If I had a dollar for every time someone said to me, “You have your hands full,” all my takeout coffees would be paid for.
I have a three-year-old and infant twins. Getting out of the house can be a complicated ordeal involving ruining someone’s nap and someone else becoming hangry (hungry and angry). Sometimes I wonder why I didn’t grow a second pair of arms while I was gestating twins. They certainly would have come in handy.
When the circus finally gets out of the house and, say, we’re out walking with a double stroller and a scooter, people can’t help but comment.
“Wow, twins? Are they identical?”
“Do they run in the family?”
“You have your hands full!”
The last one is the most common. Yes, my hands are more than full. I literally can’t carry them all.
The other day I was out on a walk with my circus when a couple of women stopped me to comment on my hands. They looked to be about mid-fifties, friends, out for a walk in the mid-morning, chatting. Yes, I replied, I do have my hands full — with the handlebars of a stroller, currently. They asked about my kids’ ages, and oohed and ahhed over the babies, who were conveniently sleeping. They asked if I get any sleep with three kids.
Well, of course not. My nights are a series of one-hour naps. I’ve reached a point where it doesn’t matter how much coffee I drink or when, how much screen time I consume before going to sleep, or even if I’m in bed — if it’s quiet, I’ll doze off within five minutes.
They laughed and gave knowing nods, clearly moms themselves. Then one of them made a comment that took me totally off guard: “It’s the best time, though. Later you’ll look back. It’s the best time.”
The two women exchanged nods over this, said goodbye, and continued on their walk.
The best time? I’ve reached it? The pinnacle of parenthood? My life revolves around the schedules of three tiny humans who know nothing about their mom’s needs for a social life, three solid meals, or a regular shower. I hardly sleep or have clothing that fits my post-twin-pregnancy body. While I’m feeding, wiping bums, putting down for naps, putting on shoes, etc., all day the chances all three kids will be content at the same time are so slim that fussing and whining is my regular soundtrack. My life is ruled, to borrow a phrase from another writer, by the “tyranny of the immediate.”
These women having an uninterrupted conversation while walking in clean, well-fitted athletic gear in seemingly perfect freedom for the afternoon — envied me? My time of life? I wear baby spit up like it’s in style and shoes with holes because I haven’t had time to buy any to fit my wider postpartum feet.
Maybe I’m young and naïve, and I haven’t been a parent for that long — but I refuse to believe it’s true that these baby years are the best years. I don’t think God would have invented human lifespans the way he did, with childbearing so relatively early, just for everything to get worse from there.
Every stage of life includes some lessons, some challenges, some things to learn about ourselves and who God is. Every stage sharpens us.
Labour and delivery is like a life and death. Being the parent of small children has taught me so much about selflessness, the fragility of life, the uniqueness of every individual, and how little I control.
But being a parent of a teenager — which I guess was the stage of these two women — has its own beauties and challenges. I’m certain God intended it that way. I won’t pretend to understand that stage, but I surely hope in the thick of it I embrace it and learn from it, rather than daydream about when my children were utterly dependent and had no rational thought.
I am curious what it will be like once my kids have grown. I dream about them wanting to keep in touch with my husband and me, not just out of obligation on holidays, but because they enjoy our company. Will anyone look up to me? Will I mentor any young adults?
Then, reaching my wisdom years, what things about humanity will I discover as a grandparent? How will I become holier and less self-reliant? What will God teach me?
I tend to see parenthood a little like a video game. You don’t start out at the “best time” and keep playing a game. You start at level 1 with your firstborn, at first finding it an incredible challenge, but with time and failure and learning how the controls work you make progress and level up. Each level builds on the previous one, using skills you acquired and pushing you sometimes to your limits to help you develop new ones. Each level — each life stage, each new child — is interesting, exciting, and sanctifying.
No, I’m not at the best stage. It’s truly chaotic some days. But as I gaze into the silly little faces of my gang, with their bright eyes and toothless grins, I think about my place in the world, right now, right here. I suppose the current moment is the best moment. It’s the only one I have.
Moms of any stage, I’d love to hear from you! Feel free to reach out at aruck@rcav.org or send a note to the editor about anything you read in this newspaper at letters@rcav.org.
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