Welcome to parenthood...

Welcome to parenthood…

When my husband and I found out we were pregnant, we were thrilled. Then, when we learned about the upcoming double dose, the emotions really got out of control. I couldn’t wait to meet my twins.  I started dreaming about how they would look, fantasizing about their perfect little noses, their precious little toes and their wonderful little round bellies. I could picture it- the two cribs in the nursery with my two perfect children snoring softly at their designated nap times. Ok, maybe that’s a bit optimistic, but you get the picture. The fact that we would never have to think about getting pregnant again was a certified bonus. As we drove back from the doctor’s office, these rosy thoughts swirling through my head, my husband started calculating the costs of college 20 years in the future, multiplying by two. Then he got deadly silent, a veritable black hole in the passenger seat of our car.

All of my friends that had preceded us in the entry to parenthood had advice, ranging from hilarious to downright ominous. I was assured that I would never sleep again, or at least not for a while, but I was reassured that my overwhelming and unconditional love would help me manage the inevitable frustration. I read articles, mostly written by moms, all of which talked about the need for self preservation, adult conversation and the dire necessity for couple date nights to preserve the marriage. While I believed all these “experts” I had no doubt that I would fine. I wouldn’t lose myself. After all, I really wanted my kids. Right? Besides, I had worked in multiple daycare centers. I would FINE. My husband I had practically defined PDA in our early courtship, we couldn’t stop kissing in public. With a spark like that, no problem.  I wasn’t worried at all. Totally justified confidence.  Right?

Then the kids arrived. Now, don’t get me wrong. I do love my kids. I love them beyond words, as promised, and this love does help me tolerate the inevitable frustrations brought on by their immature behaviors, as also promised. But now, when I read those articles written by “experts” I read them with a different shade of glasses. The shade is still a pleasant shade, mind you, but it’s no longer the flawless shade of rose. Maybe an olive green or mauve, but certainly not rose.

And as I begin this blog, I find myself in the wonderful yet precarious position of mom to twin 2.5 year olds, wife to a wonderful man who is saddled with the responsibility of funding our family of four and part time teacher who is in the constant struggle to achieve that balance between too little and too much professional life. Nobody said it was easy, though, did they?