A couple weeks ago I was having a hard time finding a t-shirt that was stain-free. I’ve given up buying cute clothes because my daily routine of taking care of the kids and the activities that come with it don’t justify anything more than $5 t-shirts and stretchy sweats. My wardrobe is boring and comfortable, the kind Stacy and Carson of “What not to wear” would be horrified over and have a field day with. In fact it is probably beyond fashion faux-pas and more like fashion faux-blah. It’s not my preference to look so hum-drum, and to be honest I hate was has happened to my so-called figure since hitting the 30s and having twins, but its where I am at right now. (originally written 12/1/10)
On the day of my stain-free t-shirt quest, I remember composing amusing thoughts in my head of just how ridiculous it was that I couldn’t find something without at least one spot, stain or tear in it. It seemed subject-worthy at the time and I intended to wrap some structure around it for future composition consideration. Then, later that night I found myself in the urgent care with my 2 ½ year old son who was having trouble breathing. At 4:30 a.m. he was admitted to Children’s Mercy hospital, put on oxygen for the weekend and treated as an asthmatic. I found myself making the 4 a.m. phone call you never want to impose upon a best friend, asking for babysitting help so that my husband could leave Amelia sleeping and join me at the hospital.
The days that followed involved very little sleep for any of us. My parents stayed at our house caring for Amelia who repeatedly asked “where is my brother?” and Harold and I limped and ached through the weekend trying to get snip-its of rest on the bolster sofa in his hospital room. Fashion was the last thing on my mind as we adjusted to the situation at hand.
Ayden has always been the more laid-back twin, but as he regained his vitality and began getting restless in the hospital room we witnessed a more conversational side to him. We knew Amelia was always talking for him, but having them separated for the first extended time-frame gave us a new view to the little guy’s “character.” At one point when we were able to wheel with him an oxygen tank into the play room and let him explore a bit. He found a play phone; unprompted, he picked up the receiver, dialed it and said, “Hi Sissy. I miss you.” My heart leaped forward.
Shortly after Ayden was admitted I remember thinking that it might be our chance to finally wean him off of the pacifier he was still allowed to have during naps and bedtime, especially since he was wearing an oxygen mask. Silly mommy. Once the mask was changed to a canula nose tube, he wanted his binky almost constantly. I couldn’t refuse a baby that was not feeling well, in an unfamiliar environment and sleep-deprived. I just knew it was going to make the giving up process that much more difficult when the time came. I had sometimes referred to Ayden as a binky fiend. He’d suck on the thing non-stop if allowed and had also been known to hold two in his mouth simultaneously.
A few days after being released from the hospital Ayden’s coveted binky appeared to be lost. I had purchased a set of spares in case of a 911. Reluctantly I popped open the pack and swore both to myself and Ayden that this was absolutely his last binky. I threatened that if he chewed holes in it, “too bad.” Within two days we were surprised to see a gaping hole in the “new” plug. Surprisingly that night he agreed to throw the binky in the trash and go to sleep without it. I promised him a special treat in the morning if he could sleep through the night without the binky. Hearing the incentive, Amelia agreed to do the same with hers in return for a stuffed pig and a treat the next day, but just before lights out, she reconsidered and said “here you go” handing the pig back and expecting her binky.
I didn’t know I could be so proud of a 2 ½ year old for sleeping through the night and giving up something that had been so important to him….that is until two days later, when last night Amelia also agreed to also give up hers. Within two days, my two toddlers were sleeping through the night without their familiar aids. Although, Amelia did inform her Daddy last night “I need something to keep my mouth shut.” Thankfully, some yogurt and a swig of milk sufficed in getting them off to sleep.
I knew though that I had to keep my promise to her and once she fell asleep, in the cold of the night, I was off in search of a motorized Diesel engine to accompany the Percy train that Ayden had received as a treat.
This morning, as they both slept in late, even without binky’s, I stood at the kitchen counter wearing one of my stained t-shirts trying to figure out to how put a battery in the motorized Diesel and wondering not only why in the world such a tiny toy would need a size C battery, but where in the house one might be. I couldn’t have been happier. This is where I am at in my life. Helping my children forge independence, proud of their accomplishments, and dealing with the fact that while my wardrobe doesn’t qualify me for the title of “fashionista” life is what it is. And in my mind, it is pretty darn good.
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