Never in a million years did I ever think that I’d be quoting a Beatles song (RIP John).
Then again, never did I imagine that I would have it in me to actually put my pride aside; realise that I am in fact, not a super woman – in my career or otherwise – and surrender to the fact that, it’s okay to get some help.
And despite what everyone says -including the nosey grandma at the bus stop who insists that raising twins is nothing compared to her Catholic Irish family of ten – it doesn’t get easier.
And no matter what anyone else says, when you have twin boys, you are ALWAYS, without fail…outnumbered.
I love my boys to death. I don’t even think I need to reiterate that.
They are, however, two little tornados.
Outings have become a dreaded chore. And even worse when it involves taking the car.
I am using my entire body weight to pin them down as they kick, scream and surfboard their way out of their seats.
Then the dreaded moment of having to leave wherever we are and trying to corale them. Yes, that’s right. Like sheep.
But it never turns out so seamless or straightforward.
I can no longer carry a twin under each arm to the car while they’re simultaneously throwing another tantrum.
My biceps can’t cope and my brain no longer has the mental capacity to stay calm during these trying situations.
So, right before Christmas, around the time Mr Surfer went back to work after his 3 month paternity leave stint, I was back to my original duties of primary carer. Oh, joy. What fun.
But the big revelation was that, I started to toy with the idea of getting some help.
A year ago, I never would’ve thought of it. Getting help would’ve been a sign of incompetence, a sure indication of weakness…or something stupid like that. In all of my own absurd opinions, I obviously hadn’t anticipated how uncontrollably insane the toddler years were going to be.
But this year, I’ve decided, is going to be different. And outsourcing some help for a little bit to get me by was where the changes needed to be made.
So, today was my first day with the boys…and an additional pair of hands.
It was a true joy. The morning excursion to the park still had its temperamental moments. But we worked as a team to eventually iron out their little mood swings. Not too long after, I can confidently say we actually had a fun time.
In fact, the whole day was great. It’s sad, but it’s been ages since I can say I had a great day.
The boys went down for their afternoon nap right on cue, which graciously left me with some free time to duck out while our extra pair of hands stayed at home and (you betcha…) I went to get my nails done. (Flashbulb Fuschia, thank you very much).
I don’t even feel guilty about it.
Because I came home and couldn’t wait to hug and play with the boys. Just getting that morning with some help; having an hour to do something just for me; turned out as something positive for all 3 of us.
For once, I didn’t feel outnumbered.