They love it. Nolan hates it. I'm left feeling torn on how to spend our time. It’s pretty pointless for me to spend the better part of ten minutes bundling Nolan up when he lasts outside for less than two. He stands in one spot in utter misery for a moment or two before grabbing my hand and leading me toward the house. “I’side,” he declares (inside, for those of us who have mastered our “n”s).
Luckily I have Tyson who works from home and doesn’t mind me stashing Nolan in his office for a bit while I attempt to knock the snow-fever out of the twins’ systems. But I don’t feel comfortable doing so for long: Tyson is still working, which means Nolan is kept occupied (and more importantly: quiet) with more than his fair share of Little Baby Bum.
I remind myself that the first two years are kind of a crapshoot when it comes to snow. Those little bodies aren’t quite in proportion yet. The twins didn’t much care for the snow until they were on the verge of three, when their legs had lengthened out and they were able to move in the snow with (some) ease. Someday I will be able to throw them all outside in the cold and they won't return for a couple of hours. I'll have a quiet, warm house while they master that whole sledding business, have an epic snowball fight, build a snowman. When they return they’ll be able to remove all the damp snow gear by themselves while I greet them with hot chocolate and a smile.
For now, it’s a balance and battle of wills. The young energetic toddler vs. the enthusiastic preschoolers. Inside vs. out. One vs. two. With me in the middle. Who will get their way today?
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I told Tyson recently that I feel like I could be a really good parent to one child. A single child who would get the benefit of the good parenting techniques I read up on. One who, when they need discipline, reaps the full benefit of a conversation about right and wrong and the consequences of their actions, without the interruption of a sister screaming from the bathroom that she needs help wiping and a brother who wanders over in the midst of that serious discussion to whack them over the head with a piece of wooden train track. Which leads to an attempt at the same discussion with a different kid about right from wrong, consequences, actions, etc. Or just some redirection. If I could only focus on the needs of one, instead of being pulled in three different directions simultaneously.
My attention is divided, is what I'm getting at. The battle for mommy is often won by whoever is the loudest, most demanding, most polite, most severely injured, or the smelliest. Using screen time as a break for one often results in screen time for all. I feel like we could do so much more if we didn’t have to focus on this kid's nap schedule, if journeying out in public weren’t quite so draining with all of Nolan's energy, if I could just focus on completing a single task instead of picking up the threads of six half-finished ones.
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Three kids in two years is a pretty quick way to grow a family. In some ways I’m used to it. Surprise it's twins! meant getting used to chaos from the start. In other ways, I’m jealous of those with one toddler or a bigger age gap. (Bigger age gap meaning anywhere north of the two-minute mark.) The idea of focusing on a single child, uninterrupted, is absolutely novel to me.
It's easy for me to feel like my entire parenting career has been about giving one child or another the leftovers. (Not of the edible variety, although there are plenty of those, too.) My leftovers: leftover time or energy or attention. Beginning this parenting journey with not one but two babies teaches you how to divide that attention pretty quickly. To prioritize needs and balance your energy when you are outnumbered from the start. I often feel that no one gets my full attention, though both hands are busy, my lap is full, and my ears long for the sound of quiet.
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At its worst, I feel they are disadvantaged. Surely a child who can capture their parents’ undivided attention with ease is better off in the world. They must be more intelligent, have a calmer disposition. They're probably small prodigies at gymnastics, without a mommy who has to bounce back and forth between two children in the same class with a third on her hip. Almost certainly they spend more time on age-appropriate learning activities and less in front of the screen. At the very least they're probably bathed more frequently.
But at its best, I look around and realize how good this whole close-in-age business is for them. What a cohesive unit these three are. I can barely remember life without Nolan. They are their own little gang, our very own pack, nearly inseparable. (Until the twins try to play some sort of make-believe or tower-building game that Nolan just can’t take part in. Then they call for me to keep him “astracted”.) He runs along with the twins so seamlessly (and combined with his giant size) it can’t be long before I get the “are they triplets” question on a regular basis.
