After a particularly wonderful and exhausting weekend with my double-trouble-angel-devil boys, I found solace online from an excerpt of the book "The 7 Stages of Motherhood" (http://www.annpleshettemurphy.com/stagethree_more.html). Here, the author describes a visit from a friend with twin boys:
"…You need all the adrenaline you can pump through your veins when you’re mothering a toddler. I had forgotten how exhilarating and exhausting it can be to follow a two-year-old as she gallops, leaps, dances, and dives through her day when my friend Jackie happened to drop by with her twin boys. Once sprung from their double stroller, they ricocheted off the furniture like human pinballs. Michael charged up and down a small series of steps with the focus of a kamikaze trainee, while Peter, still a little wobbly on his feet, made a beeline for a bowl of nuts I had forgotten to move. “How do you do this every day?” I asked Jackie, who used to be a personal trainer. She shrugged and laughed, just as Michael dove into her arms from a chair. “Thank God I’m in good physical shape,” she replied, lifting thirty pounds of boy into the air. I complimented Jackie on her expertise as a “spotter,” ready to help if absolutely necessary but willing to let her boys tumble and fumble their way through our living room. I failed spotting. I tended to hover...."
I read that and nodded YES! Two things came to mind immediately:
1. When I first learned I was carrying twins, my OB GYN said to me in his southern drawl, "Well sweetheart, you better get yourself into shape. FAST." I left the office puzzled and a little offended. Of course now I know why he said it. I'm glad I heeded his advice. I love the phrase "ricocheted off the furniture like human pinballs." Yeah, that's about right.
And
2. As a single mom of twin boys, I can't hover. I don't have a choice. I can't be in two places in one time.
Sunday morning I brought the boys to church with me. I rarely do this because they won't stay in the church daycare without throwing screaming fits. So yesterday, I sat with them in the soundproof play room behind the bible study meeting room. The teaching is piped in via speaker. It's a good way to stay on track with my spiritual life and keep the boys from having epic meltdowns. Usually, we’re the only ones in that room during the service because it’s designed for other meetings.
An aside about that little room:
Last year when I first started going to church one of the longtime volunteers spotted me teary eyed carrying two screaming boys – one under each arm - from the daycare building. I was leaving early because the boys were inconsolable. I was frustrated, feeling trapped, feeling sorry for myself. “I can’t even go to CHURCH!” I thought to myself, bitter tears streaming down my face. Mr. Dixon chased after me and encouraged me to use the soundproof room. I’ve been going to the church ever since. A guardian angel, that man.
Yesterday about 15 minutes before the end of the service, a beautifully-dressed, sophisticated mom came in with her son Elliott. By this point, my two were beyond the "wind up" point - jumping, yelling, running. I had taken their sweaters off -- they were down to undershirts. Sam's head was soaked in sweat. Jack was using his loudest "eeee eeee" voice to yell and guffaw and generally be a hyper little boy. They were running in circles, crashing headlong into each other, falling to floor, collapsing in giggles and probably bruises. As everyone prayed during the service, I was thanking God the room was soundproof.
Elliott started playing quietly on a climbing structure in the middle of room. His mom stood next to him; watching for falls. Hovering, really. I sat across the room at a table under the speaker trying to listen to the teaching and taking notes. I knew the boys would be fine. I turned back, looked at everyone and smiled. Sam had Jack in a headlock on a floor matt. Both were laughing like hyeinas.
Eyeing my sweaty, loud-mouthed kids, the woman tentatively asked me how old they. Nearly three, I say. Her face brightens: Elliott too! Her name is Sarah. As I come closer, I see the tension in her eyes. This is a stressed-out mama in pearls.
Elliott's hair is styled -- with product. He is dressed in a Ralph Lauren sweater vest, button down shirt and navy dress slacks. I could tell he was itching to join Jack and Sam in their chaotic, fun games.
Sarah and I chat. Suddenly, she screams in that red 'super-danger-super-danger-now!' mommy voice: "Elliot, NOOOOOO!!!!" My heart skips a beat. I turn and see that Elliott is about to step on Jack's leg. Just another day in paradise, no biggie. But Sarah is going pale. Elliott is shaken. My boys freeze.
"It's ok," I said, "They step on each other all the time." I try to reassure her. She looks horrified.
"But I want him to learn he can't step on people." I nod and avert my eyes.
She has a point. I figure a kid will learn that lesson the hard way. That's ok, even preferable, right? Pre-twin Laura would not have felt that way. Pre-twin Laura would have been just like Sarah. Exhausted and overwhelmed trying to keep a single child perfect. Perfection is too damn hard. Perhaps allowable imperfection is one of the blessings of twins. The gift to be a spotter not a hoverer.
Sarah twists her pearls, presumably punishing herself for her son's transgression. As I pity her, I start to pick at my cuticles (because I left my pearls at home) and realize I’m punishing myself for not teaching my boys not to step on other people.
Holy guilt batman! Will motherhood’s anxieties ever cease?!
I want to hug this woman and say to both of us: "It'll be ok!!!" At least I hope it will...
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