Today was generally a happy day, which usually is the case when we separate our twins whenever the rare opportunity presents itself. My parents, who will not be in town for that much longer, took my daughter out for the day, and I got to spend one-on-one time with my boy, for the entire day. I can’t remember if this has ever happened before.
The morning started off with packing my daughter’s backpack full of snacks, water, books, activities for the long car ride, extra emergency clothes, etc. (They were going to a national park over an hour away.) My son proceeded to pack his own backpack, thinking he was going too. I explained he wasn’t going with her, which he was fine with, but he wanted to get in the other car for a ride too. No problem.
My daughter left, my son and I finished breakfast and got dressed, and I asked him where he wanted to go: the park, for a bike ride, for a hike, etc. He said Target. I sure didn’t complain. When we arrived, I realized what he really wanted was to go up and down the escalator 100 times and be pushed around in a shopping cart. So that we did.
Then we went home to have lunch, he took a nap, and when I asked what he wanted to do in the afternoon, he said he wanted to ride the escalator and be pushed around in a shopping cart again. So to Target we went again.
Something I’ve always noticed when only one twin is with me, is the stark difference in the change of pace of the day as well as within my being. I am much more relaxed, much less stressed, I have much more patience and flexibility, and I generally enjoy my day more. Today was no exception.
As the day went by with just my son by my side, I was able to slow down, observe, and take in every little thing about him. How he walked, how he talked, how he laughed, how he ate, how he smiled, how he looked at me, how he played by himself, and how he did certain tasks. We had bought a bag of apples at the store, and he carried it to his little table, took his scissors to cut open the netting, placed each apple in our fruit basket, and quietly cleaned up the mess.
It was at this moment while I was sitting at the dining table watching his every move, that I realized how this little baby that I initially hated my life for, had become this little boy that I would easily give my life for.
It was at this moment that I realized I had missed so much of his growth due to the anxiety and depression that I had during pregnancy and postpartum.
It was at this moment that I felt a wave of guilt for not trying harder to cherish every minute with him since he was born.
It was at this moment that I realized that anxiety and depression had robbed me of so many precious moments that were always there, but that were just invisible to me due to the state of my mental health.
It was at this moment that I realized how sad and mad I was that I missed so much and was unable to enjoy hardly anything related to motherhood until recently.
It was at this moment that I realized how deep my love for him was, and still is.
Then my daughter came home, jumped into my arms, wrapped her little arms and legs around me, and said, “Mama, I love you” in English for the first time ever. Insert tears.
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