Soooo... How About That Weather We've Been Having?

Ok, so my last post was... out of the ordinary... for this blog at least. It was more like a personal journal entry that I was just pissed off enough over to actually publish online. I learned two things from this post: 1) People love drama - it has received the most hits ever had on my blog and in just two days. That is after 2 years of writing and over 160 published posts (I'd guess the inflammatory title had something to do with that) and 2) I'm better than that.

I have to admit, my Dad helped me see it tonight (although I didn't admit it to him just then, I had to think on it more), that is not what this blog is about. It has always been a place where I can safely voice and work through my feelings, concerns and views while hopefully helping at least someone out there, without the drama and negativity that held me down so often in the past.

If I had left it at just the blood =/= family stuff then it would have been fine, but instead, I made it personal and it got nasty. Which, in a way, made me no better than the person it was directed towards. Not cool. Especially since I've been trying for years to be better than that.

So, I'm sorry for that. For not being authentic to my blog. Instead of satisfying my own desire for some sort of revenge, i should focus on keeping with the interests of my readers (all two of you!). I will never unpublish it, but it is definitely time to move on.

I thought I'd lighten things up a bit with a picture heavy post of the fun we've been having this Spring. I know this post will only get about 1/4 of the hits as the last one, but I'm totally ok with that, because at least it's happy. I'd rather be known for the fun I share with my kids than the angry rants I hurl into the abyss of the interwebz.

I hope you've been able to get out and enjoy the sunshine as we have. Here are some of our favorite things to do this time of year:

Dirt and Mud Play

Scooping, piling, plopping and, of course, digging - dirt play is the best! It's full of different sights, smells and textures and while it can be messy, it's pretty much a guaranteed fun time for anyone - except Mom who gets to strip off those messy clothes and do the laundry later. But that doesn't stop me - I love playing in the rain or creating puddles of mud with the hose. We don't do it every day, but when we do, it's so much fun.

 

Water Play

Who doesn't love water play? It's like mud play, only cleaner! Unless you're my kids, of course - they always manage to come away as wet as if they'd gone swimming. I have a stash of cups, scoops, utensils, rags and more that I randomly throw in, but mostly they just splash and try to drink the hose water (don't worry, Mom, I don't let them!). On rainy days I just pour some water into bins and let them have at it on a shower curtain and towels. It's by far one of their favorites!

Painting Outside

This has been one of my favorite activities for as long as I can remember. We did it last fall and painted all the leaves and twigs we could find. This time around I tried some homemade watercolor paint (a 10 second squirt of crayola washable paint mixed with about a cup of water).  Since it dries so fast in the sun, it creates layers of color on the page and adds a whole new element to mixing colors. Do not make the same mistake I did and allow your kids to paint your unsealed concrete patio - while I am in love with our new tye-dye backyard, I'm not so sure our landlord will be.

Playdough Outside

  

I love bringing indoor art mediums outside. With playdough, we've always enjoyed poking it with and molding it around sticks, rocks and pinecones or making faces with nature items. This time though, I just wanted to get rid of this batch of dough so I let them do whatever they wanted. It wasn't long before it was being stuck to everything from the fence to the trees.  Lo and behold they discovered a whole new way to work with it: imprints.

It was even cooler because you never knew what was going to stick. For example, the pine tree branches left these beautifully detailed and tiny illustrations of themselves. The grass just left a bunch of slants and dead ants. The cherry blossom tree was by far the coolest - the bark looks so smooth but in reality it's full of tiny dots. I was too busy exploring with them to get good pics but you get the idea. We still use The Imagination Tree's recipe for our playdough, try it, you'll love it!

Painting Flowerpots and Planting Seeds

I got these cute little pots at my bff's baby shower and knew we had to paint them. We set up outside and the kids went at it. Later, I mod-podged them to protect the paint from water. I picked up some potting soil and seed mix and waited for a nice day to get out and plant something.

Of course, then came the week of torrential downpours so we did it inside. They played and poked until we added some seeds and water and said a little poem to help them grow. In hindsight, dirt inside was not the best idea - but they loved it. R gave his flowers to his Mom for Mother's day and I'm still praying the girls' will start to grow at some point.

