rebekahrosler

I had truly felt like these last five months of multi baby parenting hadn’t been that challenging.

Sure the sleepless nights leave me and Nathan a tad short tempered. And yeah maybe the addition of two more children (in daycare) and a move (to a bigger and necessary apartment) add some strain on the wallet. And ok, colicky babies who spit up 38x a day requiring daily trips to the laundry can be a bit tiresome.

But all in all, I felt like I was really rolling with it.

Then a switch flipped in my perfect little girl. Either she just turned 2 and that’s what happens. Or she wasn’t really letting on how much the new babies were affecting her. Either way she went from the poster child for why you want more children to the main reason people go on birth control.

I’ve been feeling defeated. And sad. And questioning – honestly, how am I going to do this for the next 18 years. I used to walk by people who would say “Lord, give me strength”.

I would smugly look at them and roll my eyes. Come on now. It’s not “that” bad.

Well. Now I know. It sure as shit is.

Side Note: you stay at home moms are true super heroes. I honestly believe it’s the hardest job in the world.

I digress.

This past weekend took the cake, when we had no less than 11teenmillion tantrums.

Nathan came over to me one night, kissed me and said “you’re doing great.”

I cried. Because no. I’m not.

I was dreaming of beach vacations. And how THE HELL can we ever go away. Who will take 3 babies so we can go somewhere – anywhere – ever again?

I was feeling sorry for myself.

Then yesterday. On a day off from daycare. KILL ME. I decided, hey, why don’t I invite all of Harper’s BFFs over. (Mostly boys). To my apt for a party. I can totally manage this.

And you know what. I did. And Harper had THE BEST time. And she was sweet. And well behaved. And it was so special to see her so happy with her friends having fun.

Then with zero time to get there (after a Bloody Mary or two) Harper and I ran across town to catch the last showing of Sesame Street Live. Something I never thought in a million years I’d be excited by.

(And let me tell you. After seeing shows at the Garden since about 1990 – the Sesame Street experience is a shock to the system).

But when that little girl saw Elmo on the stage in front of her – the smile on her face, the look of total adoration in her eyes. The last few weeks all faded away. And in that moment absolutely nothing else mattered.

It was short, too short. If I could have simply watched her face for the whole show – that would have been enough.

On our walk home I picked up the makings for Ice Cream Sundaes and treated this girl to the surprise I had promised her weeks ago – a plan thwarted by a little incident involving a potential attempted murder.

We got home. I whipped up a sundae that we shared. And all was right in the world again.

Of course then my parents who were babysitting had to rush home. And I was left with a toddler cracked out on sugar, two babies with dirty diapers and boobs that needed to be pumped hours before. But it didn’t matter. Because these kids. My loves. Were all with me. Snot. Poop. Sugar high. And all.

Lord, give me strength, to remember that moments pass, the bad and the good – and to be present with each of these babies. Because before I know it life will look very differently.

About four years ago for Passover, when Nathan and I had just gotten engaged, we went to visit my family abroad.

At the time my niece Ella was 6, and I adored her. I had always said that I never wanted to be a mother. I simply wasn’t maternal. I didn’t know how to cook or clean (still don’t). But more importantly I would never get on the floor and play pretend. I don’t have an imagination. I simply cannot/will not be silly. I just don’t have it in me. And that’s ok.

But my niece – well, she was the apple of my eye. I’d do *almost* anything for her. (Truth be told I’d take a bullet before playing pretend).

We were all hanging out one night before Seder and Ella was on the floor playing with her My Little Pony. She said “Auntie Bex, come play horsie”.

Sorry kid. Not happening. That ain’t me.

So everyone else played with her, including Nathan – not even family at the time.

Finally it was simply my turn. I didn’t fly 6000 miles to see her – to not spend quality time together.

So I did it. I got my ass off the comfy couch and got on the floor, glass of red in hand, obviously.

This would take liquid courage.

I had her horse. And she had…who the hell knows. And we played. She said stuff that wasn’t real (I hear this is called “pretending”). I tried to follow along. Then it was my turn to “pretend”. So my horse introduced itself to her doll/toy/character/whatever.

“Hi. I’m a horse. And I have glaucoma”.

This, my friends, was my first experience with pretend. And if it isn’t clear to you, it was clear to everyone in that room that night.

I failed.

Fast forward. Marriage. Babies. The whole nine.

This brings me to today. And my brood. I have about 47 children now. And though I still don’t cook. And if you ask my adoring husband I sure as shit can’t clean. But. There was a shift. There had to be a shift. You see. When you have a million kids, something has to change.

Last night it happened. It took 25 months (some may say 38 years). But I did it. I pretended. How can I say no to my sweet good natured non temperamental perfect 2 year old, who doesn’t make me question become a mother every fucking day? Maybe it’s art mimicking life, I can’t say for sure. But what I do know is I got on the floor with my kid and there were no eye diseases involved.

We played pretend. Kind of.

