A Parental Transition
It’s Sunday night. Late. My wife is over 34 weeks pregnant. We have a 2.5 year old daughter, and we are about to welcome two new heartbeats (twins) into our lives. Twins are known to arrive a wee bit earlier. My wife could go into labor at any time. While it is overall exciting, and while overall we are truly blessed people, we are both anxious, about the very near-term chaos of going to the hospital, to the new reality we will return home to.
It seems like every minute of every day I have accounted for in some way. I rarely sleep. I’m working early, hanging out with my kid, then working all day, evenings with the kid and family, and then more work at night. This isn’t a complaint, but just in terms of space, I wonder: How am I going to fit in two more people into my life?
The common answer to this expression of worry is something like “Oh, before you know it, you will never imagine life without them.” Intellectually, I certainly understand that, but if we’re being honest, right now, when we can barely take care of one kid, I have no idea how we will do with three. Moreover, taking care of our daughter already is a full-time job. My wife is brain fried by the time our kid falls asleep.
These are things that can mostly be addressed with better logistics. A bigger car, a bigger place, some extra help. I don’t worry about that piece of it.
What is harder to grasp is that there doesn’t seem to be more room in my heart to care for more people, let alone two more people. Whatever energy I have, I give it to my family, and mostly my kid. If my energy stays at the same level, then it will likely have to be distributed in the future whereas now it’s concentrated; if I’m able to boost my own energy, then maybe I can give all three the same level of energy, but I’d need to borrow those extra energy reserves from another activity, and there’s not much else to pull from. What will suffer, then, as a result of this transfer of energy?
Overall, in my head, I am excited, I am optimistic. I believe I’ll muster more energy and find I have room to know not just two new people, but many more. But right now, in the wee hours of the night, knowing it could happen at any moment, each hour we have before this new wave arrives is precious. I’m spending extra time with my daughter. I’m just letting her sit in bed with us and watch our iPad (one of her vices) so we can just soak up that time. I’m holding her a little bit tighter. I let her pick out a lollipop after lunch.
It all makes me realize, even at 2.5 years old, she is growing up, and this transition will force her to grow up a bit faster. Tonight, the house is quiet. The house is mine. I am at my big desk. I have a new fast Wifi router. My wife is sound asleep, and my daughter is, too. I have the time to think in these dark hours of the night. I won’t have these quiet late nights for a long time. They will be replaced with more chaos, a good chaos, but a chaos nevertheless. And, I won’t be able to smother my kid with all of my attention. I know it’ll be good for her, but even looking back on videos on the iPhone this weekend, you start to notice the aging, the maturation, and it makes you want to freeze the current day and preserve it forever.
