Sunday, August 12, 2012

Four No More


OK I have a small confession to make. I am not technically living with six children yet. My older two girls are still away at sleep away camp until Wednesday. On Wednesday I will start to understand the full consequences of my reproductive actions, and probably begin to cry a lot. Friends and family beware.  

I live on Manhattan’s Upper East Side where most people’s families consist of 2 or 3 children, and some have 4. There are a few in my community with five, and then there are even fewer with more than that. It’s a category all to itself, a category of just “more than that” where people can never seem to remember exactly how many you have, they just know it’s a lot, a category that’s outgrown the traditional minivan or SUV and where people email you links to cars that look like this:




It’s the 12-passenger Mercedes Sprinter. Not allowed on certain highways. Crazy.


In wondering how my two older children, Gabby and Caroline, are going to react to the new car we need to get (still undecided) but more so to the new family unit they will find when they come home, I find myself remembering back to the night we first told them I was pregnant with twins.

You see, this pregnancy was really the first time I had older children with whom to share the news. The last time I had told them I was pregnant with what turned out to be my daughter Lily, my other three girls were 5, 3 and 2. They weren’t involved players yet. In fact, my then 3-year-old Caroline simply crapped in her pants on the spot as soon as we told her. Literally. And of course, my husband, with that oh-so-intuitive paternal instinct, did not think the news we had shared had anything to do with it. What is it with men and psychology?

But this time was different.

“Girls,” we said to them one Thursday night in mid January as we sat around the dining room table, “we have some exciting news for you.”

“We’re getting Netflix?” my then 7-year-old Caroline asked, her eyes lighting up.

“No, something different,” Rob answered.

“You got Knicks tickets? My oldest Gabby asked.

“No, more exciting than that. Something about mommy.”

“You’re having a baby?” Gabby said, raising her eyebrows in disbelief.

“Yes,” we said.

Gabby and Caroline both smiled. Sophie, who was 6, looked pale, and three-year-old Lily looked confused. But they all erupted into a loud, energetic, nervous cheer, and started dancing around the table with Rob, shaking their booties and singing some made up “we’re having a baby” song, signature Rob improv.

“Can I go video chat with my friends and tell them?” Gabby asked.

“Wait,” we said. We still hadn’t broken the second piece of news yet. The twins part.

As the dancing slowed down, Rob said “we have another surprise for you.”

“We’re also getting Netflix?” Caroline asked. She’s a little spacy that way.

“No, something also about Mommy.”

They looked puzzled, and so Rob said “we’re having a baby.”

“You told us that already,” they all said.

“Yeah, but we’re having a baby and we’re having another baby,” Rob answered.

“Twins?” Gabby asked.

“Yes!” Rob shouted with excitement.

But this time none of the kids cheered or sang with him.
Silence. Complete silence.

“What????” Gabby asked us like we were freaks. “We’re gonna have six children in our family? That’s really weird. Who has six children?” Then she panicked. “Are we going to have to leave the city?”

“No, of course not,” we said, not having a clue how the hell not.

“But am I going to ever have my own room?” Yes, Gabby is a classic first born, but Rob and I tolerate it because we’re both also firstborns. “Hopefully you will,” I told her, thinking it wasn’t the best time to say “probably not.”

Caroline, in her inimitable sweet way said, “are you going to have any time left to spend with me?”

“Of course,” I said, while thinking “no way, I’m not going to have time for any of you. I’ll be lucky enough to be able to go to the bathroom.”

Sophie started crying and said, “how could you and daddy decide to have more babies and not even ask us? I don’t want any more children in this house,” she shouted angrily.

And Lily asked if the babies could sleep on a blow-up mattress in her room “tomorrow.” Four girls. Four different ages and stages. Four different reactions.

Lily and Sophie have had a few weeks to start digesting the reality of what’s taken place. And it’s not sitting well. They come off the camp bus each day rolling their eyes at me and saying “I hate you mommy.” They ask me to go for a bike ride, or play a game, or give them a bath, and usually I can’t because I’m nursing or pumping—since I’m always nursing or pumping-- and then they tell me again, “I hate you mommy.” In fact, last night Sophie said, “mommy, you should take a vacation by yourself and leave us just with daddy.” Rob insightfully wonders where this anger is suddenly coming from.
 
On Wednesday, another bus will bring home two more, and I will have two more reactions to deal with, two more lives I am once again responsible for, two more children for whom I must make time. Wish me luck. 


1 comment:

  1. Erica, great piece as usual...when does rob start blogging his perspective on things? I'm hearing rumors of a live pump-cam launching soon - can you confirm or deny?

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