I don't have any overwrought emotional tales to share this week, so I thought I'd go very light. Here is my official list of "6 Do's and Don'ts for Handling a Twin Momma"
1. Do open the door for her when you see her coming. Yes, she is perfectly capable of pushing her double stroller through the door with one hand while holding the door open with the other, and she’s got the biceps to prove it. But it wears her out. Same goes when you see her coming your way carrying a baby in each arm. She can probably open the door without even putting a baby down, but if she could breeze through without that extra effort it might ease her exhaustion. Open the door even when she says, “I’ve got it!” with a happy, independent smile on her face. She desperately needs help and is just faking her chipper attitude. She could never make it through the day without the kindness of strangers.
2. Do compliment her adorable children. Every momma thinks her baby is the most beautiful on earth, and twin mommas are no exception. She just happens to have two children tied for most beautiful on earth. The praise you lavish on her and her children will give her a boost of happy energy to get her through the next hour.
3. Don’t use a fully functioning double “car” cart at the grocery store if you have only one child. I can’t stress enough how her blood will boil if she has to put her twins in a car cart that is missing a steering wheel, while your single child enjoys the luxury of two steering wheels.
4. Don’t ask which side of the family the twins came from. It’s a little embarrassing to explain fertility drugs to a perfect stranger. And some twin mommas get downright irate at this question. She also doesn’t want to hear about your uncle’s cousin’s daughter who has twins. Yes, she knows people are fascinated by twins. But she only cares about hers, so just tell her they are beautiful and move along (See #2).
5. Don’t state the obvious. If the babies look nothing alike; if one is a blond and the other is a brunette; if one looks like her mother and the other looks like the stork brought her, you can bet the twin momma already knows this. There is no reason to exclaim it aloud, adding, “Well don’t that just beat all!” or “Have you ever seen such a thing?” You’re giving all three of them a complex.
6. Do recognize that she is often an object of curiosity and she may or may not enjoy the extra attention that her twins bring to her. She may have answered the question you just asked or heard the observation you just made three times that day already. So try not to be offended if her answers are short or she doesn’t chat with you as long as you’d wanted. She’s doing her best to be a good twin momma ambassador but sometimes, she’s just tired. In any event, open the door as wide as you can, give her a big smile, and tell her she’s going a great job with those beautiful children. You will absolutely make her day.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Eighteen Months
Turtle and Monkey are eighteen months old today. I’ve been looking forward to this huge milestone, assured by many moms that “things will be a lot easier” at eighteen months. They were right. It is, finally, thankfully, easier. Not easy. Just easier. I feel a weight of sadness today too, though. Where did my little babies go? Last night Turtle put a purse on her shoulder, went to the door, and waved “bye-bye.” It made me think ahead to the day when she will actually walk out the door: going over to a friend’s house, or back to college, or home to her spouse. I cried a little. Where did my babies go? I want to remember everything that is passing so quickly.I want to remember:
How Turtle runs away, laughing, when I try to dress her or change her diaper.
How Monkey un-self consciously sways her hips to dance.
How Turtle says “thk thk thk” and tickles me under the chin with little hands that don’t really know how to tickle.
How I felt the first time Monkey brought me her shoe when I asked her to.
How, when the car seats still faced the back, Turtle would puts her hand up and out over her head, yelling a little, waiting for me to put Mr. Lovey into her hands.
How Monkey screams when she turns on the fire truck siren, trying to mimic its sound.
How Turtle waves at the girl illustrating “waving” in My Little Word Book.
How Monkey fussed until I let her take a book into her crib at naptime, before she was even 16 months old.
How Turtle squeals with laughter when you tickle or chase her.
How Monkey has her Lovey “kiss” the character on each page of our bedtime story, I Love You, Goodnight
How Turtle’s breathing sounds as she’s cradled in my arms, gnawing on Mr. Lovey, when I’m putting her in her crib for the night.
How it feels to have Monkey’s full weight against my chest and her head resting on my shoulder.
How it feels to bask in the unconditional adoration of the two most amazing little girls on the planet.
