"Yeah, I just put him down. He has slept like 20 minutes this afternoon. He's tired. I'd let him try to sleep." He passes out.
Neil comes home at 4:35, sits down on the couch, and passes out. 10 minutes later I wake him up. "Spaghetti sound okay?"
4:50 I start the water for spaghetti. Benjamin starts crying. Turn off the water. Feed Benjamin. 20 minutes later, feed Sadie.
5:30 Start the water again. Begin cooking spaghetti sauce.
While waiting for the sauce to cook, I unload the dishwasher. I pull a hot bowl out. "Ow!"
Eliza shuffles over. "Mommy, are you okay, mommy?"
"Yeah, I just hurt my finger."
"I kiss it, mommy." I hold my finger out for her, and she pecks it. My eyes tear.
"Mommy, what is that?"
"Hamburger meat."
"I want hamburger. I want hamburger."
"No, not tonight, sweetie. Spaghetti."
By this point she's disinterested and walking away, thumb in mouth, mumbling about some hamburger she'll never have.
2 minutes later, she's back.
"Mommy, I want some cheese. I want some cheeeeeese."
"You can have some with dinner."
Grated cheese falls on the floor. Eliza swoops in.
"I want some more." Dirty fingers are searching for cheese in the Pyrex.
I shoo her fingers away from the glass. "Keep your hands out of there. If you want cheese, get what falls on the floor."
She looks to the floor for more cheese. I feel like an asshole.
A gurgling fart noise comes from the baby bouncers.
"Sadie farted."
"Okay, let's go change her."
I pick up Sadie and take her to the changing table. Eliza says, "Change my diaper, mommy. Mommy, change my diaper."
"Do you have poop?"
"Yes."
While I'm changing Sadie's diaper, Eliza's hands are opening drawers and pulling out socks, shirts, pants, whatever she can grab.
"Stop it. Stop."
She says, "I hurt myself, mommy." Maybe she shut the drawer a little bit on her hand?
First things first. Put Sadie down. Feel, smell and look at Eliza's diaper. No poop.
In the most disinterested manner possible, "Oooow. I hurt myself, mommy." She holds her finger up for me to kiss.
"There. Feel better?"
"Yeah," and she's gone, blanket in hand, other hand's thumb in her mouth.
I return to the kitchen and begin cutting up broccoli.
Benjamin begins crying. Eliza comes over, "Mommy, I'm huuurt." She shows me her finger.
"What happened?" I look for signs of distress, burns, smashes, scrapes, torn cuticles, a red spot. Nothing.
"Ow. I hurt."
I kiss her finger again.
Benjamin is still crying in the bouncer. I'm ready to drain the broccoli.
"Mommy, I want up. I want up, mommy!" Fake sobs are nearing real tears.
"I can't right now, sweetie. Dinner's almost ready."
"I want uuuuup. I want up, mommy! Mommy, I want up." Cue Benjamin crying.
"Neil, I'm drinking your beer!"
Benjamin continues crying. Eliza continues whining. Dinner is ready.
I make Eliza a plate of food, pour her milk and water, and put it in on her high chair tray.
"You ready to eat, baby?"
"Yes, I'm ready." She raises her hands and waits for me to put her in her chair. I grab a bib from the table and put it on her. She looks down at it and looks up at me like I slapped her.
"This has oatmeal on it, mommy."
"It's okay. You can still eat your spaghettini."
"No."
"Really, it's okay."
"No! No! No! No! Noooooo!" Real tears.
Eliza cries for about 3 minutes. I quickly realize this was not the fight to fight.
"I want down. I want down, mommy. I want down."
"No spaghetti? You're not hungry?"
"I want down. My finger hurts."
I take her out of her high chair and she leans on me with her head in my lap throughout dinner. I feel like an asshole.
Dinner is done. 6:30. Bath time.
I take Sadie to the bedroom. Eliza follows and sits down on the floor. She grabs her big toe and sings, "This little piggy said whee whee whee." Sadie and I join her on the floor. We play with our little piggies. Eliza is tickled. I hold Sadie up and stand her on the floor. She's standing and smiling at me and Eliza. Eliza begins running around us in circles singing "whee whee whee."
I put Sadie down on the bed and bring Benjamin in the room. They both fuss the entire time I'm not holding them. Neil is bathing Eliza.
"Okay, let's wash your tata."
"Neil, don't call it that. It's a vagina.
Say vagina."
"I'm not saying that."
"That's what it's called."
"What about popo?"
"Uh, how about vagina? I'm not going to call my 2 year olds private parts a popo or a tata because you can't handle saying vagina. It's creepy. I don't want her having pet names for her vagina!"
"Fine, fine. I understand. Time to wash your va-GI-na."
I mumble "idiot" under my breath. By this point both babies have been bathed, dried, diapered, lotioned and clothed for the final descent into sleep. I pull them on my nursing pillow and begin feeding them. Neil dries Eliza in the bathroom.
The babies pass out while eating, each stuck on a boob.
Eliza says, "I'm hungry. I wanna eat."
Neil feeds Eliza the dinner she didn't eat, and I try to pry the babies off the boob without disturbing them too much. They both shrug up their shoulders, stretch out their little necks sand shake their heads back and forth. There will be crying.
I carry them to their room, put them in their cribs and kiss them good night. "I love you, babies."
I shut the door and wait for the crying. They both begin to wail within seconds of me shutting the door. Neil is playing songs to Eliza in her crib. I hear her yell out "Milk Train!" (Rollin in My Sweet Baby's Arms).
The babies stop crying before eight. Eliza is down before eight. Successful night all around.
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