Right from the start, I realized my plan wasn’t unfolding correctly. Morning sickness, migraines, shopping for a bigger car (gasp! A minivan), two of everything, crying, crying, sobbing, stretch marks, 500 ultrasounds, three babies in diapers? (does not compute), Twin A wouldn’t stop spinning, Twin B had a foot jammed in my rib cage for five months. My sweet “almost” 2 year old sat with his sippy cup and watched his little organic, mozart-y world turn into crazy-land. There was heartburn, insomnia (due to panic attacks), did I mention the stretch-marks? They are more like roads leading to nowhere. You can race hot-wheels cars on mine. All the cocoa butter in the world couldn’t convince my skin to stretch like that! There was the hip pain, sciatica (sounds like a spaceship, which I had become) And things started to swell…all things.
Then Double Trouble arrived. Two boys, fraternal twins. Healthy little bundles delivered at 39 1/2 weeks. Luckily, I took a picture of them in their Double Trouble newborn onesies from Silly Souls BEFORE the six months of barf-ups and blow-outs began! The last sign of control over our lives was the planned c-section (more on that in a future blog post). Our double bundle screamed for 10 days (or maybe 2 years –I’m not sure) I took them to the hospital on day 4 to see if I could trade them in. Instead, the doctor told me “babies cry, it’s what they do”. I said, no, my experience is that my babies don’t cry. These probably aren’t mine.
These weren’t pink and snuggly little sleepy-heads like I remembered my first son being. They were starving, purple, screaming, feed me non-stop little fellas. Purple-people-eaters.
The second time I took them to the hospital for a trade-in, I forgot one of their names. My husband was parking the (GASP!) minivan, and I had to wait for him to tell the nurse twin B’s name. At that point, someone told me to get some sleep. Yup, sure, I replied. I’ll get right on that when my fairy godmother “sparkles” me two babies that sleep (at least at the same time) or sparkles me a team of nannies and wet-nurses to fill in for me while I sleep.
The house didn’t get cleaned much.
I didn’t brush my teeth for two years
Hotdogs went from being on the no-fly list, to a household staple
Some days, (all the days) the boys left the house with dirty faces
Sometimes the apples didn’t get washed before they were eaten
Every day I reminded my husband to get his vasectomy follow-up done