Updated: Jan. 25, 2016
Originally Published: Jan. 25, 2014
In a whirlwind of chaos, I find myself wedged in a bed occupied by two adults, two children, and two dogs. The comforter barely covers me, and it’s poking me in the face. I twist my sheet-wrapped body awkwardly to check the time: 6:18 a.m. It’s time to rise.
Yet, as I gaze at the sleeping twins sprawled between my partner and me, I feel an overwhelming urge to simply watch them. They rarely lie still like this, and I can’t help but marvel at how they’ve grown into long-legged little ones. Their closed eyes reveal traces of their baby faces, just like when they were swaddled in their cozy blankets. My heart swells with love.
But soon enough, they wake up, and the daily struggle begins.
Every day, I face resistance over something as simple as dressing. Today, one of the twins insists on tossing her pajamas into the dirty clothes, while I’d prefer to keep them for another wear. Tears flow, screams echo, and I find myself placing her in time-out while she’s completely naked. I can’t shake the feeling of being a terrible mother.
The twins push their younger sister the moment she steps into their room, prompting her cries. I’m torn between comforting one child and disciplining the twins, who refuse to apologize. One of them bolts away, slips on the hardwood floor, and hits her head—more tears.
In just 20 minutes, everyone is either upset, sad, or undressed. I feel like a failure as a mom.
After breakfast, the whining about television begins. The weather is beautiful, and I long to get them outside to play. While cleaning the kitchen, I say “no” to TV. One kid shouts, “Then I’ll wait for Daniel Tiger FOREVER!!!” My threat of time-out falls on deaf ears as the twins engage in a quarrel. They argue over whether Olaf or Kristoff is the favorite Frozen character, and when their sister declares, “I love Sven!” they bark, “No you DON’T!” She bursts into tears.
Their lack of kindness toward each other and disregard for my authority leaves me feeling inadequate. The conflicts over outdoor play, coming inside, lunchtime, naptime, and dinnertime seem endless. Why must everything be such a challenge? Why can’t I complete a single task without a battle?
Conflict makes me anxious. Before becoming a parent, I avoided it at all costs. But now, I refuse to be the kind of mom who can’t say “no” to her kids, which leads to constant strife. It’s wearing me down.
The bedtime fight often feels like the climax of my exhausting day. They resist going upstairs, argue over who goes to the bathroom first, demand different pajamas, insist on running with toothbrushes, and want to read the longest book we own—twice. Because they’re twins, of course.
Yet, at ten o’clock, when they should be fast asleep but are still wide awake, they ask if they can snuggle in our bed. I say yes. It may not be the most comfortable arrangement, but I cherish these moments. They won’t be little forever, and one day, they won’t want to cuddle with us.
While the conflicts can be draining, when I offer half my pillow to my daughter and she whispers that she loves me, all the battles fade away. I know tomorrow will bring a fresh round of struggles, and just thinking about it makes my body ache. But for now, the house is quiet, the girls are peaceful, and they smell of strawberry shampoo. In this moment, I feel like a good mother.
At least until they wake up.
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