The clock clicks slowly towards their bedtimes and the kids are bouncing off the walls. I’m torn between letting them bounce and crawl and run and jump, hoping for extra tired kids and an easier time getting them in pajamas and tucked into bed and asking them to please, just shhhh…. 

Chessa starts showing me the latest thing she learned at daycare, jumping off the chair.  As in, “Look at me Mommy, I’M JUMPING OFF THE CHAIR!” over and over and over again.  Finally, I’ve had enough and I pull her into my arms and try to settle her down, explain to her that she shouldn’t be jumping from the chair because she could be hurt when out of the corner of my eye I see Cole take one, then another, then a third step towards the bed and his father.

I drop Chessa on her bottom and look at Craig in disbelief. “Did he just…” the words trail off and my eyes and mouth open wide. 

Craig nodded and grinned, looking slightly less surprised than me. Something in his eyes told me he’d seen that trick before.

I hugged Cole hard and joked about not being ready for him to walk yet, a feeling of sadness hitting me that I don’t remember coming with Chessa’s first steps.  Maybe it’s because when she walked, I was pregnant with Cole and knew there would be more first steps in my future. Maybe it’s because every first with her was so waited for and anticipated and with Cole they just keep sneaking the hell up on me. 

Or maybe because as a daughter, I know that she’s going to need me more as she gets older so those first steps didn’t really feel like first steps away.

Or maybe it’s just because I’m really, really tired lately. 

But whatever the reason, tonight when I fed him his bottle, I rocked him well past when he started to snore while trying to swallow past the lump in my throat. 

Because this time, those first steps feel like the end of something. Before I know it, I’ll blink and he’ll be the one jumping off chairs.

I lift the babies out of their cribs, trying to keep the hurry out of my voice and my eyes off the clock.  Cole is so anxious to be held that he bangs his head on the crib rails trying to pull himself up. “Just a second, buddy,” I say as I turn off the humidifier and stand Chessa on the floor.  Quickly his excitement turns to brokenhearted whimpers as I’m just not getting him fast enough. 

I place him on my left hip, he curls into my chest and pops his thumb in his mouth.  Just as quickly, he’s pushing away and trying to dive down to the floor and his big sister. 

I tuck him back in and lean down to scoop up my girl. 

“TWO KIDS!” she announces, giggling at being carried with her brother. 

  Thank goodness only two, I think sometimes.  I’m out of arms. 

As we head to the steps, she remembers her Dora dolls.  “NEED DORAS!” 

We go back to her room.  All three of us. 

The Dora dolls gathered, she decides she wants to walk down the steps alone.  I hold Cole, doing his best to free his twenty pound body from my arms, while standing in front of her on the steps. We argue over who is going to carry the Doras.  She cries and pouts when I take them away and tell her she needs her hands to hold onto the rail and remind her that she fell a few days ago. 

Downstairs, I make quick decisions about which kid to diaper and dress first.  The act of getting dressed infuriates my boy and while he cries and tries to flip himself off the couch, Chessa stands in the living room taking off her pajamas.  I catch Cole and place him back on a diaper, my hand on his chest holding him in place. 

He cries. 

Chessa frees her arms from her pink monkey jammies but can’t quite get it off her feet. 

She cries. 

Oh my heavens, you two. Cut me a break.

I pull the shirt over his head while talking Chessa through the foot extraction. 

One baby down.  One toddler to go.   

I place Cole on the floor with Elmo.  He beelines for Dora instead, almost reaching the big-headed doll before his sister snatches her away. 

“NOOOO COOOOOLLLE! DATS MINE!” 

Cole cries again.  Louder this time. 

I decide he needs to eat and start to make a bottle.  Chessa, in nothing but her diaper, pulls at my pants.  “WANT SOMFING MOMMY.”

I toss a Poptart at her and tell her to try to put her shirt on while I feed her brother. For a moment things are calm. 

Then?

Chessa needs me to draw a spider on the Magna Doodle.  “MOMMY’s NOT BUSY,” she protests when I tell her my hands are full.  She points to the free hand that’s tucked under Cole’s back.  “USE DAT HAND”. 

I draw spiders with my left hand, while holding a bottle with my right.

Finally, Cole is done eating. Chessa’s spider has been drawn.  And with the few minutes before I need to leave for work, I can move onto getting her changed and dressed. 

Maybe she’ll accept the clothes I picked, or maybe the purple sweatpants will send her into hysterics.  Maybe Cole will be happy to play, maybe he’ll be fussy and clingy and I’ll be trying to hold him on my lap while tying Chessa’s shoes. 

Triage.  It’s all traige. 

