As I sit here in my little studio trying to get my thoughts onto the page, I’m trying to ignore the giggles and chirps of my now 20 month old twin boys. I have childcare help 3 days a week, two of those days are spent working from home, trying to cross tasks off my list for The Art of Nesting. This sounds great on paper, but the temptation to ditch it all and get in on their fun has become unbearable, especially when they start saying “Mama” on repeat. It’s torture. All this is to say that even when I have purposely carved out time in my week to work, I’m overwhelmed by a desire to be with them. They are my everything.
Becoming a mother has been the most transformative event in my life. People say it changes you, but nothing can truly prepare you for all the ways it infiltrates your being. I’m sure I could say the same applies to becoming a mother of one, but I don’t know much else about what that’s like. When I started sharing the news that my partner, Aaron, and I were expecting twins, I was astounded by how many women said “they wish they’d had twins” or “how lucky I was”. This surprised me because I had never considered my life with twins. It hadn’t ever crossed my mind, not once, not even in a glimmering moment of “what-if”. You can imagine how shocked I was when I heard the news.
It’s been almost 2 years of processing life with twins and it’s taken me almost as long to recognize the parts of motherhood I’ve been mourning. It wasn’t until very recently that I identified the feeling as such - mourning. I feel a sense of sadness and loss over simple activities or moments of intimacy where a 1:1 ratio of mother to child is more ideal that 1:2. Co-sleeping, for example. I didn’t expect to feel fomo around co-sleeping, but I do. The thought of snugging baby to sleep every night fills me with joy, but I couldn’t bare the thought of leaving one out. Mom gang activities where new moms gather with their babe on their laps to enjoy a chat over coffee, fitness classes designed for “baby and me”, single parent trips to the city (or anywhere) were - and still are - exhausting and overwhelming. Individual snugs are a rarity, as is breastfeeding only one baby; as soon as one see it going down, they're right there wanting in on the moment. Having two has limited my experiences as a new mother, my sense of community and freedom. It also prevents me from fully tuning in to the nuances of each baby, living everyday in fear that I might miss something important with either one. My attention is divided, half with this one, half with that one, never truly able to focus on anything else. I often feel like an inadequate mother, burdensome to those around me, or even resentful when I see how easy it looks with one baby. These emotions are typically followed by shame.
It’s complicated because I also know the immense blessing of having two babies instead of one. The precious moments where they interact and feed off one another’s energy are pure magic. The way they acknowledge and appreciate each other, clumsily navigating each other’s boundaries, fully aware of how important this other human is in their lives. Double the hugs, the gooey kisses, the “Mama!”s, and definitely double the fun. It’s like nothing I’ve ever experienced before and has truly been the greatest gift of my life. They've introduced me to new dimensions of selflessness and love I had no idea I was capable of.
The experience of ‘mourning’ can show up in so many way for a new mother; it could be the loss of a career, loss of independence, loss of your body, loss of sense of self. It could show up as mourning the way your birth happened, if it wasn’t as planned, or feeling a sadness around the early years if they weren’t what you expected. It could be mourning your relationship, if it changed dramatically once baby (babies) arrived, as it so often does. And of course the unimaginable, mourning the loss of a child. All are not equal, but none are less valid.
The journey into Motherhood can heighten our emotions, taking them to outrageous highs and unimaginable lows. We, Mothers, feel so deeply, which is both a blessing and a burden. Our ability to be empathic is limited only by our capacity to feel emotions ourselves, so if this means going through some discomfort so I can be a better Mother to my boys, I’m here for it. The highs, the lows, and everything in between are more than worth it every time I hear them say “Mama”.