Life with Two...

A few weeks ago I went for a stroll in the mall with the two kids. When the newborn started to fuss, I went to the Mother’s Lounge to feed her. There I was, relaxing on the couch, Nathaniel next to me, who was playing with the “emergency” toy that I keep in my purse for him specifically when I am preoccupied with Jenuine and need him to sit still and behave. A first-time mother entered the lounge shortly after I sat down. Her five-month-old was crying. She started to change his diaper on the change table, meanwhile he was wailing incessantly. We conversed, and then she looked at me and my two kids, and said, “How do you handle two?”

I must say, I was amused by her question. Because just weeks earlier, I would have been the one asking any mother with more than one child the exact same question. Just weeks earlier, still pregnant, I was worrying and anxious about how I was going to do it.

The newborn is ten weeks old now. And while there are moments when I am unsuccessful with getting the two kids to nap at precisely the same hour, and therefore do not have a chance to nap myself (which makes for an extremely tiring afternoon and anticipation for the husband to come home), I am amazed at and thankful for how quickly one is able to adapt in situations such as these.

In a matter of weeks, you figure out what “works.” You learn when to fit in the shower, the baths for the kids. You learn to intersperse dinner preparation throughout the day rather than waiting for dinnertime to prepare for the evening meal. You learn to somehow feed the toddler and get him to play on his own at precisely the moment when you need to tend to the newborn.

While I may not have reacted or responded as I should have during those initial weeks when Nathaniel was exhibiting extreme manifestations of jealousy, I learned. Slowly and steadily, I learned. There was one afternoon when Nathaniel saw me carrying Jenuine up the stairs to put her to sleep. He began screaming for me and wouldn’t stop. I gave him a chance. I told him to come with me, but he refused to. So I left him downstairs. He cried and cried and cried until I came down. To the point that when he finally stood up, a gigantic puddle of water sat on the hardwood floor where he was lying.

Almost eleven weeks, the jealous behaviour still surfaces from time to time, but with some love, affection, and discipline, his behaviour has improved. The tantrums and screaming sometimes take place, but the duration is much shorter. Me? I have had to learn to control my anger. Sometimes, I get upset when Nathaniel expresses his jealousy. I felt that I had spent a good amount of time with him (I try to whenever Jenuine is sleeping), and for him to exhibit such behaviour irritated me. I have had to learn more patience too.

After the mother that I had met in the Mother’s Lounge changed her baby, she told the baby that she needed to go to the washroom. The baby was, of course, unconcerned about the mother’s need. He continued to wail and flail his arms and legs. The mother sighed and decided not to go to the washroom. I couldn’t help but say to her, “If you have to go, you have to go.” The mother hesitated. Then shook her head and decided to wait until the baby stopped crying. The baby didn't. She left the washroom, not having gone.

I smiled, sympathetic and empathetic of the mother’s plight.

Mothers say that the second time around is a lot easier. They are right. With Nathaniel, I was very uncomfortable with his crying. It vexed me. It was only when some time had passed that I was okay with doing chores and tending to my own needs, meanwhile, leaving him to cry. It comes to the point when you realize you have no choice. And with two now—this is all the more true.

Though I know there will be new challenges that surface—life is more settled now. I am thankful for the support of family and friends, which I know not every mother has the luxury of having. I know I have said this many times, but I’ll say it again—I don’t know where I’d be without God’s Word to comfort and guide me.

The past week, reading news headlines about reports of mothers taking the lives of their children because of the pressure, the psychological stress, the pressing demands—it terrified me. At first, I quietly questioned God, “What kind of world is this—that we have parents murdering their own children?” But then I reflected further. What kind of dark world must the mother be living in, with no family or friends, and worse— no God—to give her the strength and hope when she most desperately needs it?

The harvest is plenty, but the labourers are few. I know God has called me to stay home to raise, love, teach, and nurture my children. During the moments when I feel overwhelmed by the labour, I pray for God to infuse strength in me. In these moments, my heavenly Father grants me a vision of what He desires for my children and it is incredible how bright this vision burns in my mind. I pray that this vision sustains, that it can withstand the exhaustion that comes with mothering, the judgments that come from those who do not hold the same values as me. With God as my strength, I will persevere.