Late Still Counts!

You know, if I actually wrote a post ahead of time I wouldn’t be struggling for words at 9pm at night….

Or, in the case of tonight, 11:44pm at night.

I would have posted sooner but I left The Bean home with the boys tonight and went out to get my hair dyed.  It’s the first haircut I’ve done in over a year, and I was lucky enough to find a hair salon that’s open late.

The theory was that I could relax in peace at the salon while all four kids were sleeping….

But I just got home ten minutes ago to two very awake babies and a very frazzled looking husband, so it appears that the kids were not on board with my awesome plan.

Anyhow, if I don’t manage to get a post out in the next 11 minutes then I will miss a day, so here’s my super super quick story:

Two days ago I woke up waaaay too early to a rustling in the living room.  There wasn’t any specific noise in particular that alerted me… just a general awareness that something was moving in a living room that should otherwise be quiet.

I glanced at my clock … 5:50 am.  Ugh.  With twins that still wake all night long any time in the morning is too early, but if I am up before 6 am I just feel like it should be on my own terms, and not because of early-waking children.

I did my best to creep out of the bed without disturbing the twins and made my way over to the living room couch.  There, on the center of one of the seat cushions,  was a suspicious looking lump under a blanket.  I grabbed the blanket and lifted…. and there was DragonMonkey, grinning up at me.

“Ahhhh, dammit.  You weren’t supposed to find me,” he said.

I stared at him.  “Whaaat?”  I mean, we’re not in the habit of throwing around words like “dammit” on a regular basis….well, the kids aren’t, at least.

“You weren’t supposed to find me yet,” he amended without missing a beat, or even appearing the slightest bit guilty.  “Want me to start your coffee?”

And with that he hopped off the couch and headed into the kitchen to start my coffee, like the world’s tiniest roommate.

I stared at his back.  I really ought to get after him for using inappropriate words…. but it wasn’t even 6 am and he was offering to make me coffee.  Maybe I should just let it slide.


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How to Even

So, the only thing that is really annoying about the whole “I’m going to post thirty-one days in a row!” is that I never remember about my promise until about 9 pm at night, when all I can think about is sleep.

Today I decided to be proactive, and I spent most of the day figuring out what I was going to write about.

I opened up my laptop right at 8:30 and I started typing.

By 9:30 pm I was about 3/4 of the way done.  All I had to do was add another 100 or so words, insert a few pictures, and then proofread.

I went to go insert the photos and WordPress couldn’t attach them.  I closed the tab and reopened it to se if that solved the problem….

….only to find out that WordPress hadn’t saved a single word for the past 30 minutes or so I’d been typing.  Instead of being nearly done, the computer had eaten nearly everything I’d written and I was pretty much just beginning.

First off, let me say how much I hate computers at the moment.

Second, please allow me to attach this photo which I feel adequately expresses my emotions at the moment:


And with that, I’m gonna go to bed…. although I suppose I ought to leave you something other than grumpy graphs for the bother of stopping by.

Here— here’s some horses.



I’ll do better tomorrow.  Scout’s honor.


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Breastfeeding and Weight Loss

My favorite thing about nursing twins is how much weight I am losing!  It’s amazing!  I eat whatever I want, and the weight keeps falling off, and now I’m wearing a size 4!  I do feel like I am getting too thin, though…. do any of you have any meal suggestions to help me put on weight?


Sometimes the Facebook La Leche Group For Nursing Multiples group is a real source of help.

Sometimes it makes me just want to stab people.

I swear, if I hear one more person complain about how nursing makes them lose weight too fast, I’m gonna track down their home address just so I can throw a brick at their head.

Maybe nursing=weight loss for some people, but for me…. for me it just makes my body go into “CONSERVE ALL THE CALORIES” mode, even with nursing double time.  I mean…. I am already gluten free for my health, but because of the twins’ stomach sensitivities I’ve had to go dairy and soy free as well.

Is that sinking in?  I am exclusively nursing TWINS on a dairy, gluten, and soy free diet….. and I haven’t lost a single pound since the first week after I gave birth.

