Being a parent is hard. Really hard. But being a parent of multiples is impossible. I mean for reals.
Saturday morning I woke up feeling good. The girls slept a little (tiny) bit later than normal, and I was ready to make them a big, nummy, homemade breakfast. I got out the eggs, broccoli, bacon, cheese, muffins, butter, milk and got to work. And then the you-know-what hit the fan.
Jane was marching around and around in circles, throwing every toy she owns on the floor, climbing on the couch and trying to swan dive off, while Emma chased Hallie and put her in a choke hold, while screaming AHYAYAYAAAAA! I tried to corral them as I put the bacon into the oven (on 425 degrees) and got the omelette going on the stove top. I then chased the girls off of the couch for the 512th time and finished up with the omelette.
This is when it got real. As I turned to put the omelette on the counter and began cutting it up, I heard a loud CRASH and then hysterical crying. Times two. I fully expected to turn around to blood and burns, but instead found both girls, laying on their backs in the middle of the kitchen, with the oven door wide open. I bent down and scooped them up to assess the damage, and looked up to see Hershey hurdling the baby gates at the bottom of the stairs to see WTF just went down.
Something that you never think of when baby-proofing a home is the handle on that useless drawer under your oven that just houses a graveyard of cookie sheets. START THINKING ABOUT IT PEOPLE!
The girls had stepped up onto that at the same time and held on to the handle of the oven door to boost themselves up to see what was going on on the stove top. Their combined weight brought the door crashing open, sending them sprawling to the ground. Awesomesauce.
Hershey took both girls out of my shaking hands and I contemplated cracking a beer for the first time that day, and I looked at the clock to see it was 8:07 a.m. Crappity.
Daddy brought the little twin tornadoes into the living room to get them out from under my feet. They were in the living room no more than 15 seconds when I heard another BANG followed immediately by hysterics. Hershey had turned to put Emma down on the ground and as he did that, Jane climbed onto the couch, and walked RIGHT OFF ONTO HER HEAD. No blood, but she most def looked a little bit dazed. In fact, I think I actually saw those little cartoon Tweety birds floating around her head. Ugh.
The rest of the day was spent crying, not napping, and flinging toys all over the world, while pulling on our pant legs and wailing "UP! UP!" It was one for the books.
The final straw came at bed time. I had bathed the twincesses and they were stomping back and forth between their two rooms, carrying their books around and planning their evening poop. Emma was the first to let it fly, and as I laid on the floor in a puddle of my own drool, my beautiful little Emmy, with her little curls bouncing, singing "uh ohhhh" in an adorable little singsong voice, sat down on the floor in front of her father and started PULLING POOP OUT OF HER DIAPER AND SMEARING IT ON THE RUG.
I freaked.
I grabbed Emma and whisked her into the bathroom, screaming at Hershey, "WHAT DO I DO WHAT DO I DO OH GOOOOOOOOODDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD?!?!?!?!??!?!" Hershey, in turn, picked Janey up and followed us to the bathroom, where he stood in the doorway and laughed. I sat Emma down on the counter of the sink (Why are you putting her on the sink when we have a perfectly good bathtub?) and started to run the hot water to warm it up, plunging her pudgy little feets into the water. The water heated up too fast, and she flung her foot out, sending poop nuggets flying across the sink.
I, in my infinite parental wisdom, just kept screaming "OH GOODDDDD OH GOOOOODDD EWWWWWWWWWW UGHHHHHHHHH BLUBRP!!!!!!!!" and poor little Emmy sat there with a horrified look on her face with her little nose crinkled up.
It was my lowest moment as a parent in the last 2 years.
The good news is, Sunday came. And Sunday was WAY better than Saturday. Sunday we woke up late, snuggled in bed, got dressed up for the big game, took three and a half hour naps, and were an overall pleasure to be around!
Saturday morning I woke up feeling good. The girls slept a little (tiny) bit later than normal, and I was ready to make them a big, nummy, homemade breakfast. I got out the eggs, broccoli, bacon, cheese, muffins, butter, milk and got to work. And then the you-know-what hit the fan.
Jane was marching around and around in circles, throwing every toy she owns on the floor, climbing on the couch and trying to swan dive off, while Emma chased Hallie and put her in a choke hold, while screaming AHYAYAYAAAAA! I tried to corral them as I put the bacon into the oven (on 425 degrees) and got the omelette going on the stove top. I then chased the girls off of the couch for the 512th time and finished up with the omelette.
