Two much. Not enough. Date night.

I'm taking the rare opportunity to write, because both of them are napping (the universe was looking out for me today, and gave me a much-needed respite from the chaos).

I swore up and down, before I had kids, that I would be the mom who would never yell. I would be the mom that would have the serene patience that other mothers would envy. I would never be shrill, never be stern, always teach my child the rules by being strict but ever so fair. I would be the mom that would always look like the boho-chic she was before kids, hair just-perfectly-messy, with dewy cheeks and sinewy body.*

Yeah. Hear that laughing? That's fate saying "Duh. You expect too much and it always comes back to bite you in the ass."

I'm tired. I'm working off of 2 hours' sleep pretty much every night at the moment, and though I'm so blissfully proud of my little family, my patience is being tested on a regular basis. What's easier about having another baby is that it's not the "unknown" anymore, so I can pretty much handle who needs what, and when and why. But it's the emotional burden that I have currently with L, my beautiful baby girl, my heart that lives outside of my person. Her needs are much more difficult to manage and figure out.

L is having a bit of a tough transition. She's teething, and on top of the new baby brother she has that requires a lot of attention, she has been on edge lately. It's really uncharacteristic of her to be like that, because she's a happy, giggly, tough little girl. But her personality cannot be labeled, and as such, she's needing some space to vent and show her frustration. I'm there for her whenever she needs me, and when I can be, but sometimes the opportunity for her to cuddle with me is met with "in a minute", and "wait a second", and "we can do that later, I need to...". It's met with a rather adult reaction: crossed hands, sitting down on the rug, reading a book, chanting "WAYt... WAYt..." with disappointment. I try and sit with her and read whilst feeding the baby for 45 minutes, I try and get her to draw, to interact, but she doesn't want it. She sits and waits until she has ALL of me to herself. It breaks my heart.

We went to the playground yesterday. Sun shining, snacks at hand, I was prepared. Except for the fact that the baby needed feeding at a certain time, and I forgot the bottle. Shit.

We were there for 40 minutes, and then I had to tell L we needed to get going. He heart was set on being on the swings for much longer. She was glued to the seat. I asked her if we could go because we needed to get home. Cue the unholiest, whirlwind of a tantrum I had ever seen come out of her. She was screaming, crying, throwing herself on the ground and pounding the grass with each heaving sob. I tried to comfort her, she pushed me away. I tried to lift her up, she melted away from me, dead weight (all you parents out there will know the "toddler melt".. it makes it that much harder to pick them up, and makes it look like you're dragging them). I had to scoop her up and put her in the buggy. As I was strapping her in, she was still screaming/moaning/making wild animal grunts and growls.

Now this buggy is a double, a side-by-side Baby Jogger that L absolutely loves, but in this moment, strapping her in was like the death sentence for her. She was kicking the footrest, trying to rip the straps off of her body. The mothers in the park gave me all-knowing smiles and sympathetic glances, but it was embarrassing. I gritted my teeth and walked away quickly, across the field, back to the main road. L was still screaming, and at this point, I broke my patience. I broke my vow of never yelling.

I stopped the buggy and knelt down at her height, grabbed her arm and yelled "STOP it! Enough yelling, you do not yell to get what you want!!" (the irony of that statement is so apparent). I sounded shrill and angry, and it was really unbecoming. She kept crying, but calmed down a little bit temporarily, before having another screaming tantrum 10 minutes later because she couldn't have ice cream before leaving the park. I gave up listening at that point and just soldiered home.

Did I get what I wanted out of her? I'm not so sure. I snapped her out of her self-induced hysterics, but does that do any long-term damage? Will she use yelling to get her point across when she's with friends? Will I become the mother who loses her shit just because of a wee tantrum? What does that say about me?

It's a constant juggle in my brain and in my spirit of trying to give L the patience she deserves, the time she needs, the mom she craves, whilst also tending to what my beautiful new boy needs. My two beautiful creatures are dividing up pieces of me, and though I try and tell people I can do it all, in reality, my heart feels sad that I can't satisfy both of them equally.

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We had our first date night in a long time last night. And though I reluctantly left L and the boy with Nana, it was so good to put on some leather boots and a sexy short dress.

"Wow... I thought to myself who is that standing there..? You look really beautiful." he said as he strode up the stairs to meet me at the entrance to the subway.

He kissed me.

I blushed.

He held my hand as we walked to the theater.

We had a drink and talked... we saw a show, we talked some more afterwards, and he put his arm around me as we walked home.

Though sometimes it's hard stepping out of the house and leaving the kids for a bit, it gave me butterflies to feel his hand on mine and see in his eyes the love story that we're still writing.

*Luckily, this I can still pull off, to some degree, so at least that's one (vain) victory.

Humbled. And sore.

I am awed by my capacity for love. And adoration. And exhaustion.

I have had my soul destroyed by falling in love with a tiny new fragile little person. I feel protective over him, in a much different way than I ever did with L. (And ironically, he is NOT a tiny baby, weighing in at just under 9 pounds).

I have also had my heart ripped out from an awesome weight of guilt on my shoulders, seeing L's reaction to the new person. She's confused, concerned, protective of me, of him, of her father... she paces the room, not knowing what to do when the baby cries, because she's not old enough yet to know that she can't just run up to him and hug him. She pats him and then hangs back, waiting for someone to put him to the side so she can focus on playing with us. It devastates me.

I hold him as he sleeps, and she'll sit next to me, with her own bottle of milk that she's requested, and I feel that she's half with me, and half trying to be independent (maybe forced to be?) and distant so she can show me that she's a big girl now.

But she's still my baby. They'll all be like that until they're 18, I'm sure. All my babies. All my beautiful unique little creatures.

I'm sure I'm reading into it, and months down the line our new perfect will have emerged. But the sleepless nights at the moment, my sore body, my heart that is spilling over with love and fear and joy... all of this is a hard test of transition and balance for us.

But at the moment, I do not take for granted how I'm blessed. And the tears running down my cheeks are unmistakeably filled with love (though the exhaustion seems much more apparent).

The end... and almost the beginning.

Today is May 1st, a gorgeous, sunny and crisp day.

Two days ago, we celebrated 5 years.

Today we might be celebrating day 1.

Keep you posted.