Two Babies...But Not Twins

Since our two precious babies are so close together I often get asked, "How are you managing?." Or, the more popular comment, "You sure have your hands full." Usually while I am trying to get the two babies up three flights of stairs or into the car. I smile and laugh. Yes, I have my hands full. And both arms and sometimes my feet. It's amazing how useful I have found all my appendages to be. Carrying my keys between my teeth is something I swore I would never do. Who doesn't have the time to put their keys in their pocket or their bag, right? Me. No matter how much time I spend planning for every possible move Bruce might make, he comes up with something new. His eyes are constantly darting about to see what he can touch, taste or climb. If possible he prefers to do all three at once.

I might have a handle on things if Fiona was not in my arms and if I didn't have to protect her from his ever swinging limbs and head. He is really into bashing his head into people and things. Head bashing is a sign of affection and irritation so it happens all the time. He even head butts the dogs at the park. Last weekend he head butted Eric's face so hard I was sure that Eric's nose was broken. Luckily it was not. I'm dreading the day when he knocks me in the teeth and knocks out the artificial part of my front tooth. I'll look just like Lloyd Christmas when that happens. Just yesterday he started walking around with both hands balled up into fists and started Hulk Smashing his toys. He had a huge cat-ate-the-canary grin on his face. He is smart, strong, energetic, stubborn and curious...so...yeah....

For example:

I decided that going to the grocery store with the two babies would be a super good idea this morning. We usually save the grocery shopping for after Eric gets home from work as trying to carry groceries plus two babies up the stairs is asking a little much. Bruce can walk up the stairs but whenever I have a lot to carry, it seems, he prefers to sit on the bottom step and talk to the birds And he will not be moved. Avoiding having to carry anything extra is in the best interest of all parties. Knowing this, I decided to grocery shop anyway. My thought process was as follows," I'll leave the non-perishable items in the car and Eric can bring them up when he gets home. I'll just pick up one grocery bag worth of perishable items."  I get the babies into the car with no hassle. As we pull into the parking lot Bruce starts squealing with excitement. I get Fiona out first (if I don't I have to pin Bruce to the side of the car with my foot to prevent him from running away) and this upsets Bruce greatly until I finally open his door. He claps in approval as he climbs out of the car and happily holds my hand as we head into the store. Up until today Bruce has been content to help push the cart, or at least hold onto the side. But today things changed. I had barely secured Fiona in the cart when Bruce darted off into the abyss of the produce section, with all the fruit bins being too tall to see him. He stopped for a few seconds to grab a plastic produce bag off the roll and then was off again, this time turning the corner and running towards the freezer section. Thankfully the store was empty because I was frantically looking back and forth between my children trying to figure out how to get Bruce without stepping too far away from Fiona. (I am a totally paranoid parent. There are crazy people in this world that could walk off with a child in two seconds. I've probably seen too many crime shows.) I start running with the cart and catch up to Bruce, who is a very happy boy at this point because he is FREE!!!! I put an end to that delusion right quick. I wrestled him into the cart and he screamed and twisted and arched his back and fought to get out. He had huge crocodile tears running down his red cheeks (insert well meaning stranger comment here: "You sure have your hands full.") I am laughing because the five people in the grocery story seem to have culminated in the freezer section and are watching in either amusement or horror. It depends if they have any kids of their own as to which category they fall under. After the wrestling match ended I calmly pushed the cart along and continued shopping. Bruce screamed for the duration of our visit. Fiona, being the angelic baby that she is, happily sat in her car seat and gave Bruce questioning looks.

This is our day to day. Trying to give Bruce enough room to run and play while trying to give Fiona all the holding and nurturing and play she needs. I cannot have a conversation with Bruce because he does not fully understand. I tell him, "no" and he listens half of the time. Maybe. And not because he is inherently naughty, but because he is not even 18 months old. I can say that the first month after Fiona was born was horrendous. Due to very little sleep and trying to breastfeed and take care of Bruce. I cried and cried all the time. Probably for four weeks straight. Not because I was sad about anything but because I was SO TIRED!  Now that the constant fatigue and exhaustion have let up considerably, having two babies is a lot of fun. Especially now that Fiona is responsive to people and becoming more active. (She rolled over today!) She smiles at Bruce all the time and he loves it. He is still learning to be gentle, though I think that will be a life long lesson for him.

My world at this point in my life is very small and very amusing. Bruce and Fiona make me laugh all the time. Laughing at everything seems to take the edge off of particularly trying days, like when Bruce is teething and decides that standing in the hallway while screeching is the best thing to do.

My Testimony

Religion is an uncomfortable topic for me. Even amongst my friends and family who share my beliefs. While I love words, I have found that when it comes to religion, it is better to observe what one does if I want to know what they believe, instead of listening to what one says (or writes). I also assume that people, and I am referring to grown adults, have chosen their beliefs and lifestyle based on what makes them happy. Because conversations about religion are rarely respectful, and this applies to people on all sides, I choose not to participate. I don't appreciate when my beliefs are laughed at or made light of and I would never want to do that to someone else. And while offense is often taken when no offense is intended, again, I choose not to participate.

And then I remembered...

During a discussion in a philosophy class at the University of Oregon, a Muslim woman was sharing her beliefs. The topic was Nichomachean Ethics and somehow the conversation turned to this woman's religion. At the time, I did not subscribe to any particular religion, though I did believe in God in a sort of lucid and ethereal sense. I was particularly interested in what she had to say because she did so with an unapologetic conviction. Having been accustomed to political correctness, (Eugene OR = Earth Muffin =PC) I was delightfully shocked that someone so young (maybe 19) would have the audacity to share her beliefs with a group of people that did not only not share them, but were against them. I do not recall all of the specifics of her testimony, for that is what it amounted to on that hot and muggy summer term day, but I remember that her voice was unwavering and her answers sure as people began asking the most personal of questions. People that demanded respect for their own lifestyle but seemed unable or unwilling to give that same respect to this woman. She repeatedly stated that her beliefs were hers and she was glad to share them, but she would not apologize for them. She did not get angry at accusations or assumptions. She let them come and then let them go. Between all the active participants of the conversation, I am certain that she was the only one who walked out of the class without higher blood pressure and a faster pulse.

I want to follow her example and share my testimony because what I believe has brought me much happiness and peace. Two things that were not a constant part of my life for probably the first 20 years. Or more.  I was raised in a Latter Day Saint home but the gospel was taught under the guise of fear and self loathing. So while I am an active member of the church I was raised in, I understand that going to church every Sunday can be worth as much as finding a drawer full of Monopoly money. Absolutely nothing.

I know that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ live. I know they love me. I know they want to help me and guide me, but they will only do so if I want them to. I know that Christ atoned for my sins and heartaches, just as He did for everyone. I know that we are given commandments to make us happy and to prevent unnecessary anguish. Hard times are a part of life, but we don't have to make it harder for ourselves, and following the commandments aids in this. I know that a personal relationship with Heavenly Father is the one sure way to always have someone who understands. Friends and family are great to talk to, and necessary, but Heavenly Father understands and knows how to help. Especially with those feelings and circumstances that no one else truly gets. I know that God wants me to love others as He loves me. And while I have a long way to go, He gives me the strength and patience to be a much kinder person than I am otherwise inclined.

In the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.

Welp, my little Bruce-ter is awakening so I better scoot.