For instance – they started kindergarten in September – and although that milestone came with certain logistical nightmares (buses, after-care, school closure days, etc.), we also have the joy of watching their minds grow and expand to the possibilities, excitement and vastness of the world that lies outside of our four walls.
For every victory of independence for the twins, Anders and I feel like we have gotten small pieces of our former lives back.
We can leave them with babysitters now, we can finally sleep through the night (most of the time), we can use booster seats instead of those giant five-point car seats and we can leave them alone for the odd weekend at my parent’s house.
It feels a bit like finally coming up for air, or coming out of a long coma. We are getting small tastes of freedom and glimpses of what our lives will soon be returning to. The problem is, we don’t have the same energy we used to. When we are making plans - it all looks great on paper - but when we get down to brass tacks, both of us always bail.
Tuesday at 6pm
Me: “Mom and dad have the kids this weekend – want to go out for dinner and maybe to the movie this weekend?” Anders: “Sure! Sounds great – let’s make a reservation downtown, ask some friends and plan for a taxi.”
Friday at 6pm
Me: “Shit – how do we get out the plans for tomorrow night? Why the fuck did I go and invite people? I am exhausted and the thought of going downtown again makes me want to shove forks in my eyes.”Anders: “I told you not to make plans! I say we cancel, order take-out and watch a movie.”
Saturday at 6 pm
Me: “I am too tired to dial the phone. Can we just eat whatever we can find in the couch while we watch Netflix??”Anders: “ZZzzzz…Hurch...What? Huh? Yeah whatever…Zzzzzzz”
It has also made me realize that I have aged a good 10 years since they were born. My hands are now “crepe-y” and are covered in small (for now) liver-spots. I have the starts of crowfeet and my abdomen can best be described as the scarred earth of a past battleground – streaked by stretchmarks and surgical scars. My legs have the starts of varicose veins, and even if the kids aren’t waking me up in the night, my bladder is.
The only bad side so far of the kids starting school is that now we can compare our kids to the other kids in their class.
I have no idea why women (and maybe men too – but for me it has always been the women) have to always turn things into a competition. Right after the twins were born, I learned that you could count on four questions from every other mom you met:
1. How much weight did you gain? Trick question - if you lie and say a small number you will get the lecture on starving your baby. If you tell the truth you will get told how you should have had some self-control and they are shocked you didn’t get gestational diabetes.
2. Did you nurse? If you didn’t – you will get the “look” followed by a lecture on the many reasons you are a horrible, selfish person and that you are probably going straight to hell. If you did nurse - for how long did you nurse? Another trick question – no matter what you answer – it will be wrong. You didn’t nurse enough and the baby is lacking that bond and immunity, or the reply will be that you nursed too long and the baby will have messed up mommy issues for life.
3. How long before you went back to work? Another lose-lose question. If you went back before mat leave was up – you are a horrible human. If you waited the full mat leave before you returned, are are also super horrible, maybe even the anti-Christ, as how could you leave that poor baby at the daycare and watch that tiny baby face as you drive away. Only correct answer in this situation: “Why I haven’t gone back to work and have chosen to be a stay-at-home mom.”
4. Vaginal or cesarean birth? Again – trick question – and trust me – don’t answer as you be locked in a horrific game of one-upmanship like you have never known. You will get ALL the gory details of how their vag actually turned inside out, they shit themselves on the table, they ripped from sternum to tailbone and the room looked like a scene from a war movie with all the blood and gore. Their story will ALWAYS be worse that your story and will be filled with such graphic and horrible details that you will be haunted and will drink to forget. To avoid this question – I have come up with my own strategy. I tell them that the twins ate their way out in a death battle for food – that they erupted alien-style out of the side of my belly. If they laugh – I know we will be friends. If they give me the “face” – I know I am good and we can go our separate ways.
