Eat, Sleep, & Watch TV

I swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help me blog.

I feel the need to do something for myself at a time in my life when nothing is about me. I remember when everything was about me. I should have taken advantage of all my free time. Sure, I used my time to sleep a lot and I cherish all those fond memories of me sleeping but I should have done more. Even though my brain has turned to fuzz and my personality is under renovations, especially my patience, I think my sudden need to write is for two reasons. The first being that the years are passing by quickly and I want to stop and take note of it, using words to witness my life, to preserve little memories and big ones. The second reason is that the days are going by so slowly and I want to use writing as an outlet, an aid to keeping myself sane and happy.   One great thing about blogging is that it doesn’t get your hands dirty, so I can drop what I’m doing in a second if I have to make sure the television is ok after it tips over on my toddler. After which I return to my laptop only to find the password has been changed and I’m locked out. I didn’t even have a password on my laptop. So I’m breaking into my own laptop with the help of my bestie, Google. I’m wondering how my two year old added the password feature on my laptop, creating one that was apparently something like “khda daouu mama daddy gatig bye bye” which is what he said when I asked him. So he did that in one minute and I had to study for ten minutes how to undo it. At this point, I’m doing well with my patience. I’m feeling pretty good actually. I kept it together, even as I used a Lysol wipe to disinfect the crusty mess on my screen and keyboard. All clean and ready to go again. I’m getting good at this! And then…I see my infant has regurgitated milk while doing tummy time and he’s rubbing his hands and his pajama sleeves all over it and my toddler is doing something gross with it too. I can’t explain why my serene demeanor catapulted into nonexistence, but I am suddenly completely enraged, screaming at them, and questioning myself. Who was I just two minutes ago? Who am I in this moment? When will I sleep again? When will I be free again? Can the neighbours hear me? It doesn’t sound like much but that can tire a person out. My days are riddled with kids. Here I am in my thirties, soiling the prime of my life with babies. Maybe I’m being dramatic but it is dramatic. It can be traumatic! It all starts with the births. I love hearing birth stories and telling mine, they are something to be proud of; c-section or vaginal, epidural or no epidural, girls or boys, singles or multiples, stitches, swelling, bleeding, sciatic pain, yelling, screaming, crying, sweating, pooping, vomiting, breastfeeding, pumping, formula, postpartum care and depression, minimal sleep and hygiene. There are so many changes and so many questions. There is so much to be said and a lot that needs to stop being said. There is so much to learn and confidence to build. There is both so much light and darkness. Having a baby put a crazy and complicated twist on my life but after a while, things were under control. Then, we had twins. After that, all my husband and I wished for in life was to eat, sleep, and watch TV in peace. Almost nine months later, we get to do all of that, which we used to take for granted.

We went through some hell, and now we are back.