Maybe we’ve met before or maybe we haven’t. I’m the one with the double stroller and the overflowing diaper bag that just scratches the surface of bare necessities — I am a twin mom.
And I hate that we are compared and teeter-tottered on a scale against one another as much as we are. I hate that (at times) you’ve expressed that you cannot relate to my parenting experiences just because I had two instead of one.
I hate that your valid, motherhood complaints are soon followed by, “But I know I shouldn’t complain because you have two, and I only have one.”
I hate that for you.
I long to hear about your motherhood struggles, and I promise I won’t roll my eyes at you while you’re in the process of telling me your troubles. I’m no more or less of a mother than you.
You tell me I’m Super Mom and there’s no way that you could do it. But you could. Here you are slaying motherhood right now. You could pull off twins, just as I and every other twin mom has pulled it off.
People are (for whatever reason) drawn to and fascinated by twins, and it is something that I cannot help. But it doesn’t make me “better” or more capable than you.
Having one baby can be hard, and I would never judge you for that — believe me, twin moms usually have a hard twin and an easy twin. We get it.
Tell me what is going on in your life without thinking that I’m keeping personal tabs on the hardships and triumphs you face and then comparing them to the ones in my own life. I want to hear everything you’ve been withholding inside.
Let me know that I’m not the only mom who is totally losing her shit some days.
Tell me that your 12-month-old throws herself on the ground in a fitted-rage already. Let me act surprised when you tell me your son drew a shit-monster on his bedroom walls. Call me and ask, how the fuck do you get a bucket of slime out of a toddler’s wispy hair? (Trust me, I know the answer.)
This is not a competition. And without sounding like a sprinkle-covered, cherry-topped cliché, we are in this together. We move side by side in this thing, not one in front of the other. We are all losing it one kid at a time.
But even after I’ve dotted these i’s and crossed these t’s, I can’t help but feel a bit guilty whenever I share a meme or a particular article which pertains to twin mothers. Without assigning degrees or levels of differentiation, can’t we just say that having twins (or any type of multiples) is different than having a singleton baby?
But it is not and never will be “better,” because you and I are not so different from one another after all.
Your pregnancy test withheld the same pink or blue line as mine, and our mouths both spilled those two words to our partners: I’m pregnant. Our backs both grew cold as we lounged against exam chairs waiting to see a white, blob-shaped image on a previously dark ultrasound screen.
We both heard our baby’s first cry and our hearts leaped with a love that we always heard of, but never knew possible until now.
I’ve felt your loneliness in the midst of those middle-of-the-night, newborn feedings. I’ve stood in the same frustration and rage as you when breastfeeding sucked the very life out of your previously perky tits and soul.
We’ve both bonked our baby’s heads against the side of the door frame, and we both made the same oh, shit face while doing so.
When you lose your cool over something as silly as spilled milk, your guilt-ridden tears fall at the same pace as mine.
If there comes a time where I’m quick to go on and on about my own life with twins, please understand that it’s not me bragging, being self-righteous or feeling all-mighty. It’s what I relate to in this season of my life, and I need the support and camaraderie.
Twin moms are not “better than” singleton moms. After all, our little ones’ shit-stained onesies are the exact same color.
So much love,
A Twin Mom
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