This is when it got real. As I turned to put the omelette on the counter and began cutting it up, I heard a loud CRASH and then hysterical crying. Times two. I fully expected to turn around to blood and burns, but instead found both girls, laying on their backs in the middle of the kitchen, with the oven door wide open. I bent down and scooped them up to assess the damage, and looked up to see Hershey hurdling the baby gates at the bottom of the stairs to see WTF just went down.
Something that you never think of when baby-proofing a home is the handle on that useless drawer under your oven that just houses a graveyard of cookie sheets. START THINKING ABOUT IT PEOPLE!
The girls had stepped up onto that at the same time and held on to the handle of the oven door to boost themselves up to see what was going on on the stove top. Their combined weight brought the door crashing open, sending them sprawling to the ground. Awesomesauce.
Hershey took both girls out of my shaking hands and I contemplated cracking a beer for the first time that day, and I looked at the clock to see it was 8:07 a.m. Crappity.
Daddy brought the little twin tornadoes into the living room to get them out from under my feet. They were in the living room no more than 15 seconds when I heard another BANG followed immediately by hysterics. Hershey had turned to put Emma down on the ground and as he did that, Jane climbed onto the couch, and walked RIGHT OFF ONTO HER HEAD. No blood, but she most def looked a little bit dazed. In fact, I think I actually saw those little cartoon Tweety birds floating around her head. Ugh.
The rest of the day was spent crying, not napping, and flinging toys all over the world, while pulling on our pant legs and wailing "UP! UP!" It was one for the books.
The final straw came at bed time. I had bathed the twincesses and they were stomping back and forth between their two rooms, carrying their books around and planning their evening poop. Emma was the first to let it fly, and as I laid on the floor in a puddle of my own drool, my beautiful little Emmy, with her little curls bouncing, singing "uh ohhhh" in an adorable little singsong voice, sat down on the floor in front of her father and started PULLING POOP OUT OF HER DIAPER AND SMEARING IT ON THE RUG.
I freaked.
I grabbed Emma and whisked her into the bathroom, screaming at Hershey, "WHAT DO I DO WHAT DO I DO OH GOOOOOOOOODDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD?!?!?!?!??!?!" Hershey, in turn, picked Janey up and followed us to the bathroom, where he stood in the doorway and laughed. I sat Emma down on the counter of the sink (Why are you putting her on the sink when we have a perfectly good bathtub?) and started to run the hot water to warm it up, plunging her pudgy little feets into the water. The water heated up too fast, and she flung her foot out, sending poop nuggets flying across the sink.
I, in my infinite parental wisdom, just kept screaming "OH GOODDDDD OH GOOOOODDD EWWWWWWWWWW UGHHHHHHHHH BLUBRP!!!!!!!!" and poor little Emmy sat there with a horrified look on her face with her little nose crinkled up.
It was my lowest moment as a parent in the last 2 years.
The good news is, Sunday came. And Sunday was WAY better than Saturday. Sunday we woke up late, snuggled in bed, got dressed up for the big game, took three and a half hour naps, and were an overall pleasure to be around!
Ruffle Butt Pants (similar here) // Sneaks from Stride Rite Outlets
The girls are also saying so many words now! Last week we learned alligator (alilayla - I'll take it, it has all of the correct syllables) and elephant (elelen - ok, so we're not rocket scientists yet, baby steps). The last two days Jane has also been running around screaming "EMMMAAA NOOO" while shaking her pointer finger at her (uh oh, better start watching what I say/do!) and Emma has, in turn, learned how to use "Uh ohhh" correctly. I went into her room this morning, and she had thrown wooby over the side of her crib and she was looking down, pointing and muttering, "Uh ohhh" to herself. So dang cute.
It also makes it that much harder to get mad at her when she chucks giant handfuls of rice over the sides of her high chair and then looks at you with her pouty lip and her big brown eyes and says, "Uh ohhh" in the sweetest little girly voice. Gotta love it.
Happy hump day everyone! Have a great rest of your week! xoxo
Oh, and thanks so much for the clicks/votes last week! Please keep voting! All you have to do is click the icons below!
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