I am blessed with twin daughters.
It is the most amazing gift I have ever been given. I am also very lucky I get
to stay home with them. I do not however have access to family, back up child
care and my husband works 98% of each day. Most days I am out numbered.
Let’s go back a bit. I should
tell you that I am a type “A” personality. Which basically means I am very high
strung and I want things done my way. I fall apart when this does not happen. And,
by fall apart I mean I have a full systems meltdown; which I did when my girls
were around two and a half.
Now, let me tell you that
having twins is hard work. Especially if they are your first born. There is a
major learning curve to being a first time parent. Whether you have one, two or
several, that first year is all about getting your parental bearings. It seems
the more kids you have at the same time the stress of that learning curve can
take over. The first year after my girls were born was the easiest so far. I
had them both on the same eating and sleeping schedule. Juggling feeding and
bathing two babies alone was difficult, but I managed. By the grace of God they
both took two naps a day. I had approximately three and a half hours to
complete my household chores, maybe rest and watch TV. They were in bed by 6
p.m. and I had three more hours to get things done and relax. Since they were
so portable we went for a walk three times a day. Errands were nearly
effortless when I only had to pick up their carrier and lock it into the
stroller. I was able to still get things done- maybe not as perfectly as I
could before kids. But, my house looked pristine, my kids were clean and dinner
was on the table every night. I felt like I was THE domestic goddess. My type
“A” was happy!
Suddenly, it all changed when my twins could walk. In opposite
directions. I could no longer keep them contained and everything they touched
was now out of place. They started protesting against diaper changes, wardrobe
changes, bath time, car seats, the stroller and what was on the menu. It was
exhausting. But, somehow I was determined to continue operating at a level of
perfection only I had created. Until one day I landed myself in the emergency
room with my first ever panic attack (a fore mentioned full system melt down). I hated it. I
hated feeling like I did not have control. That was the scariest part. After
meeting with a neurologist because I was convinced it must be “a tumah” I
realized I needed to make some changes. She was ready to prescribe me Xanax and
recommend a good therapist. That’s when I realized I needed to get control
again. I needed to let go. My kids deserve a healthy mom. So, “whatever” became
my mantra. I started saying “whatever” to the dishes now and then. I started
saying “whatever” to the crumbs on the floor and the splatters of paint on the
table after art projects. I even started saying “whatever” to keeping every
single thing perfect. I lowered my standards from unattainable perfection to
“whatever works.” I’m not going to lie. It was and still is difficult to do. I
still get a twinge of “oh man I should be doing THAT!” when I go to other kids
parties, or see friends awesome Pintrest projects. I get in a rush to make
things bigger and better than I have planned. Then reality sets in that the
only extra hands I have are little ones and I call upon my mantra of,
“whatever” and I let it go.
I have lived my whole life trying to be Martha Stewart.
Thankfully it hasn't taken me that long to learn I don’t have to be Martha to
enjoy life.
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