By Aaron J. Brown
Published April 27, 2008 in the Hibbing Daily Tribune
By Aaron J. BrownSo we’ve got these babies all over the house. Two actually. Twins. And a toddler. All boys. And while that particular configuration is neither historically significant nor biologically unexplainable this is a pretty big deal in our lives. This babysplosion is why we don’t schedule things at 3 p.m. (baby snack time and big brother’s nap). It’s also why anyone who calls the house between 4 and 7 p.m. hears only a shrill tone, like the sound the nuclear bomb makes when it melts the phone at the end of the Cold War drama “Fail Safe.” Don’t worry. We’re fine. It’s just loud like that sometimes.
We’ve passed the baby twin stage where people mob us in public places. When Doug and George were extra tiny we had to fight our way through crowds of well wishers and general gawkers. Now people mostly stare from afar. But folks who talk to us often ask if we’ve seen a show on The Learning Channel called “Jon and Kate plus Eight.” It’s a reality show that follows the lives of a Pennsylvania couple and their eight kids – including a set of school-aged twins and a set of sextuplets who are three years old.
Yes, we’ve seen the show.
In fact we watch the program regularly, mostly to admire the family’s ability to function with 166 percent more children than us. And while our lives aren’t quite as crazy as that of Jon and Kate we do see many familiar struggles on their show. How do you spend quality time with every kid in the house? Where is (name of kid)? What is that? Put that down! You, too! Stop squeezing your brother! Cords are not for chewing! Drop and roll! Drop and roll!
In a voiceover at the beginning of the “Jon and Kate” show, Kate says, “Today, I may very well lose my mind.” We know what she means.
When the twins first arrived all the stress focused on basic life functions like bottles and diaper changes. We would joke about how as parents we were now playing zone defense instead of man-to-man. Well, it’s easy to run a zone defense when two of the people you’re guarding have the physical dexterity of giant aphids. The babies “got game” now, covering ground on all fours faster than a remote control truck. In weeks, perhaps by press time, they’ll be on their feet, expanding their reach, amplifying their destructive (but oh so cute) powers.
There also remains the constant struggle of sibling rivalry. Henry, our oldest, is adjusting slowly to the end of his solo domination of our attention. The side effect of this is sporadic poking, shoving or screaming directed at the increasingly wary pair of newcomers. I warn him that Doug and George are likely to become just as big as him, but he has yet to compute the mathematical implications of this scenario.
At the same time we remain in awe of how cool it is to have three healthy boys growing up in our house, learning to talk, think and ponder the same northern Minnesota sights that filled my childhood memories. Sometimes, when the stars align, we peek around the corner to see the boys playing nicely together. No screaming. No naughtiness. Just good times. Even if momentary, these times sustain us.
One time Henry went to play with some nearby kids, including someone’s new baby. That night when I got home from work Henry told me, “I saw a baby today, daddy.” Pause. “Just one baby.” The bar has been set high for the H-man. In his mind, babies should come in pairs. I must admit, we now scoff just a tiny bit when we hear folks lament the difficulties of bringing home their first baby from the hospital.
“Hmmph’” we say. “Just one baby.”
Sorry fellow parents. Today we may very well lose our minds, so we must find comfort in small triumphs.