My kids are growing up (and I guess I shouldn't be surprised at that). With Lucy turning three and Nate in SK, my mothering is growing up too. And it's this that I'm a bit surprised at.
As a hip, young girl about town, I simply thought that I would buck the trend. That I could somehow avoid muffin top, minivan and soccer mom cliches. I would continue to live a life full of arts, culture and travel and my wee ones would simply come along for the ride.
If you have a kid (or more than one) you're probably laughing your head off in recognition here. When I think back to how difficult I made my life by trying to swim upstream instead of going with the flow, I want to reach back in time and slap myself a bit. Why was surrendering to motherhood and all its trappings so difficult?
Well, for one, many of us are having kids later in life these days. We've already spent tons of time with our adult selves, our significant other and our friends. By the time most of us have kids, we've done a lot of things that our parents only dreamed of doing at our age. I'd eaten at the city's top restaurants, danced on speakers, seen every band I loved from Radiohead to Paul McCartney, climbed to the top of a fjord in Norway, drank sangria in a basement bar on the Rive Gauche...
In my mind's eye, I didn't see that changing with Nate's arrival (almost six years ago). I just envisioned doing those things with him in a Bjorn on my chest. Living a quieter life, where going to Costco on Saturday would be the highlight of the week, didn't fit with my idea of myself. But the first time I nursed him in the bathroom of a pub (it was too loud in the bar so he was getting upset), I realized that I had to adjust my expectations.
At first, I was rather depressed about these changes. Giving up the freedom of an unscheduled Sunday, the joys of "What do you want to do today?" being more about desires than to-do lists — well, that was tough. It took the better part of five years (and the addition of a second child) until it really kicked in: my life isn't just about me anymore, and that's OK.
In fact, it's more than OK. Now that I've accepted this fact, motherhood has become the best thing. EVER.
My opposite-gendered kids (age 5.5 and 3) share a room. They also share a bath.
Reasons why this is awesome:
1. They manage to comfort each other at bedtime and help each other fall (and stay) asleep.
2. I can do one bath (save time and water) and one bedtime (save my sanity).
I could go on about how they play together and make each other laugh, but really, those top two reasons listed make my life (and theirs) so much easier. The other major bonus to doing these major activities together is that I have to be very even with my attention and affections. Which means no one needs to act up and sibling rivalry is kept to a minimum. These two are as close as a brother and sister could be.
That being said, there's a slight downside. Because they are young and curious and often naked around each other, there is an endless supply of penis and bum-bum jokes.
Now to be fair, all this joshing is non-sexual and innocent in nature. But J and I can't help but laugh when Lucy starts talking to Nate's penis ("Hi Mr. Penis!") and perhaps we've been unintentionally encouraging this behaviour. We're a pretty open family. Heck, we're definitely a naked family!
It's caught the attention of our parents, of course. My mother-in-law keeps asking when we're going to move. Sure, we'll need a third bedroom in a year or two, but living in our small two-bedroom creates a dynamic that might not happen if everyone had their own space. (Plus, I like to think that the way we live is very European.)
"You'll have to separate them soon," my own mother chides. "They're are starting to become aware of their bodies." But why break up the party now? Shouldn't I trust my gut? Don't I need to tread carefully so as not to send the "our privates are bad" message?
When a similar question came into our Ask an Expert box, we decided to pose the question to parenting expert Alyson Schafer. I've been reading her amazing book Honey, I Wrecked the Kids, and I adore her common sense and caring approach to parenting. I wasn't at all surprised by her answer (that sharing bedtime and bathtime is OK until your child feels uncomfortable), but I was half-tempted to email it to the grandmas.
Still, a little voice was niggling at me. Until another little voice chimed in.
"I wish you could each have your own room," my husband sighed yesterday. I understand his desire to be able to read Nate comic books instead of Robert Munsch on occasion, or to give Lucy a pink décor overhaul. (He's a good daddy. The best.)
"But I CAN'T sleep without Lucy!" Nate protested. "And she can't sleep without me. When she's upset that Mama said goodnight, I tell her, 'Shhh... it's OK Lucy. Mama's just downstairs doing laundry.' And she goes to sleep!"
And that's all I needed to hear.
