A 14 hour sleepathon is my new pregnancy PB*.
I awake to a much larger bump than I went to bed with and feel like I am living a muddled version of Cinderella whereby I inadvertently ate the pumpkin at midnight. I could do with a Fairy Godmother to fix me with some sort of new-shape-sensors as my brain is yet to compute my new body size and on more than one (public) occasion I have walked into tables or swung around banisters to go upstairs only to bump into the railings. Bringing a whole new meaning to ‘bump-ing into things’.
Gentle flutterings have advanced to fully-fledged kung fu kicks and I never cease to be amazed and amused by the tummy tremors I can see through my clothes. Strangers have begun to touch my belly without permission as if I am in possession of some sort of blarney bump and I have been offered seats on trains. I also resemble a struggling upturned beetle when trying to stand up. All of these things make me feel Properly Pregnant and the reality of what lies ahead is bought sharply back into focus.
I have a near constant sense of apprehension surrounding the enormity of the life change that awaits and live in fear that I will let the boys down by not being the best that they deserve. They have been quietly getting on with their own creation and will be launched into life expecting, quite rightly, that the welcome party will know what needs to be done. Trouble is I’m not entirely sure that’s the case.
A twin Mum advised me that the best approach to boys is to think of them as two large dogs requiring lots of fresh air and exercise. Bizarrely I find this tip reassuring. It sums up a sense of playfulness that can too easily dissipate amongst all the new scary words that I am to become au fait with. It is important (to my sanity) to know that at the end of leaking nipples and paper pants there is some fun to be had.
My sister proudly gloats to friends who have recently become Aunties that two nephews doubles her cuddle chances. I daren’t curb her enthusiasm with the dreaded ‘R’ word. We have been told that establishing a routine will greatly increase the chances of a happy and harmonious twin home. Which means that if one twin is asleep, we will be doing our very best to ensure the second one is too. Bad news for Auntie who was hoping that there would always be one available for play!
At lunch with Daddy David in a restaurant we like to frequent I was excited to see not one but two twin Mums dining happily with their babies. I didn’t have the place marked as baby friendly, nor did I dare hope that I would be competent and confident enough to venture out to a favourite haunt avec twins when they were still so small – but the twin troupe looked calm and unflustered. Needless to say I scribbled down my number and desperately asked if I could join their club when my two boys arrive!
Katy Hymas
December 2009
*PB = Personal Best
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Motherly Love, Mental Leaps and Grains of Sand