I really do think I missed my calling to live on a prairie and raise 18 babies.  If I lived on a prairie I imagine my ability to stay fat and healthy while nursing twins would be a real bragging point. I bet we’d go to all the… errr…. corn-shucking parties? (is that what olden-time prairie people did for fun?) and all the women would flock to me.

“Becky, look at your ample thighs!” they’d exclaim.  “Look at that back roll!  Can I touch it?  Can I touch your back roll and jiggly arms?  You’re so impressive!” they’d fawn. “How do you stay so fat, even though you’re been nursing your passel full o’ kids for years and years?”


Sigh, you get the point.  I was going to joke about this further, but after I typed the phrase “passel full o’ kids” I realized I really would have had something like 18 babies if I’d lived on the prairie in the 1800s, and the daydream kind of made me shudder.  Maybe I’m better off in my current lifestyle.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to bed, without even proofreading this stream-of-consciousness bit of writing.  This post is brought to you by extreme, extreeeeeme sleep deprivation… but (if I can take a moment to pat myself on the back) – there was a post. Go me, actually managing to post every single day for 11 days straight!

Anyways, I really am off to bed, but not without asking…. if get a moment, can you cross your fingers that Magpie would actually sleep tonight?  I don’t think she slept more than 45 minutes at a stretch last night, combined with Finn’s normal 2-3 times of waking..  I’m feeling pretty ragged.

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I was never much of a baby person.

Oh, I did the odd babysitting here and there in my teenage years.  I liked kids, they liked me, and it was easy money…. but I usually refused any jobs where the babies were younger than 8 or 9 months old.

If that sounds harsh it’s because the feeling was mutual – I didn’t really care for little babies, and little babies didn’t really like me. They let me know in no uncertain terms.

“Oh, Becky, it’s just in your head.  Here, hold her,” someone would say, depositing a blank-faced infant in my arms.  Almost immediately, the baby would stiffen.

“Relax – just hold her close,” they’d say.

“I am.  She feels like 2 x 4.”

“Just…. just relax.”

“I’M TRYING,” I’d say, through gritted teeth.  “Hey, uh… baby.  Hey there.  Good girl…. good…. girl.”

The baby would usually stare at me dubiously for a few more moments, and then burst into frantic tears.  Get me out of this imposter’s arms.  SAVE ME.  SAVE ME FROM HER UNCOMFORTABLE INCOMPETENCE!

It never failed – you could give me the happiest, most complacent, 100% asleep infant and I could have it crying in a matter of minutes, just by trying to hold it.

What can I say?  It was a gift.

The good news is that the first few weeks after a baby is born, they tend to be pretty much dead to the world.  They wake, they cry for food, you feed them, you change their diaper, and they go back to sleep.  In terms of being interactive, they’re about as socially fun as a hermit crab.

I think the reason they sleep so much in the beginning isn’t because they’re tired from birth…. it’s because it’s to give inept baby-handling parents like me a chance to figure out what they’re doing.  Eventually they wake up from the just-born stupor, but hopefully by that time you’re not as uncomfortable with handling your own baby.

Since I never had any desperate desire to have or hold little babies of my own,  I could never understand why people went so ga-ga over babies.  They weren’t all that cute, in the grand scheme of things.  They have swollen faces, they twist up their faces with really weird expressions, and they generally look kind of, well… weird.

I mean, here are some newborn otters:


And here is a newborn infant (mine, to be exact):

img_1924 img_1897

From a purely logical perspective, I think we can all agree the otters are cuter.  They’re fuzzy, soft, round little bits of adorableness.  You can practically feel your hand reaching out to pet one.

The newborn babies just kind of looks… pink.  And swollen.  And disgruntled.  They look like disappointed, naked little grubs…. and yet when I see those photos of the twins just after they were born, something wrenches on my inside, and I can practically feel my brain hitting the release switch on a massive load of bonding hormones.

It’s not just because they are tiny, or because they are mine… I think it goes deeper than that.  When I see tiny babies on the street, I think I am drawn to them because I know how incredibly fleeting that first period is.  I don’t see a newborn baby – I see DragonMonkey as he was when I first met him. Even though I wouldn’t trade the lanky, logical, fun boy he is nowadays, I miss his sweet softness.

