Monday, September 12, 2016

If Only I Had More Arms...

The other day I decided to stay up after a 5 am feeding, figuring that I had a few hours before either boy was up and could get some extra work in. I skulked into the kitchen as if I were in the commission of a criminal act, careful not to wake up the sleeping Little Giant and the Little Tyrant, whom I had just laid down and chose the most silent breakfast, conscripting a protein bar for my purposes (unveiling the conscript in the bathroom due for good measure). I fashioned a nice setting on the couch so I wouldn't wake my husband in our bedroom and set to work. Less than 5 minutes later, when I was still getting into a groove, I heard the Little Giant wail. I gave him a minute and looked at my camera, figuring that maybe he were having a nightmare. When his wails didn't subside, I knew I had to go on a diaper reconnaissance mission but on finding out that the diaper was dry and that the wails were indeed due to a nightmare, I was ensnared in a cuddle conundrum (to work? to cuddle? the latter always wins). After cuddling my son and stroking his hair to get him to sleep (bonus cuddle score! My favourite part of the day), I left and resumed work. Less than 5 minutes later, the Little Tyrant woke up and wanted to feed again and before I had finished nursing him, my husband woke up for the day and the Little Giant raged awake. So much for an early morning breakthrough.

I'm still negotiating how to deal with both boys, sometimes I get too frazzled and feel completely helpless and useless as they are both crying and demanding my sole attention. I've never wanted superpowers more than now. If only I could be in two places at once!

When I get it down pat (in those rare circumstances), I feel like a super mum! The other day, we were all curled up on the couch, content. I was sitting crosslegged, the  Little Tyrant copacetic, feeding with gusto, the Little Giant on my other side, curled up next to me, holding my left arm across his chest, his head resting on my side, enthusiastically playing with a toy dinosaur (which in his lingua is termed "achoo" after we read a book in which a dino sneezed). Our concordia didn't last very long, but I take what I can get.

While my husband and I had our routine down pat with the Little Giant, we are still finding kinks negotiating both. The other day as I was nursing the Little Tyrant and hubby ran the bath and went to prepare his PJs (usually my job but I was diverted by the deluge of the ravenous Little Tyrant), when I heard some suspect splashes from the bathroom. Calling my husband to investigate, I was surprised to hear him laugh raucously. The Little Giant had thought it fit to crawl into his bath, clothes and all.... 

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