Being a mama to twins certainly poses its fair share of challenges. It is a true test in multitasking your ass off every single day of the week. They both want me for something or another at the same time all the time. Now granted, I wouldn’t trade my lot in life for anything in this world, but sometimes, I can’t help but want to poke my eyeballs out.
For example, just last night, I had one twink taking a duke upstairs, and one twink taking a duke downstairs, and wouldn’t ya know that they both finished at the exact same time? And, you’re right, they most certainly should be able to wipe their own tushies by now; however, simply put, they both positively suck at it. Maybe it’s cause their arms are too short to reach all the way back there, but the toilet paper doesn’t seem to ever even come close to touching their bungholes. And as a result, mama gets to stain stick the hell outta all the skid-marked undies. Therefore, when each twin is simultaneously finished making a deposit to the porcelain bank, I get to run from one ass to the other to conduct a back-up wipe.
Another challenging part of my twin mama day is the good old morning commute to school. Since we only live a short four or so blocks from the elementary school, I typically prefer to walk. However, getting both twins to agree to the same method of transportation is like trying to get a Democrat and a Republican to agree on healthcare reform. My daughter usually wants to walk, and my lazy son wants me to drive. On the days that I insist that we walk, I usually end up punching myself in the face all the way there. We’re stopping no less than five times to do everything but drag the child by his freaking ear as he finds multiple places along the route where he flat-out refuses to move another inch. He’s cold, he’s tired, he’s got a cramp. I stand there freezing my nipples off as I rationalize till I’m blue in the face, all while trying to keep one eye on my daughter who’s already an entire block ahead of us, making her way toward oncoming traffic. And this is only the beginning of my day!
Another fun task is trying to manage both kids as they try to decipher their stupid, meaningless first grade busywork, er, I mean, their super important, skill-building homework. I would rather shove fifty knitting needles up my nostrils than deal with the fallout of two tired kids and a ridiculously boring reading packet. My daughter literally gets pissed at me when she can’t pronounce a new word, like it’s my personal fault that she’s stuck. I’m trying to keep my cool as I calm her down and boost her confidence, and meanwhile, my son’s yelling at me across the table to help him with his packet. Nine times out of ten, it ends with someone in tears (me included) and bedtime being pushed back once again.
You would think that with all the random nerve-grinding issues I endure with my twins that I would be one of the most patient people here on earth. In reality, though, I think I’ve become even less tolerant as a result! My kids have broken every last patient bone in my body throughout the six and a half years that they’ve tortured me. However, I can’t imagine how boring my life would be without all the turmoil, for I love those little shits with every fiber of my being, all the way down to that last unraveling and shredded-up nerve that’s barely hanging on by a thread.