Kids. Oh, kids. Now, I know yesterday was all dwelling on kids, but I’m going more generally right now.
I’m finding that, for whatever reason, these kids whine, tantrum and cry. A LOT. I was texting with my Nonna about it (because she’s cool that way…she types on her computer to my phone! She also spends a lot of time on there playing Solitaire, instead of watching TV with my Nonno…but maybe after 58.5 years together, he’s okay with that? I wonder if technology is disconnecting the older generations as well…hmmmm. But I digress…)
So, we are texting about these current babies and I ask her, How was I when I was a baby?
Brief summary (and I know if I get these details incorrect that my mom, who is the only person I know that I allow to read my blog, will promptly correct me. Sanks Mamma)-when my mom was 16, she made passionate love to a man about 8 years older than her, and the 2nd time they did so, BOOM…a sperm connected with an egg and, I was conceived and then, born). My Nonni, coming from a traditional Italian-Catholic background were a bit dismayed initially, and while there was talk of abortion, giving up for adoption etc, those ideas were quickly vanquished as they intuitively knew of the awesomeness that was to be born. Thus, my mom spent some time in an unwed mothers home about 8 hours away from where she normally lived (Mamma, I have some questions: like, what inspired you to go there? Nonni’s Catholic shame? I just thought about a few things!) But, when it came time for me to be born, she came back home.
When I was born, my understanding is that because my mom was an independent, stubborn, badasss Mamma, she decided that she was going to work and not rely on NObody to support her. Or, maybe she was like, “Oh my God…I have a child. I’m too young!!!” Either way, she went to work. And my grandma quit her union job at the hospital and stayed at home with me for a year. At this time, I believe that my grandpa was also home, because he was on disability for working his body super hard in manual labor his whole working life.
So, the story goes that I was super spoiled for the first 5 years of my life, but especially the first year of my life. My family had suffered a hardship 3 years earlier when my uncle died, and so it is told, when I came along, it was like “an Angel from God” was sent down. My grandparents doted on me, and because my mom was so young, I was the first granddaughter for most of my grandparents’ friends as well. When I asked my Nonna tonight about how I ate and slept, she said that by a year old, I was eating well and sleeping /napping peacefully. I’d like to think so. Haha. I’ve put in a message to my mom to see how accurate that was, in her perspective. We’ll see what she says.
The point being of all of that expository rambling is that, with these kids, I wonder what’s up. Like, why do they cry so much? Why do they whine so much? When they don’t get what they want, they freak out like they’re being tortured with molten lava!!!! And it’s constantly!! Also, the most Twin #1 sleeps is from about 7:30pmish to 4:30amish (when he drinks a bottle of formula), waking up a few times to yell usually. The other one is worse. Twin #2 goes to sleep around the same time (usually 7:30pmish), but wakes up every night at 1:30amish to eat a bottle of formula, then again at like 5:30amish for another bottle. Not including all of the times he wakes up because his soother has fallen out of his mouth or for whatever other reason. Last night I heard crying at like 9:30pmish, then 10:30pmish, then I know he woke up at the usual time to eat etc.
Granted, I am not the one who wakes up with them. This is fortunate for me (and my sanity). I can hear them screaming often, but it’s not the same as being in the room with them. The women who sleep overnight with them and then work with them all day are saints. SAINTS, I say. I’ve done quite a bit of research on possibilities of what could be happening for them. In terms of the soother and the eating in the middle of the night, most suggestions have been to gradually wean them off of it. I’ve suggested it to the overnight ladies, but they are less than thrilled and do not want to do it. So, guess Twin #2 will be waking up and eating a formula bottle until he’s 18 and leaves home. 😉 Haha.
Because I live with them, it’s hard not to get worried about these things for them as babies of 14.5 months old: the constantly being sick, the not eating solid foods (we’ve attempted sporadically, but they usually spit it out and often the main caregivers don’t want to keep trying…although, with my encouragement, it’s been happening more and also, at school!), the screaming every time they don’t get what they want and the immediate coddling by the caregivers each time this happens, the overprotected-ness/fearfulness of the decision-makers…I stress myself because I feel like it’s detrimental to the twins and their growth.
Buuuuut, at the end of the day, they are not my children, and what do I get out of worrying about things that I have no control over? I guess it’s because I feel like I can make a difference. I feel like, if I were to help the decision-makers more or…! The problem is, I don’t have my own children and have never raised others, so the backup of the information I’m finding is all anecdotal, either from my friends who have kids, or from the internet. So.
A better choice would be to do what I do the very best that I can, in the circumstances that I’ve been placed <breathe in> and to let go <breathe out> of the rest. And, why not focus on myself? (I typed this and then my finger hit something and deleted almost this whole paragraph…do not know how THAT happened…the universe thwarting me? 😉 hahah)
I read a Brené Brown quote today: “You can choose courage, or you can choose comfort, but you cannot choose both.”
Up until now in my life, Comfort has been a ruling force. What is it going to take for me to think outside of my circumstances and create a life for myself that I love? Looking past the debt, past the fear of aging, past not getting married/having my own child, past all of the negative self-talk about my body and appearance, past all of the judgements constantly swirling in my head…and look to a higher goal and purpose! Even at my ripish old age, I can do it. There’s still the rest of my life to build it! And how great would that feel?! xo