Not at all unexpected.

Little Boy’s speech evaluation resulted in a diagnosis of a pretty significant delay, more so than Little Girl’s, anyway. At twenty-one months of age, his receptive language rated as that of a fifteen month old, and his expressive language as that of a nine month old. I think his results are a tad skewed. He was not at his best at the appointment, and B. and I contradicted each other on the answers to a lot of the questions the speech pathologist asked. Little Girl’s receptive language tested within the normal range and I don’t think Little Boy’s receptive language abilities are much different from hers. I think the discrepancy might be due to the above mentioned contradictive answers from B. and I. Irregardless, intensive speech therapy was recommended. Now we’re waiting to see what our insurance company will pay for, if anything.

I hope everyone had a decent Mother’s Day. At the very least, I hope it wasn’t downright painful for those of you still in the infertility trenches. Mine was fine, better than last year’s. B. made a pretty significant effort to bestow me with gifts, and while our morning was somewhat of a disaster, I did manage to leave him with the bambinos during their dinner & bath time.

What's killing me today.*

The hamster wheel I’m stuck on. I know exactly where I’ll be and what I’ll be doing at any moment of the day for the foreseeable future.

8:37 a.m.? Feeding the babies their breakfast.

12:48 p.m.? Working on getting the babies down for a nap.

4:16 p.m.? Handing out snacks and trying to think of a clever way to fill the next three hours.

6:21 p.m.? Post-dinner/pre-bedtime/bath.

Even specific days of the week have their own pattern. Tuesday & Thursday, preschool. Wednesday, storytime at the library or a playdate or an errand. Friday, the playroom. The weekends vary depending on whether or not B. is in town. If he’s not, the weekends are pretty much repeats of Wednesday.

It wasn’t my intent to have our lives scheduled quite so rigidly. It just happened that way. Sure, there are days that vary from the norm, but they’re rare. I believe routines and schedules are good for kids, that they flourish when they know what to expect, but oh my, it’s not easy for me.

Before babies, my days were varying and unscheduled. I worked hard to create a career that allowed me maximum flexibility. Not only is that flexibility now gone, it’s gone for good - or for as long as I can imagine forward.

*Standard disclaimer here: of course my children are worth it. I love them, I don’t regret them, I wouldn’t trade them for my previous life. I can still see the forest for the trees - I'm just bitching about the trees.

What's hard...

Being a parent is an exercise in self denial. Each and every day I long for something I cannot have. Most of the things I’m desiring are pretty minor; breakfast in a restaurant, to sleep in, to go out for ice cream after dinner. They’re not impossible with Little Boy & Little Girl, they’re just not worth the trouble to do or logistically possible. If the scales tip and my desire to go out for ice cream after dinner wins out, sure, we’ll load the kids up in the car and go, but I’m constantly measuring my longings against whether or not it’s worth the effort to indulge them.

This wears me down after awhile. Constantly denying my simple little desires sucks. It’s a pretty minor problem to have, though, in the grand scheme of things.

B. is back after a three week class. It’s nice to have the extra hands, but it’s by no means a break for me. I’m still running the show and doing the bulk of the work.

I’m a bit blue. Can you tell?