My son is 2 1/2 years old, and my beautiful baby girl has just reached one month. So between the two of them, they don’t speak very much, except for awkward sentences and vocalizations along the lines of “Is me all wet?” and “Waaaaaaaahh!” But despite the lack of an extensive English vocabulary, I’m fairly certain that these two are already communicating…
It’s as if they plan their hysterical, break-mommy’s-heart, tear-filled meltdowns to coincide with the other’s. It’s like they know that I’m outnumbered.
Oh, you’re going to hysterically burst into tears, demanding milk from Mama, at a quarter past three? Great, that works for me too! I’ll bash my big toe in around then…
It always happens all at once.
Just the other day, I was sitting on the living room floor and pumping breastmilk while attempting to cradle my screaming baby girl. (If you’ve never tried holding a baby against your chest while pumping, then you totally should. It’s a riot). And since I had thought it would be a good idea to bring my toddler’s highchair into the TV room to watch cartoons while I pumped, baked beans were raining down on my head… on the newborn’s head… and on the newly installed carpet.
You know, because I had thought that it was a good idea to feed the stickiest meal ever to my tantrum-throwing toddler… during a part of the day when I couldn’t easily get to him…. all while my baby girl was uncomfortable, screaming, and desperate to be held. (Come to think of it, purchasing new carpet months before the arrival of a newborn probably wasn’t the smartest decision we’ve ever made either).
You live and you learn, am I right?
But there I was, once again, surrounded by complete chaos; because my littles decided to impeccably plan their need for attention. Brady needed to be held and shown love. Kaitlyn needed to be held upright and secure to help her through a painful acid reflux episode. ‘The girls’ needed to be pumped like two hours ago. Oh, yeah, and the cats also decided that now would be a great time to sit at my feet and beg earnestly for their lunch.
And granted, no one is going to die or be injured if they’re left to cry for awhile longer. But it just seems to happen a little more frequently than I’m comfortable with, and – quite frankly – it breaks my heart. I’m left having to choose. Who do I comfort first? Who do I disappoint?
Who has to sit in the background while Mommy tends to the other child first?
And the more I ponder that in my head (at a rapidly fast pace), the more my anxiety levels go up. The more my mommy guilt shoots through the roof. The more I somehow blame myself for not being able to properly diffuse the situation.
Because I’m a mom… So obviously, I’m supposed to be able to split myself into two mommy blobs and handle both problems at once. (Which, for the record, wouldn’t be necessary if my kiddo’s didn’t somehow communicate and sync their schedules so perfectly).
(…to be continued) 🙂