As I find myself crawling beneath the dining table, collecting what looks like an entire ear of corn from under my 18-month-old son’s chair, I can’t help but ponder, “How did I end up here?” Just a glance to my side reveals our poor cat, Oliver, who has been largely ignored since my son was born and practically forgotten since the twins arrived five months ago. He shifts his gaze between his neglected toy and me, as if to say, “Since you’re already on the floor, why not play with me?” But I can’t. It’s not that I don’t want to; it’s just that the twins are wailing in the living room, trapped in soiled diapers and onesies stained from the day’s meals, while my son has taken to flinging pasta at the wall.
Fortunately, my husband steps in to manage the twins and their messy outfits while I tackle the bottles and remnants of dinner. This is what our evenings look like. These are our days. This is my life now. I have vague memories of working, of running programs and teaching psychology at night. I think of adult conversations, casual Fridays, potlucks, and Secret Santa exchanges. Now, I struggle to recall when I last fed the twins.
It’s a challenge—an understatement, really—to take a simple walk to the mailbox or to exist in any semblance of my former life. Am I complaining? I’m not sure. Do I dislike it? I can’t honestly say that I do. However, if someone had told me five or ten years ago that I would marry, immediately get pregnant, stop working, have a son, and then become pregnant again just four and a half months later—with twins—I would have laughed uproariously. And I would have laughed even harder if you’d suggested I would actually enjoy it.
During my two years of pregnancy, I watched my impressive collection of nail care products and makeup become obsolete. I let my professional credentials lapse because a high-risk twin pregnancy made it impossible for me to attend the required training sessions. I grieved for the loss of my career for about a year and a half. The arrival of twins when you already have a thirteen-month-old son will definitely jolt you back to reality.
I have never been busier or worked harder in my 32 years. My skills and education took a backseat as I embraced life as a stay-at-home mom. Even on my hardest days, when I feel overwhelmed, I still wouldn’t want a nanny or babysitter to witness my babies’ first smiles, crawls, or words—or to miss out on enjoying those moments myself.
My conversations now revolve around poop and spit-up, smiles and rolling over. I cherish the rare fifteen minutes of silence at the end of the day before I drift off to sleep. I find joy in my son’s perfect pronunciation of “thank you” and in witnessing him comb his hair and brush his teeth. I revel in the way my family’s once-stern faces soften at the sight of my little ones.
The frustration I sometimes feel about my situation and my perceived “lack of fulfillment” dissipated the moment Jake leaned over and kissed the heads of his new siblings, Lily and James, for the first time. I surprised myself in that moment.
So, I tell myself, it’s alright—at least for now.
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Summary:
Navigating the chaotic life of a stay-at-home mom to three young children, I reflect on how I arrived here. From the joy of family moments to the challenges of daily life, this journey reshapes my identity and priorities. Despite feeling overwhelmed at times, the love and laughter shared with my children make it all worthwhile.