start.

9/23/19. start.

​​At 6AM, I had already stepped in poop then pee in two separate rooms. By 7AM, I was cheffing up cinnamon rolls (It’s CinnaMon-day, in our house, it’s a thing!), eggs with mozzarella, fresh pears, answering emails, and drinking cold coffee with Mr. Chicken, Mr. Chicken. By 8AM, I had been bitten twice (same chicken), broke up a chicken fight, hunted for pacis,  already given the twins puffs in a cup (because we snack immediately after breakfast), and started several more emails but too afraid and unfocused to hit send. By 9AM, it was all quiet minus the cathartic hum of Joey, our faithful Roomba. After getting up exceptionally early, the boys were down for what I hoped to be, a three-hour nap. Although I’d settle for anything at this point in the day. It’s Office Monday, what some people say is my luckiest day of the week, I call it my most stressful. Yes, I am enormously blessed to be able to “work” from home on Mondays but with 15-month-old twin boys who are climbing champs . . . it’s hit or miss how much I feel like I’ve accomplished. But in the words of my perceptive husband, “We’re aiming for no head injuries.” (We’re in the season where my sons need everyday helmets. Is that a thing I can buy on Amazon with two-day ship? Just asking.) 
 
So, the start of my work week typically begins at 5AM with emails and ends with more emails by 10PM. I’ve been embarrassed to tell people that I work from home on Mondays. I don’t want anyone to feel that I’m phoning it in, just enjoying a lazy day in my pjs with my sons. It’s exceptionally hard to be productive, to be a good mom, to not text my husband a hundred times, to get through my to-do list so my Tuesday doesn’t feel as chest-tightening as my Monday. 
 
But I’m not complaining. I don’t ever want to seem like I’m complaining. I love this new life. I’ve wanted nothing more than this life I’m leading this very moment and I’m not going to be the one who spoils it by not ringing out every drop of joy from it. Yes, I’m exhausted. Yes, I hit my Apple Watch stand goal every day before three. And yes, sometimes it thinks I’ve started a workout when all I’m doing is scrubbing animal crackers off the hardwoods or chasing one chicken to change his extra heavy diaper. I get up early. I stay up late. My meals consist of whatever the boys don’t eat. And I work in the crevasses of the day or type and design while standing at the bar in my kitchen while they play pick-a-boo in-between my legs. As one twin mom tagged on Instagram, it’s #twinsanity. 
 
At thirty-five, I am starting all over. I am figuring out this working mom thing my own mother master decades ago. My Pinterest is full of twin parenting blogs and toddler family meals. I haven’t had a pedicure or a hair appointment since June. I can’t remember the last time I went to supper club (and I’m the one who started it!). I miss my friends, and date night, and showering without starring at a baby monitor. 
 
And YET! I have never felt more alive, more joy, more “Natalie” in all my life! I feel like I am finally coming back-to-life after years of waiting, restlessness, infertility, anxiety, insecurity, bitterness, and resentment. To God be the glory for everyone who hung around during those years. To God be the glory for choosing us to tell His story. To answer our prayers. To restore our hearts. I am humbled. And honored. And unworthy. 
 
So, what will I do with His gift? I am going to keep on. I’ll write. I’ll share. I’ll pray. And I’ll celebrate! 
 
I constantly think to myself, am I too old for this? Too old to be learning what it means to parent? God’s resounding answer: “It’s never too late to start!” 
 
I hope you are following along, faithful friends. I am going to attempt to complete the Hope Writers Fall Writing Challenge. 10 days. 10 topics. Short or long, I’m ready to write. I’m ready to start!

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