Twins means two babies, but one mom

It finally happened the other day...I hit a wall. After two solid months of no sleep, thousands of diapers, a gallon of spit up, and broken ear drums from baby crying (ok...not really that last one) I had a breakdown. I cried while holding Clare, blubbering to David about how I'm tired of being tired. 

It wasn't beautiful girl crying like this:

It was ugly, snotty crying like this:

Geeze, isn't Johnny Depp just so pretty? 

Anyway, David being very astute promptly grabbed Little Miss and kicked me out of the house. He literally made me leave. So I got in my car, in my pjs, with unwashed hair, still crying and drove to my parent's house. Luckily my mom was there because I needed someone to hug me and give me pity. I was a mom who needed my mom. I sobbed into her shoulder, saying "twins are hard" over and over again. And she held me and let me let it out. I said what I never wanted to say....that two babies is hard and I don't know how I'm going to do it. I don't want to do it right now. 
And she understood, held me and made me feel that it was all ok and normal and I wasn't a horrible mom. 

Then she set me up with a bubble bath. A real bath with no babies to wash. It was awesome, I soaked in the bubbles watching Gilmore Girls on my phone and tried to detox. 

I went home two hours later feeling so much better. Full from dinner that I didn't make and wasn't take out, relaxed from soaking in a baby-free tub, and feeling relieved from admitting that I was overwhelmed by my beautiful babes.

I will be forever grateful to David on insisting we live in our hometown, close to our families so my mom can still rock her crying baby, 27 years later.