The fourth trimester is over and the twins are fully cooked!
The wibbly wobbly head stage is behind us and I can breath a sigh of relief that the caffeinated beverages, peanut butter, gooey cheese and champers consumed while pregnant has had no ill effect. At least none that is evident thus far. The household is emerging from the new-born chrysalis and stretching its baby wings and more often than not we now know whether it is day or night.
The next distinction to be made is whether it is hot or cold. Just when I thought I had got the hang of Going Out, the weather changed. I dressed the boys in vests, baby-grows, cardigans and hats, marvelling at the fact that only a few short months ago I couldn’t tell the difference between a vest and a baby-grow, and only questioned whether so many layers were still necessary when I saw bare legs being flung out of passing buggies on the high street. I even called out to a passing Dad in slightly panic-stricken tones to ask what his child was wearing.
Maybe I should leave the ‘L’ plates on a little longer but I can at least congratulate myself on having conquered some of the baby-care tasks that filled me with dread BB (Before Birth); Bathing and nail clipping to name but two.
Like every single element of childcare there are 101 alternatives to each of the aforementioned chores but at each decision-making juncture my advice to other TNPs (Terrified New Parents) is to hold your breath, cross your fingers and boldly attack the impending task with conviction. Conviction in Ms Ford’s commandments or a passing strangers’ old wives’ tale, I don’t think it really matters, babies are like dogs and sense fear so if you feign confidence you increase your chances of success however you decide to go boldly forth in baby care.
I thought delicately nibbling new-born nails would be less scary than wielding scissors but even a tooth seems too large a tool when faced with a finger nail the size of a dew drop. Doll sized safety scissors did the job, and seeing as we still have twenty twin fingers I can categorically say mini manicures have been mastered.
Bath time was avoided for a few too many days in the beginning because I was utterly wimpy and convinced that adding water to an already wriggly teeny tiny twin was asking for trouble. They were strip washed with cotton wool and fluffy towel on a safe sturdy surface but kept well away from full sink submersion. Fast-forward a few weeks and we now think nothing of adding a splash of olive oil to a generously filled baby bath. Who’d have thought it? Oil! Extra slippery limbs! We must be getting braver! Admittedly I would be less liberal with the skin soothing oil if it weren’t for the magic Cuddledry towels. They do up like aprons and negate the need to wrestle with a soggy towel wedged under your chin which, let’s be honest, was never an overly sensible solution!
It seems as though the boys have been around forever and it is strange to think that only 14 weeks ago I could leave the house without fear of bus drivers closing the door on me with a faux apologetic glance, gesturing vaguely in the direction of another buggy on board. Less than four months ago I could arrange to meet friends and be pretty sure I’d arrive within 10minutes of on time. I could take a dinky designer handbag out for the day with no need to cram in three changes of clothes, three dummies, four bottles, umpteen nappies and two grubby muslins. No that is not a typo on the clothing count, I just had the misfortune to learn that Mum may need a spare top too. Ditto dummies, not a spare one for Mum, just a spare one for emergencies (although if it calms an angst-y baby who’s to say it won’t work on an angst-y Mum?? ). Like hair bands and socks dummies have a strange habit of vanishing in to thin air.
In another 14 weeks life will have changed again. And I can’t wait. Do I miss the care-free days when I didn’t have to worry about buses and buggies and bottles and babies? Sometimes. But if you told me that to re-live them I would have to forego the first twin smiles of the day, or the cuddles in the crook of my arm, or those moments after a feed when sleepy baby fingers trail shapes on my shoulder so lightly it tickles ....... I wouldn’t trade.
Toes are yet to be walked on and kites are yet to be flown and ice cream is yet to dribble down chins and stabilisers are yet to be put on bikes let alone taken off… That doesn’t mean I won’t look longingly at the shiny sparkly things in Selfridges, it just means that in years to come I will treasure the Creative Castings foot casts of twenty small toes far more than an out of date small designer handbag.
by
Katy Hymas – Mummy Blogger and Mum to gorgeous twin boys
June 2010
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The 'Other' in Mother
