THAT was the easy part??

"Just remember...the first year is the easiest."

A fellow parent of twins gave me this warning when I was pregnant. 

"They don't move yet!" 

The first year was beyond difficult.  I kept thinking to myself, "what does he mean, the first year is the EASIEST??"  In my sleep-deprived, still recovering from a c-section state, trying to figure out how to feed two fussy babies at the same time...one with bad reflux...I could not imagine things being more difficult. 

Now...during my much coveted quiet time (bedtime)...I am glancing around at the state of my house.  The printer tray is broken, courtesy of Owen.  Captain Crunch berries are ground into the carpet.  Toys litter the living room.  My phone (and laptop screen) are covered in fingerprints.  Puffy paint adorns my coffee maker.  The bathroom has puddles of water on the floor.  There is cat fur by the door, where Samson narrowly made his escape from the clutches of Connor earlier.  My pots, pans, and utensils are scattered around the kitchen...and I think I see the crusts of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich wedged between the booster seat and chair.  I look in the finger print-covered mirror, and see several gray hairs starting to show.  There are bags under my eyes...and a nice cut in my lip from when Owen head-butted me yesterday. 

Now I fully understand the warning.  As tired as I was...as stressed as I was...the boys stayed in one place until I moved them.  Now I am forever pulling them off of counters, toilets, shelves and for some odd reason, the doll stroller in Irelynn's room.  They screech.  They smack.  They knock over each other's block towers.  They overturn chairs...and drag stools to the fridge to try and push the water and ice buttons.  They eat worms....and stick their hands in pee-filled potty chairs.  They color on my table with markers...and throw macaroni at the cat.  I have been reduced to tears...actually having said things like, "what is WRONG with you??" and "we do NOT throw POOP!"  I have even called my husband, at work, out of desperation, wondering if there is any chance he would be leaving early that day.

I have even called my mother and asked if she could please, please pick me up a fountain soda because it was too early for beer.  And then called my husband and asked if he could please, please pick me up some beer on his way home from work. 

So Uncle Tim...you were right.  Now...when does it get easier again???