I am constantly trying to manage the mess, and chaos, in our house. It's really unbelievable how quickly we can go from sparkly clean, to crumbs (and large pieces of random food), markers, rogue stickers, and a kitchen sink (literally) strewn everywhere. I try to devote at least 15 minutes each night to "picking up." However, by the time the babies are in bed, and Sophie thinks she has satisfied her one on one time with me, I'm tired. Really tired. Fifteen minutes seems like 2 hours. And really, what's the big deal, since 8-10 hours later the house will be in the same predicament? But, I really am making an effort. I've given up the notion that our floor will ever be free of toys, diapers (clean), and shoes, ever again. So, I try to put my effort onto shelves, countertops, etc, where tiny fingers can't yet reach. I never get ahead of the game. Sometimes it makes me very anxious, other times I just throw my hands in the air and jump in bed.
But, it doesn't change the fact that I always feel better, more productive, more eager to get things accomplished when things are in good working order.
I suppose that goes for this blog as well. I realized today that 14 of the20 or so blogs I have linked on the side have not been updated in at least 6 months, most of them a year. Clearly, it's time to declutter the blog, in hopes that it will encourage me to spend more time here and use it as a place to document our "little" family. I dropped the out of date blogs, grateful that I am still "friends" with most on FB, and a few IRL. Beyond thrilled that all of them, even despite quite tragic losses, did eventually go on to become mothers. I trashed the list of IF abbreviations, grateful that I don't need them anymore, am not in that PLACE anymore. And the books I read in 2009? WTH cares!
This thing also needs a new title. It's clearly not an infertile world anymore, not for me. I hate to lose it, but it's not who I am anymore. I'm not creative enough to come up with something overly clever, but a title change is definately in order.
I hate to say it, but I don't keep a baby book for any of the 3. Sophie *has* one, my mother in law bought it a few weeks before she was born. It has a lock of hair, and her footprints from the hospital. That's it. MIL asked me once how it was coming along and I lied. "Oh, it's great. I write in it alot." This blog is where I come to document milestones, fun things, not so fun things, about their life. And I've been doing a crappy job of that. I'm hopeful that this little overhaul will be my kick in the ass to tell stories, good and bad, about them.
One day, I will hand it over to them. They'll see it all. They'll see the tears I shed on the journey that led me to them. Good, bad, ugly. I was reading a few past posts today that I wrote when I first went on bedrest. I said that "I resented my babies." Honestly, I remember thinking it, feeling it. I don't really feel bad for thinking that; it's where I was at the time. I also read my post about their birth, and how I didn't hold Avery for about 8 hours, but when I finally did we did kangaroo time (or whatever it's called). Skin to skin contact with my sweet little, not even 6 pound girl. It also reminded me of a memory I will never forget, of basically sinking into a puddle on our bedroom floor, certain I would never be a mother, never thinking of hurting myself, but definately wondering how I could go through life without a child.
Look at me now. Just last night I scraped dried poo of of Sophie's back, while Avery was hysterical, trying to climb my leg, and Connor screaming because he slammed his fingers in one of the drawers on Sophie's changing table.