Exploring Everything

My absolute favorite part of Spring is just getting out and soaking up the beauty of the new world, watching the rebirth after the long, cold winter.  My backyard is a fantastic spot, filled with all sorts of trees, vines, flowers, birds and other woodland creatures. If it wasn't smack in the middle of a small city it would be perfect, but at least right now my kids can learn all about the city sounds of cars honking and sirens wailing (bright side, I'm really working on that optimism over here after my last post).

Mostly they just roam around, pointing as I answer their inquiries and experimenting with their environment. Even the baby absolutely loves just chilling out, staring up at the trees and the clouds. I can't wait to get a second gate so I can trust putting him on a blanket on the ground but with 3 big kids running around it's not safe yet.

The other day we watched as 3 squirrels ventured into the yard, unaware of our presence as we ate snack at the opposite end. They hopped and ran and tackled each other while we looked on, the kids stunned into silence and awe. They were just a few feet away before the saw us and hightailed it up the telephone pole, but it was magical for me and for them. And far better than any TV show.

The Cherry Blossom Saga

 

I wouldn't feel right if I didn't include this in the tale of our Spring. Every year since we moved in I have loved watching and waiting for our huge cherry blossom tree to make its blooming debut. It starts as hairy gray buds and then one day they burst open and fill the sky with pink and white, right outside my kitchen window. Last year, I took some beautiful pictures of the girls in front of it and couldn't wait to do a comparison shot in the same spot this year.

Except this year, it bloomed too early. Who can blame it, what with the 75 degree temps in mid-March? But then, the very next day, the temperature dropped and the ground was covered in 3 inches of snow for only the second time all winter. And all those innocent, pure, beautiful blooms died.

I hadn't even taken a picture yet since I knew it would only get better.

And it never came back.

I cried.

It wouldn't be so sad if they were just buds - but all that brown, those are dead blooms :(

But then, just yesterday, I noticed it. One single white bloom amidst a sea of green leaves. As if it were there just for me. I made sure all the kids got as close as they could to check it out.

It seemed to be just another reminder that even when it seems so, all is never lost. Somehow, light has a way of shining even in the coldest of darkness. Even after everything else has been torched - there is always a way to survive. I can't help but think of how ironic it is in relation to my previous post.

Anyway, Spring is truly here and Summer is on its way. I hope you have a chance to get out and take in all the beauty that our world is giving us right now!

Xo,
Maigen

Hey Jerk Who Tried To Ruin My Mother's Day - I Hope You're Happy.

We went to the wedding last weekend and it was wonderful. I am so so glad I went. It was a beautiful, simple ceremony overlooking a lake in CJ's hometown. We are so happy for the bride and groom and had so much fun reconnecting with family, many of whom we haven't seen in years. We danced and drank and even went out afterwards - I'm pretty proud of myself for making it to 2am for the first time in years!

We missed the girls but they had a fabulous weekend, making tons of memories (and even a mother's day gift for me) with some of their favorite people. When we got home we spent the afternoon relaxing and laughing with our babies in celebration of Mother's Day. It was truly a wonderful weekend for all of us!

But, because I'm me, it all had to end in some twisted effing way that left me on a low note rather than a high one. I got to spend Sunday night being verbally harassed through text message, for hours, by a total freaking wacko who I have only had the displeasure of meeting once in my life. I won't even bother giving her the satisfaction of more attention than she is worth by telling you who she is or all the awful things she said. Suffice it to say she's out of our lives now.

However, in its own messed up way, this experience, coupled with the events of the weekend, helped truly solidify my belief that the bonds of love are much stronger than bloodlines.

You see, we spent our weekend surrounded by the most loving, supportive people I have ever known, aside from my own family. There is so much joy in our gatherings with them. Even though it is technically CJ's "side," I feel just as comfortable with them as I do with my own. My relationship with them is something I truly cherish and one of my favorite parts of our marriage. And yet, CJ is only biologically "related" to one single person in the whole group - his mom, who was adopted as an infant.

