Mama said there'd be days like this . . .

Actually, my mother NEVER mentioned anything quite like life with a two year old and a new baby. And she has been there, my sister and I were a mere seventeen months apart. When I ask her how she did it, how she managed, this distant look comes over her face, and she smiles and says, "I just don't really remember those days".

Today began around one a.m. with the first of several wake-up calls from Cameron. That girl. I fed her, returned to bed. Between four and six I got up with her four more times. At six I started kicking Greg in his shins and begging him to have mercy. He got up and by the time he got to her she had settled back down (this NEVER happens for me). At seven I fed the little booger again, and started the day as Benjamin was now bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. The rest of the day gets fuzzy, but it went something like this:

Change Ben (note that diaper contents are a little frightening).

Change Cameron.

Start breakfast. Notice that my feet stick to the kitchen floor, probably due to the massive bottle of cranberry juice that Ben poured over his head yesterday morning.

Get Cameron down for a nap. Sadly, it's a thirty minute nap.

Change Ben again. Uh-oh.

Change Ben AGAIN. Oh no.

Niece shows up for a play-date. Play date commences. Another Ben diaper. Cameron doesn't nap. Play-date ends.

Clean up kitchen, and wonder if I have brushed my teeth. I have, thank God.

Put Benjamin in for his nap. Oops, diaper check reveals the need for another change. Begin the day-long thought process of wondering what he ate with milk/soy in it.

Change/feed Cameron, get her in for a much-needed nap. Thirty short minutes later she demands my company. Then poops. Change her again.

While I buzz about for the next hour or so, I listen to Ben not-nap. Is that a real phrase? It should be, it's a real condition in this house. Happens about once a week now, and scares me that the immediate future could possible no longer include a napping two-year old. Shudder. So I get Cameron down again and check on Ben. CODE BROWN!!! Time to clean the boy and all of his bedding. Not to mention change him again.

Give Ben a banana and pray it helps. Turn on the TV. Start more laundry. Change Ben. Change Ben. Change Ben some more. Call Greg and tell him that I could be scary when he gets home.

Dinner, change Ben (by this time he cries with every change). Clean up kitchen. Nurse Cameron, who doesn't want to eat, and would rather talk about the milk than drink it. Bathe her while Greg takes over Ben-duty (more like Ben-doodie). Get her jammies on, try to finish the feeding. She won't eat, but when I sit her up to burp her she spits up all over her fresh jammies. Change Cameron, put her to bed.

Take a hot shower and shave my legs (this was the highlight of my day).

Kiss Ben goodnight.

It's officially time for a good old internet glut and some dark chocolate. Lots of dark chocolate.

And tomorrow will be new. Shiny and new. And I think I am beginning to understand my mother a little better. I think she has a form of post-traumatic-motherhood-syndrome.