Once upon a time, I was a writer. I even defined myself that way, and though I did it professionally for all of two months (hated it), I continued journaling and writing with my English classes semi-regularly. That is, until I had children, when writing plummeted  on the list of  priorities, and now I can’t remember the last time I wrote anything more than a grocery list.

So when my lovely friend invited me to write a blog chronicling my experiences as a twin mom on her website, I was flattered, but intimidated. I’m just so rusty, and the writing would be so public.

            But I really HAD to do it. My life has been devoid of moments dedicated to my personal growth for almost two years. I devoted nine months of my life to keeping my babies and myself healthy during my pregnancy (a full-time job), and the past nine months have been all mama, all the time. My activities during the first six months are particularly easy to summarize: feed self, nurse babies, feed child, change babies, feed self, nurse babies, feed child, change babies …  I think you can fill in the rest. I don’t regret a single second of this life, and I’m not resentful of what is required of me, despite what my concerned family may assume. “Are you still nursing those babies?” asks my dad, his brow wrinkling in annoyance and concern. “Why not bottle feed so that someone else can take care of them? You deserve time to yourself!” Yes, I do, but I’m only willing to go so far in pursuit of that time. Some things are non-negotiable.  But the babies are older now and I needed something else, so I decided to commit to producing one post per week       

Writing my first post made me happier than I ever anticipated. The time alone with my thoughts, the unlocking of concepts and perceptions the writing created, reawakening long-unused skills—it all felt so good. The very day I sent off my first post, I began to eagerly anticipate when I might write my second.

And already, my life is testing my commitment. I’ve been whiny and cross for days now because it’s been a fight to get to the computer. You know how it goes—you don’t have to be a twin mama to have this experience! You send off the first post, and it’s an entire week before the second is due, so you don’t do anything the first day. The weekend is full of family time, and that’s necessary and good, and besides, there’s plenty of time till Thursday, then Monday comes and it’s a late day at work and the babies are up late, so you get fifteen minutes, not really enough time, but it’s ok, there’s tomorrow, and tomorrow comes and goes and not a single moment is spent even thinking about the topic, and panic is starting to set in now because now there are only two days left, and lo and behold, it’s the last day and you’re trying to get the babies to sleep but they have terrible gas (what horrible thing did I eat anyway???), and you’re finally free and it’s 11 p.m. and you wonder if the joy of creation is worth the missed sleep when you know the four-year-old will be waking you at the crack of dawn. And now I’m supposed to be creative?!

This last evening, I realize that I’m making choices all day long that keep me from this commitment. The babies take a nap… do I sit down and happily write? No, I start laundry, clean the kitchen, take out the garbage, and read to my son. The only important item on that list was the time with my son, but the tyranny of the house constantly overshadows the things I should be doing for me. I literally forget about me. And it’s a habit I’ve spent many months developing, and now I’m struggling to kick it. I know it’s the easy way out, to focus on my children, my husband, my house. I know that role, and I know now how easy it must be to stay there, the supportive and nurturing Mother who takes care of everything and everyone without a thought for herself. There is safety and reward and martyrdom in the Wife and Mother who asks for no nourishment or time or space. Our culture is fairly schizophrenic about mothers: it’s o.k. to work and send your child to daycare, because earning money is important. It’s not as o.k. to stay at home with them, then utter even a peep of complaint about getting time to yourself. You asked for this! Take care of those children, your husband, your house. Stop whining.

 I have no interest in whining. I do have an interest in honoring my commitment to myself, despite the demands and the mixed messages and my niggling feelings of guilt. It will be hard, it will be frustrating, it will be exhilarating and nourishing and fun. I will value myself all the more for this effort I exert, as will my husband and children. So here I am, at the computer, and I can’t wait till I’m here again!

~Stacy

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