Tonight I took my boys to the doctor for their 3 year and 15 month check up. The appointments coincided perfectly with the colds our family had been hit with in the past 24 hours which was nice. I left work early to get home in time to bundle them up, walk down the flight of stairs (carrying one, holding the other's hand) get them both buckled in and head to the doctor's office. We hit the streets during rush hour, fighting traffic the entire way while also negotiating which sippy cup my 3 year old could have and then insisting the one he didn't want would go to his brother. We arrived and I got them both out of their seats and led the way into the office (carrying one, holding the other's hand). My insurance card was already accessible in my jeans pocket. I balanced a clip board of paperwork while keeping an eye on my 3 year old and preventing my 1 year old from stealing my pen. It was almost a game. And then we were called back to the exam room. We were next on the list, phew! But it was still a solid 12-15 minutes before the doctor arrived. 12-15 minutes with 2 boys that were 3 and under felt like an hour. I was sweating but fortunately, I had planned on that which was why I left my coat at home. The doctor entered and both boys fought for my lap and attention. The 3 year old was only somewhat resisting the exam which I considered a victory and my 1 year old didn't pee when we striped him down for his weight, which I was even more proud of. The doctor asked me questions and I attempted to answer but could hardly concentrate. It was as though there were two monkeys in the room climbing, squealing, banging non stop. I don't even think I heard how much either of them weighed, but fortunately, she wrote it down for me. They both had been sick, so none of the vaccines could be done that night (great, another trip back next week!) The doctor asked for final questions and then took off. I blocked the door and pinned both boys down in order to get coats on and gather our belongings. Again, sweating. On the way out, I saw a friend in the office who just had a baby. She was there with her newborn and her two other sons. She had 3 and probably looked more put together than me. I was barking at my 3 year old to stay by me and trying not to wince as my 1 year old used his whole body weight in attempt to get out of my arms. Somehow we all made our way back to the car and were on the road. My one year old started crying- it was past his bed time. My 3 year old asked repeatedly for his 'sassies' (pacifiers) and I could only hope that traffic had lightened up for our route home. The crying persisted and the wining for sassies continued. And suddenly at that moment, I knew what I needed to do next. I opened up my mouth and started to sing You are my Sunshine. Silence. They were not asleep yet, but hearing me sing instantly calmed them both down. They were content. We got home and made our way back up the stairs (carrying one, holding the other's hand). We hurried into our jammies and settled right into bed. And as I was saying my good nights to them, my 3 year old asked again if he could come in my bed later if he got scared. Yes. I knew my purpose. I had learned a lot over the past year. I had learned about what pain was. I had learned about what betrayal was. I had learned about disappointment. But I had also learned about strength. I had learned to be selfless. And I had learned (and was continuing to learn) about hope. I may have felt lost at times, but in this very moment I was more sure than ever about what my purpose was. I was a wonderful mom of two well adjusted, loved, happy boys. I was right were I was supposed to be.
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