Which, now that I think about it, is low-down dirty lie. He was only sweet and soft for the first 2 or 3 weeks.  After that he screamed and puked and was in all ways an incredibly high-needs baby….

But eh.  It’s a sweet lie.  If my brain is going to feed me lies, I don’t mind that one all that much.

Moving on to the whole point of this musing: I never really expected to be that “into” babies…. but lately it feels like I just can’t get enough.  You’d think it would the opposite. With two babies pressed to me all day long, you’d think I would be over holding infants, but the opposite is true.

The twins are 7 months old now, and the other day I looked at Magpie as she was stretched out during one of her naps, and I realized she no longer qualifies as a tiny baby. I saw my first hint of toddler.  It’s subtle, but it’s there – a slight lengthening of her forearms, the way she throws her arms above her head like a child instead of the tight curl of the just-born.

I’m not really sure what it is, but lately when I’m looking at the twins I can see the hints of the people they will become, and it makes me both proud and nostalgic, as if they’ve already grown, and flown away….

When in reality, Magpie is pressed against me, laying flat against the still-soft surface of my stomach.  Kraken is crashed out in his baby swing – he’ll be too big for it soon, but for the time being it’s a helpful bedtime tool.  Magpie though… lately she’s been weaning her own self off of the swing, much to my dismay.  It makes getting her down for the night a lot harder, and by the time she’s finally asleep I have a tendency to just sit still and hold her rather than risk waking her.

Besides…. the view is pretty sweet.  She’s sprawled over me in the complete, sleepy abandon that only the truly young seem to manage.  Her cheeks are flushed with the heat of sleep, one arm thrown back, lips pursed in a nursing dream.  I ought to put her down.  I ought to clean up the living room, or prepare the boys’ lunch for school in the morning.  Oh, sure, everyone likes to quote that “I’m rocking my baby and babies don’t keep”poem, but they forget about the other lines: “The shopping’s not done and the bills are past due, and out in the yard there’s a hullabaloo.”

There’s so much that needs to be done, not the least of which is getting to bed early.  I’m very, very sleep deprived this week.  I ought to go to bed early, so I’m not grumpy and mean tomorrow from lack of sleep.

But instead, I press my hand against Magpie’s head, feeling the pleasing curve of her skull beneath my palm.  I feel the heat of her skin against my own,  brush my thumb against the curve of her cheek, and I watch her breathe… and grow.


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Laziest Post in the World: DragonMonkey Dreams

If I  go through all my old draft posts and find the one that requires the least amount of editing (even if that means it’s been languishing as a draft for nearly four years), and if I edit it and then type these words…… it still counts as writing, right?  Right?


The door slammed open to the boys’ bedroom, and the dark shadow hovered there for a moment, face indistinct against the haze of shadows and bright hallway light.

“Not that one,” he said, his voice raspy, almost guttural with its malevolent harshness.  His finger flicked disparagingly at the younger brother, who gripped the bedspread and stared at him in terrified silence.

Slowly, oh so slowly, his head rotated on his neck, before fixating on the DragonMonkey, who sat up abruptly in his bed.

“THAT one,” he said, his voice full of a deep satisfaction.

He crossed the room in one stride, lunged forward, and slammed the DragonMonkey face down on his bed.  The force of the attack was so sudden, and so fierce, that the DragonMonkey’s leg caught on the wall as he flipped.  His leg broke, the bone shattering and the foot dislocating, spinning the entire bottom half of his leg the wrong way.

The pain of that was overwhelming, and the DragonMonkey began to cry.  The man snarled at him indistinctly, angered by the sound of his tears, and with one dark look he swept him from the bed and slammed him on the floor.

Meanwhile, down in the living room I sat uncaring, typing on my computer. I heard the slam of the DragonMonkey’s body as he hit the ground, but I didn’t get up to check.  “Stop that noise, SQUID!” I hollered up, unaware, uncaring, unfeeling,,,,,oblivious that it was a bad guy abusing my children, and not the Squid jumping off of his bed.


