And, Suddenly, They Were Big
Never, in those days of bouncy seats and board books, of Steve lying flat on the living room rug desperately searching for pacifiers with the beam of a flashlight… Never could I have imagined I would ever get to the point of looking back on those years, instead of being entrenched in them.
Back then, waking up in the morning often felt like I was heading into a battle for which I wasn’t adequately prepared. Some days were the rock bottom kind — the totally-not-sexy-when-I-do-it messy bun, yogurt-stained shirt wearing, exhausted mother of three who was fueling herself with leftover Mac ‘n Cheese. Some of those days were tough, more than tough. Unsuccessfully trying to breastfeed two wailing babies while simultaneously attempting to tame the tantrum of my then-two-year-old. Or Steve coming home from work, only to find me crying in the corner of the living room because it’s all just too hard. Sometimes it just wasn’t pretty around here.
I’m grateful those impossible days were jumbled up with some downright magical ones. Successfully taking three young kids to the playground for an hour or two, triumphant and proud that I spoon fed two of them while pushing my oldest on the swing. Sweet baby smiles and equally adorable and awkward first sentences and phrases. The perfection of warm, chubby baby arms and legs resting on your chest. Encountering kind strangers while running errands. A number of middle-aged to elderly men and women have stopped me at stores, telling me their twins are 23, 57, 19. I looked at one such woman at Target and said, “And you’re still standing!” Reaching any phase of life beyond where I currently was seemed unfathomable. And, yet, there right in front of me was someone who had done it. And, now, here I am, officially out of the baby/toddler/preschool phase, with three big kids on my hands.
Yesterday afternoon, still clad in their polo shirts and khakis, the girls were giggling over some memories I was sharing with them. How 2-year-old Claire, when, Liza and Noelle were squished in my swollen belly, would plead: “Momma hold you” when she wanted to crawl into my nonexistent lap. How, in the days after Liza and Noelle were born, she would earnestly make me promise: “Momma not go back to hospital.” And, how as Liza and Noelle grew into toddlers and, even before they could really talk, would rush to find pacifiers and favorite blankets to soothe their crying twin sister. How a tiny Liza once referred to Noelle as “No.” And you could always tell the difference between when she was referring to her sister and when she was saying “No!” Because when she called her sister, her voice was a sweet, loving and drawn-out “Nooooo,” as if calling her dearest friend (which is exactly what Noelle is to her.)
Ever since Liza and Noelle’s preschool graduation, I’ve experienced a strange kind of ache. Mourning the loss of their youngest years at home with me, despite difficult days and weeks. Despite the fact that it is kind of awesome to go grocery shopping ALONE. The biggest adjustment is not being with them most of the time, which is both exciting and terrifying. What cute, funny things are they saying? What do they talk about with their friends? What am I missing out on? And yet…some days I can tackle a house project, make phone calls for the occasional freelance work without interruption, or, yes, take a glorious nap. The overwhelming part of this is a change in my personal identity. For the last eight years, being a Mom was my life’s work. Sometimes I think — have I done a good enough job? Did I take full advantage of the fact that I stayed home with my kids? I’ve realized it’s not fair to ask yourself these questions. Because, as I remember telling a friend once, motherhood is the one job in which failure of some kind is a guarantee. Stay-at-home or working, I would have found myself doubting aspects of my parenting.
One thing I do know is that I’m grateful. Three girls. THREE. Blonde-haired, fair-skinned and lovely. And behaving much better on their new discipline plan (hallelujah). The challenge and responsibility of raising children is enormous, but somehow I’m allowed this awesome privilege. And I will say, for all the heartache over them growing older too quickly, there’s a lot to love about having bigger kids. We’ve had real discussions at the dinner table about topics such as the presidential election, racial tension and space exploration. They can tell me all sorts of interesting facts about everything from lemurs to carnivorous dinosaurs to weather patterns (thanks, television!). We’ve discovered road trips can actually be fun, with the help of Dramamine and the promise of a hotel pool. For these reasons, and so many others, I’m curious to see what the coming years unfold.
But, yes, suddenly my little ones are big. Too big for my liking. But as long as they are still showering me with kisses, I’ll let it slide.