Introverted motherhood...Nope...I can't even "word" right now....

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February 15th, 2016

I stood in the kitchen gently stirring milk into my warm coffee listening to the melodic sounds of the canaries in the living room as they filled the house with their joyous songs.  One of my three year old twins was exercising his vocal abilities with a stunning range and pitch while the other tugged at my pant leg ever so adorably asking to watch his new favorite movie.  Meanwhile my 2 year old daughter inspected her neatly stitched forehead wound with great intensity and interest in her bandage.  My sweet baby boy was working to get my attention with his adorable little baby sounds.  Across the house my 12 year old was filling me in on the "new" and "amazing" character on his favorite construction and problem solving game.  I stood there in awe of all my wonderful children and wasn't the least bit overstimulated, or undercaffeinated.  
I'm sorry, I can't. I just can't. I can't even keep a straight face and type that load of something I'd find in my baby's nappy.  Lets try it again, in "real life":
I stood in the kitchen (because if I sit I get mauled by a hoard of toddlers) trying to stir milk into my coffee as fast as I could so that maybe I could drink at least a little bit of it warm before I was pulled away to settle some fight, or diaper, or spill, or toddler disaster and "lose" it only to find it a half hour later, cold.  The canaries had started their horrendous, ear piercing screeching that echos throughout the house as if it were an amphitheater.  One of my three year old twins was screaming at the top of his lungs as high pitched as he could because...I don't know why...possession maybe...it's still up for debate.  The other was incessantly tugging my clothes asking over and over to watch the same Christmas movie we've watched a million times, and for the love, it's FEBRUARY!  I'm so over it.  Meanwhile my 2 year old daughter is once again ripping her bandage off and picking at her freshly stitched forehead wound from the giant gash she got jumping off the bed on Valentine's Day (btw, ERs are totally empty Valentine's Day, apparently, just FYI).  That was an incredibly romantic evening...except not.  At all.  My baby boy was crying, needing a diaper and a nursing and a nap.  All the while my oblivious 12 year old is filling me in on his "new" and "amazing" character in Minecraft, and let me tell you, that conversation never ends.  Never.  
Never.  
I stood there in absolute overstimulated shock wondering if my nurse friends couldn't just retrofit a medicine pump with caffeine for me.  
Some days introversion and motherhood go together like oil and water, rubbing all over each other but just not mixing.  It's not that I'd change a thing, but I gotta say, and I'm sure all you introverted mamas are right there with me, FOR THE LOVE LITTLE PEOPLE, for the love.

This is actually a child.  I realize it looks like a disheveled homeless animal calling for its own kind, but it is in fact a human child.

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