“And you didn’t come.”  The DragonMonkey narrows his green eyes at me.  “You were supposed to come.  You weren’t supposed to say ‘Stop that noise’.  It wasn’t Squid.  It was a bad guy.  And you were supposed to come save me from a bad guy.”

I sigh.  Again.

And I apologize.  Again.

“I’m so, so sorry, DragonMonkey.  That sounds like a very scary, very bad dream.  Mommy has bad dreams like that, too. And you know you are so much more important to me than my writing, and that in real life I would know if a bad guy was up there. I wouldn’t ignore you. I would go up there and save you from him, so you don’t have to worry about stuff like that.”

He glares at me, unappeased.  “But it wasn’t Squid jumping on the bed.  You said ‘SHHHH’, but it wasn’t him playing.  It was a bad guy. You shouldn’t tell me SHHHH. You should come save me.”

I take a deep breath and prepare to apologize again.

Seriously though, where does a four-year old brain come up with this, anyways?  I mean… if the ability to have incredibly realistic dreams is genetic, couldn’t he just get the nice ones?  How did he come with this Steven-King-worthy nightmare?  I mean, I know I have my own share of scary dreams, but SERIOUSLY.  If he’s got insecurities about how much I love him, or whatever created this nightmare, can’t he just daydream about me buying toys for other little boys, or something normal like that?

At least his happy dreams outweigh his bad dreams by a good margin.  Still.

Also, I’m sorry Bean.  Now I know what it feels like, when I wake up angry at you from my dreams.  I probably shouldn’t make you apologize, now that I know how silly it feels.

Although, really. I’m still a little bit angry.  You should have known better, even if it was a dream.



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Stomach Flu

I was looking at TimeHop today, seeing all the neat stuff I’ve posted over the years.

I mean, I’d use that whole “On This Day” memories feature of Facebook, but I still don’t have it….. not that I’m bitter.

Anyways, this was my post from October 8th of last year:

The vomiting.  The non-stop, soul crushing vomiting.
Friends don’t let friends get pregnant with twins.

Now, a year later, the twins are 6 months old, and we are celebrating in our own, unique way:

With a nice round of the stomach flu.



Sick Magpies are sleepy Magpies.  Also, towels make lovely blankets when they are just going to get thrown up on a few minutes later.


At least if they are still causing puking, I get to enjoy looking at their faces between the vomit-fests.  It’s a nice perk.



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Norman: The Book-Eating Goat

It was 34 degrees out, I was 22 years old, and I was sitting in the snow.

Well, okay.  I’m exaggerating.  I wasn’t exactly sitting IN the snow – I was technically crouched on the edge of a set of wooden steps, outside a never-used guard shack – only my feet were actually in the snow.

There really wasn’t any reason for me to be crouching in near-freezing temperatures, on rotted wood, in the snow.

It’s just… I had finished feeding the horses, and it was at least 200 feet back to my cabin. The record snowfall made trudging something you had to pay attention to – with two feet of snow, you couldn’t just meander without looking.  it was too easy to fall into troughs, or holes, or other items that hid beneath the pristine, innocent-looking mounds of snow.

So in order to get back to my cabin, I would have to put aside the book I was reading and actually walk there.

That would take at least three minutes.

Did I mention it was my first time reading through the Da Vinci Code.  Whether you approve of the plot or not, Dan Brown knows how to write a good suspense tale, and I was at an incredibly crucial moment.

Having to wait three minutes while waiting to figure out a crucial plot element in a book is an ETERNITY.

So…. instead of walking back to my cabin and reading the remainder of the book while sprawled on my couch in luxurious warmth, I was crouched on the rotted steps with my feet in the snow and my nose turning numb.

Keep in mind this was back in 2003/2004 – Amazon wasn’t really a “thing” like it is now, and when you live hours from the nearest bookstore, the first time through any book will grip you like that, much less a bestseller like the Da Vinci Code.

I was just reaching the critical part of the scene when….

Norman happened.

Norman was a sweet, bottle-fed goat who followed people around wherever they went.  I do mean everywhere – somewhere along the lines Norman had decided he was a human, and that the company of horses was no match for hanging out with people.  It was cute at first, but eventually became a little annoying.  “Wranglers, the goat is out again” was a familiar cry coming over the ranch radio – that goat could slip out of everything.

