And Now There Are Two

I have been the mother of two for five weeks now, and I feel like I’m getting the hang of it. Kind of like getting the hang of law school after the first semester. I know to make RJ’s lunch ahead of time (just like my outlines).  I know to take advantage of my extra unexpected 10 minutes rather than wasting it in front of the television (flash cards anyone?).  I’ve learned a few new things in the past few weeks:  

Offering to buy a newborn a red convertible when she turns 16 will not get you three hours of uninterrupted sleep. I’ve tried. But, offering to pay a three-year old in Oreos will get you 15 minutes to load the dishwasher. 

Cats and three-year olds have a lot in common when it comes to vacuum cleaners. They both go crazy when you turn the sweeper on. They both weave between your legs while you run it. And both will make you nuts. But you can teach a three-year old to suck up rouge Cheerios with the hose attachment. Cats won’t do that. 

A five-week old can sleep through 87 preschoolers jumping in a bouncy thingy. And she can sleep through Monday Night Football. And the vacuum cleaner. But if you drop a Hot Wheels on a tile floor three rooms away, her frazzled little nerves will come completely undone, and she will wake up. Screaming. 

If you show a three-year old a picture of a bulldozer, he’ll turn the book upside down and inside out trying to get a glimpse of the bulldozer’s mouth behind the box blade--just to see if he’s smiling when he (the bulldozer) has to go to bed. (“Goodnight, Goodnight Construction Site” is our new favorite book.). 

“La, la, la, not touching her!” is a new game. We have a new rule about personal space. And a chart to earn magnets for respecting it. If RJ was a cat, then GiGi would be tuna fish. She is irresistible to him. He touches her hair, her face, her hands, her carrier. I am not surprised to hear myself say things like, “Do NOT lick your sister on the mouth again!” 

A five week old is a magician. How else could she barf out her nose? (RJ is understandably repulsed: “Ewwww, she barf again!” “Then don’t lick her face!”). 

And, finally, I’m learning that taking advantage of the extra 10 minutes sometimes means an extra 10 minutes to rock my little boy instead of to load the dishwasher (He asked to be snuggled today. How could I turn that down?).