Happy Toddlerhood, my beautiful daughters.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Letting Go
Well, it finally happened. Turtle fell off the four-foot playscape at our neighborhood playground, landing face first into the pea gravel. She is totally, completely fine, but the slow motion replay of her fall is all I can see. The dangling over the edge. The slow tipping forward. The other mother and I rushing towards her. The long fall that seemed to last forever, but not quite long enough for the mother one foot away to break her fall. The face plant, the crying, the frantic call to the pediatrician for guidance, the comforting by the other mothers, the retelling to Twin Daddy.
Turtle is fine. She cried hard for a couple of minutes and then reached for her snack cup. I feel like I’m recovering from a trauma. Turtle has had several minor injuries involving blood because she is both adventurous and a little unstable, due to her oversized toddler head and itty bitty bottom. But nothing this frightening. If Monkey had been dangling over the edge, she probably could have pulled herself back up because she inherited a very sturdy bottom half from Twin Momma. But tiny Turtle just went straight down.
I know it was an accident that could have happened to anyone. I know I can’t physically be in two places at the same time, so when the toddlers run in opposite directions, I just have to do my best. I know kids fall ALL the time, and it is to be expected. I’ve heard at least a dozen bad fall stories that all have happy endings. But when it’s your kid, none of that matters. All you feel is horrible and awful because something bad happened to your child. And that carefully constructed façade of total control? Forget it. You can limit sweets and TV to your heart’s content, but you can’t control the universe. Unpleasant things will happen to your child, and you can’t stop it. That’s the hard truth that splintered my façade of control when Turtle hit the ground Wednesday. Facing this truth has been somewhat traumatic, but at the same time, I feel a release. Like I’ve been forced to let go, just a little bit, of my drive to be perfect and in control. Instead, I have to accept the reality of parenthood. And I know that a real parent, not a perfect parent, is just what my girls need.
Turtle is fine. She cried hard for a couple of minutes and then reached for her snack cup. I feel like I’m recovering from a trauma. Turtle has had several minor injuries involving blood because she is both adventurous and a little unstable, due to her oversized toddler head and itty bitty bottom. But nothing this frightening. If Monkey had been dangling over the edge, she probably could have pulled herself back up because she inherited a very sturdy bottom half from Twin Momma. But tiny Turtle just went straight down.
I know it was an accident that could have happened to anyone. I know I can’t physically be in two places at the same time, so when the toddlers run in opposite directions, I just have to do my best. I know kids fall ALL the time, and it is to be expected. I’ve heard at least a dozen bad fall stories that all have happy endings. But when it’s your kid, none of that matters. All you feel is horrible and awful because something bad happened to your child. And that carefully constructed façade of total control? Forget it. You can limit sweets and TV to your heart’s content, but you can’t control the universe. Unpleasant things will happen to your child, and you can’t stop it. That’s the hard truth that splintered my façade of control when Turtle hit the ground Wednesday. Facing this truth has been somewhat traumatic, but at the same time, I feel a release. Like I’ve been forced to let go, just a little bit, of my drive to be perfect and in control. Instead, I have to accept the reality of parenthood. And I know that a real parent, not a perfect parent, is just what my girls need.
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Easter Baskets
This past Saturday Turtle and Monkey hunted Easter Eggs for the first time. “Hunt” is probably too generous a word – the extra-large plastic eggs were simply put on the ground in a small area on the church lawn roped off for toddlers. Then the girls wandered around picking up eggs and putting them in the baskets Twin Daddy and I eagerly held in front of their faces. Nonetheless, eggs were found and collected, and we all enjoyed it.
What was really special about the hunt, though, is that the girls forgot about their baskets the instant we moved on to the petting zoo. Twin Daddy pointed out that for the first and probably last time, the girls don’t care about their Easter baskets. There was no fighting over who stole whose egg, no competition over how many eggs were found, no negotiating over how much of the candy could be eaten before lunch. The baskets have been sitting in the laundry room since Saturday, and no one has complained that Twin Momma ate the candy out of the few eggs that actually had candy in them (this was a proper yuppie hunt so most of the eggs had animal crackers, goldfish, raisins, toys or stickers in them). They don’t know what candy is, they don’t know whose eggs I’m using when I take a couple out for playtime, and they don’t care that the eggs are all mixed up at this point.