Downstairs the microwave beeps for a fifth or sixth time. Insistent on announcing that the water I heated for tea nearly ten minutes ago is now ready. Has been ready.

On the bed, the baby squirms and cries. Getting his diaper changed is such an inconvenience these days. 

I hear footsteps, proceeded by the smack of toddler hands, coming up the stairs and I hold my breath. “Chessa, BE careful.”  I yell in a voice loud enough for her to hear, but not so loud that I scare her. So much for her wanting to stay down there and watch Dora while I put Cole down for a nap. 

I pause as I fasten the diaper tabs and look at Cole. The tears on his cheeks break my heart.  Something isn’t right with my boy today.  And while I don’t want to wish away his baby time, the past seven months have gone fast enough thankyouverymuch, I wish he could tell me what was hurting him. 

I hear the microwave beep again. 

I pick him up and bounce and shush.  I don’t bother to pull his thumb from his mouth. Right now that he has comfort is more important to me than breaking a habit.  He continues to cry and I remember the chewing this morning.  Under my breath, I curse teething as a cruel bastard.

With a quick stop in the bathroom for some baby Motrin, I continue in my attempt to win the naptime battle.  After a kiss and an “I love you.” I walk out of his room.  His cries stop almost as soon as I close the door. 

In the hallway, I notice Chessa sitting on the top of the steps.  Oh, her independence is going to give me heart failure. 

I run my hands across my head and pull the ends, tightening the ponytail.  A glimpse in the mirror reminds me that I’m wearing the same sweats I put on Friday when I got home from work. 

Today is Sunday. 9:06 AM. 

I suppose there are hundreds of women like me. But somehow I always think that they do it better. I imagine them never leaving a child downstairs while they take the other one up for a nap. I imagine them always have clean counters and a stocked refrigerator.  I imagine them sipping their tea while it is still hot while the two children play like angels. 

I imagine I’m probably wrong more than I’m right about these other women.   But still, I imagine it.

Vaccines are rough on my boy. I don’t know if it’s the medication making him out of sorts or the shots making his leg sore, but it never fails that the night of Cole’s checkups are a little rough. 

I thought we were out of the woods with the most recent round of vaccines when I came home from an appointment after work and found my mother-in-law at her wits end with a sobbing baby.  After many laps around our living room and kitchen I decided to attempt bedtime.

Quietly in his room, we rocked and I fed him.  Singing Baby Mine and Close Your Eyes, I rocked while he ate and kept going for a few moments after his eyes slowly closed.

I have a rule with Chessa when I’m doing bedtime by myself.  She can do whatever she wants upstairs as long as she stays out of Cole’s room.  Sometimes she plays in her room, sometimes she watches TV in mine and sometimes she sits and reads outside his door. 

Tonight, she was dancing in the hallway. 

Backwards.

“Mommy, Chessa go backwards,” I heard her yell. 

Trying not to yell but yet be loud enough for her to hear me, I said, “Chessa, no. No walking backwards you’ll run into some—-“

And then I heard the smack of toddler hitting wall and the cry. 

And then the footsteps came running into the room where I was rocking the sleeping baby. 

Instinctively, I held him a little tighter knowing he would jump at the sound of her cry but that I couldn’t turn her away. 

Holding him against my shoulder with my left arm, I lifted her into the chair with us.  Hearing Chessa’s cries and feeling her weight against him, Cole began to cry.    

I kept rocking and kept singing. Pausing only to shush my babies.

It’s all right Cole.

Rock. Rock. Rock.

It’s OK Chessa.

Rock. Rock. Rock.

Only a few moments passed before the tears stopped and both children quieted.  And just a quick moment more when my oldest reached across me to rub her brother’s back and quietly say, “It’s OK, Cole. You’ll feel better.” 

Rock. Rock. Rock. 

With my lips pressed to the back of her head, I whispered, “Yes, Chessa.  It’s OK now.”

Last week, I read (watched?) a post by Jill and it sort of inspired this one. Or, I ripped it off.  But not really, because I’m too shy to vlog. 

This was my weekend in soundbites: 

Hi birthday girl!

Wow, that’s a really big tent someone got you. Really? It has to stay right here in the middle of living room?

No, buddy, stay away from Chessa’s tent, you’ll pull it dow–. Yeah.

Chessa, please share with your brother. Please.

Chessa, let’s take your new bat and ball downstairs before you accidentally hit your brother.

No, Cole. Chessa was playing with Elmo #6.  Here, you play with Elmo #3.

Chessa, you didn’t want Elmo #3 until you saw Cole with him. Now find something else to play with. 

Buddy, you’re tired. You need to sleep.

