Today, Mimi has hit the ripe ol’ age of 22 months. According to some random baby website she should be able to:

Say at least 20 words

Sleep at least 12 hours uninterrupted

Has the ability to wrap her Daddy around her little finger

Can clear the room with her ear-piercing screams and tantrums

While we still have two months before this little lady is two, this particular month has really struck a chord with me because  Monkey was 22 months when I had Mimi.

 

 In preparation for her birth and when trying to wrap my brain around having “two under two,” I remember thinking “He is so big now and so independent.”

Ummmm aca-scue me? What the hell was I thinking?

I look at my sweet Mimi and even though she is not a baby-baby anymore, she is a baby and sure as hell not independent. Unless, of course, you count going down the slide by herself or when she screams “Beat it!” to our dog when Suggie has gotten too close to her Goldfish crackers.

Here is Monkey at the hospital meeting his sister for the first time. He is wearing a “Big Brother” shirt. Big Brother? He isn’t a big anything! He was just a tiny toddler that is freaked out about seeing his mom in some random hospital bed and can’t understand why his Nene is handing him some baby. Thanks, but no thanks, lady. Just give me a snack instead, OK.

I love when people ask me how he adjusted to having a sister. He was so little that he has no memory without her around to cry, mess up his toys, or to share my lap. So the transition for him was no biggie. Me on the other hand, well let’s just say it wasn’t as smooth.

When I was pregnant and exhausted from chasing a toddler that was full of energy, I would fret over how difficult it would be to have kids so close in age. How would I handle their sleep when they are on such different schedules? How would I get two kids in and out of car seats without losing one in traffic? Is it even possible to get them both dressed and out the door before nine AM?

Here is the part where you expect me to say that all of that worrying was pointless, right? WRONG!

All of the difficult scenarios that I could imagine happened and they were usually worse than I expected. I spent most of that first year sleep deprived and crying.   Many mornings were spent kicking a soccer ball to the boy while I nursed the baby. Now THAT is multi-tasking!

I couldn’t understand why I thought it was so hard to shower with just one kid.  With two it would be goodbye soap and water, hello perpetual ponytails

When the fog started to lift and we made it to her first birthday, her invitations said this:

Happy First Birthday, Mimi!

but it should have said

Thank God We Survived!

Now that time has passed, I have adopted that strange ailment that affects all mothers at some point. You start to forget how bad something sucked and your memories get all bury and wishy-washy, just enough for you to look back on a particularly hard time fondly. Try it on yourself.

Morning sickness? Eh, all that vomiting wasn’t so bad? I actually look very nice in green.

Labor and delivery?  Tis’ but a scratch.

The first year with two under two? It was lovely. I cherished every moment.

Could this be a hallucinogenic side effect from pregnancy hormones?

Here’s the thing I know for sure, everything happens for a reason and our life is exactly where is should be. I wouldn’t trade my two under two for anything.  Because if I even thought for a minute that life would be better or easier if we had waited a little longer before we had our second,  I would be a fool because I wouldn’t have my Mimi and she is perfection and life is perfection with this little hurricane!