I know this is not going to last much longer. We are in a very small window where the girls enjoy what they are offered, without wanting anything. They simply absorb the moment and move on to the next one. The only thing they ever ask for is food (which is referred to in general as “apple”) and milk (“buh”). One might bring you a book to read to her, and the other might stand at the front door hoping you’ll take her out to ring the wind chime. That’s it. It’s a pretty blissful existence if you ask me. They don’t care what they wear. They don’t care what toys they have. They don’t watch TV or movies so they don’t know what's "in."
How do we maintain this simplicity? I doubt it can be done, and I’ve resigned myself to fighting this losing battle in little ways. I’ve stopped catalogs from coming into the house (using http://www.catalogchoice.org/), because I don’t want my two-year-old pointing out the bedding set she wants from the Land of Nod catalog. I try to limit trips to the store with them, so they don’t become accustomed to shopping. We try not to eat or drink anything in front of them that we wouldn’t want them to have (I save my ice cream binges for after they go to bed, fully aware that I am a hypocrite).
I don’t know if these and other little measures I’m taking are going to amount to anything in the long run, considering the overall excess of the world we live in. But it’s such a fleeting period of total control over what they see, eat, and do, that I’m letting my inner control freak go wild. I’ll loosen up soon enough, don’t worry. For now, though, I’m enjoying my pure, innocent little girls, who want nothing more than to take each other’s hand and explore the simple wonder of the world.
What was really special about the hunt, though, is that the girls forgot about their baskets the instant we moved on to the petting zoo. Twin Daddy pointed out that for the first and probably last time, the girls don’t care about their Easter baskets. There was no fighting over who stole whose egg, no competition over how many eggs were found, no negotiating over how much of the candy could be eaten before lunch. The baskets have been sitting in the laundry room since Saturday, and no one has complained that Twin Momma ate the candy out of the few eggs that actually had candy in them (this was a proper yuppie hunt so most of the eggs had animal crackers, goldfish, raisins, toys or stickers in them). They don’t know what candy is, they don’t know whose eggs I’m using when I take a couple out for playtime, and they don’t care that the eggs are all mixed up at this point.
I know this is not going to last much longer. We are in a very small window where the girls enjoy what they are offered, without wanting anything. They simply absorb the moment and move on to the next one. The only thing they ever ask for is food (which is referred to in general as “apple”) and milk (“buh”). One might bring you a book to read to her, and the other might stand at the front door hoping you’ll take her out to ring the wind chime. That’s it. It’s a pretty blissful existence if you ask me. They don’t care what they wear. They don’t care what toys they have. They don’t watch TV or movies so they don’t know what's "in."
How do we maintain this simplicity? I doubt it can be done, and I’ve resigned myself to fighting this losing battle in little ways. I’ve stopped catalogs from coming into the house (using http://www.catalogchoice.org/), because I don’t want my two-year-old pointing out the bedding set she wants from the Land of Nod catalog. I try to limit trips to the store with them, so they don’t become accustomed to shopping. We try not to eat or drink anything in front of them that we wouldn’t want them to have (I save my ice cream binges for after they go to bed, fully aware that I am a hypocrite).
I don’t know if these and other little measures I’m taking are going to amount to anything in the long run, considering the overall excess of the world we live in. But it’s such a fleeting period of total control over what they see, eat, and do, that I’m letting my inner control freak go wild. I’ll loosen up soon enough, don’t worry. For now, though, I’m enjoying my pure, innocent little girls, who want nothing more than to take each other’s hand and explore the simple wonder of the world.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
One small victory
It’s been a hell of a week. Monkey had her first-ever wheezing episode Monday afternoon, resulting in a rushed trip to the pediatrician and a couple of doses of Albuterol administered through a nebulizer to get her breathing back to normal, and a couple of middle of the night doses at home to keep her stable. By Wednesday she was totally fine, and by “fine” I mean she tried to stuff both her and her sister’s lovey into the diaper pail and she used her spoon to play in the litter box. Both things happened while I was trying to take care of Turtle, who is getting two molars and is not very happy about it. Like I said, rough week.