Chessa, please eat something.  No. Something other than cookies. 

Awww… Sweetheart, you’re such a nice big sister.  But Cole can’t eat cookies. 

Chessa, please share with your brother.

No, Chessa, you have to share.

Cole, Chessa is playing with her new piano.  How about you play with her new drums?

Oh. My. God. I have a headache.

Cole, you’re tired.  Please go to sleep.

Cole, it’s naptime.

Chessa, it’s bedtime. 

Kids! If you can’t share, Mommy is going to put the toys away.

No, kiddo. It’s 4:00 in the afternoon. You’re not getting a bath.  It’s not even a bath day. 

Chessa, please stop splashing your brother. 

Blow out the candles!

Is the icing good?

Can you eat something other than icing, please?

Chessa, stop yelling at Cole.  He doesn’t know any better. 

Cole, stop yelling. 

Chessa, let’s not ride the bike in the house. You’re going to run over your brother.

No, we don’t touch the pee. 

Do you need to go potty? 

I need wine. 

Please lay still. 

Stop rolling over.

Get back here. 

Cole, you’re tired. Please go to sleep.

Chessa, please eat.  You’re two now. Big girls eat when their mommies ask them to.

Are there any toys in this house that don’t make noise? 

WHO is crying now?

Oh, good. Mommy loves it when you both cry at the same time. 

Good night, sweet boy.  I love you. Mommy will see you in the morning.

Good night, baby girl. I love you.  Mommy will see you in the morning.

Today is Chessa’s sixth day of daycare.

Six times I’ve dropped her off at Miss Barb’s, kissed her goodbye and quickly walked away.  Only two of those times did I leave a crying child and all of those times I came back to pick her up 4:30 and heard her giggles before I saw her sweet face. 

Mostly, I’d say daycare is a hit. She loves “PAYING WIF KIDS” and constantly talks about Ava, Katie and Grace.  Our only hiccup has been getting her out of the house when she realizes that to go to daycare she has to give up going to see Nauni and PapPap. That cues some hysterics that bring out my best distraction and bribery parenting tricks and when that fails, I thank God that I’m still stronger than her and can hold her back with one hand while buckling her seatbelt with the other. 

Yes, I’m a mean mom. 

So, as a summary, here are the things daycare taught my child in three weeks that I couldn’t teach her in 23 months: 

1.  The clean up song.  How does every daycare in the world know about the clean up song and I didn’t?  The very first night, Chessa came home and while I cooked dinner, I heard her in the living room singing, “CWEAN UP, CWEAN UP, EWEBODY CWEAN UP”.  And get this. She was singing it WHILE cleaning up her blocks.

2.  To nap somewhere other than her crib. Not only does the child not get up and play or poke other children like I thought she would during naptime, she actually lays on her sleeping bag and sleeps.  I never thought I’d see the day….

3.  To eat buttered noodles.  Won’t eat them for me. Won’t eat them for her grandmother. But for Miss Barb? She chows them down. 

4. Showing an interest in potty training.  She won’t tell me when she needs to go and she wants nothing to do with big girl underwear or Pull Ups, but she goes if I put her on it.  And then she claps for herself and says “GOOD JOB, CHESSA. I PWOUD OF YOU.”

5. Sharing. This credit has to be shared with her grandparents and her father as well, but she’s getting so much better about understanding that she has to let Cole have what he’s playing with and that if he has something she doesn’t want him to have, she needs to give him a different toy before taking it away.  She’s still not yet two, so this is a work in progress. 

Oh and also? The end of the second week brought a cold for her (that she then shared with me).  That’s about how it goes, right?

I distinctly remembering being 13 years old and desperately wanting to be older. Oh, how I ached to go to Sunday night dances at the town park, get my license and give up riding with my parents, move out, date, and so on. 

Then when I graduated from high school, I wanted to be done with college.  Kiss the books and libraries goodbye, bring on the paychecks and happy hours. 

After I was in my first 8 to 5 job, I started thinking about how I wanted to meet the right guy.

When I met the guy, I started thinking about wanting to wear the white dress and snuggle the tiny babies. 

I feel like I’ve spent more than half of my life wanting time to speed up.  Desperate to get to the next milestone, the next big moment. 

And now?

I TAKE IT ALL BACK. 

I want time to just stop. To freeze.  Right now in this moment, is where I want to stay.  Even when Chessa yells “COLE GOING TO BED!” and wakes up the baby as I lay him down at night. Even when after a dinner that is basically thirty minutes of being yelled at by a child on both sides of me when I’m convinced I’ll never eat a hot meal again. 

