’s to year three! With forward-facing car seats, the transformation to toddler beds, potty training (help), and more Elmo. Definitely more Elmo.
Wait, I mentioned the collagen powder, right?