Still – he had silky white fur and large, intelligent, amber eyes so it was easy to forgive him anything.

Until that day.  That day, Norman crossed a line.

I still own that copy of Dan Brown’s Da Vinci Code. Did you know my copy falls open to the page that gives away critical information that’s crucial to the entire book (you know, the whole Last Supper thingie).
It falls open to that page because as I was sitting on steps in the snow…. just as I got to that particular page….
 Norman, came up behind me and ripped the page out of the book and started eating it.
It was like a scene from a cartoon.  I was in the mountains, trapped in by an epic snowfall, with no access to a replacement book….. and Norman had torn out the most important page of the entire book and was calmly eating it.
Look, I’m not proud of how I got the paper back, but let’s just say that I managed to make Norman understand that it was very, very important he allow me to retrieve the paper from his mouth.  The good news is that with a little bit of cleaning and a little bit of scotch tape, I was able to restore the page to my book and finish the story.  I forgave him for tearing my brand new book and trying to eat a critical page, and he forgave me for pouncing on him and making the mountains ring with the echoing cry of “NORMAAAAAAAAAAAAAN” as I retrieved it from his wet, sticky little mouth.

The bad news is that…. well, if you’re ever over at my house and if you ever want to read that particular book…. well, I just hope you already know the big reveal, because the book now opens permanently to that page.

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Yay For Procrastination!

Wasn’t I just bragging late last night that “my house is a relatively happy house”?

Dude, you totally missed my spaz-out hissy-fit I threw night, right after I clicked “Publish”.

Here’s the thing:  I decided to participate in the “Write 31” thingie.  In order to officially participate, you had to create a little button-thingie (you like my technical terms?  Be careful using them – they’re only for trained professionals).  Well, first you had to choose a category (I chose “Family”), then you had to choose a topic (I chose “How to Be a Crappy Mom), and then you had to create the button which was a hyperlink (or something?) and link up to the official Write 31 page.

Make sure you do it by October 5th! the website said.

I’m sure they intended that to read as “Do it on October 1st, but if you have to do it a day or two late, I suppose we can allow it.”

Me being, well, ME, I read that as “whatever you do, don’t do it before October 5th, because that’s just silly.”

So, as yesterday was October 5th, I clicked “Publish” and then went over there to figure out the button-link up-thingie.  I mean, it was only 10 pm at night on the absolute-last-day-possible.  I had two whole hours to work with. I wasn’t just on-time, I was practically early.


And that’s when I discovered that the Write 31 link-up thingie runs on east coast time…. which is a full 3 hours ahead of me.  While it was 10 pm on October 5th in Oregon, it was already 1 am on October 6th on the east coast, and link ups had closed.

Normally I would have given a good-natured groan and simply gone on with my day….. but I’m running on a pretty horrible sleep deficit nowadays.  I’ve been staying up late every night to type not only write on my long-abandoned blog, but I’ve been writing actual posts with a theme and a TOPIC.

Do you have any idea how hard it is for me to stay on topic for five whole days in a row?

So, anyways, when I found out that I’d missed the sign ups, well…. I was just a little bit disappointed.



I handled it very gracefully.


I did not consider throwing the computer to the ground, only to remember it was borrowed, and expensive.  I did not settle for placing it gently on the couch beside me before stomping up to my feet and using my “special words”.



I did not ignore The Bean as he tried to figure out what was going on with me.
I did not stomp into the bedroom…. only to stomp back out to the living room to use more of my “special words” in an incoherent nearly unintelligible rant…..


… Only to stomp back into the bedroom with a “Well, FINE.  I’m just going to go to sleep.  It doesn’t matter anyways.  It’s all STUPID. DON’T BOTHER TRYING TO FIX IT.  IT’S ALL STUPID.  GOOD NIGHT.”

Okay.  Maybe I did do a little of that.

But seriously, you have to understand just how tired I’ve been every night as I stay up to finish my post…. my post which has been both ON TOPIC and following my theme.

How tired am I?

