In my bed, there are two adults, two children, and two dogs. I’m barely covered by the comforter, which is awkwardly poking me in the face. I twist my body, wrapped in sheets, to check the time—6:18 AM. I suppose I should get up.
But then I glance at the sleeping twins nestled between my partner and me, and I can’t help but admire them. They’re rarely this still, and I find myself captivated. When did they become such tall kids? With their eyes closed, I can see traces of their baby faces, just like the times they were swaddled in their blankets. My heart swells with love for them.
And then they wake up.
Thus begins the daily battle.
Almost every day, there’s a conflict regarding getting dressed. Today, one child insists on tossing her pajamas into the hamper while I want to keep them for tonight. She cries out in distress. I find myself placing her in time-out, stark naked, which makes me feel like a terrible parent.
The twins push their younger sister as she steps into their room, and she bursts into tears. I’m left trying to console her while also disciplining them; they refuse to apologize, and one of them runs away, only to slip on the hardwood floor and bump her head. Now, she’s crying too.
In just 20 minutes, everyone is upset, or angry, or undressed. I can’t shake the feeling of being a bad mom.
After breakfast, the whining begins about watching TV. However, it’s a beautiful day, and I want them outside. As I clean the kitchen, I say “no” to the television. One child responds defiantly, “Then I’ll just sit on the couch and wait for Daniel Tiger FOREVER!!!”
I threaten them with time-outs and the possibility of never watching TV again, but the twins have begun bickering over their favorite Frozen characters. When the younger one exclaims, “I love Sven!” they shout back, “No you DON’T!” and she is soon in tears.
They’re unkind to one another and disrespectful to me. I feel like a terrible mother.
They contest me on going outside, coming inside, during lunchtime, naptime, and, of course, dinnertime. Why does everything seem like a battle? Why can’t I complete just one task smoothly from beginning to end?
I have always loathed conflict; it fills me with unease and anxiety. Before motherhood, I steered clear of it. But now, as a parent, avoiding it is not an option. I refuse to be the type of mom who can’t say “no” to her children, leading to constant confrontations.
It is utterly exhausting.
The bedtime struggle is often the toughest part of the day. They resist going upstairs, don’t want to be the first to use the bathroom, and argue over pajamas. They insist on running with toothbrushes and want to read the longest book we have back to me—twice, because they’re twins.
Yet, at 10 PM, when they should be asleep but are still wide awake, they ask if they can snuggle in Mommy and Daddy’s bed. I agree. It might not be the most comfortable arrangement, or conducive to romance, but the truth is, I cherish these moments. They won’t be little forever, nor will they always want to cuddle with us.
The struggles are draining. However, when I offer half of my pillow to my little girl and she whispers that she loves me, the battles feel insignificant. I know tomorrow will bring the same challenges. My body aches at the thought. But for now, the house is quiet. The girls are silent, smelling of strawberry shampoo, and I love them deeply.
I feel like a good mother—at least until they wake up.
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Summary:
This narrative captures the daily challenges of parenting, highlighting moments of love and frustration. The author reflects on the struggles of managing conflicts with her children while cherishing the fleeting time they have together. Despite the chaos, the love for her children remains a source of strength.