I've never really been close to anyone who was adopted and I'll admit as a family historian, I was curious about it at first. It was always so important to me to know where I came from, in terms of both geography and genealogy. And yet, my own husband and mother-in-law do not really know. But that means very little when you see the bonds that they have with every member of their family. The love, support and laughs they share is all the evidence you need to know that biology does not determine who is part of our true family.

This fact was made even more clear to me when, while relaxing after a wonderful weekend, I was berated out of nowhere for not presenting my children like a set of show ponies to a group of relatives, who are biologically related to them but who have no more of a relationship with us than that of a casual acquaintance.

Without saying too much (it's not really my story to tell, or it wasn't, rather, until this person saw reason to drag me into it), I will say that there is a lifetime of history between these people and my husband and much that even I do not know.

It's a story like many others, of young love, a bitter divorce, and a young child stuck in the middle. I watched many friends struggle with this over the years, but it's different being on this side of it. My own parents split, amicably, when I was 21. I never knew the heartbreak of having to choose, of feeling like a failure for not doing enough to maintain a relationship with a parent. I never experienced the pain of your blood tugging you in one direction, while your heart, in an attempt to protect your soul, led you in the other.

Over our years together, I have watched my husband's relationships with these relatives go through some ups and downs, but mostly it's been radio silence on both ends. I have aided in repair attempts a few times, only to then see months go by without a word from either side. I have watched the person I love most in the world pine for a closeness that will never be with the only people he is biologically related to aside from his mother, and now his children. And it kills me, every single time, to know that it was all out of his hands long before he could even walk.

We are who we are. There is no changing someone's true nature. You can blame time, distance and other circumstance, but at the end of the day, you either try, or you don't. You either care enough to give a part of yourself, facing the risk of rejection, or you don't. And eventually, the people who are supposed to give a damn, who are supposed to stick with you through and through, will realize this, and give up.

And who can blame them? After all, when it's all they've ever known, why wouldn't they?

But sometimes, the kids grow up, they are able to take control, make their own choices and, in the best cases, a shift in the relationship occurs. Words are exchanged, forgiveness is granted for mistakes of the past and there is hope for a future. All is not lost.

Except when someone takes it upon themselves to interject, throwing off the delicate balance of this new-found acceptance. This person, taking the information they have garnered through drunken conversations, the rumor mill of a small town and their own imagination, becomes angry and resentful over something that has nothing to do with them. Then, in a fit of bitter, drunken anger, reeling from their own pain, they open their mouth and target the entirely wrong person. And all hell breaks loose.

Old wounds are reopened. More people are hurt. And those relationships that just a bit ago were on the mend are now being thrown into the fire at the hand of a stranger.

I know you're reading this, so, I hope you're happy. With your misguided accusations, disgusting lack of tact, incredibly hurtful and angry words, you single-handedly destroyed something that took years to rebuild. Up until that night, you had our sympathy, for we all know the hell you've been through. But you chose to take your pain and attack me in an attempt to make me feel sorry for things that are completely out of my control.

Thanks to your inability to control your tongue (or your alcohol) you managed to hurt the one the person you claim to care so much for, as well as the truly innocent in this situation: the great grandparents of my children, who, through no fault of their own are now going to miss out on getting to know two of the best little people in the world.

All because you feel as though you have some sort of right to try and forcefully fix this relationship that you are not a part of. Worse, you go about it in the worst possible way. As if shaming, humiliating and berating us is going to do the trick. As if we don't already know how difficult it is, for everyone involved. All because you seem to think you have some semblance of an idea about the events that transpired decades before your time in his life.

As if you have no idea that you are the very reason we have stayed away for so long. Or does your brain simply choose not to remember the last time you did this to us?

Here's the thing: you don't know us. You have no idea of what we have been though. You don't know me, and you certainly don't know my children or how I parent them. And now, thanks to your profuse word-vomit, you never will. I can only hope that you feel the regret of this choice and that it hurts, as you hurt me, although after that night I am not sure you have a heart with which to feel that pain.

