When I was sitting in the urgent care clinic on Lubbock and the doctor told me I had shingles, he immediately advised me to reduce my stress levels. My first reaction was to say, "I'm not stressed."
I'm exhausted and I have really bad days, but I am happy. (I'm also 36 and REALLY bad about taking my vitamins.)
On my worst days, days when Wolfgang is injuring himself on everything and Max wont stop screaming and I've worked until 11 the night before and then stayed up half the night with the baby-head, I remember that this time is short and my boys are a shockingly generous gift from God. He picked them out for me to raise. How cool is that?
Wolfgang is my shadow. My clinging, wobbling, demanding, loud, hilarious, sweet, loving, curious shadow. Yesterday he helped me with my ever-expanding tree. I'm a bad example when it comes to creativity. "Do not try this at home," I tell him as I'm balancing on the back of the couch gluing flowers to the wall.Max's personality is coming out in full force. I fall in love with him more every day.
His Mad Max side comes out in short, violent bursts. He will be happy and cooing, but the nano-second he drops his toy?
Screaming! Red! Helpless! Mad, Mad, Max!
(He just couldn't hang on to that darn bird)I was forced to exchange the boys' instruments when Max kept whacking himself over the head with the flute and bursting into tears, which would motivate Wolfgang to press the blue harmonica into Max's head to silence him.