For all of you two-under-two parents out there, you know what our weekends are like. The occasional outing gets mixed with hours of tag-team baby care: feedings, diaperings, book readings, play-in-the-yardings, nappings. It isn't exactly a recipe for getting things done. I always think that I'll get some relief from the weekday frustration I constantly suffer of looking at a room I just picked up or vacuumed and realizing it needs to be done again. And I am not a maniac neat freak -- I just need to be able to walk across the room without tripping or be able to sit without crushing something. But this break never comes. In fact, the mess of the weekend trumps any weekday because we are still foolish enough to attempt to do something.
Yesterday's endeavor was to put together the new crib we had delivered for the little one and rearrange the nursery to accommodate the two cribs -- yes, that's right -- when you have children born 13 months apart, you need 2 cribs! My husband valiantly assembled the crib (which turned out to be HUGE!) and together we rearranged the furniture (with the babies in their cribs) so that everything fit. While the tiny room does look like some kind of clearance furniture depot, it is DONE. There are all kinds of refugee items floating all over the hallway -- toys, storage boxes, wall hangings -- but let me repeat: the task is DONE. The pride was overwhelming -- we couldn't believe ourselves.
As we settled down to sleep last night, we were hysterical. Where were both babies sleeping? In their newly finished room? Of course not. They were in our room with us.