If you ask me, I pretty much rock now. (And god knows, filled my quota).

PS – don’t let this robe fool you. I hadn’t showered in days at this point. I just had so much puke on me, I assumed terrycloth would be my safest bet. Super absorbent.

Today. The tiny dictator won. I, on the other hand, very much lost.

I feel like for the most part I have pretty solid handle on this multi-child-parenting-thing.

But today my two year old broke me.

I don’t even know when it started.

Was it when I rushed to pick her up from school last night – juggling the double wide stroller, the dog and my brand new phone – which immediately met its fate when hitting the concrete?

Was it when I realized there was not a crumb of food in the house for her (or for us for that matter) to eat for dinner? So she ate cheese, puffs open from last summer (or was it two summers ago?) and a Flintstones vitamin for her well-rounded meal?

Was it at 3 AM when all three babies ended up in bed with us and refused sleep for the duration of the night?

Maybe.

But more likely it began this morning.

It started with the usual tantrum where only I’m allowed to put her coat on. and shoes. and brush her teeth. and take her to the potty. and read her elmo. From there this tiny 21lb 2ft tall waif turned into into a 300lb world wrestling champion. It took two 40 year old adults to wrangle her into the carrier on Nathan’s back so she could get to school in time for breakfast and Nathan to work in time to not be fired.

Nope.

She won.

We lost.

We couldn’t even get one leg in that fucker.

I screamed, while wearing a robe, and a single sock “I’ll bring her to fucking school.”

Nathan yelled “nice mouth” and stormed off.

Clearly our finest moment.

The next hour and a half sucked hard. Details don’t matter just know there was a lot of poop a lot of tears a lot of cheese and a qtip involved.

This is all to say for those of you are watching – since we all watch and judge and take a look in our own mirrors. I do not have my shit together. This is not easy. There is a hell of a lot going on behind the scenes.

Alas, it’s Friday and on Friday you can start drinking at 6:30am. I think I read that somewhere.

But first, you must excuse me – I’m off to Trader Joe’s to buy that little jerk some cheese.

My story begins, likely not much different than most.

This morning after four nights of no sleep – thank you four month sleep regression – I jumped out of bed, a little fuzzy from a tad too much wine last night (and maybe from the martinis the night before…).

Today I have things to do!

Work on this blog I decided HAS to happen now. Create the website. Brand myself. Also finish the apartment – my new West Elm table and bench are coming today! I have a call with a journalist about my infertility journey. I have another call with a coach to help me figure out this whole new me!

Both babies were crying. But they could wait. They’d been fed. They’d been changed. They’d been burped. They have no reason to need me right now.

Made the coffee. Grabbed the water. Toasted the Trader Joe’s pop tarts because they’re just so damn good.

Sat at the computer.

Got to work.

And then I looked at my babies faces. They were staring at me. Their little blue eyes and teeny tiny faces peering up.

I realized today is the 25th of January. This means I’m back to work in a month.

One month.

I’ve been with them for four. Where did the time go? What was I doing? How did it happen so fast? Was I present? Did I give them my undivided time? Did I nurture enough? Give enough of me?

The answers don’t actually matter, and in fact bring up so many more questions.

What matters is. I have one month left with them.

So I scooped them both up. One in each arm. Tucked carefully in.

And we climbed back to bed. Jory on my left. Marley on my right.

They both fell asleep instantly.

I canceled the 10:30 call.

There was just a knock at the door, I didn’t answer.

Everything and everyone can wait. These babies need me. And I need them.

If you need me, I’m sorry but for the moment there’s a proverbial sign on my door.

Do Not Disturb.

PSA: for parents who had babies last year.

NY passed Paid Family Leave for 2018. This applies to anyone who had a baby (in any way – birth/adoption/surrogacy) in 2017.

Not enough people/companies/HR are aware. You are entitled to 8w leave – Paid at 50% by the state.

What your company policy is – is separate and aside from this (specifically for parents who had babies in 2017) and should have no bearing on these 8w.

Talk to your HR – you are your (only?) strongest advocate – and don’t see this as taking advantage (dads!!) we should all have more time at home with our infants.

What does that mean for babies born in 2017?

Since the entitlement period stretches over the course a whole year from your baby’s date of birth, this includes babies born in 2017. The amount of paid time off you can take next year, is determined as follows:

If the baby was born more than 8 weeks into 2017, you can qualify for the maximum benefit duration.

If the baby was born earlier than that, January 17, for example, you could take paid family leave between January 1 and 16 next year.

Last night, before reading Pete the Cat for the 37th time, I read the author’s note.

“Always be honest. Give more than you take. And follow your dreams.”

I try to do all of these.

I fail at some of them.

And could be better at all.

Today is a new day and I vow to excel at each and every one.

What’s your #mondaymantra?

I missed the 4 month mark by a long shot.

But bear with me here.

A year ago today, the day started like any other. I suppose it ended like any other as well.