My twin boys were born two months early nearly seven years ago, but now it was a different kind of “When?” When would they hold their heads up, roll over, crawl, walk? When would they start feeding themselves, dressing themselves, talking? Since they had developmental delays as babies, these questions never had a “normal” answer for me. I’ve tried to guide my boys and help them to find their way, and at times, I’ve even pushed them forward, taking them to physical, occupational, and speech therapies to help with gross and fine motor skills, as well as speech. (In fact, I sometimes wish for another baby, a singleton, partly so that I could follow “normal” timelines.)
So I suppose it should come as no surprise that I’m still asking “When?” nearly seven years later. But now, the questions are more along the lines of, when will they be able to shower by themselves? When will they be able to make their own breakfast (or lunch or snack)? And lately, it seems that my concerns have turned toward more of a safety-type of question: When can I let them go into the men’s bathroom by themselves? When can they go into the common shower room at the local swimming pool by themselves?
Something that makes this whole “growing up” thing a bit more complicated for me is the fact that my twin boys are SOOO different. One, whom I’ll call the Roadrunner, has been on the move since he first started to crawl (even though he couldn’t even hold his head up). His first Halloween costume was Tigger - it fit his personality exactly, and he hasn’t stopped moving for very long ever since. He is very eager to try new things and assert his independence NOW, without thinking about possible consequences. “No, E., you may not help me make dinner by slicing the zucchini with the butcher knife. Why don’t you wash the tomatoes instead?” (And of course, my “No” is usually greeted with cries about how I never let him do anything.)
My other son, whom I’ll call the Artist, was Winnie-the-Pooh that first Halloween, which also fit his personality exactly: pretty even-keeled in temperament. He’s also always been very content to have things done for him, whether it’s rolling over in the crib, or getting from one place to another, or even getting toys to play with. This has translated into struggles on my part to get him to feed himself, to dress himself, to brush his own teeth, and even to blow his own nose. Just now, he asked me to open his jump rope, but I suggested he try to do it himself. He didn’t want to, but the look on his face when he did it himself definitely made the insistence worth it.Why is this so fresh in my mind, you ask? Well, one of the biggest questions for me lately is when can the boys play outside by themselves (or with a friend or two), without an adult present and keeping an eye out. The boys have a friend of the same age who lives in our townhouse complex and who is allowed to run around the complex by himself and go bike riding by himself (without a helmet!!) Even though the complex is relatively safe and secure, there are still roads with cars, and it is not a walled prison, keeping all the “bad guys” out. We’ve told both the boy and our sons that they may not play with him unless an adult is with them, but of course, they don’t agree and want to rebel. And when I’m trying to do my never-ending chores, I rarely have time to just sit and watch kids play.
Occasionally when playing out in the big common area, I’ve allowed one of the boys to run back to the house (not very far but out of sight) for a bathroom break. But to let them go off, completely on their own, without another adult, is still a scary proposition. At what point are kids old enough or mature enough to do things completely on their own?
And the question is all the more important these days when we hear such stories as that about Jaycee Dugard, who was eleven years old when she was kidnapped, standing alone at her bus stop. And Polly Klaas, who was twelve when she was kidnapped out of her own house during a slumber party.
I can remember biking and running around the neighborhood by myself when I was little. And I walked to and from school every day, a distance of about a mile each way. I played “snow fort” at the bottom of the driveway by myself for hours on end in the winter. Were there no child predators back then, some forty years ago, or did we just not hear about them? I hate that we have to be so careful, but it’s a scary world out there, so of course we are.
Unfortunately, I don't pretend to have the answers to these questions. So if anyone else figures out the "magic age" at which kids can truly take care of themselves and we can start letting go, let me know. In the meantime, I'll just go on trying to feel my way along this journey called parenthood.
Original post to Mad About Multiples by Gemini Crickets club member, Elizabeth K.
Photo courtesy of Ana Garza and Thing Family.
