Three Under Three

People have asked how the twins are doing with the new baby.

It's a good question. Especially since it was only a couple months ago that I was dealing with stereo screaming toddlers because THEY. WANTED. MAMA. NOW. ALL. TO. THEMSELVES.

I remember sitting on the living room floor, a bouncy toddler on each knee, screaming their G-D heads off because they did.not.want.to.share.me.  Our speech therapist was sitting across the room, eyeballing my swollen belly with concern.

"Can you believe I'm going to add a third to this mix?" I asked her.  She had no words of advice. Just more concerned looks.

I knew I was totally effed.

But we had taken steps to try and prep the twins. They were gifted baby dolls and we spent a lot of time talking about THEIR baby.* They were going to have a baby, it was in mommy's tummy, and you had to be gentle. They liked to lift up my shirt, point to my belly with a chubby finger, and say, "Baby." They liked to pepper my stomach with kisses.

Since she was born? They are AWESOME. They get excited when she's brought into the room and they love to give her kisses.  Finn held her hand in the car all yesterday and got upset that he couldn't maneuver out of his car seat to give her a kiss. Cassidy will shush her and try to rock her infant seat if she cries.

They both try to share inappropriate things with her, like cheez-its and sippy cups.

Rivalry has been almost non-existent and even their twin rivalry has diminished.

So, how are they doing?

(Cue the vomit-inducing cuteness)

Great.

It almost makes me want to have a fourth child.

Yeah right.

*This genius idea is credited to mah college bud, Leah, who has siblings who L-U-V love each other. It's good to have smarty pants friends.

Morphine & Zoloft Are Groovy Drugs

When I was an undergrad I had this textbook that was super brainy-rific and really good at curing insomnia.  Except it had these exceptionally stupid fake vignettes about people. One about a drug addict ended with this zinger:

"John decided morphine was a groovy drug."

Hi-lar-ious! Oh, the non-scholarly laughing and ridicule! I will never forget it.

Of course, I couldn't tell you anything else I learned from that class.  At least, nothing related to bachelor's degrees. I could tell you that you shouldn't go to class hungover without breakfast because you might just pass out in class.  These are gems of life lessons I have to hand out over here. You're welcome.

But, I digress....

At my 6-week appointment with my OBGYN, I learned that in addition to a nicely healed vagina, I was also sporting a minor case of post-partum depression. (I know. You're shocked, right?)

I also learned it's super easy to score some drugs from your OBGYN.

And, you know what? If I met John the morphine monster, I'd give him the gangsta nod of solidarity.

Because it turns out Zoloft is a groovy drug.

Thanks to everyone for their support and comments. I'm starting to feel better. I no longer hide at the prospect of driving through the ATM and smiling is coming more easily and genuinely. I give you all gangsta nods too.

Post-Partum Something

You may have noticed I've been MIA lately.  I wrote the below post a few weeks ago and after a lot of hemming and hawing, decided to post it. I think I owe y'all an explanation for where I've been and what's been going on. That said, if you know me IRL, I don't want to talk about it. Kaythanxbai.

Ugh. I don't even know if I want to write this.

There are goings-on in my psyche that I don't really understand. My synapses haven't consulted with me or sent me any memos like, "Yo. We're going to fuck your shit up. Buckle up."

I have random crying jags.

Brendan asks, "What's wrong?" and all I can say is, "I don't know."

The thought of going to the store or driving through the ATM sends me into a tailspin. I want to crawl under the covers and go back to bed.

I find myself staring into nothing and I'll realize I haven't showered or changed my clothes for several days at a time.

Brendan says I'm not myself.

I agree.