Well, after I stomped off to bed last night, I made a decision to chart how many times I was up at night, just so I could share with you.

Now, normally the Kraken is the crappy sleeper and Magpie is much, much better.  If I were better about sleep training she would definitely be sleeping through the night at this point.  Unfortunately, she’s been having a rough week this last week, so she woke up 6 times last night.

That’s 6 times between 10:30 and 6:30 am.

The Kraken was much better and only woke up twice.

Still – that was 8 separate wake up periods requiring me to detach one tiny little boob leech (yes, we’re co-sleeping – The Kraken between The Bean and I, and Magpie over on an Ikea crib we attached to the side of our bed like a little sidecar), roll over, pull the other baby close, and go back to sleep as they nurse.

Sure, I don’t have to actually get out of bed and walk to a different room, so I’m able to go back to sleep fairly quickly…. but it’s still waking up, and it doesn’t make for a restful night of sleep.

Anyways, now you know why I found my lack of involvement so disappointing, and why I had so few reserves to deal with it.

After spending the day thinking about it though, I have decided it’s actually kind of a good thing.  No, I won’t be able to officially participate….. but I’m still planning on doing the exercise, and I feel that by doing it on my own I am now free to choose my own topics. Sure, nobody was going to hunt me down with a pitchfork if I’d strayed while “officially” participating, but still.

So, there’s your warning.  If I start posting about pets, horses, books, childhood memories, working at the library, or whatever instead of my kids, you have been forewarned.

Now if you’ll excuse me, sleep (GLORIOUS SLEEP!) is calling me…. at least for an hour or so.  On the other hand, who knows?  Maybe tonight will be the twins’ first night sleeping through the night?

A girl can hope?


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Too Many Babies

Have you ever been curious what it’s like in my house?


Well, I can show you.

It’s exactly like this:

Only, you know..... less green.

Only, you know….. less green.


I mean, I love my children… but four is a lot of kids, especially when two of them are less than a year old.

The thing is, for the most part, it’s a really happy household.  I’ve been really lucky in that my mom and stepdad essentially put their life on hold for the year and have been staying with us more often than not.  The good news is that their sacrifice has kept me sane.

The bad news is that, unlike most children who have a bunch of jealousy issues and upheaval whenever a new baby enters the family, my older boys think that babies are a piece of cake.

I mean, why wouldn’t they?  More babies = more time with their grandparents AND having someone around the house who actually manages to get laundry done in a timely fashion.

Unfortunately for them, I have a more realistic view of how much work babies actually are.

I walk into the room after changing Magpie, and plop her down on the floor in front of DragonMonkey.  He immediately pounces on her and scoops her up, squishing his face against her cheek in what appears to the world’s most uncomfortable kiss.

I give her about 6 more months before she explodes when he does that… but that’s a different matter entirely.

Luckily she’s still young, and since she was born with the same inherent personality of a golden retriever puppy, she simply smiles and waves flaps her arms happily.

“She’s getting too big,” DragonMonkey remarks in an overly adult tone.

“She is growing fast,” I agree, grabbing the Kraken from where he is whining in his swing, pulling him close to nurse him.

“Too fast” he says, and suddenly he looks mournful.  He pulls Magpie closer again, burying his face against her cheek again.

“That’s what babies do.”  I am not giving him my full attention – that’s because my full attention is focused on the Kraken, who has developed a terrible habit of grabbing at me with his pinchy, pinchy hands every time he nurses.  I don’t know why he does this – it’s not like I don’t nurse him every chance I have…. but it’s never enough.  To be honest, I’m not necessarily sure he’s even that attached to me.  If I could physically detach my boob and leave it with him while he lay placidly in his swing, I’m pretty sure he’d stay there till he was 25.

And if that’s not a creepy thought, I don’t know what is.

Wait…. where was I?

Ah, yes.  As the majority of my attention was being spent avoiding getting mauled by baby hands, I didn’t realize that DragonMonkey was “having a moment” until the living room became too still.

I glanced up, and there he was – eyebrows furrowed and eyes genuinely sad.  “I don’t want them to grow up.  I don’t want them to grow up too fast.  Then we won’t have babies in the house any more.”

