What to Expect.

I thought of some awesome things to write today in the shower, and now I can't think of a darned one. And oh, by the way, is "awesome" dumb now? Because remember when I went to get my tattoo, well, there were all these punked out guys who thought they were real cool, cuz they had like a zillion tattoos, and when I used awesome, as in "thanks for my tattoo, it's awesome" (hence, compliment), they snickered at me like I was some lame-o.
I hate fat boys with lots of tattoos.
Ohhh my gosh I just remembered some of things I was thinking about in the shower!
It started with the boys' toes. I cut those toenails, and fingernails, it seems like all the time, I mean, they must grow super fast when your young because I just finish with the last little pinkie nail on Little Lear Number 2 and low and behold Little Lear Number 1 needs a trim again. I am always trimming.
And that got me thinking of other things I didn't expect when I was, um, expecting.
I didn't expect to go crazy, for one.
I didn't expect to meet a side of myself that is so mean, impatient, and rude.
I didn't expect to stay skinny.
I didn't expect to be this tired.
I didn't expect to fight so much with my husband over how they look and act, how we should discipline.
I didn't expect them to cost so much.
I didn't expect them to dictate everything, from our city to our house to our cars to our jobs.
I didn't expect every morning to be the war in Iraq, screaming, whining, and all without coffee!!!
I didn't expect to never sleep again. I mean really sleep. I know I don't really sleep because at any point in the middle of the night, I am up like I was just lying there waiting for Ethan to come in or Noah to whimper. Like I am waiting for it. Midnight, two, or four thirty in the freaking morning, it doesn't matter. My eyes pop open like I heard a gunshot. Now, at six, for some reason, I feel like I can't open my eyes for anything, even if the whole house were on fire. At six, I think I'd let it burn.
I didn't expect to feel like there is no reprieve. Even on over night dates, which we take fairly regularly, it always feels so short. And the restfulness of it is easily taken over by the anxiety of the thought of picking up the buggers.
I didn't expect every car ride to be such a pain in the ass, getting both boys in the car seats with all their junk and snacks.
I didn't expect bedtime to be the war in Iraq either.
Now this list just makes me feel horrible, because my mother, the saint, never said a word about any of this.
And I love my boys. I love their soft doughy cheeks and the way they smell like yogurt and graham crackers and all the sweet love they give me. But I was expecting that.

I didn't expect them to look so much like me. It can be painful, and at the same time so awesome, to see my face in his. I didn't expect them to get to smart so quick. Sometimes I feel like I am dealing with a teenager, or a cut throat lawyer, not a four year old. I didn't expect them to be so unpredictable, so unique, so uncontrollable. I didn't expect them to make so much noise. It doesn't matter, the dinner table, the car, bath time, anytime they are not sleeping you can pretty much bet they are making noise. A lot of noise. I didn't expect quietness to become such a cherished rarity, like something uber precious, like dark chocolate covered almonds and an expensive bottle of Shiraz. I didn't expect to like the way they smelled so much, like cream cheese frosting and syrup and (when clean) Aveeno baby shampoo.
I did not expect it to be so hard and complicated, so immensely dragging (especially in the mornings and evenings) and then at the same time they are life. They are my life. I would die a thousand deaths if they died. They are irritation and frustration and anger right next to a love so big it busts your heart, if only because you are trying so dang hard to be a good mom.
Which is what you expected to be. Funny how expectations never quite pan out the way we expect them to.