There is a definite dichotomy that exists within me. When I have the opportunity to gush about my wonderful children, I'm always pausing in my head. Do I? Don't I? How well do I know this person? Does it matter? How will they take it? How will I tell them? The fact is, if you've ever asked me about my kids, you've probably witnessed my brain slow to a standstill while I work out the answers to those questions. And maybe I've told you the whole story, or maybe I've simply smiled and delivered your inquiry with one worded answers; the less details the better. When people do hear initially that I've had two sets of twins, and then I proceed to talk about three children, I can see their wheels turning. They're doing the math, they're thinking to themselves, "I heard two sets, right?". Then come the inevitable oos and ahs of praise and admiration for two sets of twins, "what lovely children!", followed by the let down of the "oh, I'm so sorry" that is always delivered with this terrible puppy dog eyed look of pity. I always feel an internal battle during these moments. Should I have said anything at all? Is this person going to tell me it was God's will? Can I not just talk about my kids and share like a normal person without having to ride this insane roller coaster of emotion while the words leave my mouth on autopilot, smile plastered on my face like a damn Stepford Wife? Could my biggest problem please be a tantrum over toys and not how to explain for the millionth time that no, Lucie isn't at the hospital, sweetie, she's dead, her body stopped working?
How many kids do you have? 3, 4? 4-1? Why can't it be easier? When will it stop feeling like torture and start feeling ok?
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment