“Twins?” The man graciously holding the elevator for me, two kids in tow, asks.
I have a series of answers prepared for this oh-so-common question.
“Don’t worry, we just got cable.”
“That might have been easier!”
By the sheer number of questions and comments I get on Instagram about my children’s age difference, you’d think we were some sort of circus show. And, to be fair, we are somewhat of a spectacle. My double stroller rivals the size of our car. Going out in public requires 3 changes of clothes, an hour of preparation, and ninja-like abilities to hand one child a teething toy while feeding the other a snack. But, as my Irish Catholic grandmother likes to remind me, “This is why God gave women two arms.” (Personally, I’d like to petition for an extra limb to hold my coffee.) Certainly, women have been caring for 2+ children for centuries, and how? Patience, a sense of humor, and a village of people willing to help.
In modern day America, our villages look a bit different than the days when groups of women gathered to bathe, nurse, feed and raise children together. But, my tribe is as important, so I think they deserve a shout out.
Thank you, drive-thru everything. Texas loves their drive-thrus. Just last week, I retrieved Starbucks and a car full of groceries without putting on real clothes, children asleep in the backseat. Getting out of the car is so overrated, I may never do it again.
Bless you, anyone who has ever held the door for us, ever and at any place. You people are the real MVPs.
Grandparents (And aunts / uncles / willing caretakers) of my children, I’m obsessed with you. For offering to hold a baby, drop off a casserole, give me a high-five. My mother-in-law is the sole reason our family was fed for weeks after having our second baby.
Thank you, Husband. For your sweet, sweet patience. For putting up with my panicky texts (“DO NOT ABANDON ME IN THIS BABY-FILLED WILDERNESS.”) I bet you are glad that I am not at all dramatic and always pleasant to be around. Thanks for changing that diaper, picking up wine on your way home from work, and telling me I’m doing all the right things.
Thank you, friend. For your texts, even when I’m too busy mopping up little people’s vomit to respond. For inviting me, when you know I can’t come. For checking in and pretending to care about my mundane, repetitive life. I love and need you. I swear one day I will be there for girls’ night, but for now, please accept my “ILYSM, but so busy” as a declaration of my undying love. I am still me. I still love margaritas and Ryan Gosling, and as soon as I dig my way out of this never-ending pile of laundry I will be over to watch The Bachelor.
And thank you, random strangers… For telling me how beautiful my children are. For reminding me how fast it goes. For offering a smile in solidarity in the frozen section. For not judging that my child is using my iPhone, so I can peacefully check out at this Target.
Turns out, it does take a village. I’m so lucky to have mine.
Media by Bg.