Happy birthday to me!

Yesterday I turned 33. I got some awesome slippers. And a big dose of--well, not really facing my own mortality, but, let's say, a somber spoonful of being a grown-up? Not only has having twins affected my ability to write (I think they're presence has something to do with a year of sleep-deprival), I'm also having this huge emotional experience that I think has a lot more to do with being the mom of two nearly one-year-olds than with my own advancing age. I don't really feel so old, but I am slowly realizing that I am the mom. Forever.

Not that that's a bad thing. It's the best thing. But I feel I'm a little slow in adjusting to the changes in my life. For example, I'm in a bad mood for about a week and then I realize the girls' nap "schedule" has changed; I just haven't adjusted. Or I realize it's been almost a year, and my dream of them sleeping through the night (or going more than an hour not being attached to the nipple) is just that, a dream. I was peeling sweet potatoes Saturday morning, enjoying myself, but I realized that nothing in previous life led me to expect that baking olive oil drenched sweet potatoes would be a fulfilling activity. It's sort of like a mid-life crisis; I mean, it feels that huge. My understanding of what makes me happy has dramatically shifted, and it continues to change. I really like my slippers. I really enjoyed my entire birthday in a way I don't think I have for a while.

But one part I enjoyed is when Chris took the girls to the store for an hour and a half. That is the first time I've been alone in my house except for two 20 minutes walks. Exclamation point. I couldn't stop moving, stop cleaning. It was such an odd feeling. And I think it added to the heavy feeling I had most of the weekend. The girls are a year old, and their care is nowhere near as intense as it was those first four grueling months (which are hidden in a hazy spot in my brain). But it is still constant. And I can't run down to the basement for a screwdriver any time I want to. (I mean the tool, not the drink. But I can't go get that drink either.) I think my discomfort stems from more than just the fact that "society doesn't value motherhood/family." I can't put my finger on it, but I think it has something to do with how brief and how intense this time is, how quickly priorities shift, and how difficult it is to find someone who feels similarly to you in terms of parenting who is going through it at the same time who also (the kicker) lives nearby. I have two good new mommy friends who help me not feel insane, but they don't live here.

I am really pushing my mommy-at-the-computer-is-tolerable time. Gotta cheerlead these girls standing attempts! And, of course, they are completely the best presents I've ever received. (Oh, and the gorgeous snow was icing!)