Because right now, Cole is busting out of his six month clothes and wearing the same size diapers as his sister.  Chessa is having actual conversations with me and trying to pick out her own clothes.  Today, I scheduled Cole’s six month pictures and wondered where the last five and a half months went.  Then, I realized I would need to get a backpack for Chessa to take to day care next week and had to bite my lip to hold back the tears. 

These ages are my favorite. Both of them. Chessa at not quite two, ready to start day care, running so fast her feet barely touch the ground, playing with cheerleaders when she goes to visit Craig at football camp, talking to me about her day and her favorite things before she goes to bed. I’ve said before that I’m a better “baby mom” than I am a “toddler mom” but you know?  These toddler days are good. 

And the baby days?  The boy who snuggled into my chest and slept when he was tucked into the baby carrier at a fundraiser on Sunday.  The boy who giggles at his sister, reaches for my hand and plays happily with a rattle, a towel or my thumb.  I miss the newborn days, but these days with (almost always) full nights of sleep and (sort of on schedule) naps?  These baby days are good. 

And so for all those times that I wished time would go a little faster, I now want it to go a little slower so I can just soak up these days a little bit longer. 

And to the girl that wished so hard for things to speed up, I say, “Hold on. It’s worth the wait.”

Dear New Mom,

By now you’ve received all the pre-requisite baby advice. Everyone down to strangers at the mall have told you to cherish every moment because it goes too fast (it does). A co-worker has filled you in that you won’t be in your bathroom without an audience again for the next several years (you won’t).  Your best friend has probably given you a book on the 5S’s – guaranteed to soothe your fussy baby(it works) and someone has likely answered all your questions about the necessary and not-so-necessary baby gear. 

But here’s what they didn’t tell you: 

It’s just a phase. 

All of it.  The weeks when the baby cries every night like clockwork at 6PM – just a phase.  The days that she wakes up like clockwork at 4am after months of sleeping through the night – just a phase.  The cuteness of the month that she shakes her head and says “NONO” at everything you ask and the days when her fascination with the steps gave you heart failure – just a phase.  The times when she prefers her daddy to you and a week later when she wants you instead of him – both just a phase. 

Some of these stages of life will slip by you with barely a notice.  Some, you’ll try desperately to hold onto.  And, others, you’ll pull them through kicking and screaming because you can’t stand it for one more single second. 

I get it. I get that you don’t think it’s a phase.  When it’s the second night in a week that Chessa wakes up in the middle of the night crying and there are no new teeth pushing through and no fever or illness to speak of, I immediately panic. My mind goes a mile a minute wondering what changed, why is she waking up, what should I do and OHMYGOD what if she never sleeps through the night again.  I call my friends, I vent on Twitter, I Google parenting advice, or I put her down with an extra paci, a blanket or a new comfort item.  And then, the very next night, once I’m armed with a plan, she sleeps all night.  Because that was the end of that phase and now she’s onto the next one.  Like patting me on the back when I give her a hug or saying “Go away, Mommy,” when I bend down to kiss her.

So, let’s make a pact.  Don’t stop believing that you’re good at this mom thing.  You know your baby. You’ve been doing just fine this whole time and you’re still doing just fine.  I’m convinced that sometimes babies just have bad days (or weeks) too.  There’s a lot going on in their tiny little noggins so sometimes they go a little crazy.  Keep doing what you’re doing.  Stay consistent.  Take deep breaths and long sips of wine.  

And remember, that it’s just a phase. 

If you do, I will.

“What was your favorite part?” I asked, cradling her in my arms.  Behind us waves crashed onto the beach.  Their sound low and soft. Our personal white noise. 

She looked up at me with wide eyes.  Not, I noticed, the tired eyes a toddler should have at 2AM. 

“SUNCASHULES!” she answered with a grin. 

“Sandcastles!  You had fun with playing in the sand with Daddy and PapPap, huh?” 

We talked more.  My voice quiet, trying to will the small child to sleep.  She laid in my arms for a while, likely because it provided protection from the cool breeze.  But her eyes danced and her voice was full of excitement when she answered my questions. 

I guess a few days at the beach will do that to a kid. 

—-

My in laws have a time share at the Outer Banks.  Since a few weeks after I met Craig it’s also been our go-to vacation spot. (“What kind of girl goes to the beach with a guy she just met?” you ask. Apparently that would be me.  But, hey, that trip was chaperoned by his mother and I married him eventually, so, whatever!)

When we had Cole, I said over and over that we weren’t going. 

It was too far. The place would be too crowded with all of us and all of our stuff.  It wasn’t fair to up-heave the vacations of my mother- and father-in-law and my sister- and brother-in-law with the chaos that our family of four would cause.  Chessa doesn’t sleep in strange places and I go crazy when Chessa doesn’t sleep. 

