The Twinkies

…you would know you, like me, are a dork.

———–
You know those little people who work for Santa? You know what they are?

Subordinate Clauses.
———–
Thanks, Emilin.

I am so tired. I am so bloody, bloody tired. I left “sobbing from exhaustion” behind 2 days ago. Now I have reached “nauseated by exhaustion” and “chilled by exhaustion”.

Last night I slept from 8:30 - 11:30 (and was woken at 10:30 when B. came to bed), 12:15 - 2:00, 2:30 - 4:30 and 5:00 - 7:00. Sure, the hours are fine, but only getting sleep broken into bits like that is slowly killing me. I’ve had brutal headaches evey day this week, I can’t drink enough to stay hyrdated and I can’t eat enough. This morning I thought, “I’ll have boiled eggs for breakfast: easy, hot and laden with protein.” We are down to one egg. Unless I get more sleep soon and have the energy to take care of basic chores, we’ll be serving stale crackers and frozen peas for Christmas.

Every diaper cover seems to be dirty. Every glass is dirty. Every fork is dirty. I haven’t washed my hair in a week, I think. Maybe longer. We’re out of milk. I could take care of this if I could just think, if I could just summon the energy to move. But I can’t.

The babies are being high needs, on top of the rest. Yesterday, J. screamed when he was further than 2 feet away from me until 3 in the afternoon, when he finally nursed himself into a milk coma, slept for 2 hours, and woke up in a good mood. I spend a lot of time online when they are like this as sitting at the computer with a baby in my lap is a little less isolating than sitting staring into space with a baby on my lap.

The first load of laundry is in. The dishwasher is started. F. is in the swing. J. is working on getting his second booty off. And it is 9:15.

J. is getting hair. You can’t see it in the pictures because he is so blond, but he is getting hair. Not just peach fuzz either. F. is still mostly bald, with some long, scraggly hairs. Based on her eyebrows I still hold out hope that she will be a redhead.

Those eyebrows get bright red when she is mad.

She has the cutest habit of putting one hand on her bald head when she eats, or when she is falling asleep. Sometimes she strokes her head with her palm. Sometimes she puts her hand over her eyes.

She likes to try to sneak her fingers in her mouth while she is nursing.

J. gets lonely in his crib alone. Last night I put him back with F. and he calmed right down, snuggled up to his sister. She just put one hand on her head and one in her mouth and ignored him.

What just kills me is that I asked for this; like a fool I thought to spare my mother-in-law and sister-in-law complaints about a blog over which they have no control, and, perhaps, silly me, open a civil dialogue. Instead of getting a civil dialogue, I opened a can of “if you didn’t want to know you shouldn’t have asked me” worms.

So…now I know.

Speaking for my in-laws, B’s cousin has shared that they are “alienated” and “appalled.” My opinions are “wacky” and “offensive.” The blog content is “inappropriate” and fraught with “negativity.”

Nice. Well, OK. Here’s an idea. Don’t read it. If you are uninterested in an unvarnished look at twin-motherhood, if you lack a sense of humor*, either stay away or just look at the pictures.

In Jen’s defense, she was sharing not just her view, but the view of all my in-laws. It may be a hurtful view, but it is theirs. They are genuinely offended by me. They really wish I would present a white-washed happy pictures-only blog where the rain never comes until after sundown and by 9PM the moonlight must appear. Ironically, Jen was one of the people who offered me support – off blog – when I was well-rested enough** to be driven crazy by stay-at-home-momhood. So, please, lay off of her. Really, I think she knows y’all disagree with her. Enough. Please.

Comments, discussion, dialogue. These are good. But I can live without the vitriolic diatribe on just how awful I am. At least Jen had the guts to sign her name to her thoughts rather than hiding behind whispers and anonymity; I can respect that. However, from now on, I just don’t want to hear it. Go back to complaining to one another about how awful I am, please.

———

*Anyone who didn’t understand the “personal ad” for a godfather was a tongue-in-cheek joke is just, just…oh, I don’t know what to say to you. Get a sense of humor. If we really didn’t take the role of godfather seriously would be still be lacking one at 5 months? We considered asking one of my students – a brilliant, caring young man, deeply committed to Catholicism and now a pre-med student – but B. was concerned that he was too young to take on the responsibility. We’ve considered trying to get a dispensation to have two godmothers rather than a godmother and godfather. At the present moment I am considering just raising them as heathens and calling it a day.

** Since we are back to 3 hour max sleeping stints at night, I haven’t had more than 2 hours of sleep in a row in weeks. I am no longer well rested enough to be bored.

…bookmark this link and all you will see will be the photos.

‘Cause we all know that if I didn’t censor myself when I was a kid and got in trouble for it (ask me to tell you about the high school literary magazine sometime) I certainly am not going to now.