Holy crap.

Life with two kids is not twice as difficult as life with one. It's like some weird math equation where two plus one equals three, but three plus one equals seven. No seventeen. Trillion.

This is primarily because when you bring number two home, child number one is all "What the...?" They start questioning everything. Crazy thoughts run through their little toddler brains. Thoughts like, "Maybe I wasn't loud enough. Maybe I didn't throw enough things in the toilet. Maybe they didn't like my art. Perhaps I should do a more prominent piece. Something right here on this cupboard my great great grandpa made. I'm thinking...permanent marker. Yes. Yes! This will be canvas! This will be my masterpiece!"

True story.

At the same time child number two is all, "Why? Why did you bring me here? I was in the hospital with thirty lovely nurses who all dressed and showered every day, cough lookingatyoumom cough. A place where Momma would come and hold me for hours on end, no distractions. Just loving gazes into my baby blues. And now this? Now I have to share her with that Tasmanian devil who doesn't know a Jackson Pollock from a van Gogh? I mean, gah, the horror! All I can do is cry. No, this calls for something more. A scream, and a sleep strike! Yes, that feels more appropriate. Damn, I'm brilliant."

Still, I love it. I love these crazy, beautiful babies. I'm a nut. At my six week checkup I told my OB that despite the fact that being pregnant again makes me want to put my own head in an oven I want to have another. Her eye's glazed over and I'm pretty sure she had to take a second and picture her happy place before responding.

So kids, whoa! Yay! Holy crap! Save me.