Thy Will Be Done

Oh, Internet.  I have been trying to write this post forever.  I keep coming back to it, because I wanted this one to be well written.  I’m starting to realize that maybe I can’t do it justice.

I wanted to say that the 36 weeks and 5 days (but who’s counting) of this pregnancy were the longest and hardest days of my life. Tired, sick, depressed, and often in pain, I struggled most days just to put on a happy face for work. You’re shocked, I know — I suffered in such silence.

See, I’ve already said all that.  I don’t really need to go over it again.

Then, I wanted to explain how the physical difficulties of pregnancy were made worse by my state of mind.  I wanted to be the mother of two children. I hadn’t planned on three, and I was sure I’d never be able to manage.

But I’ve  kind of already been there, too.

I guess what I really wanted to get at was that I never considered that this was the family we were always meant to have. I knew I would love my babies, I just didn’t realize that I could be this good at it.

Unfortunately, I feel a little hypocritical writing that, since just today Raisin ate a piece of apple off my unwashed kitchen floor, and I let Apple and Orange cry for several minutes so I could finish sorting a Himalayan mountain’s worth of laundry.  That’s quality parenting, that is.

Sarcasm aside, though, I honestly do believe that this family could never have been complete without either Apple or Orange.  There’s a line in Pride and Prejudice about Elizabeth Bennet knowing she was happy rather than feeling herself to be so.  That’s true for me, too — when I am frustrated about my inability to meet everyone’s needs at the same time, I still know somewhere deep inside me that I was born to do this job.

I feel silly now that I know. So many people were praying for us, and I wouldn’t let myself believe in the power of their love. Or, more importantly, God’s love. I’m usually pretty private about my faith; it’s not something I’m comfortable discussing outside my most intimate circle. Before Apple and Orange were born, I would’ve professed a belief in the power of prayer if you cornered me and made me do it.

Now, you’d still have to coax it out of me, but my confession would be from the heart.  God loves us, and he answers our prayers.

One of my favorite authors, Jan Karon, often writes that her characters pray “the prayer that never fails.” It took me a long time to realize what she meant by that (see the title of this post), but now that I know, I think it’s a beautiful sentiment. God’s will is always done. Our choice is whether we will consent to take part in it, or if we will hold ourselves outside His grace.

I should have known that it was God’s will for us to have these children — all three of them are gifts more precious than any life I could ever have created for myself.

So there.  That’s what I wanted to say.  I just wish I could’ve said it better.

Why I Hate Tuesdays. And Now, Wednesdays, Too.

I didn’t always hate Tuesday.  It was the library story hour that killed it.  The library story hour has become my archnemesis.

It starts at 10:15.  The first week, we showed up at 10:10 and the room was packed.  No WAY was I going to be able to sneak a double stroller in there, so I tried to get Raisin to sit and listen by herself.  Nothing doing, which is understandable.  Unfortunately for me, Apple and Orange decided to commence simultaneous crying, so we grabbed a random pile of books and headed home.  (We ended up with some story about the Cowboys winning the Superbowl.  The hell?)

The second week, we left home at 10:15.  I knew story hour was a no-go, so we just played and got some books, and I was OK.  But I was DETERMINED that we would, at some point, attend a story hour.

Yesterday we got there right on time.  No story hours until December.  Jerks.  Don’t they have ANY idea how long it takes me to get out of the damn house?  Would it have been wrong to use bodily force to get the librarian to read Raisin a story?  If so, I in no way considered that.

Oh, and about Wednesdays?   I’ll leave more of that story to your imagination.  It involves an episode of Dora, a playgroup session, and a toddler who couldn’t decide between the two.

If Thursday comes looking for me, tell her I crossed the date line already.

Two Months (and 31 Months)

Orange is 9 lbs, 4 oz. Apple is 9 lbs, 8 oz.

I can’t believe it — they are almost twice the size they were at birth, and Apple has actually surpassed Orange — he was so tiny at first!

Apple is quite the little flirt. He already knows just the right moment to break out the adorable smiles. Of course, when he’s sad, he’s very, very sad– he knows how to work the chin quiver, too.
Orange is my serious baby. I have to work for a smile from her. Most of her quiet alert times are all study, with a little wrinkle in her brow.

Raisin is doing really well. I thought the adjustment to being home would be much harder for her, but she seems to enjoy playing with me at home. We’re working on ways to get out of the house and interact with other people, but on the days we don’t make it out, she still does OK.

I’m excited for Christmas this year; I think she’s really going to have fun. Her imagination has taken off lately, and I just can’t wait to see what she’ll do with the whole Santa Claus thing.

Well, here’s yet another curtailed entry; it appears that it’s time for Apple and Orange to eat.

Vignettes

If you were a fly on the wall in the Fruit Salad house (a fruit fly, maybe? — sorry.) in recent weeks, you would’ve witnessed the following scenes. I suppose they do paint a pretty accurate picture of our life:

Scene 1: Grape and Raisin are seated at the kitchen table. Apple and Orange are in their bouncy seats nearby. Raisin is playing her new favorite game, “What’s that noise?” (The rules of this game are simple. Raisin hears a noise, real or imaginary, and the other player must identify it.)

Apple passes gas.

Raisin: What’s that noise, Mommy?

Me: You know what that noise is, honey. What is it? (I set myself up, I know — I was just tired of the game.)

Raisin, after a moment’s thought: That’s Apple’s butt noise.

Scene 2: Halloween. Because I think Sarah’s kids are so cool with the knock-knock jokes, I’ve been teaching them to Raisin. Her favorite is “Knock, Knock.” “Who’s there?” “Boo.” “Boo who?” “Don’t cry, it’s just a joke.”

I took a flashlight with us when I took Raisin trick-or-treating (she was a ladybug — there’ll be pictures at Flickr soon). Every time I turned it on, she said, “Don’t be dark, it’s just a joke!” I have no idea what that means.

Scene 3: Grape attempts a shower. Actually, I do manage to get a shower most days. I wait until the twins are somewhat settled, and then I give Raisin a book or something to play with on the bathroom floor so I know where she is.

There are some flaws in my technique, however. Mainly, that I usually don’t dress right away after getting out of the tub — it’s my chance to let my poor overworked nipples air out a little. I can’t count the number of times I’ve run to the living room, nude, hair wet and makeup half applied, to stick a pacifier back in someone’s mouth. One of these days the UPS guy is going to get way, way more than he bargained for.

Scene 4: When creativity fails me for something to occupy Raisin’s time and attention, I let her wash dishes. She loves it, and usually only makes a minimum amount of mess.

One day last week, I set her up with a sink full of bubbles so that I could feed the twins. I had just gotten both babies latched on when I realized I had forgotten to turn off the water.

“Raisin, can you turn off the water?” “Yup.”

The water keeps running.

Unlatch Apple. Unlatch Orange. Detangle self from giant boppy. Run to kitchen. Crap, milk is shooting everywhere — stupid let-down reflex. Turn off water. Run back to babies. Re-attach boppy. Relatch babies. Awesome.

When I was a kid, my mom had a t-shirt that said, “Insanity Is Hereditary, You Get It From Your Kids.”

I never used to think it was funny.