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!

Oh.  Em.  GEE.  Tonight feels like it should be put on the calendar as a holiday.  The first day that Jane or Emma has not PROFUSELY thrown up in 6 days.  SIX DAYS.  Six days of twins, and Mama, and Daddy, and Grandma, and MeeMa, and the nanny, all with stomach viruses.  In the dead of winter.  During a snow storm.  Does it get worse?

Let me break it down for you so that you can feel my pain.

(In all honesty, I TRULY hope that you NEVER have to go through something like this.  But if you do, you will think of me fondly, as I remember the story my best friend told me about when her and her two sons once got a stomach virus.  I have a new appreciation for her and her strength.)

Monday (Day 1):  Feed the girls bananas for breakfast.  Put them down for naps.  Write a blog post about how great life is.  Get girls up from nap.  Go to walk out of their room while holding Jane -- SOAKED from head-to-toe by alimentum-and-banana vomit.  I'm not even exaggerating a little bit.  I had to scream for Hershey like a lunatic to come and take her so that I could strip where I was standing and run into the bathroom before it fell out of my hair and into the carpet any more than it already had.  It was even in my slippers.  Figured she had a little piece of banana lodged in her throat.  Moved on with my day.  Jane has diarrhea several times.  Throws up and has to change outfits 2 more times.  I think she may be allergic to egg, which I introduced into her diet this weekend (Daddy is allergic to egg, but eats them anyway -- and suffers.)


Tuesday (Day 2):  Jane still not feeling well.  Snow is coming in.  Stay home with Jane and wait for the doctor.  Nanny comes to care for Emma in case I have to take Jane to the doctor.  Snow gets worse.  Nanny leaves.  Jane is smiling and happy, playing and puking (in that order).  Stop feeding her solid foods, stick to formula.  Doctor says she doesn't think it's a food allergy, probably just a virus.  Daddy comes home.  Everyone is happy.  Jane is pooping her pants.  Have to change her pants for the third time.  Daddy goes out to shovel at around 5:00.  Comes back in to me laying on the floor, in tears, in pain.  Daddy gives girls dinner.  Puts first spoonful of soupy rice cereal into Jane's mouth, she pukes up everything from the last 8 months of life all over herself into her high chair.

DISCLAIMER:  This is where the shit LITERALLY hits the fan.

Daddy brings Janey into the nursery to change her.  Emma has adopted screaming like a maniac while in her high chair.  I am dying on the couch.  Daddy yells for me to come help him.  I start undressing Jane and immediately get nauseous.  Daddy is helping Emmy in the kitchen.  I scream for him to come back.  I run to the bathroom and start throwing up like I have NEVER THROWN UP IN MY LIFE.  Emma is still screaming.  Jane poops in her diaper on the changing table.  I yell for Hershey to call my mother.  I hear him pleading with her to come to our house to help him.  She's plowed in.  He hangs up.  I finally stop throwing up and go out to die on the couch, watching Janey play in her exersaucer in nothing but her diaper and socks.  Daddy finishes feeding Emma.  He gets the girls ready for bed.  Daddy puts the bottle into Emma's mouth and she vomits all over him, the couch, the blankets, the pillows, the floor, herself.  Daddy changes Emma.  We finish feeding the girls and put them to bed and I go to lay down in bed.  I wake up 20 minutes later to Daddy standing there, holding a smiling Emma in his arms.  I blink, because I think I'm seeing things.  No, there really is puke all over her face.  "I need your help."  Emma turns her head.  I blink again.  There is puke all over the back of her head.  I jump out of bed and head to run a bath.  I fight waves of nausea as Daddy goes to strip Emma.  I can't bend over the tub, so I set to stripping Emma's bed.  I wake up Jane in the process.  She starts screaming crying.  I can't lean over the crib to help her.  Daddy has Emma in the tub.  He calls his mother.  She will brave the snow.

The rest of that night I spend running between the bathroom, the bed, the monitor in the living room, as Hershey and his mother "sleep" on the couch and listen to make sure Emma or Jane don't throw up in their cribs again.  I make it through one of the worst nights that I can remember in a long, long time.

The rest of the week was a blur, but it went like this.

Wednesday (Day 3):  Grandma Squad comes to take care of the girls.  I spend the day dying on the couch because there is no heat in our bedroom (apartment-living woes saved for another post).  Daddy fights waves of nausea all day.  We go through about 3,569 diapers, 541 wipes, 945 bibs, and 1,073 burp cloths, and I think a whole entire roll of paper towels.


