A curious convergence has occurred my family upon the birth of Akiva. It seems that at the precise moment my little guy entered the world, his older brother turned into a full-fledged almost-two-year-old, complete with mini-tantrums, a propensity for trashing whatever room he’s in, dead-on parroting ability, and an actual opinion of his own. While these are delightful developments to discover in your child, when you’re wrestling, sleep deprived, through each day with a newborn, chasing a wound-up toddler, even one as adorable as Yonah, is the last thing you really want to be doing. In fact, in some of the hairier moments it was all I could do not to turn the hose on him, full force.

That’s not to say that watching the “brother love” develop hasn’t made for some great entertainment, too. Like the other day, when I was changing Akiva’s diaper, Yonah walked over, pointed to Kivi’s “equipment” and exclaimed, “That’s a Peenie!”. Later on, when my midwife Amanda came to visit, he proudly pointed to his own crotch to show her the precise location of his own. No envy there, I guess…

Then there was yesterday morning, which found us in my in-laws’ kitchen. Yonah discovered their supply of onions and potatoes and proceeded to throw them down the hall like he was trying out for the Sox. Well, one renegade potato flew from Yonah’s hand directly at Akiva’s head. The spud CLOCKED him. This is doubly impressive because it was A) unintentional, and B) I was holding Akiva in my arms. Poor little guy; looks like his older bro is breaking him in early.

Can I just say that I am freakin’ bombed? Last week we headed down to my in-laws’ for Shavuos, or at least we planned to. We got no farther than Rhode Island before both Shuie and I were slap-happy with exhaustion. We knew we couldn’t finish the trip, so we turned around and went home. To pacify my disappointed in-laws’ we went down to visit on Sunday and came back today. All I can say is that I am so done with 5-hour drives, especially with two babies in tow. Pair that with a joke of a night’s sleep last night — Akiva wanted to chat from 2 a.m. to 5:30 — and my state of being is on par with a really, really, really angry rodent. With Rabies. And a short supply of acorns. Yesterday, I called “Auntie” Jane, my mom’s best friend and surrogate mama to me, in tears. “Yonah won’t stop throwing stuff and I’m so *@$%^ tired!,” I exclaimed between sobs. “Don’t worry, honey,” she assured me. “You’re not supposed to be happy right now. Just change the diapers and eat some lunch.” And so I soldier on, mangled, but at least my two little tushies are clean.

I no longer feel like a terrible person for indulging in nostalgic musings about the good ol’ days when I was a single gal bopping around Beantown, free to come and go as I pleased, to sleep as much or as little as I wanted and free from any major commitments. The stark contrast between then and now is pretty jarring, seeing as my days are dictated by the whims of two little people. Now there’s wiping away eye crud, boogers and all kinds of treats like that, throwing healthy meals together, playing Lil’ Miss Milk Pump every 2 hours, picking up after a 2-year-old tornado and, of course, the endless marathon of diaper changes. But back then, despite my freedom, I was also really lonely. I was floating, really, looking for a sense of “home”. Now, with my three men who adore me, I have everything I wanted. So yeah, I’m a mess, but would I trade now for then?

Nah.