Adjusting to life with two children

Adjusting to life with two children

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Adjusting to two children as a one parent family is like fighting to reach the end of one of those bungee jump runs; with the tension running both ways. I could analyse the whys and wherefores of my struggle to bond with the baby. How thinking my baby was taken at birth placed a barrier between us that’s hard to dismantle. But that’s not the full story. In the moments I start to feel a pull towards him, I’m quickly pulled back by the ties that bind me to my firstborn. Swimming in the pool, entranced by the face of my youngest, I forget his brother is behind me.

Until the lifeguard pulls him out.

That’ll teach me.

 

I leave the youngest in my mother’s arm without a second glance, just a word of warning not to try and stand up with him (he’s too heavy, she too frail, for it not to end in a pile of old and new on the beach we are visiting) as I go off for a dip in the sea. I walk over to his older brother and kiss him. “I love you” I say, as I always do when departing from him even for just a minute.

 

When the anger and frustration with one repels me, I embrace the other. When my patience is done with one (so far only the oldest) I shout and stamp and turn my limited energy to the younger who is so much easier to please.

 

Occasionally we co-exist. All the love overlapping, both bodies resting against mine. Short, snaps of time. One on my shoulders, one on my breast. Those rare moments when our love triangle works; giving me the strength to survive the many times when it doesn’t. The love flows in all directions in those moments, gaining strength as it goes from one to the other and then rebounds to the next. The two of us both learning to adjust to extra love and less sleep. The smallest of our gang just taking what he’s given, knowing no different. Yet somehow learning that he is loved from every angle. Even I, amongst the tears and shouts and threats of, “if I have to ask one more time”. My expectations of his older brother growing twice as fast as his ability to meet them. My disappointment in my own abilities expanding faster still.

The noise.

All the extra noise. It’s too much for one pair of ears to absorb. Not from the baby, though he has his moments for sure. The four year old is the loudest of them all. He spends half his day screaming in the baby’s face. Clapping his hands. Jumping. All with the aim of garnering a reaction; it doesn’t matter what it is. His ultimate goal: a headbutt. Delighted he once received one (accidentally I might add), he’s been angling for another ever since. It seems not to bother him that one day his baby brother will – in all probability – tower over him and oblige quite willingly.

Going from two to three with no second adult to buffer the hard parts; no extra adult to remind me of the good parts; and no added adult to thank me for the fucking wonderous parts, sucks at times. Yet we are getting there. Love is hard. It takes time and effort to cultivate it, but the glimmers of love we have shown each other run deep. Big brother and mum encouraging baby to smile, joyous with the chortles we elicit if we try hard enough.

Looking at you, the baby, reminds me I’ve yet to fully accept my life as it’s turning out. Solo mum to two kids (I wanted four and a partner to boot). Perhaps I never will accept this version. So many people know it’s their last and focus on enjoying every moment of it. I can’t. I don’t want you to be my last but I know I can’t do it again, alone. I know the chances of meeting someone are slim, yet I can’t give up. The optimistic-depressive; an exhausting conundrum to be in. Accept you as my last and I’m broken. Not accept you as my last and I can’t adjust to you as mine and mine alone. Yet slowly I am trying.

 

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If you liked this you might also like my piece on bonding.

2 comments on “Adjusting to life with two children”

  1. zamin

    5th December 2018 at 3:43 pm Reply

    hang in there.. single parenting is a way of living and nobody gets totally used to it good luck 🙂

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