Thursday (Day 4):  Dun-dun-DUUUN, Daddy is sick.  Grandma squad comes again.  I still cannot stand upright for more than 12 minutes.  The girls are still having the time of their lives, poopin' and pukin'.  They think this is a PARTY!  Mama, and Daddy, and Grandma, AND MeeMA, all together for 2 days!?!  This must be what baby paradise is like, despite the disgusting.  I'm pretty sure that this is the day that Emma put her hand in her diarrhea diaper and Jane put her foot in hers.  Awesome.  Thursday night both Grandma AND MeeMa spend the night on their respective bathroom floors.  This has become surreal.  Daddy is up sick all night.

Notice Jane drinking her Pedialyte cocktail ALL BY HER LITTLE SELF in the background.

Friday (Day 5):  Mama plans to brave it and head in to work, but the nanny has come down with the virus!  There is literally NO ONE to take care of Jane and Emma.  All of our contingents have fallen.  I stay home.  Jane sleeps 2 hours past her normal wake-up time.  I have to go into the nursery and pull her out of her crib.  She looks sleepy.  I put her on the changing table.  She is groggy.  She starts to fall asleep.  I pick her up.  She's like a rag doll.  I call the doctor.  "Bring her in immediately."  Jane has begun to become dehydrated, despite the Pedialyte we have been pumping her with.  White blood cells are low.  She's anemic (separate issue).  Bring her home and give her 1 mL of Pedialyte at a time, like an IV drip.  She's starving.  She sucks EVERYTHING down and screams hysterically every time it's over.  We finally start feeding her formula.  She starts to come around.  Emma is still not doing well with solids.

Saturday (Day 6):  Still no contingency.  Poor Daddy has to muscle through and help Mama because Jane is still not back to herself yet and there is a lot of crying and whining and pooping still going on, and Mama is running on her last bit of energy.  I distract the girls with their first bubble encounter.  Just when we thought we made it out of the day with no puke, we feed the girls their last bottles of the day and put them down in their cribs, and Jane pukes in the top of her crib.  I pick her up, clean her off, and flip her to the other side (head where her feet go).  She then throws up there.  I bring her out and give her to Daddy for a pedialyte cocktail.  She soaks him, the couch, the blankets, the pillows, herself with a vomit cocktail of her own.  I lose my marbles.




Today has been pretty tame.  The girls are still not 100%.  I took Emma out for a little while to run to the store, and she spit up a LITTLE bit a couple of times, but no craziness like what we went through.  I mean, I feel like I should be building a poop and puke fallout shelter over here.  And both girls still are sleeping more than usual and eating less formula than usual, but I got them back on solids and they seem to be doing well.  I even gave Emma a little bit of yogurt for the first time today and she loved it!

Here's what I learned from this FIASCO.

1.  You need a strong contingency on call AT ALL TIMES.  And I don't mean your BFF from when you were 5.  Because if you call her and tell her, "There's poop and puke everywhere please come help me!" chances are good she will run in the opposite direction.  You need dedicated people who love you and love your children and know that chances are good that they are about to catch whatever evil juju is in your house when they come to help you, AND THEY COME ANYWAY (with supplies).

2.  Always keep a good stock of diapers and diaper rash cream in the house.  Thank GOD I had my Amazon Mom set up and we had diapers delivered.  Because shit got real over here.  Pun intended.

3.  When one kid gets sick, they are all going to get sick, and so are you.  Buckle up and get ready for a BUMPY ride.

MOST IMPORTANTLY:

4.  Moms (and Dads) have superpowers.  Real. Live. Super. Powers.  Everyone around me had the virus for approximately 2-3 days longer than I did.  But I was able to put on my big girl panties and man-up to care for my family.  It definitely wasn't up to my usual par.  Dishes piled in the sink, laundry laid on the floor, piles of puke-splattered clothes adorned our laundry room, the cats ran out of dry food, and I just let it all happen, because I had to in order to make sure that my husband had warm soup in his belly, my girls had fresh applesauce and mushed bananas, and the cats made due with wet food.

I hope that you enjoyed, could relate to, or feel better because of this story.  The good news is, the girls held their cheery dispositions (for the most part) through this entire ordeal, even when they had throw up dripping down their little dimpled chins.  So I got some really great pics of them this weekend.  And today we got ready for Valentine's Day, because what better way to come out the other end of a crisis than to put on some pretty clothes and take happy, smiling photographs?




Have a great week everyone!  Don't forget to vote!  xoxo