We, on the other hand, we will be just fine. Better, even. For now we know: blood does not make you family. True family is built with love, respect, patience and kindness. It's giving of yourself because you want to, even if it is inconvenient or hard. Going out of your way to build trust and strengthening bonds through communication and time. It cannot be forced and it does not simply exist because 30 years ago two people made a baby together.

We know what true family is and I thank God every single day that we are surrounded by it. And now, I thank God that it will never, ever include you. In a way, I should say thank you, for taking the choice out of my hands.

Like I said, I hope you're happy. I know I am.

Xo,
Maigen 

I don't want to go. But I do. And I don't.

Growing up with anxious tendencies, a brain that would never shut up and a heart that felt everything way too much, I was a wreck most of the time. The most common phrases used to describe me have always been "worrywart," "dramatic," and "crazy." Yeah, I was fun to be around.

I've spent a long time trying to fix these less than awesome aspects of my personality and have it pretty under control. Until I'm faced with something totally new and unknown and usually a little scary. Then I get sent into orbit.

This weekend we're going to a wedding about 4 hours away. We'll stay overnight and be home mid-day Sunday. It's going to be fun and I'm excited to go. But I'm also freaking the hell out about my babies who will be staying behind. It's safe to say I'm in full-blown crazy mode, feeling like bundle of nerves, bursting into tears and talking to myself at random.

It's a fun game that I know all too well.

My stupid body cannot get it together and is pulling me in both directions. It's like one side knows that it will be good for us to get away. It's a great time to do it and they will be fine with my parents. The other side is like, "What in the eff are you thinking? This is the worst idea ever and you will regret it. Do not go, stay home!"

Because I'm not ready. Because I'm afraid that they're not ready. Because it's Mother's Day.

Nowadays, nine times out of 10 I'm able to trust the more reasonable side and get over my issues. I deal with the emotions of it all and just let it go. I learned somewhere along the way that whenever I don't listen to the logical side, I regret it. But even the pain of past regrets isn't enough to stop the war in my brain this past week.

Going to the wedding is the rational, sane thing to do. But it is hurting my heart and I really don't want to. Except that I do. It will be fun and we need it and we're already committed so that's not cool. Part of me is terrified that I'll fall back into my old ways and just not go. It would be so easy and so typical of me, but disappointing to many, including CJ.

It brings me back. I'm 18 years old, sitting on the floor of my dorm room, a hot mess of sweat and tears and begging my Dad to pack all my crap up because there was no way in hell I was staying there.

He almost did it, but instead, he waited for and helped me deal with my stress - to process it and breathe. And then it was over. Two hours later I was having dinner with my "new friends."

I can't even being to fathom right now how different my life would be if I had actually gone home that day.

Today, I pretty much decided I wasn't going. I was loving on my babies and telling myself that people would understand, we've got twins, I'm still nursing, it would be too hard. But then I realized I was doing it again. I was about to miss out on something simply because I was terrified of the what-ifs and unknowns.

So, I cried. And then, I went out and bought new shoes. I spent $35 on myself at Target and bought a cute pair of shoes to go with my fabulous Jude Connally dress. I even bought nail polish since I should have gotten a pedicure (needed a hair cut and color too) but I just kept putting it off as part of not wanting to go. 

But I am going, too-long gray hair and all. And I will have fun because if there is anything in this world I need right now it is a night away. Even if it means I will miss my babies so incredibly much that I'll probably cry a few hundred times and try to facetime them every ten minutes during the reception.

I finally realized something today: they need this as much as I do. It's supposed to be hard because we are each others world right now, but we can't be everything for each other, not forever at least.

They need to see that it's ok to get dressed up and go out and have fun. Even when you're a Mom. Especially when you're a Mom.

They need to see that it's ok to be nervous about something new but not to let it ruin what could be a perfectly wonderful experience.

They need to experience making memories with their grandparents without Mom nearby. It's one of the best parts of childhood, especially with my awesome parents. They will get spoiled and probably be nightmares for us but it will be worth it.

They need to know that when I leave, I will come back and that bad things do not always happen when someone goes away for a bit. This is something I still struggle with. Considering we haven't been apart for more than 8 hours since they came home from the NICU 21 months ago, I'd say it's time.

