And Here We Are....Covered in Poop

Team Schwab is 7 weeks in to twin madness, and we are all settling in --- ummmmmm except no, not so much. Baby books are all well and good, but it's another story when your child is clutching the collar of your robe, staring into your eyes at your soul and screaming holy bloody murder at 3 in the morning. These are the moments for which baby classes, baby books, and helpful friends and relatives absolutely can't prepare you.

Such tiny people can make such huge sounds....and messes. 

So, this week has been rather challenging. In the past 7 days, I've been pooped on, puked on, peed on, and screamed at. Apparently, the bambinos can smell fear (or at least exhaustion), and upon sensing an adult's weakness, they will summon up all bodily fluids they have created and will projectile something gooey, smelly, and foul to reinforce the idea that they are in charge. In fact, all afternoon yesterday I kept smelling sour puke milk. After doing some investigating of both kiddos' onesies, hair, crib, etc.  I sadly determined that I was the source of the stench. Somehow during the day, one of my sweet baby angels managed to shoot milk puke over my shoulder and land a puddle in the middle of my back. A dried puke crust in the middle of my back, yes, this certainly is a fun and sexy time for Shane and me.

How can something so small and cute make so many bodily fluids?

This has been the week of multi-tasking in the name of survival. I've learned that it is possible to hold a screaming baby on my lap while holding one on my shoulder while eating a plate of food with one hand and trying to hold an adult conversation about really important topics (like Downton Abbey or something) while pretending that the Schwabletts aren't yelling at eardrum shattering decibles.

When I'm not reading good books, I enjoy a good yell-fest.

I've also learned that squeezing in a shower is possible, if I handle the event as a carefully orchestrated strategic dance. Once upon a time, showering was relaxing; gone are the days of a leisurely sugar scrub while listening to The Black Keys or some other band playing grown up music. Now, shower Pandora is set to Raffi or Radio Disney, and I have a strange audience as the baby people hold court over the bathroom in their little chairs while I frantically shower as fast as humanly possible (someday I'll find time to shave both legs....maybe). While Old McDonald blares, I peek out of the shower to reassure the babies that it's OK, and that screaming is so last year. The seats are great and keep the babies mostly happy while I shower, but the situation is complicated by the curious dogs who cannot be trusted to not bathe the kiddos. It's their goal in life to lick the babies, and please keep in mind that I have caught my dogs on way more than one occasion eating their own poop, so a tongue bath from the dogs for the kiddos is certainly less than desirable. Out of necessity, the dogs' pen serves as a protective barrier for the babies in their seats. I try to see it NOT as caging the bambinos in, but rather keeping the four legged poop eating goblins OUT. At least, this is how I'll defend penning my children in to Child Protective Services, should they become concerned.

What, who doesn't like a forced audience while showering? 

While I feel pretty excited about managing some of the daily multi-tasking activities, like the shower situation and other baby balancing acts, I'm certainly never going to claim to be an expert at anything having to do with babies. In the name of survival, I'm going to skip the baby books, save time by skipping the baby classes and instead I will sneak in a nap. And someday, when I'm feeling brave, I'll take the time to shave both legs.