“Wahhhhh” “Ehhhheeee” “Wahhha” Jack and Fiona cry. I start to make the bottles, half awake. Water, Toddler Transitions, 4 scoops, Dr.Browns bottle ready. Shake Shake Shake, first bottle done, repeat. It’s quiet, they drink. Today I made cream of wheat instead of toast. I made the babies some too, we’ll see if they like it. I put maple syrup in it and Nuttso. It’s really good. The doctor said just feed them what you eat. They grab the spoon, turn their face, spit it out, take it out with their hand and throw it on the floor. We had a good run on soups and stews but now all they want to eat are berries and quesadillas. They cry while I’m making their food and it makes me nervous. They have no idea what patience is. I think I figured out the way to feed them, it needs to be cut really small and they have to be able to pick it up with their fingers. I’ve always been in charge of meal prep. Cooking for your husband is a lot easier than cooking for your husband and one year old twins. If I was tired or uninspired before I could whip up a spicy chicken curry or pasta with sausage, peppers, and mushrooms. I might try to feed the babies those dishes but I don’t think they would eat it. I always said my kids will eat what’s put in front of them. I believe I was wrong!
Category: motherhood
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Dirty Laundry everywhere. Haven’t been able to keep up. Jack and Fiona, diaper blow outs, four days, change their cloths. Hate the piles everywhere. Wash, Fold, Put Away, Sort, Give Away, Buy, Too Big, Too Small, Too Much, Too Many. Little Tikes, V-Tech. Balls and Bottles. On the floor, cheerios, banana, drops of milk, crust of sweet potatoes, the dirty tray with burnt sweet potato, more dishes in the sink. Time to purge. The kitchen counter is grimy, it makes me irritated. A housewife has a right to vent. “How can I make you happy?” My Mantra. As they whine now, “What in the world is wrong with you guys?” I say. “What, I don’t understand?” Ok, it is the plastic container of Mentos Jack got, Fiona wants. Take it away from both babies, both cry, both get over it. They need a few cuddles, now they are playing. Sun shining, a beautiful Sunday. Not scared of getting sick anymore, time to get out of here. Time to go on some adventures, Three bandits. The Bandits don’t want me to write today. Plop, cry. The dead giveaway of a fake fall.
Dirty Laundry Blog by Jennifer Hynes 