So … here is where I realize that moms really are kind of boring, because the things that excite us are not really that exciting at all. But it’s kind of like if you took a person and put them in a tent with no running water or electricity and all they had to eat were crackers, and then you went back to visit and took them to the corner store in your motor vehicle. They would be overjoyed about going somewhere. It doesn’t matter that it’s no place fancy. Their perceptions have changed.

That’s kind of what mothering small children is like.

Today all I can talk about to anyone who will listen is how we finally packed up the Pack N’ Play because TWO slept in his big bed last night. No more of that! No more pink fuzzy bag! This boy got it. Can I get an AMEN!?
 

Napping in his real bed.

Unless you have lived through the trying experience of transitioning a 19-month-old out of a crib and into a twin-sized bed, while at the same time transitioning your 4-year-old into the idea of sharing his room with his brother, all whilst pregnant … you may not understand my excitement. And that’s okay. I wouldn’t have understood it either. I probably would have thought to myself, “That girl needs to get a life.” All the judgy judgerton thoughts I’ve had over the years have now come back to haunt me, manifesting themselves in the small people who are taking over my house.

There are all these major milestones throughout my mothering journey that seem so overwhelming if I allow myself to think ahead. I am absolutely wigging out over having a third child. WIGGING. OUT. If I allow myself to actually think too much about it, I start feeling like I can’t breathe and I just want to go hide in a very large, very dark, very squishy corner full of snacks and never come out.

But as with every other Big Thing looming on the horizon, the time comes, and we all deal with it just fine. Which makes me think … maybe we’re doing a decent job and our children really are well-adjusted. Thankfully, little things happen periodically that remind me that this is a time of excitement, and not a time of OH SHIT. I am grateful to be reminded.

We got this in the mail today! The most fabulous bow holder I have ever seen! I cannot wait to hang it in my daughter’s room.

A fun $5 dress from Target, size 12M, just because.

This is ONE and the girl he’s in love with.

The picture directly above was taken last week during the preschool’s field trip to the zoo. I was definitely not prepared for anything that took place during those 4 hours. I’ll spare you the agony of the details, but suffice it to say that my son wanted nothing to do with his mommy. It was very much like chaperoning a date. He and “K” held hands the whole time while they ran ahead of us, and it was ridiculous and adorable and I really didn’t know what to make of it.  

K’s mom was there too, and I was relieved to discover she was totally cool and normal and has three children herself, so she didn’t seem to judge me when I completely lost it in the zoo playground when both of my kids had simultaneous meltdowns and we left without saying bye to any freaking one. 

My meltdowns are becoming more frequent and my main goal at this juncture is to just try to keep them at a manageable level. I need a kiddie pool and some kind of fruity juice, and from now on I plan to throw the kids in the water every afternoon while I sit as quietly as possible, sipping my mocktail. 

Boring moms, in addition to getting excited about their children’s sleep habits, also drink mocktails. This is simply where I am. I’m embracing it.

Recently one of my friends told me that ALL moms lose it on a regular basis. They just don’t talk about it. 

This kind of pisses me off. What’s so wrong with admitting that motherhood is hard? And I don’t mean Algebra-hard. I had a really hard time with math in school. I was good at the other subjects, but I was at a remedial level in math. In fact, my issues with math almost kept me from graduating college … I could not for the life of me pass a math class, my brain just cannot compute numbers. I still use my fingers to count. At 33 years old.  

So motherhood isn’t hard like mathematics, it’s hard like GOOD GOD I might die.  

It makes me dig deep. There are times when it almost seems insurmountable, like I am so exhausted and over it, and yet there are little kids at my feet who are screaming and snotty and need something. They need their mother, or some adult, but I am the only adult here. Sometimes I feel sorry for them, that they have no other option — just the very pregnant and very hormonal Mommy. And so by the grace of God I find strength when I feel I have none, and patience when I’m out of it, and my love for them carries me through. After they have been asleep for an hour, I think they’re cute again — and after I get a full night’s rest, I am ready to start another day.

This week I had a freak out which involved me thinking I don’t want to be a stay-at-home mom anymore because it’s TOO HARD. If you’re reading this and think, “It can’t be any harder than working full-time and rushing to pick up the kids/cook dinner/take baths, etc,” then I’m here to tell you — I’ve experienced both sides and they are both extremely challenging. Neither side has it easier than the other. Seriously. Being a mom is hard.

I wish more people would talk freely about these things, because I can’t be the only one who requires a glass of wine to get through the hours of 4-7 p.m. I’m pregnant now, so obviously I have nothing to take the edge off except some lemon-raspberry flavored Natural Calm. But don’t worry, I make do with what I have access to.

So back to my fleeting desire to return to the work force: I decided that despite the fact that I feel absolutely batshit CRAZY, I am doing what is best for my family. No one else could do as good of a job of caring for my kids, even when I’m doing a really crappy job, because I do a crappy job with love.
 
Also, this boy …

 … loves to drink water from the toilet.

ONE and TWO are officially sharing a room. It’s bittersweet and very cute. My “baby” is no longer a baby … no more changing table, no more crib. It’s full-on, big boy mode now. 

Here is an iPhone camera journey of the past few days:

Right after I took this picture of ONE next to the huge dresser, he pulled all of the drawers out and it tipped forward to fall on him before I pulled a ninja move and pushed it back upright with my body weight. 

That was stressful.

That’s an understatement.

ONE’s bed is on the left, TWO’s is on the right.

Unsure what to do with the diapers for TWO, I just arranged them nicely and called it a day.

Most of their toys are stored in their closet. I donated a lot of the junky ones … SHHHHHH.

For now, TWO is still sleeping in the Pack N’ Play. Last night he got out of the “pink bag” he’s been zippered into lately and refused to put it back on. He seems interested in his big bed, but I’m not sure he is ready to sleep in it without freaking out. We‘ll see. 

In the meantime, I have shut the door to Pepper’s room and I never want to look at it again. 

SO OVERWHELMING.