Oh God I am getting sloooowww with these posts now, aren’t I? Am sort of trying to emerge back into normal life now and do TASKS (AmEx, bless them, took ‘am so sorry I am late in paying, have just had twins’ as a valid excuse) which, given the black hole in this house into which Time slips, means whole days vanish.
In addition, things have been hectic in Twinland.
We have tried our specially huge twin playmat (top tip from Hazel, thanks!), but both ladies were a bit more interested in playing with each other. Holding hands, in Charlotte’s case; whacking her sister in the eye repeatedly in Romilly’s.
We also tried our bouncy chairs, which we got for £5 courtesy of a lovely Mum at the twins’ club. Romilly appears to be trying to eat her hands (well, when Mum makes me wait FOUR HOURS for a feed, a girl can get desperate); Charlotte is chillaxeing. I have high hopes of these chairs as apparently when they’re big enough to hold their bottles, you can get a simultaneous feed done in seconds whilst sitting on the sofa munching biscuits, watching telly and rocking them with you feet. Cool as.
We also tried out the baby slings (lovely material ones from India, courtesy of Jon’s sister). Because it is very quickly dawning on me that if I want to be more mobile than just going to the local high street – ie getting on a bus/train/Tube or even, blimey, going in a shop that doesn’t have double doors or anything on display that can be knocked over or old ladies with sticks or, well, anywhere apart from Tesco – the only way will be to have one in a sling and one in a ‘normal’ pushchair. Then I can go into a deli – oh, a deli! Happy days! Romilly loved her snuggle; slight problem is I can’t put it on single handed or bend at all. More practise required I feel…Or maybe I just padlock the pushchair to a lamp post outside the shop. Like a dog. Mum this is a JOKE!
Please note the degree to which our lovely Italian designer sofa has been taken over by nappy bags, changing mats, vomit covered muslins; also the degree to which I can’t be a*sed with brushing my hair, applying make up…
Today we went to the twins’ club (which meets at the pub, I like their style). There is a whole hierarchy of multiples; we may laugh at the one child family, but I am in awe of triplets. I moan about only having two hands, but at least that’s one hand per child; no idea how I’d cope with triplets short of growing some grappling-hook-come-winch appendage.
In fact – useful insight – the triplets Mum was saying the only solution is not to hold yourself to impossibly high standards. She didn’t bath her triplets for the first few months, not until they were a bit more robust, and she had set up a system of help. Frankly, they don’t NEED baths – it’s more about setting a routine, nice playtime for Dad etc. If you’ve got puke on your leggings and the kids have had the same meal 3 nights in a row…who cares? You are doing something utterly extraordinary. Hats off.
We also chatted about hospital experiences, including C Sections. Understandably hers was planned! She was asking how I was, three weeks in, and we both wondered whether there was a bit of a benign conspiracy – to stop people being scared? – to skirt over just how uncomfortable it is afterwards. The thing is, I’m not sure that helps people. It IS major abdominal surgery. But because it is seen as so normal, you’re expected to (or at least feel that way) just get on with things. I certainly know, that first night in hospital, when I couldn’t move, was in agony, had a bloomin’ catheter attached to me, I hesitated about ringing the emergency button despite hardly being able to lean over the side of my bed much less pick two babies up to change or feed them…It’s a balancing act because, no, you don’t want to freak people out who’re facing it, but would someone who’d had their bowel removed be expected (and expecting themselves) just to get on with it 12 hours after? I know I’ve snapped at Jon 10m times when he’s been charging ahead with the pushchair that I just can’t walk that quickly. I just think maybe if CS was seen for what it is, there would be a bit less pressure, and a lot more help.
Our other topic of conversation was HEALTH VISITORS. Gosh but it gets worse. Two weeks after getting back from hospital, the HV looks at Triplets’ Mummy’s tummy (who is gorgeous and teensy tinsy), laughs, and says ‘you sure you don’t have another one in there?’ I am in awe she didn’t lamp her. She’s had the same (but 50% worse obviously, on account of 50% more kid action) in terms of length of visits, including the 8 month check at the surgery where they checked and filled in each triplet in turn, saying ‘we like to treat them as individuals’. Well, yes, come 13 I’m sure that’s all very important but at 8 months they care more about things like missing their nap and feed!
But the worse thing, which backs up my theory about them preying on the middle class/aged/easy to tick off the list, whilst letting the real threats slip through, was she said she’d once called the office three times to try to cancel an appointment as she had visitors. Surprise surprise the HV still turns up, demands to be let in, and says if she isn’t, then she’ll go back to the office and file a report saying she’s been refused access. So of course you acquiesce because you know otherwise the list of midwife, health visitor, nurse, GP et al is going to have social worker added to it.
Jon and I have another hot date tonight to a local restaurant (my maternal radius at the moment is still only about 5 minutes, bless) and just as excitingly Joe and I went to the cinema last night (Hunger Games, not entirely awful). I asked him how neglected he was feeling on a scale of 1 to 10 where 1 was ‘I am the centre of my Mum’s life’ and 10 was ‘those dastardly twins have destroyed EVERYTHING’. The answer was 8; I was pleasantly surprised. Still, work to be done. I think part of the problem is that I’m feeding downstairs during the day. It might be selfish but, because I’m BF, and there’s two, if I hid away in the nursery I’d go quickly mad with the time it takes. Plus they’ve been sleeping in their moses basket downstairs. So Joe has just been hanging out in his attic eyrie. This should change a bit as they’re beginning to sleep in the cot in the nursery more, so I’m hoping he’ll feel less of an exile, but to be continued…
Finally, just received this funny candle (which doesn’t at ALL look like two green boobs in a bikini) from Uncle Andy from The Twins Gift Company, which is run by a pair of identical redheads. It’s like I’ve got my own branded merchandise; now there’s a thought 😉