The twins turned one on Saturday and I’m in a state of disbelief. How is it those tiny little 2kg babies we brought home from hospital are now hulking great big one year olds?
Time did its thing, I guess, and on it marched. Now Jude’s cruising furniture like he’s gearing up to walk pretty soon (LV took his sweet time and took his first steps at 19 months, so this is new territory for us) and Maisie’s favourite thing is to be clever and smart and copy noises and faces and pretend to talk on the telephone. It honestly feels like just a few months ago they were bony little newborns who slept all day and didn’t scream the street down and try to squirm across the room at every nappy and clothing change.
While it doesn’t feel real that I have twin one year olds, I am certainly wearing the physical effects of a year with two babies. And a toddler-turned-preschooler. I have sprouted heaps of stray grey hairs, my skin is dry and angry with me, my face is patchy and there are quite a few wrinkles who popped in for a cuppa but have outstayed their welcome.
Also, I drive a minivan. There’s definitely no escaping it now, I am a Mum. Right now I am wearing grey marle housepants for crying out loud. I haven’t had breakfast or brushed my hair. Ugh, I’m such a cliche.
I dived into the parenting pool with great intentions of maintaining a strong sense of self and nurturing my relationships with friends and family outside of these four walls, but I accidentally got very tired and there were so many nappies to be changed and so much washing to be hung out.
I see photos of other mums taking their three, four, even five children out and about to the park, the museum, swimming pools, beaches, markets, the zoo… and I think, what the hell lady?! Perhaps I’m doing it wrong, but after I’ve got everyone ready to go out and packed them all one by one into the car, the twins are usually due for a nap within the hour and I’m just too blimmin’ exhausted to face wrangling them all out in public on my own. And inevitably one of them poops just after I’ve belted them in.
(By the way, Maisie doesn’t nap in the car but Jude does – that’s just not an option for us. Naptime is the only thing that keeps me sane, and no picture-perfect trip to the waterfront is worth getting them out of sync for)
So I’ve put my head down and just mooched around the house a lot over the last year, but the good news is I feel like maybe, just maybe, we’re getting over the hump. The babies are much better at staying awake longer and I’m finding more ways to keep them entertained. Plus, here’s the kicker with twins, they’re starting to play together more (and fight too, but let’s not taint this sentiment). Not only does that warm the cockles of my heart and is incredibly cute to witness, but it’s also quite handy if I need to shoot off an email, do the dishes or cram a donut in my face.
What I’m trying to say here is, without wanting to jinx it, I think things might get a bit easier from here on in and I might actually be able to participate in the wider community again soon. I shall have to work on my hair-brushing skills.
There have been some exciting developments in our little corner of the world lately which I’m keen to tell you about, but the babies are napping and the washing machine just told me another load is ready to go on the line, and I’m hoping I might be able to eat some toast before the wee monsters wake demanding lunch so I best head off.
It’s been nice to chat, and despite all the moaning up there, please know all is good with us and I love my small team of children fiercely. Sure, I’m looking forward to the day-to-day being not quite as relentless as it has been, but honestly? I wouldn’t trade the last year for anything.