You know how sometimes in life, everything seems to be going incredibly well and then it all falls apart so thoroughly it’s almost (but not quite) laughable? Your car breaks down, you lock yourself out of the house, you get bacon grease on your favorite pair of jeans (or realize that your favorite pair of jeans isn’t fitting nearly as well as it used to), and the barista at Starbucks butchers the drink that was supposed to make it all seem better.
It’s all smooth sailing, and then you hit a tropical typhoon.
Life is a walk in the park, and then the sidewalk craters and the only way around is through a muddy, mosquito-filled bog.
That is currently my life, except it happens multiple times a day on a much smaller scale. I’ll be baking homemade bread in the kitchen with a content baby sleeping in his Moby wrap on my chest and another sound asleep in the living room. This twin thing isn’t so bad, I think. I feel like supermom, I think.
And then the twin strapped to my chest spits up down the front of my shirt. At the exact same time, his brother explosively poops out of his diaper. Both start screaming at once at just the moment when the bread needs to be shaped into loaves to go into the oven before it starts to rise again. And I realize that I desperately have to pee.
In each moment, it’s hard to believe that the other moments exist. When I’m supermom, it feels like I’m always supermom. When I’m covered in baby vomit and trying to soothe two infants at once, it feels like… I’ve been stressed and covered in baby vomit for nine weeks.
That is my life. It’s beautiful and often very, very messy.