As I write this, I have two babies asleep on me. Long gangly almost five year old legs across my lap and a very heavy almost four month old on my chest, clutching my bra (standard). I'm sitting here on the sofa in the dark, listening to them breathe, wondering how on earth I got here. Not the sofa, here... With two children. It still hasn't sunk in I'm a Mother of Two Girls, it's madness.
Today I was called boring, told this was the boring-est Saturday ever because daddy wasn't home and that she wishes it was Sunday NOW. It's a good job the baby can't speak. Boring. That shit hurt.
It's only today that I realised just how hard it is, having two children. Today they tag teamed me with their constant whining, both constantly hungry and letting me damn well know about it. I thought back to when I was Lil's age and my mum had only just had my brother. She was doing this shit alone AND working! So really I don't have a leg to stand on when it comes to whinging about my shitty day but I'll go ahead and moan anyway. She's my motivation on days like this and I have a feeling there are going to be a lot more of them to come (fuck you three week Easter holidays).
Aaaaaaand the baby's awake....
I managed a shower after getting her to shut up for ten minutes. It's not her fault, she's teething, but jeeeeeeeeeez they don't let up do they? I've already (probably) O'd her on placenta essence. I put some underwear on and fed her on my bed, thinking she'd go back to sleep now she was on my skin BUT NO, she'll only be happy when she can crawl into my skin. Instead, she pinched the back of my arm so fucking hard I ripped her off my nipple so fast she threw up with the most perfect aim of my granny pants. Sicky crotch. That'll teach me not to do that again, I'd also quite like my nipples intact with all layers of skin, thanks. Ah breastfeeding. She's asleep now, of course... Now daddy is just about to walk through the door after a long day in Germany doing important shit, to a house that looks as though the laundry bin has exploded in the kitchen and a fucking crèche in the lounge. Oh life. Oh housework. I hate you.
So here I am, a boring mother having a boring moan (it started off ok and it's the first published moan as a mother of two GET IN... took almost four months to start bitching about it!) about my not so boring day.
And that (one way) conversation me and my husband had about baby number 3? Let's boring well forget that.