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Two under two…

My two under two.

I’m no stranger to being a parent, having been one for 20 (almost 21) years. I’ve been a married parent, a single parent, a step parent, a surrogate parent… yeah, I know parenting.  Or, so I thought!

When I was nearing the end of my pregnancy my partner in crime, Scott, kept telling me, “You’re going to need help… Seriously, Sandy, you’re going to need help.” In my hormonal state, every  time he spouted that sentence at me, I wanted to slap him. I am an independent, fully capable, woman… help?! *SNORT*

I had a plan. A well laid plan. In my head, not on paper, because everyone knows everything looks easier on paper.  ANYway, about the plan: I would continue breastfeeding Dublin and perfect tandem nursing, thus achieving my goal of breastfeeding each of my kids until they turn two. I was going to get up every morning by eight. I was going to have a clean house.  My days would be filled with productivity… from playing structured games with my almost two year old, Dublin, all the while I would be baby wearing my newest addition, Juniper, in one of the many baby carrying devices I recently acquired.  We would go to the park, we would play on our patio, we would walk to get Starbucks… oh the fun we would have, the three musketeers!  And why shouldn’t I be able to achieve this, after all I’d been able to do it two times before!

Here is where the universe has a hearty laugh at my expense; as well as all the other moms who have more than one child under a certain age. HAHAHAHAHAHAHA…. And they laugh and laugh and laugh! This is where they say, “Sandy… it doesn’t really count when one child is 20 years old and the other is 20 months. That’s sorta like cheating.”

Two under two… it’s a new game, with new rules.

I know that there are wonder-moms out there; I’ve seen them in pictures. I’m pretty sure they exist. I, however, am not one of them….

On a good day I get up around 8. But on a bad day, it could be 4 a.m., 2 a.m., noon, 3pm, or any other random number that resides on a clock.  My new translation of a good day is when I get 4 hours of consecutive sleep, I don’t have many of those kind of good days.  A good day is when the family room floor is toy free for 2 hours (that usually happens during nap time). A good day is when the dishes are done and the laundry has made it out of the dryer and as far as a laundry basket. My bedroom floor currently has about 5 filled baskets. I think it’s time to buy more baskets.

Most days I feel like a cow… no, not in the traditional “I feel fat” sort of way, I’m too tired to care about THAT right now. No, I mean literally… I feel like a milk supply outlet. If I’m not feeding Juniper, I’m feeding Dublin. And sometimes, when I’m feeling adventurous and ambidextrous, I’ll feed both at the same time. Maybe I should say when I’m feeling adventurous and amBOOBextrous! Haha. ANYway,  I seem to constantly have a boob out. Don’t get me wrong… I’m a happy cow; I come from California after all! I’m a thrilled and happy cow, except when Dublin bites me. Then I’m not so happy. Or when he drags his teeth… oh my friggon lord, that HURTS!

**On  a side note: I’ve lost ALL of my Juniper weight!! Just don’t get me started about how much Dublin weight I still have to lose! Ugh! **

So, after all my firm and unequivocal “NO, I WILL NOT NEED HELP!!!” it is with a enormous relief that I hand off Dublin to Scotts mom when she arrives several mornings during the week to watch him while I run back to bed and try to catch a couple of hours more sleep, Juniper willing. Or, while I clean the bathroom… Or, while I try and catch up on any number of things I’m currently behind in!!

I have a new found respect for all women who have performed this juggling act before me, those who can do it with grace and style. I’m 5.5 weeks into this parenting two under two and have not found my groove yet, but when I do… I hope to join the ranks of those other fabulous mommy’s out there that actually make it beyond their front door with spawn in tow. (I have ventured out by myself for walks in the double stroller, but the thought of going to Target BY MYSELF accompanied by both kids has me breaking out in a cold sweat.) While I’ve not found my groove yet, I have to say this new chapter in life is a challenge that I am feeling so blessed to be venturing in to. Bring on the spit up, the poop, the crying, the tantrums… because at the end of the day, when I get a toddler hug or a newborn smile… my heart melts with joy.  Yup, I’m feeling very blessed to have the opportunity to do this two under two thing.

Kicking the Cup…

I don’t mean to complain, but it seems to me that in this baby making business  I’m getting the shorter end of the stick. Where I’ve endured surgery, diet, needles, pills, and more than one doctors appointment that had me hearing the phrase, “This might pinch a little bit…”, the only doctors appointment Scott ever had involved porn and there was an orgasm at the end.

AND NOW, after being told by my acupuncturist that coffee (all kinds, even decaf) could cut my fertility in half, I’ve given up coffee. COFFEE!

FINALLY I have some sympathy for Scott. Because while I have to give up coffee, he’s the one that has to deal with an uncaffeinated-PMSy-I’m-STILL not-pregnant me. And that’s when our sticks seem to be a little bit closer in size… Though, probably even shorter. When I’m in THAT sort of mood, I’d be grabbing both those sticks and hitting the crap out of things… metaphorically speaking, of course!

