Everydaystranger

I love my children.

I love, love, love them.

But I am struggling.

I know that I am not alone. I know Statia is struggling. A link she linked to recently clearly is as well.

Nick has taken to temper tantrums that are colossal. He can be such a joy, as seen here with his new game “Running, running” (and when he says “no” here, that’s him saying “snow”. Easy to get them confused.)

(And why didn’t anyone tell me that my high-pitched voice makes people want to stab themselves in their ears?)

He can also make me want to cry. Observe today’s fun. The entire day’s fun. Play it at max volume and you may be heading towards the volume we’ve been living at.

(That’s me with my head in my hands in the background. Why didn’t anyone tell me that I occasionally sounded like a drag queen?)

His favorite word is “No”, which is uttered at decibels that break glass. It is his first and his immediate reaction to everything, and we now have started showing him that no means no. Cliché, yes, but it has consequences and he must learn them. If I hand him his sippy cup and he screams “NO!” at me, he loses the sippy cup. This then instigates a temper tantrum. I get that this is a battle of the wills – I must show him that I mean as much business as he means. But it hurts me more than it hurts him, I think. I hate seeing him do this to himself and to us, all because he’s simply flexing his newly acquired toddler muscles.

It comes on the heels of extreme tantrum-y behavior that he adopted from a few other toddlers at nursery that are going through this before he did. He’s become a fucking yob, throwing things, hitting kids, screaming “No!”. He’s not alone and (luckily) he’s not the first, and the nursery staff smile and pat me on the back and tell me that all the kids go through various stages of it, that it passes. I am sure it does. They tell me that Nora will go through it, too, and I’m sure she will, although right now butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth and she’s sweeter than candy floss.

Do you know how awful it is to feel like sometimes you just don’t want to be around one of your kids, this little person that needs you and loves you and whom you need and love?

On the weekends I spend my time catching up on house things that needed doing during the week and babysitting. Paula asked on one post who does the housekeeping, and the answer is Alastair and I. We can’t afford a cleaner, and I’m not sure I’d want one anyway (I’m not bourgeois, and I would want to clean before the cleaner came, because I’m crazy like that). On weekends Alastair battles on with the DIY because this house is in desperate need of it (this weekend he spent his time in sub-zero temperatures wiring up and weather-proofing our damp-ridden garage). And I, I deal with the babies. And it always transpires that I do the big grocery shopping at the weekend, largely because it means a trip out of the house and helps avoid a toddler meltdown.

That’s just it, though.

I spend my time hoping to avoid a meltdown and get through the weekend.

The twins are brilliant. I am completely in love with them and the thought of losing one or both of them makes me curl up into a fetal position. I am crazy about them both and am the luckiest woman in the world. I do not take them for granted, not for a second. The thing about all of this is, they never tell you that it’s This Hard All The Time. It’s This Hard to go through IVF and get pregnant. It’s This Hard to stay pregnant. It’s This Hard to give birth. It’s This Hard to get them to sleep through the night. It’s This Hard to get them through toddlerhood. Mostly, it’s This Hard to have twins. They’re gorgeous and golden, but you are aware that it’s a balancing act. In general, one twin is getting attention over the other. It’s true it swings – Nora had it during colic, Nick has it now – but you are aware, as a mother, that you may be letting someone down in order to deal with someone else. And you want to make sure that both children feel secure and loved by you, 100% of the time.

All of this liberally peppered with more advice – largely unsaked for – than you ever imagined. And if you so much as twinge at thinking: God I’m tired. I just need a break. then the masses descend. You’re ungrateful. You don’t realize what you have. You’re doing it wrong. You should do it this way. It’s easy, what are you stressing about?

But it’s not easy. Being a mum is not easy. I didn’t think it would be, I didn’t think it’d be cake walks and fairy tales all the time, I really didn’t. But I also didn’t imagine having days where you can see why people hit their kids (this is not the same as me saying that I condone it or that it’s ok, because in my world it isn’t). I would never. We don’t hit our kids – we were smacking the back of their hands as punishment for a while and then we realized that the twins were becoming quite smack-y themselves. We decided to stop all hand-smacking and simply use time outs only as punishment, and since then the babies are both significantly less physical. I can’t accept smacking or spanking my children, I really can’t (this is simply our household view though, and I accept that). But there are moments when you have a two year old scream “NO!” at top volume in your face for the 100th time in a day while throwing something and you think: I need to count to 100 or maybe even 1,000. Counting to 10 just won’t do. There are times when you physically hand your child over to their father and say “I really need you to take him away from me for a little while.” Experts would tell you that you’re handling this correctly, but it doesn’t stop you from feeling like a bad mother. A good mother wouldn’t need this distance, you think. A good mother wouldn’t want to cry or feel like she can’t take any more.

We do time outs. We explain afterwards why they were in time out, and we cuddle them. We are working on Nick’s frustration with him. We get that this is toddlerhood and it passes and it’s him exploring and testing his boundaries.

It doesn’t mean that it’s so exhausting that it makes me want to cry.

My mother used to tell me she wished she never had children. I am not sure if it was just a poorly executed joke or seriousness. I can tell you that I don’t wish I never had children – I’m proud and happy and overjoyed I did and don’t regret my two children even for a nanosecond.

Sometimes, though, I just wish it was a little bit easier.

-S.

PS-I’m going to close comments because I can see the comments I will be getting about “Just spank them” or “I’m going through treatment and would do anything for children don’t you understand how insensitive you are being?” or “All kids do it, mine did, and it passes” (all while stirring your cup of tea with the benefit of a hindsight I will someday have) and I can see who I’m going to get said comments from and yes, I am sure it will pass. Not that you don’t have a right to your view because of course you do – it’s just been a hard fucking day, and I really (selfishly) don’t want it added to just now, even in the full knowledge that this will pass. Because it will, I am sure of it. But until it does, it is sapping my will in absolutely every way.

UPDATED – I’ve gotten a number of emails from parents going through the exact same thing I am and without any advice/lecturing at all. We’re all in the same boat, I think. Those emails are very welcome.