The Struggle is Real- Two Under Two

We have two-under-two’s for another month and a half.  They are 15 months apart, and while we were planning on more than one child, we weren’t aiming on so close together.  I do have several friends that intensionally planned them one after the other and I thought they were absolutely insane.  And then… we had ours even closer together than most of my “insane” friends.
Our son Milan is 22 months and a big 33 lb stocky boy.  Our daughter Taleia is 7 months, about 16 lbs and a much more petite baby than our son ever was.  Milan loves to give his little sister kisses.  He has learned to especially give kisses after doing something that gets a blood curdling scream out of me:

Like trying to mount and ride her like a horse as she learns to crawl while saying “caballo” (horse) “caballo” (horse).

Or reaching through the crib slots and hugging both hands around the back of her neck and then repeatedly banging her head into the side of the crib (while I sprint from across the room screaming Nooooo).

Or anytime she is standing up in the playpen, hands spread wide against the mesh concentrating to balance, he runs from across the room to pop her hands and make her fly backwards in her playpen and screams  “BOOM”.

Oh he has the “MUAHhhhh” make-it-all-better kiss down perfectly!  I’m also pretty sure people on the playground will hear my child saying “ARE YOU CRAZY?!” or “WHAT ARE YOU THINKING” to other children as I sit innocently pretending to have no idea where he learned those phrases.
My “insane” friends keep telling me “its just a stage” and “its hard now, but gonna be so great in the long run!”.  My experience is that the “stages” just are getting exponentially more WTF by the day.
Like our very tall, almost two years old’s, ability to reach anything and everything off the counters that could possibly kill him; then running with said item, like a knife, playing chase like his dog Oliver has demonstrated to be an absolute tits of a time.  His mastery of this chase game- sprinting in circles around furniture or the kitchen island- is not only with deadly items in hand but now he employs this any time he needs his pants changed, has snot pouring from his nose, or has managed to snatch some other huge mess maker or million dollar gadget.

The fascination to repeatedly stick his fingers in his throat to gag until he throws up is a super fun one.  And chewing up his food into a disgusting half digested slop and then spitting it out, at least 10 times a day, is also an appetizing delight.  Or just add the – potty training- to the equation.  My son pulling down his pants ripping off his poopy diaper while screaming “potty”.  Me peeling my breastfeeding daughter off me while trying to quickly determine the safest place, from him, to put her before he tracks poop all over the house.  Then trying to get him to the potty so he can fake poop, getting on and off the toilet, while saying “HOORAY”, for a while, to the ear piercing screams of my discontented (but safe) hangry daughter from behind one of the four baby gates in our home.

The struggle is real people!
Onward!! Through the vomit and poop trenches of motherhood, saving them from themselves and each other.