Isn’t that kind of the goal?  “Yeah, that will be sad, honey.”

“I like having babies in the house.”

“Me too, honey, but all babies grow up.”

Suddenly, his face brightens.  It’s obvious he’s had an idea – you can practically see the light bulb flashing over his head.  “I know!  You can have lots more babies.”

The image fills my mind… and for a second, I just sit there, horrified.  “Wait…. what?”


“You can have more babies!”

“Uhhhh, yeah.  No way.  Sorry, honey.  These are all the siblings you’re gonna get.”

“But they’re growing up too fast!”

“Yeah, but the answer isn’t just to be perpetually pregnant and have an endless stream of babies.  That’s not going to solve anything.  TRUST ME.”

“But I like babies.”

“Me too, but if you want more, then you’re gonna have to grow up and have some of your own….. OWWW.  OW – NO PINCHING, KRAKEN.  Yeah, no more babies.  Sorry, DragonMonkey.”

“But…. But I like them.  It’s sad that they’re growing up too fast.”

“Yeah, well…. that’s the way the cookie crumbles.”

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Dexterity: Day 4 of How To Be A Crappy Mom

Everybody talks about the benefits of breastfeeding your baby.

I suppose I could go into all the benefits, but that would require things like research, and linking articles, and not getting ready to drag my very, very tired self into bed…. only to realize I never wrote anything and forcing myself to sit down and start a post at 9:27 pm on a borrowed computer.

Was that whiny?   Don’t get me wrong, I love writing… but the twins haven’t let me sleep very much the past few nights, and this is pretty much what my brain is shouting at me as I type, making it very hard to focus on my story.

Please bear with me.

Moving on:

I suppose you’re just gonna have to trust me on the benefits of breast milk.  I mean, I suppose you could go research it for yourself… just keep in mind that a lot of those sites tend to be SUPER pro-breastfeeding, and kind of negative against formula.


How dare you use formula.  Ding Ding Ding.  How dare you.

How dare you use formula. Ding Ding Ding. How dare you.

I say however you want to get food in that infant of yours is all the same to me.  Besides, I’m not necessarily sure I believe all the stuff that breast milk is purported to do.

Are you concerned about your newborn getting sick?  Try breast milk! It’s chock full of antibodies!

Does your baby have an eye infection?  Try breast milk!

Do the people on your morning commute have trouble merging and cause traffic to back up?  Try breast milk!

Anyways, there’s all sorts of reason to breastfeed your baby, but nobody talks about the best part:

Nursing your baby = Guilt-free phone-surfing or book-reading time.

Oh, sure, you could be one of those uber-moms who manages to nurse her baby while simultaneously sweeping the kitchen floor…. but why?  Why would you do that to yourself, when you have this built-in alarm clock of a crying baby that gives you the chance to just sit down and be lazy every 2-3 hours?

I will admit that tandem nursing the twins has been amazing simply based on the fact that it’s literally impossible for me to do anything but nurse them.  It’s the ultimate in excuses.

What’s that?  The living room needs vacuuming?  Oh, I’m sorry… I just don’t have the time.  I’m currently providing sustenance to my tiny infants.  Oh, gee… the older boys need lunch?  Honey, can you make them sandwiches?  The babies are hungry, and if I don’t nurse them right now, my supply might drop and then where would we be?


There is only one downside to all of this:  by choosing to nurse, you are kind of the sole provider of food to the babies… and thus you do end up getting the short end of the stick when it comes to sleep.  This wouldn’t be so much of an issue except…. except I get really clumsy when I’m sleepy.

And this wouldn’t be that big of an issue, except that I like to read my book while I’m nursing….

And even that wouldn’t be that big of an issue if it were a light paperback, but the problem is that I have been reading most of my books on my phone…

Which means I either need to find a way to get more sleep, and thus improve my dexterity…
Or I need to quit dropping my cell phone on the babies’ heads while they are peacefully enjoying their meal.

Not only does it make me feel like a super, super crappy mom to watch them slowly screw up their faces and wail in fear/pain…… but I’m beginning to question whether or not they are even going to be able to pass the 4th grade.


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