Wish me luck and pray I don't wake up Saturday "sick" or flat-out refuse to get dressed like I used to do when I was a kid/last year.

Xo,
Maigen

Twin Toddler Obsessions Part 2: Where the Wild Things Are!

I read somewhere that the average parent has at least 5 picture books memorized by the time their kid is a year old. I'm up to eight at 21 months (these are affiliate links. I'm a book snob so they are all decent books, I promise):

Peekaboo Baby
Goodnight Moon
Touch and Feel Farm
Llama Llama, Red Pajama
One Love
That's Not My Owl
The Big Book of Happy 

and most recently, Where The Wild Things Are

This simple story, by Maurice Sendak, is 53 years old and has just over 300 words. It's a classic, topping tons of "best of" lists. It reads like a poem and the detailed images keep even the busiest kids entranced. And it is the first book that my toddlers have really fallen in love/become obsessed with. I'm proud.

That said, I have read WTWTA so many times now that I am actually dreaming about it. Weird, freaky dreams that don't end well for me - that's fun.

Getting ready to show me her terrible claws!

But they love it so much. I'm sure my dramatic readings (which are Oscar-worthy) have something to do with it, though they might be slowly driving CJ insane.

We no longer hear "SHOES!" in our house. In fact, we haven't watched a PTX video in weeks. I'm not gonna lie, I might have claimed YouTube went away for a little while. They'll be fine.

Now, Jules carries this large paperback book everywhere and just throws it at me and growls when she wants me to read it.

"I'll eat you up!" 

You can't read this book from a mom's perspective. Read it like you're Max. You're 8 years old and pissed because your mom won't play along with your fun and nobody really understands you and this is the only way you know how to express your love for and frustration with her. Keep up the rhythm of the words at the pace of a kid who's just making it all up as he goes along.

Get excited because you're on the adventure of a lifetime.

It's magical.

And then there are the messages woven into the story. Yeah, I've gotta put a boring adult spin on it and read way too much into the complexities of a made-up 8 year old's psyche, but there is so much that my girls could learn from this simple tale:

Love is complicated and can make you feel all sorts of crazy. Like you want to eat someone up. That's ok. In fact, it's awesome. You should embrace that and run with it. Just don't really eat them.

We all have different ways of expressing our frustrations and we need to be patient with each other. We should try to hear beyond people's words and listen to what they're feeling.

Imagination is a powerful tool. It has the ability to distract us from and help us process our struggles as well as help us heal.

"Be still." It's one of the best ways to feel calm and centered amidst chaos. 

Friends can come in all shapes and sizes; you should never judge someone based on their appearance.

Sometimes you just need to let loose and be wild in order to gain some perspective and feel better. Dancing in the moonlight is pretty much one of the best ways to do this.

Even when you have all you ever wanted, you'll still want to be "where someone loves you best of all." 

Because there really is no place like home. Wherever or whoever that happens to be.

Even when she makes mistakes, Mom will usually come through for you in the end. Be patient with her too.

Feed your kids.

Really, what an awesome first book to be obsessed with, right? Hell, even if it didn't give me all kinds of feelings, I'd happily read it all day every day just to hear those giggles and see those little claws come out.

But then, the unthinkable (not) happened.

After six straight weeks of 10 times a day readings (a shockingly long time for a paperback book to survive in the hands of twin toddlers), WTWTA finally suffered an unfortunate death by toddler. Jules' excitement got the better of her and she shredded it during nap time.

This threw Viv, who might suffer from some of her Dad's obsessive neat-freak tendencies, into a full-blown tizzy every time we tried to read what was left. She couldn't even look at the book without trying to "fix" the broken pages. They would battle it out until someone moved on or the book went away. It was a nightmare.

What was left of their beloved book had to "get lost" for a few days until I could order another. I did my best to tell the story without the pages and read all their other old favorites but it just wasn't the same.

Then last night, while picking out books for bedtime, Jules chose this huge one filled with 20 picture books. She opened it up and there they were, on the first page she flipped to, her wild things.

