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I remember those first few days on my own with my two babies. My biggest fear was nap time. It seemed an impossible feat, and yet in the beginning it was not. Roman seemed to understand that I needed to care for the baby, Iris would nurse or sleep as I read to him, and then I’d sit there nervously hoping she wouldn’t cry out and disturb him from that dreamy state between sleep and wakefulness as he carried out his fragile ritual of snuggling his pillows to sleep.

There would be days when the stars didn’t align and it was hard, but they were not everyday and so it was okay. Those moments of success were so sweet and I felt so satisfied with my choices as a mother; I felt like everything was going to be okay. I truly cherished that time, sitting there in the dark, just enough light peeking through the blinds to watch their sweet sleeping faces. I loved the way he loves being sung to sleep.

These past few weeks have been hard. In part due to the epic horror of incoming canine teeth, but also due simply to a big brother tiring of his loss of attention. We had a few days where Iris took long naps in her swing and I could sit and play with Roman, dote on him with hugs and put him down for his naps just the two of us. Perhaps those days are to blame. She no longer wants to sleep in her swing. She only naps while I’m wearing her. When she’s awake I can put her down on her play mat or in her Mamaroo and she is happy, but as soon as she needs something, Roman’s little heart breaks as I stop what we’re doing to care for her.

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Nap time is now regularly reducing me to tears and fantasies of conversations with my husband in which I beg him to come home for his lunchtime to help me. The timing has been all off. Roman wants so badly to be cuddled and Iris screams if I don’t pace her to sleep in the carrier. There was one day that I tried to leave her in her swing in hopes that after a little fussing she would calm down and rest. I wanted to give him the attention he needs, but she wailed harder and louder until I had to go get her. So Roman got hysterical. It’s one, then the other, then both. There were days this went on for hours and hours and hours. My mother came for a whole week to help.

Today he cried and cried as I paced her to keep her calm. He doesn’t understand why her cries trump his. I tell him I’m sorry; I tell him I love him; He’s 20 months old, he doesn’t understand. I sang songs and turned on soothing lights. I gave him his stuffed animals to cuddle and he tossed them off the bed. Finally she got drowsy enough that I could kneel down and sway and rub his back as I sang his favorite lullaby. He snuggled into his pillow and grabbed my hand, tucking it under him and holding on so tight. Finally he fell asleep like this and I had to pry each finger away ever so gently, stand up slowly and creep out of the room. Sometimes I wish there was a camera on to capture the physical absurdity of these moments.

This week the afternoons are sunny and warm and we play outside and by the time my husband comes home, I say we had a good day.

It isn’t fair to Roman. I feel like a terrible mother. I don’t know what to do. We never sleep trained. I’ve never been able to let him cry; I instinctually took the “attachment” route and now I don’t know how to handle this, not being able to comfort him the way he needs in every moment.

I know that probably sounds crazy to many parents. I know that I chose this. I know this is just a phase. Iris is changing so fast, in a month she might take regular naps in her bassinet, and maybe even tomorrow she’ll like her swing again. This part is just turning out to be as bad as I imagined it could, it’s all the stuff those first few days had me so relieved we’d avoided.

For the sake of authenticity I just wanted to share, sometimes this is what is like with two under two.