Connected
What a weird feeling—having an extra twenty minutes to do whatever I want. Usually my days are planned ahead and packed with the tasks that need to be accomplished: feed the boys; change their diapers; wipe their tears; feed them again; pull the older out of the (formerly) sleeping baby’s crib; calm the toddler’s fit as he protests being prevented from snuggling his brother; rock the now-screaming infant back to sleep; feed them again; take the toddler to the park so he doesn’t go crazy running laps in our apartment; feed; change; comfort; repeat. Each day, if I’m lucky, I get maybe an hour or two where the boys align their naps and I’m able to work on my research or take care of tasks for my church responsibilities or clean the house. (Or consume a pint of ice cream in blessed silence.) Sometimes, though, that doesn’t happen and I juggle two tiny boys, sometimes both crying in my arms at the same time while I rock them. Sometimes I throw my own tears into the mix just for good measu...