Last month our twins turned 4 so we are now proud (& tired) owners of the 4 year-old-twins badge.
This is a really fun (& funny) age - I love listening to their conversations, questions and stories, it’s all very innocent and genuine and they make me laugh a lot. They’re curious and question everything (and everyone), they’re bluntly honest and their different personalities are really on full exposure.
Their levels of energy are off the charts– skyrocket high. They always want to be doing something, there’s no chill-out time. The twin effect plays an important role here as they’re constantly stimulating each other, it’s like being on an perpetual playdate, 24/7. So this leaves us with two 4 year olds who want to move and play ALL.THE.TIME. Of course they have each other to play with and keep company, which is great, but you can’t have this without the F word – FIGHTING.
During pregnancy I read that boy-girl twins fight less than girl-girl or boy-boy twins. If this is actually true, I have no idea how parents of GG and BB twins keep them alive. My twins fight like they’re trying to become an only child. I should have seen this coming because when I was pregnant and started feeling their movement, there were times I felt as if they were a couple of kicks away from breaking free through my ribcage.
Fast forward 4 years, we get a lot of fights daily. Most of the time, they are initiated by the real boss of the house, our fiery little girl. He would normally try and keep her happy, as he knows life is easier this way. When they were only a few months old, she started this habit of taking whatever he had (his dummy, his teddy, whatever toy he was holding…), and she would often pull his ears, too. Of course, this looked funny back then, even cute – but now… it’s a different story.
There are days where I feel I’m a referee at a boxing match, working overtime. Sometimes it comes to a point where it seems like the only thing left for me to do is stand back and let the strongest twin win.
Here are a few reasons why they fight as if there can only be one left: he made an imaginary sandwich and didn’t give her a bite, he looked out her car window (you’d be surprised how long those tiny arms can stretch when the motivation is scratching your twin’s eyes out without leaving your car seat), papa gave them a fright by hiding behind a door and he fell on the floor from the fright but she didn’t, she handed him his cup when it was supposed to be me who handed it to him, he sang along Let it go but he’s “not allowed be Elsa”, she sang Lost in the woods but she’s “not allowed be Kristoff”, she pretended to call Chase from Paw Patrol when “that’s NOT [her] pup!”… and so on.
So, we always need to be on alert, ready to break up a fight. That’s fine, though, you can get used to that, because the real danger comes when you’re NOT ready, when you get comfortable and relax.
My twins play together all the time, they rarely do separate activities, but the happier they are playing together, the closer you are to the next fight. The louder they’re laughing, the wilder the boxing match is going to be. It only takes a second, too, you won’t be able to prevent it, you actually may not even be able to identify the cause of it, but it will happen, and it will catch you by surprise if you get too cocky and think you have 7 minutes to hang the clothes while they build a Lego house. Rookie mistake.
As any other hopeful parent, though, I continue to be optimistic and enjoy those 6 and a half minutes whenever they’re offered to me. I would be willing to let them burn the house down during those times if I could finish a cup of tea or half a sandwich without anyone asking me questions or demanding snacks. I’ve learned to find peace in that happy chaos, which always comes with a sprinkle of anxiety because I know that the happier they look, the more intense the fight is going to be.
However, watching them play and laugh together is my favourite hobby. Those few minutes I get to watch their innocent smiles and honest laughs make everything else disappear in that moment. I even forget the floor is covered in toys to pretend it’s lava, the chairs are lined-up upside down to make a train to escape from that lava, and the freshly-clean clothes and pillows are making up the island where they’ll be safe from the lava.
The real beauty of those moments is that I know they’re so fragile, and that the longer the peace goes, the closer we are to war.
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