All in Family

I fancy myself an independent person. Here’s an example: when I lived alone and wanted to move furniture, instead of waiting for a friend to drop by, I’d huff-and-puff and inch that completely-full dresser across the room corner by corner until it was placed just right. Some people might call this stubborn, but I prefer to think of it as a get-it-done attitude.

Newborn babies eat every two to three hours, and approximately 8 to 10 times per day. For the past couple of months, day and night, I have been tethered to a newborn baby for approximately 30-45 minutes each, 8 or more times per day. With each meal usually comes a diaper change, making it about an hour per child. For those of you doing the math, for a twin mom, that is a total of 16-20 hours a day dealing with feeding and changing alone. If I am lucky, I have one hour in every three available to me for the other needs in my life, such as eating, sleeping, and wistfully staring out my kitchen window dreaming of simpler times.

I grew up in a working-class family. My dad worked as a steel salesman and my mom stayed at home. I don’t mean to imply we were ever wanting for anything, but believe me, when the local orthodontist’s family sent over a garbage bag of hand-me-down clothing, chock-full of ivory corduroy, preppy plaid and brand names, it was a glorious occasion.