But now that they are in school – this game has gone to whole new level. Anders and I are constantly worrying that Max isn’t writing as well as some of the other kids, and Molly seems to be a bit more immature then some of the girls. But – luckily the Mom-brigade is one step ahead of me and has a whole new series of questions designed to make me feel like I am clearly a shitty parent - and that my kids are suffering becasue if my sheer shittiness.
The new round of questions we have been receiving:
1. Home many sports is your child involved in? Haha! Don’t be fooled! This is simply an intro for them to talk about how AMAZING their kids are and to highlight the fact that will definitely be in the Olympics. Probably both the summer and winter since their kids are so super-dee-dupertity awesome. And then they will let you know your kid is a spaz since he/she isn’t in any sports, or not the right sport.
2. What level is your child reading at? Again – trick question. If your kid is reading above the level of the questioner’s kid - it is because you are a slave driver pushing the kid too hard, and you are probably fucking them up for life. If they are reading below their kid’s level – then hahaha! You suck again! Your kid is the town idiot and you will get the pity face and all kinds of half-ass reassurances of “oh you don’t worry yourself, I am sure it isn’t because of anything YOU did…they will catch up…probably…”
3. How tall is your kid? This is the one and only area where I can say we kick all the competitions ass since our kids are just shy of being giants. I would never have guessed that height would become something parents use as a competition. Growing up, I was always made to feel like a freak because I was so tall. Where were all these assholes when I was 5’9” in grade four and trying to slump down as much as possible to fit in with all my 5’ tall friends?
4. How old was your kid when they (INSERT ANYTHING)? You are always going to feel like an asshole at the end of this conversation as the question is engineered to make you feel bad as a parent. They are asking this because they can reply that their kid did whatever it was at a freaky early age. Timmy potty trained himself at two-weeks old! Jennie rode a bike with no training wheel at six-months! Braxton has failed kindergarten three times but has been downhill skiing for four seasons already!
I don’t know why we are so hard on ourselves and why we as women have to be so competitive amongst each other - especially when it comes to working moms versus stay-at-home moms.
I get that it is a choice to work (for some women it isn’t – I also understand that) versus staying at home. Why do these differences make us so hateful towards each other? My theory is guilt and jealousy. Each group wants what the other group has. From my perspective, I wish I had more time at home with the kids, but also so that I could stay on top of the house related stuff. I am not sure why stay-at-home moms are so hateful towards working moms, but can guess it may be tied to perceptions that we have freedom from the house all day and spend our time interacting with other grown-ups.
The other week I was at the bus stop when this particular mom (who to be honest I am not a big fan of - she is loud, rude, opinionated and tries to parent my kids while I am standing right there) starts in with how tired and stressed she is since she has to drive her daughter to playschool AND get groceries AND clean the house that day.
I gave her a look. Took a deep breath and replied with, “That is a busy day. I got up at 4am this morning to clean our four bathrooms and then after working all day, I get to throw something that resembles dinner onto the table and try and spend time with these maniacs before wrestling them into bed at around 8 p.m. After that, I will be going to get groceries. When I get back from that I will be vacuuming. I should be in bed by like 10 or 10:30.”
I actually felt bad about saying that and apologized to her the next day. She said a rude reply and hasn’t spoken to me since. I don’t know what will make us all stop judging each other and our choices and I know I am not innocent.
So, for my part, I am not going to participate in the one-upmanship game anymore. So here it is – all the shame inducing replies to the questions:
- My kids still cannot ride their bikes - My kids still need help showering and drying off
- My kids have trouble writing words and some numbers
- My kids aren’t reading yet
- My kids can’t tie their own shoes
- My kids haven’t tried skiing yet
And do you know what? I don’t give a shit. They are smart, funny, loving and outgoing kids who have a ton to offer and the next 70 or 80 years to figure that shit out. And they are pretty bright so I know they will.
If they dont, then I guess the mom from the bus stop will have the last laugh and they really will end up living in my basement until I croak.
