How many times have you started a story or a statement about your children with the phrase “I love my children, but….”? Why do we do that? It’s as if we have to shout “I’M A GOOD PARENT” before making a perfectly reasonable complaint about the number of times your three-year-old asks “why” during the day (approximately 341 times I think). The language around children and especially babies is such that it doesn’t even allow for the idea that it’s possible to not be 100 percent happy 100 percent of the time about being graced with the beauty of their presence in your life. “Blessing,” “gift,” “precious,” were all words used to describe my children to me before they were even born.
I was 13 weeks into my pregnancy when my husband and I found out we were having twins. The ultrasound tech turned the screen to us and asked if we knew what we were looking at. It would have been difficult to misunderstand the very clear picture of two humans growing in my uterus. I gripped my husband’s hand through the panic. Our two-year-old daughter was at daycare and we were just hoping to find out that we were going to have a healthy second child to complete our family. The thought of having two more babies was absolutely, completely, and utterly terrifying. Our first daughter was a beautiful but extremely difficult baby (see? I even did it there!). She wasn’t colicky but she needed a lot of attention and a lot of activity all the time. From the time she was born she had an opinion and wanted to do things her own way. The thought of having two more babies that might be the same had me looking for an exit. I could lie here and say that I was ecstatic and so excited to be “blessed” with the extra addition to our family, but that’s not true, I was just panicked.
The number of times over the ensuing months that someone told me how “lucky” or “blessed” I was to be having twins was infuriating. Each time I would plaster the same fake smile on my face and say thank you while internally I would wonder whether caring for two babies would kill me. The idea that I would be anything but over the moon with happiness about the impending growth of my family just didn’t occur to anyone except other parents or grandparents of small children. The looks of fear I would get from other new parents when they would hear the word “twins” was extremely validating. No, I wasn’t being crazy for not jumping up and down with excitement on a daily basis, this is genuinely daunting.
The words “blessing” and “gift” eliminate your ability to be angry, or annoyed, or scared. How can you be scared of a blessing? A “blessing” is something that you have been bestowed with that will make your life better. How can you be frustrated with a gift? A gift is an inherently wonderful, fabulous thing that all you can be is grateful for.
Yet there are many times where I'm just not filled with pure bliss when dealing with the trials of parenthood. And that's OK. I sometimes wonder if I was cut out to be a mom at all. That's OK too. Well, at least I hope it is because it's all I've got.
But yeah, even with all of that said, at the end of the day, I love my kids. (I just sometimes wish I was their aunt so I had somewhere else to send them at the end of the day)