I need bigger arms

I have two kids, one comfortable lap and two arms, sounds like that should be enough, shouldn’t it? Apparently, It is not. I need bigger arms. I’ve already mentioned the hell that is bedtime at our house; recently the situation has taken a significant downturn with the introduction of a new point of contention: my lap. Used to be that I would hold the girl for a while, sing to her, cuddle a bit while the boy hung out with daddy, brushed his teeth and did secret “man stuff” (I don’t know either, do they wrestle, have burping contests, lie there staring vacantly into space with their hands down their pants?) and then I’d put the girl down and hold the boy for awhile, sing, cuddle and whatnot.

Now for some reason everybody wants to sit in my lap together, like when they were teeny tiny, except now they’re quite large, and wiggly. So now at the tail end of the entire, exhausting, infuriating ritual we have an additional five minutes of pushing and shoving on my lap, of elbows in my ribcage, of heads banging against my shoulders, my chin, and occasionally my nose. Let me just say that it is in no way pleasant or comfortable for anyone involved, but for some reasons they need this further reassurance that I do, indeed, love them the same.

So I need bigger arms, à la elasto-girl, just until they realize that they don’t actually both fit in my arms at the same time and the previous way was better. Which should be any day now cause we all know how reasonable toddlers and preschoolers are, right?