This past weekend was initially shaping up to be about as unenjoyable as last week was. I was stressed out from work, Brian was still feeling crummy, and I felt like I was being smothered by my 8,000-page mental to do list. I went to bed in a foul mood on Friday and woke up in a foul mood on Saturday.
In the middle of vacuuming (angrily) early Saturday morning, I scraped my hand on one of our bar stools and it was a quick and ugly downward spiral of despair from there. There were tears. There was cussing. There was kicking of a box of diapers. There was throwing of a rug. There was door slamming. There was a confused husband, two oblivious children, and a mom/wife/crazy person who had reached her wit's end.
Because I literally felt like I could not function for even one more second without exploding, I went out to the front porch and sat there and cried. I wasn't even sure about what at that point, but as you can all probably relate, it didn't really matter. I just needed to cry and probably get some fresh air.
In between melting down about how the bushes needed to be trimmed and the bath tub needed to be cleaned and the food labels needed to be made for the babies' birthday party and blah blah THERE'S NO TIME, THERE'S NEVER ANY TIME, I told Brian that I am just really overwhelmed by the amount of things that need my attention at the moment and about how little attention I have to give them all. I just feel live I've been spread so thin and I can't do any one thing well right now.
Thankfully, I pulled myself together and we were able to enjoy the morning. I decided to go to the grocery store while the babies napped and Brian tended to yard work, which was a great idea in theory (getting out of the house alone and all), but I found myself incredibly overwhelmed once I was there and highly considered just leaving in the middle of my trip. I have never experienced a panic attack before (to my knowledge), but I imagine what I was dealing with was similar.
I powered through and made it home, but upon realizing that I had picked out the wrong yogurt for the babies' breakfast this week, I melted down yet again. Fortunately for Brian, I was more sad than angry at that point. Unfortunately for Brian, his wife was/is still insane.
All I know is that although I am legitimately stressed out at the moment, my (over) reaction to everything that's going on lately seems excessive even to me. So I am just crossing my fingers that weaning (sorry, Allison, I know you hate that word) is causing a slightly severe shift in hormones, therefore making me a little loonier than normal.
Anyway, I didn't intend to rant for so many paragraphs about that, but I guess I have a lot on my mind! The good news is that the rest of the weekend (although still busy with lots of chores and errands) redeemed itself, and we were even able to squeeze in a few very-much-not-professional-quality one year pictures of the babies. (Side note: how long am I allowed to keep referring to them as babies? They aren't walking yet, so surely I don't have to call them toddlers yet, right?)
They were in decent enough moods but we could not, for the life of us, get them to smile (at least not at the same time). Such is life at this age with twins, I suppose. Had we invited the dogs or the cast of The Wiggles, we might have had better luck, but we didn't go to that much effort.
Regardless, we still had fun, enjoyed the nice weather, and managed to make it home with only one small injury (when a certain little nut job decided to dive headfirst onto the concrete).
Happy Monday, all, and happy birthday week to my favorite little people!