If you’d asked me five years ago where I would be five years from then, I doubt I would have said here: two children, a dog, a cat, a mortgage and a burgeoning freelance writing career. But here I am.
My parents had their children 8 years apart, a decision that, in retrospect seems very wise. I did not. My babies are a very unwise 18 months apart, which apparently “gets easier and easier” and “is the smartest way to go”—or so I am told.
I am hoping that some day I, too, can tell new parents to hurry up and have their second. But three months in? I am screaming WAIT, please. For the love of G-d!
Here are the little ones currently calling me “Mommy” (or, more accurately “Sasha,” which my 21-month-old favors and nothing in the case of my three-month-old):
Samara (21-months-old and a total fireball just like her mommy):
Alan (three-months-old and still pretty squishily adorable):
So far, mommyhood is nothing like I believed it would be when I was pregnant and busy buying the 3200 bits of baby gear now crowding my 1,000 square foot condo’s storage space.
My days are spent shielding my littlest one’s head from my little one’s blows, doing the dishes at least 12 times, singing “three green and speckled frogs” until my throat is hoarse and changing roughly 2,000 diapers. And those are just the fun parts. During my downtime, I try to squeeze out a career and some daily exercise, both my version of mommy Prozac.
The thing is, I kind of love it. Perhaps it is the sleep deprivation. It does funny things to the brain, distorts memory and makes me enjoy things I never imagined. There are some days I would consider trading both kids for a tall soy latte and two hours of quiet, but most of the time, this life is a chaotic, messy, disorganized blast.
Sasha Brown-Worsham is a freelance writer whose monthly column runs online at The Family Groove. Her work has appeared in Pregnancy, Runner’s World, Self and many other publications. She lives in Boston with her husband, daughter, son (and a cat and dog).
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