Monday evening my friend Jen and I had a the idea that we would take our kids to Chipotle for dinner. Our husbands were working, so why not treat ourselves to GMO-free, quick-service Tex-Mex? I pulled in to the parking lot after a quick stop to buy a toy box off of Craigslist. Relieved to have made this $10 exchange without being murdered, I was feeling good and ready for a salad.

I pulled in to what I thought was an empty parking space to find it was the “Burrito Loading Zone.” Ugh! I searched for another spot. That sign should have been a sign that this Chipotle trip was not meant to be.  By the way, who the hell faxes in their burrito bowl order?!

Anyway, I had to wake my 4-year-old who had dozed off in the car. Great. That will make bed time fantastic. She was foul and grumpy when I woke her. Promising a quesadilla and dinner with her friend did nothing to cheer her up. My 1-year-old had kicked off his shoes. I searched the floorboards as he wailed with hunger. I started sweating. I toted my thrashing son while scaring my daughter by telling her sudden death was imminent if she didn’t hold my hand in the parking lot. Did she not see all the other drivers being psyched out by the “Burrito Loading Zone” and circling the lot for a spot?!

I found Jen wrangling her one-year-old into a high chair and convincing her preschooler that the rice and beans would be good. We barely got a chance to greet one another. Oddly enough, our sweating stopped when we walked inside. My daughter whined, “I’m so cold, Mama!” Jen and I commented that the air conditioning in Chipotle was no joke. She asked if I wanted to move outside to the patio. I decided this brood needed to stay put. The thought of moving high chairs outside sounded exhausting. Plus, I had to pee. I couldn’t move outside because of my bladder. Don’t ask me why.

I think the one thing you can always count on at Chipotle is a line. I groaned as I hurried behind other customers, leaving my chilly, sobbing, hungry children to watch their friends eat. Jen pacified them with chips as I waited behind some lady who clearly had never been to a Mexican grill chain restaurant before. She was astonished to learn they had no carnitas after she learned what carnitas was. Then she had to ask why they didn’t have any. The employee yelled over the blaring Top 40 music about fair trade, sustainable, free-range pigs or whatever. Who could hear? I had to repeat my order no less than twice to each employee because they couldn’t hear me.

“Black or pinto beans?” “No beans on the salad, thanks.” “BLACK BEANS?” “NO BEANS. THANKS!”

“Guac?” “No, pico please.” “MEDIUM SALSA?” “NO, PICO DE GALLO.”

You guessed it. I had to send the salad back down the line to get pico on it. Adam Levine singing “Sugar” drowned me out and she thought I meant “No pico.” At least the music somewhat drowned out my screaming children. That was before the clerk revealed they didn’t have enough fruit for two kids’ sides. He gave one of the kids chips and the other fruit. My God, man! Do you know what that would mean?! Please! Just give them both chips!!!

At this point they can see me at the register and I pay as fast as my debit card will swipe. I get to the table and frantically open organic milk cartons and restrap the little one as he escapes his high chair restraints. Over the music I hear, “THIS ISN’T CHOCOLATE MILK!!!” I scold this spoiled behavior and mumble something about treats and sugar intake. I dunno. I had to pee really bad. My daughter said, “What!? Mommy, I can’t hear you! It’s so loud here!” She was crying as I rushed off to the bathroom. Of course the women’s room was occupied. Dammit! Come on Chipotle! It was a one-seater. I went to the men’s room. I had to. I hate doing that. Why are men’s restrooms so skeevy?

I came out quickly and started inhaling my salad. I couldn’t be in Chipotle for that much longer. The girl child stopped crying and actually ate her quesadilla. Baby boy ate some beans before he and his buddy across the table started throwing rice like it was a wedding a century ago.

I looked down and the floor was covered. Rice, beans, tortilla, chips and even some of my pico covered the floor under our table. An employee came by, looked at the mess and brought over a broom. He looked miffed at our mess. I shrugged and shouted over the music, “IT’S A BURRITO LOADING ZONE!”

Recently I squealed and hugged my way through an intimate crowd of old friends at a baby shower. I’ve known the mom-to-be since she and my sister were babies. I had my 11-month-old in tow. I was so excited to see my sister and nephew, who came to town for the affair. My nephew is 8 1/2 months old.  My mom was happy to have her two baby grandsons crawling at everyone’s feet.

Well, my son was at everyone’s feet. He was at their feet, playing with their shoes, on their purses, reaching for their cell phones, pulling up on their chairs and generally causing a ruckus, albeit an adorable ruckus. Most at the shower didn’t seem to mind him. My mom could help me  by holding him or entertaining him while I ate or played the shower games.

My nephew mostly sat pleasantly with my sister. He laid quietly next to her smiling. Yes, he can crawl too. He can also pull up. He’s about the same size as my son. But, he sat and mine squirmed.

My mom and her friend heard me quip to my son, “Hey, you see how your cousin is just sitting there? Why can’t you be like that?” My mom said, “Amy! You shouldn’t say that and compare them like that!” Her friend agreed. I felt my face get hot. I held my little guy tight against my flushed cheek. I whispered, “Sorry buddy.”

On the way home from the shower I had an epic crisis of conscience. How could I have done that to my baby?! Just because the cousins are close in age, it doesn’t mean they need to be compared. They are individuals. I need to watch the comments I make, even in jest. I need to talk to my sister about guidelines for how we will treat the boys equally but as individuals. I drafted a heartfelt blog post in my head as I drove.

