Me Three boarded the train for a very posh day out - Destination: Nobu, Park Lane.
Our day was courtesy of Stérimar - a 100% natural sea water nasal spray to help clear babies noses. Porridge splattered tops were concealed under smart striped ones and we boarded the 10 o'clock to Marylebone. Ahead of schedule and in control.
The train spotter, sitting opposite us, should have cut off the wisps of hair battling in vain to hide a bald spot. He was drinking cava and orange juice (with bits in). Perhaps a belated valentine gesture for his frizzy haired, wolf-fleece wearing partner?
Not wanting to scupper Comb-Over's chances of romance, I desperately tried to keep the boys entertained: assorted faces, noises, hand gestures and games of peek-a-boo ensued. I was horrified to hear the intended benefactor of my baby babble say to his partner, while looking straight at me, 'get all sorts of characters on trains'. Me! The character?! Said the man who bought orange juice with bits in to impress wolf-woman?!
It dawned on me that as I navigate each twin-centered day I don't give a moment's thought to what I must look like to the outside world. The constant minute-by-minute survival strategy is simple; keep the boys happy and safe. If it means gurning like an idiot on a busy train I'll do it, and what's more I'd consider myself a gurning genius if it kept tired tears at bay. I don't think that it makes me a 'character'.
Anyway, once the light bulb had flashed for the first time, it flashed non-stop for the rest of the day. A woman at the next stop boarded the train with a girlfriend and said, loudly, 'let's avoid the baby shall we'. BABIES I wanted to shout at her. And We Three would like to avoid insensitive people like you, so the feeling's mutual! Where's the sisterhood? Where is my medal for being out before noon, with a full face of make up and a smile? Where's my pat on the back for being uber-considerate and desperately trying to keep my babies happy for the benefit of strangers? It would be much easier to sit down, plug myself into my iPod and let them grumble knowing that they can't escape the confines of their buggy just by upping the volume?London With Twins!Maybe these events, before I'd even got to London, were the reason I was less gung-ho than usual in terms of boldly gallivanting round the capital with a double buggy and a can-do attitude. Maybe it was because it had been a couple of months since Me Three last ventured to the city and in that time they had decided sightseeing seats were no longer good enough? They now needed hands-on, grabbing, bumping, crawling, licking, shrieking, wriggling, mobile interaction. I discovered this during a sit down presentation. At Nobu. Brilliant.
I left the party when I saw my sanity make a hasty exit.
The trouble with twins is that even when everything is going swimmingly you can still feel like you're drowning. I am so lucky to have two big, bouncy, boisterous boys and even though they have driven me bonkers by the end of most days I still have to resist the urge to pick them up when they have, finally, gone to sleep. Snuffle free thanks to Stérimar.
Katy Hymas - Mum to twin boys
February 2011 |
The 'Other' in Mother
