I clipped four fingernails this week. Four out of forty, and they were all on the docile one.
There was a poop incident. J pulled his own diaper off and tasted what was inside.
I dropped O one day as the nanny was walking up. I think I was just so done my arms gave out when I saw her.
The babies have a hit out on a mole on my chest. They take turns trying to rip it off. Today O found another one on my neck… damn!
We go outside now. I’m just letting them eat dirt… and basically anything else organic, unless it is large enough for them to choke on.
There was another poop incident. This time with something that didn’t go down when the toilet was flushed – still experiencing post-traumatic stress over that one.
Incidents involving shit make me feel the most like shit.
There’s this sweet moment when you think a baby wants you to pick him/her up to be close to you… but almost immediately an inevitable little hand points in the direction he/she wants to go and a guttural noise accompanies it, which probably roughly translates to “go now” or in some cases “go now bitch!” Is this what it feels like to be a horse?
Three calls to poison control… that makes my record one every 5 months. Could be worse right! They were all for her. He doesn’t waste time eating toxic substances when he could be eating actual food.
Three baths in 15 months. That makes my bath record the same as my poison control record. Eek! Everyone else just seems to be better at it than I am. It’s fucking scary bathing the two of them!
I’ve had a prescription for fluoride in my wallet for three months. Perhaps when they’re in high school I’ll make a decision about whether to give it to them.
I honestly don’t think my shoulders are going to make it.
I leave a lot. The more I leave, the happier I am when I return. Whoever said “absence makes the heart grow fonder” must have been a parent.
I am writing this from a tent in my backyard. I have been sleeping here. It is the only quiet place I can get any real rest.
O’s idea of kisses is biting my chin as hard as possible. Other forms of affection include putting her fingers (keep in mind the razor-sharp, refusing-to-let-them-be-cut nails) in my nose and trying to rip it off, shoving her whole hand down my throat, poking out my eyes, and pulling large chunks, small wisps, or single strands of hair. Then there is the face scratching. My patients must think I’m being abused at home.
J’s approaches to affection include “mount and hump” and “nuzzle and squeeze.” “Mount and hump” involves climbing up my body, finding a position guaranteed to cause maximum discomfort, and then bouncing up and down as hard as his little body can muster. “Nuzzle and squeeze” starts out okay with him nuzzling his little head between my breasts, however, to make sure he has me right where he wants me, he tends to grab my nipples and squeeze mid nuzzle. He also tries to rip my ears off.
But OH how I would long for that pain… It is, after all, the sweetest pain in the world. I’m reminded of Giles Corey in The Crucible as he was being pressed to death exclaiming, “More weight!” The crushing self-doubt, the paralyzing ambivalence, the ever-present anxiety, the physical attacks… Isn’t that what parenting is…
(DO NOT respond to this post with the advice that I bite off those goddamned nails!! Don’t do it!)
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