Her tiny face lit up as she pointed and shouted, "AHHH! Dis! Tis!? Rrrraaaa?!" It's the first time I've seen her truly excited for something other than my boobs or her Dad.

I still know it by heart so I played my part while she flipped through the pages with a fervor, zeroing in on her favorite images: the dog, the ocean and the dance in the moonlight. We roared and showed our claws and she squealed with glee.

They repeated the last word with me like they always do. "Hot!"

But then it was bedtime and she wanted to take this huge, gorgeous, expensive book to bed with her. I couldn't let her. Not after what she did to the one I got for a buck at a consignment store. We "found" old faithful and she happily traded. All was well! Good night!

Then her sister spotted it and lost her mind at the sight of those torn pages. I ended up basically ripping the book in half. Viv got the few pages that were whole and Jules got the torn ones. Half an hour and 3 more readings later they happily went to bed, each with their half in hand.  Peace - for now.

Needless to say I already ordered few more copies. Although, considering how fast the PTX obsession died they'll move on by the time my prime shipping gets them here. Either way, I'm definitely going to hold on to the shreds of the original to share with them one day. I think they'll get a kick out of it.

What was the first book your children fell in love with? Did it survive your obsessive toddlers?

Xo,
Maigen

And for this, I am grateful.

My 2 month old nephew started coming here when my sister went back to work a few weeks ago. It's been an adjustment for all of us, especially the girls and R, the 4 year old boy I watch. While I am by no means a "baby person," I much prefer toddlers and preschoolers, I am kind of loving having him here. He is satisfying my baby fever but I get to sleep all night (well some, at least.) 

Little man Zack is so chill and already gives the best smiles. I love just hanging out with him when all the other kids are resting. He is still pretty much in the eat, poop, sleep phase but when he's awake he loves to snuggle and then have some intense hang out time in his little yes space we have set up. He's a mover and so smart, already grabbing things and trying to roll over. I love caring for him and watching him grow. But it's kind of killing me too.

It's not the stress of caring for a baby on top of the other kids. This was my life for years in daycare, mixed ages and mayhem. I can't even lie and say that caring for one baby is just as hard as caring for two (it's really, really a lot easier), but again, that's all I know. So that's not it either.

Oh hey, look who mastered feeding 3 kids under 2 at once!

It's the sadness I feel when I connect with him during those special, quiet moments - when he lights up as I change his diaper or when he just relaxes and is content lying on me after a bottle.

It breaks my heart because I know my own babies so rarely had those same experiences. It wasn't for lack of trying - I know the importance of those moments - it was because it seemed like every single time I wanted to stop everything and just love and see and feel my baby, the other one needed me too.

I have very few solid, seared-in memories from those early days. I remember the first time I felt them on my cheek and bits of seeing and holding them for the first time. But the moment that I will forever remember was the very first time I was feeding Jules and Viv woke up too early.

They were in the NICU and on staggered feeds at the time. They were each awake for exactly half an hour every 3 hours and we had just that much time to change, temp, feed and snuggle with Jules before it was Viv's turn. They were taking forever to get through just a few milliliters at this time and the threat of going back to the feeding tube was real.

It was one of those days already, I had missed Jules' kidney ultrasound that morning and then Viv kept pulling off one of her leads, setting off that freaking awful alarm while I sat there and wondered if she had just died until someone finally came in and said, "Oh, no big deal, just needs some more tape!"

Anyway, I was feeding Jules. She had like .5 ml to go and it was getting close to Viv's time. I knew we could push Viv off a bit but I was alone and didn't want to risk someone else getting to do anything with her. I was actually begging Jules to just eat faster so we could snuggle before Viv woke up. And then I heard it. Viv stretched out her arms and let out a tiny little sound. I looked up and there she was, 3 feet away in her little box, eyes wide open, totally awake and alert. Staring right at me. They didn't cry out back then, not in the way people think babies do. She just looked at me, I swear she was willing me to go to her, and I felt this surge of helplessness. I looked at her, and back down at Jules, in my arms and still with a bit of bottle to go, and I knew: this would be the story of their life.

