Parenthood - the Ultimate Adrenaline Rush

It didn't feel this way until I had two boys, and more accurately, until both of them were cruising independently on two feet. I have learned the meaning of "busy" on an entirely new level. We go to the gym daily for one reason: my survival. Not just for an hour or two of quiet, reflective time to myself - usually spent exercising myself to death with upbeat music pumping at full volume - but to build the muscles and stamina necessary to survive the daily demands of two little boys. With Jack's fearless, ambitious activity and the unstable nature of his toddling legs, it's not unusual for that solid noggin' to be flailing towards hard, sharp objects, such as coffee tables and bed frames. Not a day has gone by since those first steps were taken that Jack hasn't sported at least one cherry colored bruise to the head. I must be on my toes at all times ready to spring across the distance of the room to his rescue. There is much squatting to retrieve the never-ending supply of bite-size inedible objects that Jack is in constant search for, not to mention the bending and scooping of the contents of all drawers and de-shelved books. Then you have the heavy lifting, since both children demand to be carried simultaneously whenever in public, and you find yourself doing nearly anything to avoid a scene. Then you have the sick days when they both want to be carried around at home too, and you have to use your remaining limbs (toes) to straighten up the floor. Then there are the Yoga postures you assume to search for binkies under the bed and other tight, oddly strategic places that your child chooses to hide them. Pushing yourself in aerobics class helps you pull that last bit of energy after the house cleaning to crawl around on the floor wrestling and playing monster trucks with the kids and later to carry them both home from the park because the stroller no longer cuts it for the exhausted ones. Every day, from the time that Rocky bursts into our room loudly announcing "It's morning time!" when the lack of sunlight proves otherwise until the kid are tucked in at night, and I achingly crawl back into bed, I feel that life is moving in fast motion - like "The Christmas Story" montage where the kids run back and forth from school with overly bundled "lay there like a slug" Randy lumbering behind - glimpses of the day's activities, complete with rapid, high-pitched squeaky voices. My heart pounds constantly, the adrenaline rushing up to my ears in the attempt to complete all the tasks I've assigned myself for the day, all while preventing the kids' utter destruction of our home and each other, gearing up for Jack's two brief naps and the only time many tasks can be completed such as all housework and David's preschool lessons. Nothing riles Jack up more than not being included in a preschool lesson. He literally flings himself at the lesson materials and yells unintelligible sounds whenever I ask David a question. We've resorted to taking him out of the equation completely. Needless to say, time since the addition of Jack to the family has flown. I have blinked and the baby days are over. How did this happen? This next year of his young life I hope to loosen my grip on the daily task list and spend more time in the "cat/cow" posture playing with the kids because when all is said and done, that's what really matters to them, right?