On the (thankfully) semi-rare occasion that both Mila and Olivia cry at the same time I pause for a second and think: "Wow. This is really kicking my ass. This is a whole new world from having one sweet little cherub baby to take care of."
There are a couple of days a week where I just survive through bedtime. Trying to keep Olivia occupied enough to tire her to go to bed at a decent time and Mila on the boob as much as possible since that is her favorite thing. If they are happy I am happy.
Sometimes I start daydreaming of a glass of wine and look at the clock and it's only noon. Then I remind myself to breathe and refocus. To find my center.
But now as I sit here and the house is still I have the perspective I look for when I am tearing at my hair in the middle of chaos. When I am wrestling Olivia into the car seat while Mila complains in her sling.
My children are healthy. Complete. Warm, fed, taken care of. We have all we need and more. I have the freedom to raise them as I choose. Every day we feel the sun on our skin and breathe clean air. Even on the most stressful days I look at my husband and see all the beauty of my kids in his face.
Now I can go to sleep and wake up semi-refreshed tomorrow because I will remember this in the morning. I'll enjoy my coffee and prepare for another day of high pitched laughter, blonde curls, unreasonable tantrums, 6 week old baby squeaks, sloppy kisses, elbow dimples, baby smell, a dysfunctional bedtime routine, and finally two sweet little girls tucked into their beds.
And then I will wake up and do it all over again the next day.