It really is the best of times. And the worst of times.
Everyday I get to kiss and hug my babies. I find pure delight in watching them move and play. Their laughter makes my heart race.
Everyday there is screaming and crying and whining. Everyday I have two absolutely determined babies fighting for my attention. Everyday, at some point, I want to crumble to the floor and cry in frustration.
How lucky am I to get four chubby little legs to kiss? Twenty dimpled fingers to hold. Two heads with golden hair to nuzzle. Just how did I get so lucky?
Two babies require almost all of your time. Every waking minute they are into something. Pulling something apart. Putting something in their mouth. Dismantling a kitchen appliance. They are always there. While you try to do laundry. While you try to talk on the phone. While you try to get a bathroom break. Always. There.
It is the very best of times. My children are young and full of life and they still want me to hold them and love on them. We go everywhere as a family and we get to watch these kids learn and grow.
I guess I don't really know if it is the worst of times. Who knows what lies ahead? But I know it is hard. It's really hard. And I know that sometimes I feel like I'm not up to the task. I want to throw my arms in the air and call it a day.
I made the June wall paper for myself mostly. I need to be reminded. That little grin Frankie just gave you? That's a big thing. The way The Bird dances on the patio? That's big too. The way the Sugar Daddy hugs you in the kitchen every morning? Stock pile these memories. Because Thom is already almost eight. And his baby fat is gone. And it will never come back.