Tuesday, January 10, 2012

Throwing Binkies, Throwing Sofas

It feels great to hurl a sofa off a second floor balcony.

That much I can tell you for sure.

It's no small feat when you've barely been to the gym in the past year and you've been weighed down by a baby in utero and then in a baby Bjorn and a toddler who wants "horsey rides" every other minute. But I managed to use all of my might and give that old leather sofa a decent fling.

And I didn't kill anyone in the process.

My husband suggested that he throw the sofa over the balcony and that I go down below and "catch it" so that it wouldn't hit any cars parked nearby. I passed on that suggestion.

I told HIM to go down and "catch it."

What brought us to this temporary moment of insanity where liquidating a leather love seat in such an unconventional and dangerous manner seemed like a good idea?

A million moments of insanity prior.

It started in late October, when our 2 and a half year old son asked for one week straight about his newborn baby brother, "Um, Mommy, when's Baby Blake goin home?"

That innocent question soon turned into not so innocent behavior at home and at school. My once angelic toddler started getting daily timeouts in school for throwing wood chips and chucking cars. Thankfully the teachers overlooked his habit of peeing on them on purpose when they changed his diaper and eating sticks on the playground, which clearly only a boy would do. (As if driving to pick up my son with an inconsolable newborn in the backseat isn't stressful enough, I am now transported back to my middle school principal's office when I see my son's teacher approach the car, giving me her "stern face," reporting on his daily shenanigans).

Things at home have not been so serene either. My baby has a case of reflux which had made him, up until this week, the saddest baby this side of the Mississippi. When I tell you that he cried day and night for weeks, I don't think that quite does reality justice. I almost had a heart attack the first time I saw him smile. Didn't recognize him at all.

Thankfully, now everyone is referring to him as "joyful" and "sweet," but it took a long journey through formula/nipple/medicine changes/rocking/swinging/bouncing/upright/and downright insanity to get him to this peaceful destination. Over the past few months, we've had nature sounds in every room. You name it: crickets, waves breaking on the sand, birds chirping. More frequently, we've had the call of the wild - both a toddler and a newborn battling it out for Champion of the Criers.

In the midst of all of this, we managed to go trick or treating, eat turkey and stuffing, light the menorah, see Santa, watch the ball drop in Times Square, while doing nightly feedings and trying not to lose our minds.

Sure, my sweet husband has thrown binkies against the wall (equivalent to a normal person committing murder) and I have thrown a sofa from a second floor balcony, but all in all, I think we may still be up for Parents of the Year.

Our sons are clean, well fed, doted on, and generally "joyful." They are learning to live together slowly but surely. Comments like, "Mommy, I'm gon give Blake a hair cut," (with plastic Handy Manny toy pliers in hand), have not been uttered in a few weeks. And, they're even learning to share. "Mommy, I asked Blake if he wanted a cheerio and he said no." (How a 6 week old conveyed a "no" response to my toddler, I'll never no. I'm just glad the baby didn't "say" yes).

We are 12 weeks out as of today. First time I've had a second to blog. Second to sit. Second to think. So here's to me, to us, to all of you who survived the first 12 weeks, once, twice, or more than that. My hat's off to you, party people!

Wishing you all a "joyful" new year!