I almost forgot about my daughter at a friend’s house on Sunday. She was too quiet and had been sleeping for ages and guys, it still hasn’t sunk in that we have two kids.

That’s double the children we had eighteen days ago. My almost-two-year-old, of course, would never ever let me forget about him; that kid is just a ball of crazy and it’s hard to miss a tornado in the room. Baby girl, on the other hand, sleeps quietly in her bed and every three hours she wakes up to eat, spends an hour staring at us with her giant, almond eyes, and then quietly fades back into oblivion. Crying certainly happens too, but for the most part she’s serene and happy.

God knew I needed a calm child.

She’s calm for now, anyway–I know it won’t last.

Eighteen days ago, at 1am, I lay in a cold, fluorescent triage room and the doctor told me even though the contractions had been coming regularly for hours, I wasn’t in labor and we would be discharged. She came that day anyway due to a surprise induction, but that story will come later. Soon, hopefully–once life with two littles slows down. I’ve thought many times since about that moment at 1am when we were told I wasn’t in labor and at the same time the wave of disappoint came crashing over me, there was also relief that we would go back home and remain a family of three, at least for a little while longer.

We never ended up leaving the hospital, and as we made ourselves comfortable in our labor and delivery room, I broke down in tears at the realization that my son would never be my only child ever again. How could I love a second kid as much?

Surprise (not): It turns out that you can, in fact, love a second kid just as much as the first, even if you thought you had given your whole heart away already.

Now, more than two weeks later, the exhaustion still hasn’t set in, there is pink everywhere, and I do two loads of laundry a day. No joke, before my daughter was born I did laundry once every week or two and granted, they were massive loads, but there was little need to do more. Then I birthed a spitter. She eats like a champ, nursing with a perfect latch every three hours on the dot…and then sometime in the hour following milk is guaranteed to end up all over the blankets, the sofa, the bed sheets, my clothes, her clothes, every. darn. thing. 

Have you ever smelled sour breast milk? If so, you know why laundry needs to happen regularly, and if not, just trust me that it’s never a smell you want to become familiar with. This month I’m fairly certain our electric bill will be through the roof simply due to the huge amount of laundry we’ve been washing daily. I never thought there would be a need to wash the same blanket 4 times in two days until I lived with a spitter for two weeks–good thing she’s cute or I might just go on a laundry strike.

But seriously, two kids is a breeze compared to what I mentally prepared myself for.

It’s going to get harder in many, many ways once my husband goes back to work in a few days but at the same time I’m longing for routine, for time to myself to get back to writing and teaching my fellow mamas about the miracle that is oils, for quiet mornings where I can read in bed with my toddler instead of running out the door to get to a family activity that, while they make fantastic memories, are just slightly tiring with two under two.

There’s also my almost-two-year-old, who loves his little sister more than anything (she’s not much fun at the moment though so maybe tied with trucks and yogurt?) but he’s not used to having to share his mama and daddy.

Every time he sees his sister he yells “baby, baby!” and whenever she’s sleeping he wants to pick her up and shove her pacifier back in her mouth and rock her swing at a violent speed. Yes, we have a lot of work to do in the gentle department; it’s a darn good thing she’s used to him squishing her after he used my pregnant belly as a trampoline for nine months.

Instead of locking him in his room and forbidding him from going near her again every time I see him almost turn the poor girl into a pancake, I just remind myself he is so infatuated because he adores her and it’s okay, I just need to watch him like a hawk and if he picks up his car and starts running towards her it likely means he wants to drive the car on her face and I need to be prepared to intervene. He’ll learn soon enough.

There have been many tears in our home too. Toddler tears, hungry baby tears, postpartum mama tears, bewildered-at-why-everyone-is-crying husband tears (just kidding!) so praise Jesus for Frankincense, Lavender, and all my hippie emotional support oils. I would not be sane and my kids would not sleep without them, and really, who can function properly without sleep? Tears are good–tears are therapeutic and tears are okay and there won’t always be this many tears.

Life won’t always be this chaotic.

But once it’s not, I know part of me will miss the chaos. I doubt I’ll miss Sunday mornings where we’re late to church because it’s impossible to get out of the house with kids who both poop out of their diapers and have probably planned screaming at intervals so someone is always fussing, but I will miss navigating Target with the giant 10 foot long carts that seat four with a baby who keeps kicking out of her wrap and a toddler who wants to touch every thing on every aisle. I might even miss running through Chick-fil-A chasing a little boy who keeps escaping from the kids play place, all while attempting to hold down the cover and continue nursing my newborn and not look like a completely crazy mama.

This stage of life is crazy and so maybe there are a whole lot of tears and maybe I do change approximately 15 diapers a day, but it’s all precious and my husband and I are growing a family. 

We are keeping tiny humans alive so one day they’ll grow up to love Jesus, love others, and change the world. I might not hold a job, but I hold my husband’s heart. It is my responsibility to nurture these two precious children and that is the highest calling I could imagine.

Now I have two kids, I’ve been over-scheduling my days and leaving myself busy, plus the laundry basket is reminiscent of the widow’s jug of oil that Elijah blessed–it’s literally never empty. Ultimately, though, none of that matters. The laundry will eventually get done, perhaps in fifteen years, and soon life will slow down. One day, too, we’ll have many more than two kids!

We’re growing a family and inevitably that means crazy is part of life. Crazy basically defines us and it’s perfect that way.