2 under 1: Remembering to put on a bra is good enough for now

Hi there.

For the last month I have written so many posts in my head during middle of the night feedings, only to have them erased when I wake up in the morning. Actually it feels like every thought in my head meets the same fate these days.

I am trying, man. I am trying. But this is no fun at all. On the outside, it might look great now and then. The boys are beautiful, and sweet. The photo ops are plentiful. But there are a lot of issues here, and as we struggling to figure it all out, and find the boys the help they will need to navigate the world around them, it is exhausting.

It's not just the fatigue.

It's trying to get the babies to sleep - maybe even at the same time. Maybe even somewhere other than my arms.

It's figuring out why they are crying when you are woken out of a dead sleep, and resolving the issue before the cry escalates to a blood-curdling shriek and they wake up the entire house. Usually we hit shriek status almost immediately, so as a result it sounds like I am living with a herd of howler monkeys. Especially at 4am for some reason.

It's remembering to bathe on a regular basis. Or maybe just get my hair wet and comb it.

It's holding back the tears when I finally do take a shower, and then instantly find myself covered in barf - or worse - while I am still wrapped in a towel and trying to brush my teeth.

It's learning to live with the screaming and crying and reminding myself that they are safe and loved, and that I can't do more then I am doing. That sometimes they will have to wait, or sit in a playpen for a few minutes while I, oh I don't know, poop. Alone.

It's doing everything with one hand. Everything.

It's coming to terms with leaving your grocery cart at customer service and apologizing for having to leave in the middle of shopping because someone's diaper leaked and someone else is hungry even though they were changed and fed before we went in.

It's taking the time to make sure they eat before they go to visit their mom, because chances are they won't get more than a bottle of formula while they are there.

It's celebrating when I get everyone in the car and actually drive away from the house on the first try.

It's feeling proud of myself when I leave the house in clean clothes and a bra.

It's the sense of accomplishment when I get the kids where they need to be when they need to be there, or when I both remember I have an appointment and actually get there on time.

It's washing AND drying the laundry, and then actually putting it away. It might not be folded, but it's not on my sofa.

It's realizing that I might actually need a minivan, and then finding a way to avoid driving one after all.

It's having a community that understands that when I get a new case, I have to clear my calendar for a while, and not making me feel terrible when I don't show up.

It's admitting I need help, and having friends and family show up to save my ass, cover me at work, or just sit and hold the baby so I can take a nap.

None of this comes natural. None of this is easy or fun. But it is keeping me sane. And saving my marriage. And giving my kids a mom who can still function most of the time.

Not all of the time. But it's good enough for now.

It has to be.

This is all I've got.