God, grant me grace. Help me be patient with myself. I am not perfect. I cannot do it all. I am not Wonder Woman; I am me, just one person. And there’s nothing wrong with that.
Let me not worry so much about my older daughters. They will be okay. We all have an adjustment period. It’s not easy. But it is what it is. We just have to muddle through it—together.
Let me concentrate on this new little one who needs me. She needs to eat more. She’s still not back up to her birth weight yet and this hangs heavily upon me. I feel responsible. I know she will be okay, but I still worry. Last night my breasts were leaking and I cried for what I cannot give her. My implants prevented me from nursing successfully (the implants I got because we were “done” having kids. Post-twins, pre-miracle conception). The milk was there, but it got stuck and couldn’t find its way out. The result? Painful engorgement and only getting a few ounces per day for Piper.
People always tell me they don’t know how I did it with twins. And I’d reply that I couldn’t understand how others did it with kids at all different ages and stages. Now that is me, this is my life. I am struggling with it, trying to grab hold and figure it all out. How do I get the twins breakfasted and ready for school while juggling a screaming, hungry baby? Listening to her wail while in the carpool line, knowing she hates her car seat, she’s starving or sitting in a poopy diaper, etc.
How am I supposed to do it all? I guess I’m not. And I hate that I can’t.
My bottom is sore from being torn from stem to stern. My tush is chapped from sitting on wet maxi pads all damn day. And by evening the throbbing from my crotch forces me to put my feet up and/or sit in the tub for 20 minutes. I am hormonal and overwhelmed.
I feel like there’s a vast wasteland between my husband and me. That will probably not change until Piper is sleeping through the night. I miss my own bed. It’s hard to sleep with baby noises. But I love the snuggle time we get in the middle of the night. I never got to have that with the twins. It almost makes me feel guilty. In many ways, Piper is getting more of me than Abby and Izzy ever did.
I feel like I’m neglecting them–there’s not enough of me to go around right now. And they aren’t quite six, so they can’t really comprehend. Maybe they won’t really remember. And soon this will all hopefully be a memory.