Hi, everyone,
This is the third of five posts that I’m writing about how having twins has helped me articulate and work through something I’ve struggled with my whole life: how to navigate multiple good things in my life which may at times compete or be mutually exclusive. In the first post, I discussed how seeing and serving Jesus in your child becomes much trickier when there are two of them, especially two who are at (more or less) the same developmental stages. What, I asked, do we do when we are trying to serve or simply be with two Jesuses simultaneously?
We just finished up the third week of Advent, the beginning of the Christian calendar and the season in which Christians concentrate on waiting for divinity to enter the world. The third week of Advent is typically centered around joy, so in this post, that’s what I want to emphasize.
But before I can do that, I need to focus on two other concepts that don’t seem so joyful: failure and fear. Buckle up!
Last week, I discussed two characteristics that having twins has required me to have which I believe are also useful in handling multiple competing goods. This week I’m exploring two more.
The third way of being I have considered since having twins is to fail constantly. I teach my students about the importance of failure. I assign readings on it. We spend a day in class discussing how typical schooling settings discourage failure to the detriment of students’ mental health, learning, and creativity. This last year, I added a discussion of this song to the day’s activities. And yet, I don’t typically enjoy failing.
Of course, like everyone, I fail in various ways in my daily life. I say things I regret. I run late to meetings. I burn the food I’m cooking. But in taking care of two babies simultaneously, I have really stepped up my failure game. I might be in the middle of giving one baby a bath and the other bursts out crying for any number of reasons. I might be able to identify what the problem is (or maybe not), but I can’t step away from Baby #1 who, for safety reasons, needs me to be with her. So, Baby #2 is going to have to just sit there and scream, simmering in what appears to be her unmitigated fury that I cannot attend to her right then.
Or I might be in the middle of dealing with a diaper blowout from one baby when the other decides that is the perfect moment to do a massive, overflowing spit up and a massive, overflowing poop simultaneously. Baby #2 is going to have to sit in her own stinky dampness for a time while I finish up with her sister.
In other words, even when I’m succeeding with one baby, I can also be failing with the other. Cool.
Those of you who tend toward graciousness and understanding might be thinking, hang on! That’s hardly fair to describe these situations as failure. They are out of your control! True. But first of all, there are plenty of times when things are in my control, and I mess up. So far, they have been relatively small mistakes (e.g., misjudging how long it will take to get ready for an event with two babies and showing up late), and people have been incredibly patient and kind in the wake of them. I know, though, that as the babies get bigger, so too will my mistakes.
And second, the main point here is that, for me at least, it is incredibly difficult to feel successful in two realms at the exact same time. And this is where I think about other competing goods in my life. For example, my job requires me to teach, to research, and to serve the university and community in various ways. On a weekly basis, I feel frustrated at how succeeding in one of these areas seems to mean failing, even temporarily, in another. I might finally be caught up with grading, but my inbox is full (or vice versa).
Maybe the solution is redefining failure. Maybe it’s about stepping back and seeing the big picture rather than what I’m feeling in the moment (e.g., I am not able to take care of one of the babies the way I’d like to right now, but in general, I am). But for the moment, my impulse is actually not to find a solution. Right now, I’m simply trying to sit in the reality of my own limitations, recognizing that there is something oddly comforting—almost freeing—about not being able to do it all (and, on many occasions, not being able to do much of anything!).
The fourth characteristic I am finding I need when caring for two babies is contentment. It will not be a surprise to many of you that I have struggled with FOMO—the fear of missing out—for much of my life. And if I let it, my FOMO could dominate my experience with the twins. As someone who finds children delightful and fascinating, there is a part of me that doesn’t want to miss a single moment of Sophie and Hazel’s first years. Obviously, this wouldn’t be possible even with a single baby, but it’s even less possible with two.
Just tonight, for example, I was holding Sophie on the couch as Mike was interacting with Hazel on the other side of the room out of my sight. They were clearly having fun and occasionally, Mike would update me about Hazel’s expressions or gestures. There was a part of me that wanted to get up and be part of that moment, to experience the good that Mike was experiencing. But that would have interrupted the good I was already experiencing—a top-notch Sophie snuggle.
Even when I’m looking at the babies side by side, I can’t easily take them both in at once; my gaze and attention oscillates between them. And really, this is true for all of life. Recently, studies have shown that multitasking is not possible and that when we try to do more than one thing at a time, our performance with either task decreases. So, for example, I might be at a larger social gathering and want to be part of two conversations at one time, each interesting and worthwhile—each good. However, when I try to listen in on a nearby conversation while still participating in the one that I appear to be part of, I miss out on both.
In recent years, I’ve heard about JOMO, the joy of missing out. Though I liked the idea of JOMO, I must confess that I never really understood it. How can missing something be joyful? And yet, as I spend more time with the babies, I find I’m starting to relax into something approaching joy when I miss certain things. I take Hazel upstairs to change her even as I hear visitors downstairs delighting in Sophie’s antics. And while a mild curiosity about what is going on with Sophie tugs at my attention, I hug Hazel a little tighter and relish those moments I have to focus on her. These babies have taught me that no matter which one of them I’m with at any given moment, it's good. They have taught me that attempting to maximize or combine goods can actually take away from what I already have.
I recognize that this will be immensely harder once I go back to work and am missing a lot more of the babies’ great moments throughout the day. But my challenge will be the same then as it is now: find the joy in what I am doing, in what I do get. As corny as it might sound, I need to choose contentment in what I do have over jealousy about what I don’t.
If we let it, Advent can be an incredibly focused time. Yes, there are the various fascinating and important characters in the Christmas story—the shepherds, the wise men, Mary, Joseph, the angels, etc.—but all of them circle around Jesus. Even Herod is in the story only because of his concern with Jesus. How can I take the habits of focus this season invites and apply them beyond the nativity story? How do I focus on the Jesus that is right in front of me rather than becoming distracted by the Jesus I am failing to attend to elsewhere or the Jesus who is someone else’s to see and serve in that moment? I don’t know yet, but as always, I’d love to hear any thoughts you have.
In my next post, I’ll talk about the final two characteristics having twins has required of me: acceptance and dependence.
Until then, I hope you have a joy-filled week!
Sarah/Mouse
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