Craig agreed.  And plans were made to hang out at home the week after July 4th.  Just us and the kids. I’d tackle a few  projects and messy rooms, get some pool time with the babies and take long naps. 

And then, last Thursday.

At lunchtime, Craig announced that he called and tentatively changed my dentist appointment just in case he could convince me to go to the beach. 

Next week.  8 hours away.  With two kids.  And six adults. 

::Blink Blink:: 

With a few details ironed out and appointments rescheduled, we hit the road after a meeting that I had Wednesday morning.  A little more than nine and a half hours later (apparently traveling with small humans increases the amount of time a trip takes.  Who knew?) we pulled in, unpacked and put the kids in their pack ‘n plays to sleep. 

And I began the breath holding. 

They slept like champs. For naps and at night, they both slept great.  The first night, the next day, the next night… 

Chessa had a ball playing in the sand and teasing her toes with the cold ocean water. 

“Big ocean!” she’d exclaim as she ran for the froth of the waves, the bottoms of her bathing suit drooping, a bucket in one hand, holding onto her grandfather with the other.  She played on the swing set.  She dug in the sand.  She chased boys. 

And she laughed.

Cole spent most of his time in the comfort of the air conditioned apartment or breezy porch. Happy to have his bottles on schedule and enough arms to  hold him that he didn’t often have to be laid down.  He did, however, get the obligatory feel of sand on the toes. 

Much to my surprise, both kids kept sleeping well.  Chessa found her way into our bed each night, but unlike at home, she’d curl up and go right back to sleep. 

I started wondering how my words and my warnings were going to taste when the last night came and she was wide awake from midnight until 3AM. 

When the special kind of annoyance that comes when a child won’t sleep and the fear of a long drive for an exhausted Craig boiled up into frustration and anger, I took her outside hoping the cool air and the sounds of the ocean would work some magic.  Or at least that she could be awake without waking anyone else up. 

Inside, I was saying things like “Keep it up, kid. You won’t come back to the beach until you’re seven!”  and “Chessa, for the love of God, lay down and sleep!” 

Outside we talked. And we sang songs. And I shivered while holding her tight to my chest.

Finally, she stopped answering me when I asked her questions.  Her eyes started getting heavy and we went back inside.  After another 30 minutes of negotiations, tense tones, clenched teeth and swearing to myself that we were never coming back, she curled up on her father’s chest and fell asleep. 

With her feet in my face.

Chessa loves Elmo.  LOVES. To the point where we DVR Sesame Street every day, she has no less than four Elmo dolls and four Elmo DVD’s – two at our house, one in the car and one at her grandparents house.  At first it was cute and endearing when she’d point to the TV and ask for “ELMO”.  Then I had the genius idea to exploit her love for Elmo to get her to use “please” and “thank you” more often. 

Dumb. 

So dumb. 

Do you have any idea how hard it is to say no to a doe-eyed toddler who lookes up at you and says, “ELMO, PWEASE”?

Even when I’ve seen no less than six episodes of the damn educational show and it’s only 11:00.  Even when I sing ‘Abby’s Flying Fairy School’ or ‘Bert & Ernie’s Great Adventures’ songs to myself during 4AM feedings.  Even when the sound of Elmo’s voice makes me want to practice swan dives off of our roof, I can’t say no to her when she looks at me like that. 

= = = = = =

Saturday night was one of the worst nights for wake ups that we’ve had in a few weeks.  Cole was up at 11, 12, 2, 4,  and 5 o’clock.  During one of those, I was rocking and feeding him, pleading with him in the irrational way that only a sleep deprived mother would understand. 

“Buddy, you have to eat because you HAVE to sleep,” I said.  “Momma is effing tired and about to lose her damn mind.”

And then he grinned for the first time. 

Little shit.

= = = = = =

Curled up in the rocking chair with her baby brother, trying to get him to drift off to sleep, I was watching Chessa play on the floor of our office. She turned to me and asked for the photo album.  “PICHURES,” she insisted.  

“OK, honey.  I’ll get it for you.”

KAAY! (Ok) she said. 

I kept rocking, seeing that Cole’s eyes were just about shut. 

“PICHURES?” she asked again, pointing up to the soft yellow and white album that held snapshots of her first few months of life. 

“Yes, honey.  I’ll get it for you.”

With a sigh, she stomped over to me, still rocking the boy and pulled on my hand. 

“UP!” she demanded.  “Mommy, UP”  (Duh, Mommy, you have to get up to get the pictures.)

= = = = = =