Some days I feel like I am this close to falling apart. I'm getting the twins dressed for bed, and there are diapers all over the floor of their room from earlier when they unpacked the entire cupboard where I keep diapers and then broke into a fresh pack and scattered those too. There are toys all over the floor that I keep stepping on and nearly tripping over, because right now the twins think the best fun is taking things OUT of things--but then they don't want to play with those things, they want to find a fresh bin to take things out of.
I try to get Edward out of his clothes, and there's food all over the front of his shirt because he kept flinging his bib off during dinner and I couldn't work up the caring it would require to fetch it yet again, and when I try to remove his shirt the food gets dragged across his hair, which I finally washed this morning when it was so crusty I was starting to wonder if it would start snapping off like little twigs--and now there's food in it again.
I get his clothes off, and I take his diaper off, and immediately he's grabbing at himself so ferociously I'm worried he's going to tear it OFF. He's itchy, and I guess I should remember to take him in to the doctor about that. I try to keep him from doing permanent damage to my future grandchildren, but I only have one hand to restrain him: I need to get a diaper off the floor, using my foot to pull one closer and then grabbing it with my "spare" hand. I get his sleeper on, and he's trying to twist over on the table. His big brother Robert has left a bunch of blocks up there in a special pattern, and I finally fling them across the room in frustration because Edward keeps grabbing them. There's also a baggie on the table (suffocation hazard!) and a pencil (stabbing hazard!), and a piece of paper (paper cut hazard! soggy choking hazard!) that I need to deal with, but geez, why do Robert and William keep leaving these things in here? Do I have to tell them they can't even come in here anymore?
Meanwhile, Elizabeth is crying and whining in her high chair, this whole time.
I put Edward in his crib, and I get Elizabeth. She's happy while I'm taking her clothes off, but as soon as I put a fresh diaper on her she gets suspicious. When she sees the sleeper, she knows the score and rips out a bunch of grating screams. I get her into it anyway, but I'm reaching my limit. Edward, meanwhile, is tossing all his blankies out of his crib.
I put Elizabeth in her crib, stepping on two toys on my way over and hearing one crack in a way I'm going to have to deal with tomorrow. She's still screaming. I accidentally put her in her crib lying down, which she hates; when I correct this by sitting her upright, she arches and cries and won't accept her blankie. I give Edward's blankies back to him, and I get the hell out of that room, using the very last scraps of my life force to say "good night, babies" in a pleasant tone over the angry cries. I switch off the light, and go out into the rest of the house, where there are lightbulbs burned out, toys on the floor, papers to file, months of photos to go through.
Now Elizabeth is working herself into a real fit. Edward is starting to cry tiredly; she is keeping him from falling asleep. Downstairs, Robert and William are supposed to be in bed, but I can hear them starting to fight. Some days I am barely holding it together.
Gift ideas for an 8-year-old, part 2 of 2 - Last week I talked about the gifts we were getting/considering for Edward, who is turning 8 next month. This week it’s Elizabeth’s turn: not “girl gifts,” ...