Look at me: Day five without coffee! Yes, it’s true…. I sandy, the self proclaimed Caffeine Queen- Death Before Decaf -Starbucks is my hometown- fueled by caffeine ME…. has kicked the cup!

Someday when the twins* are old enough to ask me, “Mommy, how much do you love us?? I’ll say, “More than coffee sweeties… more than coffee.”

(*Yes, twins. I’ve decided twins are the way to go, since I’m far to old to waste time popping them out one by one!)

P.S…..

Here’s some pictorial proof….

His Appointment:

Scott actually took a picture of the Porn-O-Matic entertainment center... BEFORE he got down to business.

Scott actually took a picture of the Porn-O-Matic entertainment center… BEFORE he got down to business.

And Here is a picture of one of my appointments:

Not having plastic surgery....

Not having plastic surgery....

Universe are you there? It’s me… Sandy.

I was truly expecting that I’d be expecting after only one month of trying. From the depths of my inner being I just KNEW it was fated.  After all, I AM a positive thinker.

Perhaps I didn’t phrase it correctly when I presented the universe with my intentions, because here I am five months later and my womb is still vacant.

After the deed wasn’t accomplished in that first month… I began to worry. This is fated, right? RIGHT?!?!??  Well, if the Universe was going to make me work for this, then I decided I’d better get serious about it…. Time to get educated. Time to get my laptop out and visit some forums…..

Immediately I encountered a problem…. I had no friggon idea what they were talking about. I mean, literally… no idea what they were even discussing. See for yourself, here’s a typical forum post:

“Me and my DH BD’d 15 days ago, then he had to go out-of-town. When he got back, 5 days ago, we bd again. Now I’m 6dpo and I couldn’t help but poas, because I’m addicted lol. Thing is, I got a BFP!!!! Does that mean I calculated wrong?!?”

Seriously! That’s what It was like. I felt like I was back in school and having to look up every word I didn’t understand… jotting down the definitions, so I would remember what they meant for the next time.

(FYI: the above fictitious post was a woman talking about having sex with her husband 15 days ago and then again after his business trip, 5 days ago. She’s now thinking shes 6 days after ovulation and she got a positive pregnancy test. So she’s thinking that she messed up her ovulation calculations.)

When I first started wandering around the forums, I was SHOCKED at how many YOUNG women out there are unable to get pregnant. How is this possible?? And what does that mean for me? Here are 20 year old’s talking about how they’ve been trying to conceive for months and months…. and still nothing. There are posts I read from women in their early 30’s who had already opted into IVF treatments and have still not gotten pregnant…. So five months in, compared to many of the women on the forums, doesn’t seem very far in it at all. However, my being 40 adds more pressure to the timing. For a woman of mature maternal age, the game changes. It’s like counting in dog years…… my eggs have no doubt accelerated their aging process and now are kickin’ it 7 times as fast as a 20 year olds!

I promised myself that I would not panic…. I would not become as crazy as some of the crazy I witnessed on the forums. I would not start stomping my feet (metaphorically or otherwise) while yelling at the universe about how my biological clock is TIC-TIC-TICKING!!!! And though the 15 pregnancy tests and 25 ovulation test strips underneath my bathroom sink are sorta screaming, “Tooooo late, you’re there…” I am trying to do my best to keep sane, stay positive and not give up hope.

But my foot is twitching and I might feel a stomp coming on….

Cougar Town has babies?!??

Four months ago I found myself being wheeled into an operating room to a tune of James Brown. At least I think it was James Brown…I was a little distracted, it was mid-song and like I said, I was just about to have surgery. Once they put me on the table, the nurse turned off the music. If I’m to believe every tv-drama surgery I’ve ever watched, no doubt the music went back on once the scalpel hit my skin.


There I was, about to turn back time. No, not plastic surgery…. tubal ligation reversal. My womb was about to get back into action. My eggs were about to have free reign of my tubes. The girls were gonna be able to mingle. And if they got lucky and actually hooked up….. well then, more mini-me’s will walk the planet.


Yup, I know what you’re thinking….. plastic surgery makes more sense. After all, I’m 40, already a parent of an on-her-way-out-of-the-nest 18 year old daughter, and in a relationship with a much younger man. Why not a little Botox in the crows-feet, instead of trying to hear the pitter-patter of babies feet?!


So here I am….. a few months into this unfamiliar territory of TRYING to get pregnant. And I’ve got to tell you, after all the reading, temp taking, vitamin popping, doctor consulting and diet fixing……. I’m beginning to think it would be a hellava lot easier to just let the condom break!


Meanwhile…. I’ve decided to write about it. To be continued….