Charlotte just gets so over excited she doesn’t drink at nursery, despite their best efforts. Places to go, things to do, toys to break. So she has frequent constipation. The warm relaxation of the bath works its magic. I have a split second warning, when she kneels up and her face contracts like a mathematician trying to work it out with a pencil. Fortunately, because of the dehydration, they are shapely and easy to hold (and surprisingly huge, last one was easily six inches!) so in one graceful movement I can catch it and flip it into the adjacent loo, while Jon gazes on at me with naked admiration. Skills.
I am slightly worried that this has now become a bit of a game for Charlotte too. She can shout ‘pooh! Pooh!’ and giggle. Flatulence has also, ever so cutely, been termed ‘bubbles’ by them both, which I think is actually rather smartly onomatopoeic. But the fact they are now aware of their bowels means one thing and one thing only: toilet training is round the corner. OH. MY. GOD. Am so tempted to wait till the summer and just have them naked in the garden. Or at least until they’re walking.
Ah yes, walking. Hmmm. This is still not happening. They are perfectly happy to walk with a human stabiliser. Both of them can do it one handed, and we have races down the corridor with them running and giggling delightedly. So there’s clearly nothing physiologically wrong with them (plus, as twins, they had their hips scanned at birth). But they just won’t let go of my hand. I think part of the problem is because they’ve left it so late they’re that much more switched on mentally and know about consequences ie if they let go, they might fall, and that might be sore…
I know twins are later. And they were premature, so that compounds it. And I don’t know a single able-bodied grown up who hasn’t learnt how to do it eventually (apart from tourists on Oxford Street). But am in two minds about whether I confess to the health visitor and get a Physio appointment. The Wisdom of Crowds (ie Mumsnet) is divided: singletons think they are shockingly late and something must be amiss and I need to get them to a doctor now; multiples parents say chillax.
(As an aside, I do wonder whether twin parents on the whole are perforce less precious. It would be interesting to chart things like amount of mess/dirt/noise allowed by number of children!)
Anyhows. We are all – well, mostly me – super excited about Christmas. The house just looks twinkly and gorgeous, the blister I gave myself cutting out 72 paper snowflakes notwithstanding. The girls love tinsel. It’s so tickly! Especially on your twin’s chin…
I have restrained myself on the outfit front this year so no more all-in-one elf costumes, but I did get these gorgeous dresses from Little Wild Things.
We have met Santa not just once but TWICE (he has a thing for the Wirral, must be our Viking heritage). Once at the Nursery party, and then again on the Santa Express. Royden Park near us has a miniature railway, which the girls loved. And they were also very cheery with the Elves. But as soon as we rounded the corner and met Santa himself we had screaming in stereo and I had to apologise to the bearded one and beat a hasty retreat! I imagine it’s because they’re still so focussed on facial recognition, and Santa’s a bit covered what with his hat and beard…
The ladies are hilarious with him. It’s show off central. Apparently Joe will be very impressed if we fling the contents of our dinner on the floor and giggle. He also really enjoys it when he’s busy on his computer next door and gets summoned to the table with screams of ‘Tcho! Tcho!’ As soon as he dutifully comes to say hello, they both wave him off saying ‘bye’. And repeat. And repeat. Or if we offer him our teddies and then snatch them back going ‘no! Mummy no Tcho!’ and laugh ourselves silly.
But our bestest game in the whole world is combing his hair. Joe has got into the festive spirit and come home for the holidays dressed as Jesus, with a mane easily as long as mine. We luffs our brother’s hair.
Right. I have 200 apples from the garden to process (I am not joking). And my tenth Tesco trip of the week. I am well and truly a victim of The Twitch aka that nagging sense that, despite your best efforts, you just don’t have quite enough STUFF. I found myself buying a third roll of cling film yesterday. I now have 120m of cling film. The shops are only shut for a day. Quite what I am intending to do that involves 5 metres of cling film an hour I do not know. Maybe a Christo-esque wrapping of our house?
I imagine there will be a bit of a festive lull on the blog front (though not on the log front!) so I wish you luck, laughter and love for 2014. This has been a difficult year on many fronts, but also a complete joy. It feels like my life is starting over, what with getting better, driving, jobs, Uni (both me and Joe) etc. I fall ever more in love with the girls each day. I am beyond proud of Joe (did I mention he got a First for EVERY SINGLE PIECE OF WORK AT UNI?!) and Jon, well…for those of you who know me, my track record with men hasn’t been a complete success, but I seem to have found myself the kindest, funniest (don’t tell him I said that), best at DIY (nor that), most supportive, snuggliest man in the world, and just the most loving father possible. I am constantly on the verge of tears wondering at the extent of his adoration. He finishes work today (thank God, have hardly seen him this month, I keep forgetting which country he is actually in!) and we are soooo looking forward to a whole two weeks taking a long swim in Lake Daddy.