It is about two in the a.m. and I am exhaustedly awake with one of my two children under the age of two. This time two years ago, I was overwhelmed with the thought that I was going to actually be a mother. I had been informed on several occasions that due to female reproductive issues, I would need medical intervention to actually have children. Yet, I am currently being milked like the cow I feel like, by my youngest child who is not fond of bottles or formula. He seems to find that my milk is extremely better and that those pacifiers have nothing on my breasts. I am so sarcastic when it comes to feeding him because even though it is extremely tiring, he and I have a bond like no other. I wanted a momma's boy and I definitely got one, while my daughter is her father's shadow and at times views me as competition, not as a caretaker.
The oddest part about being a parent of two under two is that I feel like I do not have the energy I need to care for them both, but somehow I do so all the time without any effort. I mean sometimes when I hit the bed, I wonder how I made it through the day. And without any hesitation at all, I say my prayers. I thank God that we survived another day and ask for the strength to do it again tomorrow. Never mind if I actually had time to do anything like shower or clean up, none of that matters, at that moment I am patting myself on the back that I was able to keep my babies alive and happy. It has been almost 3 months and I still cannot wrap my head around how I got here.
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