I got home and told my husband what happened. I explained my intense shame and how I was damaging my son’s psyche. He said, “Are you kidding me?! Please! Amy, the amount of time you have spent worrying about this is too much. They are babies! He will never remember you said that.” True it’s not like we’re going to line them up and have them crawl race at family gatherings.  He laughed and hugged me. “Seriously. It was a complement to your sister on how sweet her baby is. Don’t sweat it.”

Here’s the thing. They’re both right. I need to watch what I say to my children. I need to understand that jokes and off-the-cuff comments can hurt. But, I also do NOT need to have guilt ridden meltdowns for every parenting faux pas I commit. Let’s face it, I know I will say or do something insanely insensitive and stupid again. Then I will write about it on the Internet.

In all seriousness, how do families quell comparisons between children close in age? Cousins, siblings, or even good friends with kids the same age. It’s very natural to compare. How do you either avoid it, or compare with compassion if that’s possible? 

After my miserable, hormonal ranting about being 40 and ultimately 41 weeks pregnant I want everyone to know that I understand how blessed I am. Truly. Now that I am removed from the tearful haze and the discomfort of 40 weeks, I am counting my blessings.

Yesterday was World Prematurity Day. One in nine babies in the US is born too soon. Read more from the March of Dimes here. Ya’ll, that is a lot of babies. I bet you know children and adults who were and are preemies. Recently I have found myself praying and thanking God over and over that my son was more than 8 lbs. of squishy sweetness, I was able to nurse him in the delivery room and he was my little APGAR rock star. Both my children were born full-term and as anxious as I was for them to make their arrival, I am SO THANKFUL for healthy pregnancies.

Last year I told you about sweet little twins, Avery and Raegan, who were born at 25 weeks, 6 days. My friend Nicole is their mother and I am so blessed to know her. She is smart and brave and has seen her family through a rough year of more hospital stays for her son, Avery. Through Nicole I have learned about the strong parents and skilled medical professionals that are in NICU’s around the world. More than anything, I learned the strength a mother has for her children and it is inspiring.

Avery and Raegan, age 3

These little miracles have exciting news! Nicole is expecting again! My heart nearly burst when I heard the news and I left an overly-excited, rambling message on her voicemail.

Me and Nicole at the March For Babies this year

Doctors don’t know why some babies are born too soon, but through research, they are learning more. Please consider donating to the March of Dimes. My awesome family and friends donated in honor of Henry for his baby showers or “sprinkles” this year. Let me know if March of Dimes is a charity you support or if there is another charity for babies people should know more about. Give for all the expectant mothers and little miracles you know.

Last week we celebrated our 3-year-old before she really turned three. I made some cute invitations with Charlotte’s picture, clearly depicting the theme.

(True story. We got to the Disney store and I saw the price of the Rapunzel wig. I said, “Charlotte, put this on and let Mama take your picture!” It was robbery. No way. Maybe for Christmas. Maybe.)

We had all of her little classmates and friends at a local bounce house kiddie facility. Bounce, pizza, cake, out. Awesome. This place was a party producing machine. I didn’t have it in me to get all Pinteresty like I did last year you know, being nearly 9 months pregnant and all. (Note the message in the sun on the invitation.)

We kept asking her why we were having her party early. She said, “Because da baby’s comin at my birfday on Nobember 2nd!” True. There is a real likelihood that that our children will have the same birthday. Charlotte was due Oct. 28 and born November 2. (Thank you, Pitocin!) This kid is due Oct. 30.  So, seriously, they could have the same birthday.

People act like this is a big problem or something. They always say, “Oh! That would suck if they have same birthday!” Huh? Seriously? There are many, many siblings who share birthdays.  Want proof?

Meet my twin cousins Scott and Meagan. This is them on their 1st birthday in 1983. Cute right?

See. twins and other multiples are siblings who share birthdays. I find it hard to believe sharing a birthday with your brother or sister is as scarring as people keep telling me it is. They’re like, “Oh my God! Are you going to have SHARED birthday parties?” Um, yeah. Probably. Like next year when they’re 1 and 4. What do they care? Cake, presents, done. They’re kids.

People are then like, “But, what about when they’re older! They should have their own day!!!!” Geez, relax. If we act like it’s bad thing, it becomes a bad thing. Guess what? We’re gonna make it an awesome thing. So help the person who says anything negative to my children about shared birthdays. So, Baby #2, don’t worry. If we meet you on your sister’s birthday it will be awesome! Anyone who said it isn’t is not invited to our awesome parties. So there.

I’ve been not writing about this for a couple weeks. Finally being able to talk about it makes me so happy! Most of you know I grew up with in a house with one sister. Julie and I are nearly three years apart. Mom asked me one time, “I wonder when Julie and Kevin will have a baby?” I said, “When Charlotte is three.” Mom said, “Why do you say that?” I said, “Because she does everything three years after me.” Mom laughed at my silly generalities.

Before the 4th of July holiday, Julie called me to say she and my brother-in-law were coming to see us in our new house. I said to Greyson, “I was thinking they were going to tell us they’re pregnant, but Julie sounded too perky. She didn’t sound tired enough to be pregnant.” Little did I know, Julie is better at hiding first trimester fatigue and indeed came to announce their big news!

Julie is due January 16. She reminded me these little cousins will be in the same grade in school and just 2 1/2 months apart in age. So fun! I can’t wait to meet my niece or nephew!

As happy as I am, as happy as I am for Julie and Kevin, I’m most happy for Charlotte. Siblings make us who we are and cousins are part of what makes childhood fun.