But this morning, a small ray of light for Twin Momma. It was looking like another bad day: I tried to put Monkey into her booster chair for breakfast and she would have none of it. We graduated from high chairs this past weekend, but it turns out that it really isn’t about the chair. That girl just wants to sit in my lap at breakfast time. I guess she thinks, “Hey, we’ve been apart for twelve hours lady, can you just hold me for ten minutes while I eat?” I can see her point and usually give in, but this morning was different. First of all, I hadn’t had my breakfast yet. And second, Turtle was still sleeping so I knew I’d have to go get her soon. So I said, “No, I will not hold you right now, you sit in your chair to eat.” I put her breakfast and milk right on the booster chair tray so she could think about it. When she refused the chair I let her wander around the kitchen whining and crying while I made myself a couple of pieces of gluten-free toast and a cup of instant decaf coffee. Mmmm, breakfast fit for a queen.
Monkey whined and whined and cried and I kept offering her the chair, and she kept saying, “No!,” so I kept working on my pitiful little breakfast and busying myself around the kitchen. This went on for a few minutes, and then a miracle. As I stirred the sugar into my coffee she went over to her chair and touched it and looked at me. “Do you want to sit in your chair?” I asked. She nodded yes. I helped her into her chair and she clapped her hands and started shoveling the scrambled eggs into her mouth. I really was so happy I almost cried, because I had been sure a Queen Kong meltdown was on its way. I showered her with praise and told her how proud I was of her for getting into her chair, and then I got my toast and sat across the table from her and we had breakfast together. It was wonderful.
I don’t know if I would have had the gumption to hold my ground like that had Turtle been awake. When I’m trying to manage them both at the same time, I really just do whatever I have to do to keep it together. It feels like there isn’t room for me to give that kind of focus to one when, for example, the other is digging around the litter box with a spoon. But Turtle blessed me this morning by sleeping in and giving me and Monkey the chance to establish who is in charge. I really think we both needed to know, and I really think we are both happy that it is still me.
But this morning, a small ray of light for Twin Momma. It was looking like another bad day: I tried to put Monkey into her booster chair for breakfast and she would have none of it. We graduated from high chairs this past weekend, but it turns out that it really isn’t about the chair. That girl just wants to sit in my lap at breakfast time. I guess she thinks, “Hey, we’ve been apart for twelve hours lady, can you just hold me for ten minutes while I eat?” I can see her point and usually give in, but this morning was different. First of all, I hadn’t had my breakfast yet. And second, Turtle was still sleeping so I knew I’d have to go get her soon. So I said, “No, I will not hold you right now, you sit in your chair to eat.” I put her breakfast and milk right on the booster chair tray so she could think about it. When she refused the chair I let her wander around the kitchen whining and crying while I made myself a couple of pieces of gluten-free toast and a cup of instant decaf coffee. Mmmm, breakfast fit for a queen.
Monkey whined and whined and cried and I kept offering her the chair, and she kept saying, “No!,” so I kept working on my pitiful little breakfast and busying myself around the kitchen. This went on for a few minutes, and then a miracle. As I stirred the sugar into my coffee she went over to her chair and touched it and looked at me. “Do you want to sit in your chair?” I asked. She nodded yes. I helped her into her chair and she clapped her hands and started shoveling the scrambled eggs into her mouth. I really was so happy I almost cried, because I had been sure a Queen Kong meltdown was on its way. I showered her with praise and told her how proud I was of her for getting into her chair, and then I got my toast and sat across the table from her and we had breakfast together. It was wonderful.
I don’t know if I would have had the gumption to hold my ground like that had Turtle been awake. When I’m trying to manage them both at the same time, I really just do whatever I have to do to keep it together. It feels like there isn’t room for me to give that kind of focus to one when, for example, the other is digging around the litter box with a spoon. But Turtle blessed me this morning by sleeping in and giving me and Monkey the chance to establish who is in charge. I really think we both needed to know, and I really think we are both happy that it is still me.
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