The Circle is Now Complete

Jeff and I have entered a new phase of parenting, one that I'm embarrassed to admit has happened so late. I'm happy it happened at all, though, so I'll share.

We are a family.

Having two helpless creatures to contend with for three years has been very difficult for me. I fought it from the moment my daughters were born: there is a photo of me taken two weeks after I gave birth, where the expression on my face is unmistakeable: I was in utter misery. I don't like looking at that picture now, because it takes me right back to the feeling that I had grown another appendage, in the form of a 50-pound double-stroller: it was unwieldy, attracted attention, and contained two new things that were sooooo fragile. I lugged everything around with the ironic satisfaction that at least I was 38, and not 28. At least I did not have to add the frustration of not being able to travel or go to bars! Jeff, though not as hormonally affected as me, was equally in the dumps. It was so selfish, I know, but I don't feel as guilty about it now: we were used to being totally, albeit collectively, self-centered. The sleep deprivation alone was devastating enough. The constant uncertainty about the future (would she cry again; would we get to sleep for at least 30 minutes?) was unnerving. I was a terrible mother, I thought, though it was hard not to love each girl for the person she was slowly becoming...in the moment. Then the other would wake up.

We were working. We were not-quite-making it, financially. Lots of stress. My mother saved us so many times....

Our experience stopped feeling like triage about a year ago. It wasn't abrupt. We just began to be able to count on having more free time, like after bedtime, or when the girls went off with grandma, they wouldn't exhaust her to the point where she wouldn't want to do it again--like next week. As they began to potty train, drink out of real cups, eat the same food as us, and the amount of equipment needed dwindled, so did a lot of the anxiety. Childcare had stabilized at age 2, when they joined a bigger preschool (try finding legal childcare for twins under 2) and liked it. They did not cry or fuss (so much) in the car.

My husband and I also came back into focus with each other. Our relationship had always been conspiratorial: what happens when your own children become "the enemy"? We had begun to argue, like siblings, over who deserved x more (sleep, free time, sympathy, whatever). As he is a little brother and I am a big sister, you can probably guess how dysfunctional it became at times. When we began to laugh at it, I realized that we had moved ahead.

The girls themselves, however, were the real stars. At three, they began to do most things by themselves. Really, though, to me they become more complete. All of the fragmented parts of their personalities began to solidify, and even better, they began to tell us about it. I won't bore you with the story-about-my-brilliant-kid times two, but I will say that I began to look down on the sleeping faces of my daughters and think, "Wow. I am lucky to have each of them." I wouldn't say, yet, "I'd do it all again in a second." I would probably hesitate. (Note: I did more than hesitate two blog posts ago.)

I've never had to work so hard. In comparison, tenure (at least, at my institution) has been a cakewalk. Cancer, too. Nothing could have prepared me for what I (and Jeff) have been through. I will never say to a first-time pregnant woman (especially if she is my daughter!), "Boy is your life going to change." No fucking shit (Shirley).

We were driving the other day, somewhere, our car full of preschool paraphenalia. There was a vague smell of old sandwich, but we were all listening to Al Jolson's "I Love to Sing-a!" and trying to follow along with it. The windows were down and the mustard was in bloom. I started thinking (around the lyrics), I love California in the spring. I love being able to put the windows down. I'm glad to be driving a nice car with a tank full of ($4.16) gas. I love Jeff. I love my friends, many of whom are also enjoying Al Jolson. It felt like our car was a meteor, streaking toward its destination, in one piece. For now? Perhaps.

I'm glad I had kids. Dear me in 2008. I don't envy you. You can't see past the next 15 minutes, but I'm here to tell you that in about three years, you will be grateful. I promise.