They would never know the feeling of having my 100% undivided attention at their beck and call. Sure, I can say almost 2 years in that they've gotten plenty of one-on-one quality time. I think? I don't really know because I'll never be the mom who knows what it's like to devote 100% of my attention to one of my children.  I will always be thinking of or wondering about the well-being of the other one. There's never not been "the other one" for any of us.

In a way, they're lucky. It's all they know. If I were to ask them in 5, 10 or even 50 years what it's like to be a twin, they wouldn't be able to answer the question - because they have nothing to compare it to.

For me, I see it, I feel it every day, the pull to be there for my child, to do everything to make her feel safe and secure and make her feel like the most important thing in my world. And more often than I would have ever liked, I've needed to ignore that feeling, as I was too busy making sure the other one knew that she was also the most important thing in my world.

I missed things. Like the first time Jules rolled over. And when one of them took their first steps - worse, I can't even remember for sure who I missed and it's only been 8 months. I have forgotten so much already because there is so much more to remember.

These things seem so petty but I guarantee singleton moms know. There is no question. The little big things that make up every day with your child. A mom of one child knows. There is never any confusion over who did what and when. Or who is crying or hurt before she gets there.

She doesn't ever have to wonder if she put the right kid in the right crib last night.

Or if she is seriously damaging her teeny tiny infants because one is starving and has been crying for a few minutes longer than she's comfortable with while she is trying to get the other, supposedly easier one, to latch.

The entire first year was so hard and scary and so, so rushed. Everything. There was so little time to talk to them, to connect with and really slow down and see them. It was diapers, bottles/boobs, burp, squeezing in some not-so-quality time, sleep, wake and repeat. For months on end.

By the time they were more alert and we were all better adjusted,  this was just our routine and it worked so we never questioned it. Until, all of a sudden, they're almost two years old and things are finally slowing down and we're all like, "Who are you people!?" 

It's like we're just starting to get to know them. Because I'm not always distracted or busy or stressed so I get to sit and watch and actually see what they are really all about.

I feel like I'm just getting the hang of actually snuggling and cuddling them, because I'm not always trying to juggle them or keep two floppy babies safe in my arms at once.

I don't have to rush through baths or diaper changes because no one is screaming to be fed or put to sleep in the background.

I can enjoy outings and get-togethers again, as they will play and eat real food and sit with others and I can just hang out.

And, of course, they have each other. To play with, to snuggle, and just talk to. 

I can finally breathe.

But with those deep breaths, the ones that come with no longer having to hurry and keep everyone happy, there also comes this intense regret.

For letting the day-to-day tasks of care-giving get in the way of actually caring for my children.

For not giving them the peace and calm and connection that I think babies need in those early days.

Mostly, for the fact that I tried so hard to do everything right that I mucked up the most important thing - just being a new mother and embracing the madness that came with it.

I focused so much on keeping everyone alive and happy that I forgot to be grateful for, and bask in the amazingness that was becoming a mother of twins.

It's hard not to dwell on this but I'm reminding myself that I'm the only one who even gives a damn and that they are fine. Even if I doubt every single day that it was enough, I'm smart enough to know that they are fantastic, that they love me and I love them and that is all that matters.

In a sense, I'm grateful for the regret. It's making me, 21 months in, be much more mindful of all the little things. Our first little conversations that we're having and all the words they try to say and mispronounce. When they look at me with joy as they discover something new. Every single time they offer me a hug and a kiss without me doing it first.

Maybe I'm just hoping to make up for lost time and attention, but a part of me believes that all is not really lost. I know now that while the bond of those first few months is super important, it is hardly going to define our relationship as mother and daughters.

Because now the connection is two-sided. We not only see, but hear and understand each other. We are bridging the gaps that opened when I was just trying to survive.

Every time we connect over something silly that I could have easily missed or they grab my hand just because, I know I'm succeeding. I'm filling those spaces where those early memories should have been. And for this I am grateful. For this awareness, this new found appreciation and my ability to forgive myself for just not knowing at the time.

All is not lost. There are still thousands of moments to share and love and connect. And this is when it really matters.

At least that's what I'm going to keep telling myself.

Xo,
Maigen