The Day in the Life

Well, we’ve been a family of four (humans that is) for a month now, and as much as possible we have settled into a “routine”. I use quotes because I am not much of a routine person to begin with, and the chaos of two infants hasn’t made me more so. But there is a sameness to each day.
John, the masochist, gets up around 5 AM, I swear, walks and feeds our pack of dogs, then runs. I seriously don’t understand. I admire but don’t understand. Oh, I forgot. Sometime between 4 AM and 6 AM, CJ gets up. John, because I was up with Leila anywhere from 2 AM to 3 AM, brings him over to our room, gives him a bottle which, thank the sweet formula gods, puts him back to sleep. John leaves for work with a kiss and a have a good day, around 7 AM.
*Note: This is a day on my own. God bless them, many a day, my mom, sister or mother-in-law will show up at this ungodly hour to lend many much needed hands.
Somewhere between then and 8 AM or 9, CJ decides it is time to get up, and lets me know it, usually with a giggle and a pull of the hair. Then I spend some time dragging him away from the pillow barriers John made before he left while playing. Leila gets up somewhere in there, and the juggling of the breastfeeding and saving the crawler from tumbling off the bed begins. (If I am lucky I can get him onto the floor with his toys before I have to feed Little Miss.) If I have been good, I get in the shower before 10. This is my free time. Sort of. Usually Leila starts crying the moment I get my foot in the shower, so I clean myself as quickly as possible, then do some naked wet baby nourishing. Hey, I didn’t say it was all gonna be pretty.
After everyone is dressed, I make three trips downstairs, one for each baby then one for all the of accouterments of the night, bottles, coolers, etc. These are the first trips of many of the day. This is called my workout. Once downstairs, CJ and I get some breakfast, then if it is not too ridiculously hot and humid, we attempt a walk. Thank goodness for strategically placed park benches because Leila can’t seem to make it more than 20 minutes without needing a breast.
Then most of the day is the typical trying to get everyone fed, napping, changed, played, and not injured. Sometimes we even venture out of the house maybe all the way to Target, though, again, we usually have company, as Mom and Alex are addicted to my children and must get a fix at least every other day. Barbara’s distance makes her a little more immune, but not much. She’s here at least once a week. 
Of course, I can’t blame them. I am the worst addict.
John gets home around 6 or 6:30 depending on whether he makes the mistake of calling and getting a list of errands. Somehow we managed to get everyone fed and bathed and played with and read to and sung to before the Battle of Bedtime commences. If fighting sleep was an Olympic sport, CJ would be the next Michael Phelps. The boy’s willpower to stay awake is something to behold. But even he has to collapse eventually. Leila, fortunately, is easier. More boobie and a bottle between 8 and 9, and she’s good until 2 or 3. I know! Lucky, right?
And we are. Extremely lucky. Being a parent is the hardest job on the planet, but it is the most rewarding. No one event has ever changed my outlook on the world so quickly and assuredly. Even though there are other aspects to me, Mom is not infused in all of them. All of my relationships are more intense, even more meaningful because of my children. I didn’t think I could be closer to my husband, my mother, my sister, my in-laws, my cousin, my aunt, yet now the love we all have for Coltrane and Leila binds us even more.
It’s the coolest thing ever.

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