To the stranger who passed a certain comment to me at a social gathering today - I suppose you think you’re clever, quick-witted, a real entertainer, as you surreptitiously look around to see who’s been bemused by your throw away line.
Maybe you were never raised with an understanding of tact, politeness or plain decency.
I asked you – and no, you never had twins yourself so you can’t relate to the absolute shock and disbelief that I felt that moment at the 7 week scan when I caught sight of two birth sacs on the screen in front of me.
You haven’t been through it, so you have no understanding of the rush of bewilderment, wonder and panic that surged through me when the sonographer confirmed that there was one heartbeat, and … yes, another one.
You don’t know about the sleepless nights I’ve had, agonizing over how my precious, happy two year old will adjust to this momentous change, or that I have been mourning - in advance - the time that I won’t be able to spend with her anymore.
So when you scoff and say, “Twins! Oh, you poor thing. One’s bad enough”, you don’t realise that what you’re actually doing is reigniting all of the fears that I’ve been working so hard to overcome over the last 16 weeks.
You’re not the only one.
So don’t think there’s anything even remotely original or astute about your use of my condition to generate trite conversation.
I’ve gritted my teeth through many, many comments like yours.
Let’s see, I’ve had, “Oh, thank God I never had twins.”
I’ve had, “You’re having twins? Ha ha, good luck with that.”
“Ooooh, you’ll have your work cut out for you, won’t you.”
Oh, and there was the medical professional who said, “If I found out I was having twins I would bawl my eyes out.”
It’s gotten to the point where I don’t even want to tell people that I’m expecting two anymore.
Perhaps, as the months go on, I’ll just let people assume, wide-eyed, that I’m having one very big baby.
Surely it make for less of an emotional battering that this.
The whole thing is in such stark contrast to my first pregnancy and all of the “Guess what everyone, I’m pregnant” moments that I’ve witnessed, where the news has either been met with joy and elation or with more banal, run-of the-mill questions along the lines of, “How far along are you? When are you due? Have you had any weird cravings?”
Let’s see, I’ve had, “Oh, thank God I never had twins.” I’ve had, “You’re having twins? Ha ha, good luck with that.” “Ooooh, you’ll have your work cut out for you, won’t you.”
- Bunbury mum Jasmine Homer
I have never heard anyone greet the announcement of a singleton baby with such insensitive predictions of doom.
So why do so many people think that it’s appropriate and acceptable to do it to me?
I mean, we’re not talking about a stolen handbag here, or a sprained finger – something infinitely more worthy of pity.
What you are commenting on is my life, my family, my future children.
What you are flippantly calling into question is my ability as a mother, my relationship with my husband and OUR resolve to do the very best for our children that we possibly can.
Do you think I don’t know that it’s going to be hard?
Do you think I haven’t considered - at length - that looking after two babies is going to be more testing, more time consuming and more exhausting than looking after just one?
You should know, Mrs Stranger, that the reactions I’ve had from my friends and family have been resoundingly positive.
Perhaps that’s because these people actually know me.
They know that I happen to be an awesome parent who has raised (so far) a healthy, intelligent, well adjusted child and that, as a FIFO wife, I’ve done a lot of it by myself.
Funnily enough, parents who have had twins have also been unwaveringly supportive. “Congratulations”, they say.
“It’s so rewarding. It’s the best thing you’ll ever do in your life.”
Indeed, I have spoken to people who are twins themselves who say how beautiful and fun it was to grow up with such a close sibling.
Upon telling his colleagues the news, my husband, who works in the rough and tough world of oil rigs, had grinning work mates falling over themselves to shake his hand and slap him on the back – even those whom he hardly knew. And interestingly, I haven’t had one negative comment (yet) from a man.
No, the culprits, Mrs Stranger, are people like you.
Women mostly aged (sorry, but it’s true) baby boomer and older, who actually don’t have a clue what they’re talking about. The sisterhood, it seems, is in tatters.
Would you openly pity someone who has just told you that they have cancer? “Oh God, ovarian cancer. Breast cancer – now that’s one thing but your ovaries – how are you going to cope, you poor thing!” No.
You probably wouldn’t. You might think it – fair enough.
But you wouldn’t say it. So why is it ok for you to talk about my unborn children as though they are going to be the curse of my life?
I’ve been thinking about this a lot, so I realise now that when you imply with such conviction that I won’t be able to cope, what you’re actually saying is that you wouldn’t be able to cope, that you never had what it takes to be a mother to twins.
You don’t actually know me so you don’t know what I’m capable of.
Our twins are a miracle.
They are an absolute blessing.
My body is doing something incredible and I will continue the incredible work when I give birth to them and when I am their mother, through the good times, the hard times and the even harder times.
So, Mrs Stranger, the moral of the story is, think back to the old but golden rule that I hope your mother taught you and that is – next time someone tells you they’re having twins, either say something nice or, for goodness sake, don’t say anything at all.
Do you agree with Jasmine? Do you have an opinion you want to share? Email editor.bunburymail@fairfaxmedia.com.au
