Diary Of a Twin Mum

Okay, so I am Sophie . Married to Martin (Lucky, lucky man) Mother to Paris age 10, Fabian aged 7 and two 9 month old twins - Felix and Milo. I stay at home, work alternate weekends and have been known to do occasional journalism (Had to swop the word freelance when I became lazy).

Not to be mistaken for the Sophie that is Haventadog - who is acid tongued, viper quick, spends far too much time being sarcastic, psychologically damages her children, smokes, is incapable of writing things in brief and is an opinionated old bag famed for causing offence.

Saturday 26th
Seems ironic that I start a twin diary on the one day I have barely seen either babies. This week is the run up to the christening, I have a friend and daughter staying from the states, Martin is in France, Fabian is away for a weekend of luxury by Paris's godfather and the major family feud has risen its ugly head over the christening.

Yesterday was far more interesting than today. I walked into a post, and I mean smack on the nose - into a ten foot metal post in the middle of the pavement. It was acutely embarrassing. In solace, we went for a latte which I knocked over, spilled on the table, floor and chair and spent the rest of the day with wet jeans and the appearance of a serious bladder control problem. Milo decided to crawl, Felix decided to master the art of standing up in his cot and within ten minutes had taught Milo the same. The only reason for the ten minute deficit is that Milo has a huge arse and it involved extra exertion. So my day started at 6.30am with a children's screwdriver - lowering the downstairs cot.

The rest of the day was spent making 5 flower arrangements, going to the school fair, making 90 kebabs, cleaning the 3 loo's and picking the 285 cigarettes ends that were deserted in the garden as a results of yesterdays stress level. Tomorrow is the christening (I have already dropped one cake) and as yet have not tried either outfit on the boys. Milo is the risky one - those extra lbs could result in him looking like Billy Bunter.

My main concern of the week however is not how my two adorable babies shall look - but whether the fake tan that I have been frantically applying on a daily basis, is sufficient to give the impression of health and elegance. Last night one of the Godmothers-to-be pointed out that one leg was actually darker than the other.

Sunday 27th June
The Christening. 70 guests. There are so many people making salads and puddings that there seems to be little to do. The garden has had a 20 minute make over - bins hidden at the neighbors, plant post rearranged and I even hosed down the gravel. We soon realized that most of the gravel had been made of cigarette ends and was looking a little patchy. Finally painted toenails and had to walk to the church to change hymn numbers in the fashion of a penguin with piles - with bits of cotton wool between my toes. By the time I reached the alter there were no fluffy balls between my toes. Who knows where they are now.

Having spent all week getting F+ M to bed at 12pm so they would have a rest before - they fell asleep until 11.30.am Despite everyone's protestation, I put them back in bed at 12.30pm. They are like their Mother, there is simply no such thing as too much sleep.

Had overwhelming desire to laugh at all the chanting between readings. It always gets me. My brother came (The only family member) complaining that he had done his best to look cool and I had stuffed it by placing dated cam camcorder in his hand. I cried in the church because my surrogate teenager and the boy's Godmother Emily (15) sang a Dido song that summed up the birth of the twins following the loss of Reuben. She said it was my surprise- bless her. Her friend Luke played guitar and then she and her friend Jess sang a harmony of Amazing grace. It was fantastic.

I think the food went okay. Everyone pitched in, so I really had it easy. I guess the benefit to not having family there is that friends do all the things like wash up, clear up and say lovely things. Everyone left by about 6pm, except the teenagers who hung around singing and dancing. We are thinking of changing our surname to the Partridge family.

Paris and Fabian were desperate to open all the presents and they got so many.it took all evening. The health visitor was going to give them two little t-shirts with 'It's a question of getting the balance right'. He chickened out, which is a shame because I thought it was hysterical. He gave them silver tooth fairy boxes instead which was really very sweet.

My neighbour Gill came around and we all ate puddings, cake cream and chocolate until 12am.

Monday 28th June
Back to normality. Cheryl and daughter Lauren left at 9am to fly back to the states. Took the glasses back to Unwins and realized how sad my life is that I didn't know that off licenses open late in the day. Insurance assessor is coming this week to view the rising damp carnage that was once my home. Frantically clean floors so that her overriding impression is of fabulous house fit to grace the pages of Elle Deco and as such should be put back to same effect.

Martin arrived at school to pick up children. Clearly he has pre-planned my birthday, since the shops shut in 2 hours time. Casually enquire as to plans of taking all 4 children. He looks horrified. Before he has time for his jaw to hit the ground I hastily shoved babies in car seats, jar of food in hand, slamming door shut whilst merrily declaring "They love going around the shops'

Two hours to myself so I lie in bath drink wine, paint toe nails. Do I hell. Frantically clean house and load multiple piles into washing machine - all interspersed by regular cigarette breaks. The woman that has loud groaning sex opposite is back. Have renamed them puffer and panter. I don't know how she does it. Her bottom is so immensely large that she has to walk sideways into the house. The mind boggles how she lifts it in any other circumstance.

Gave the boys a bath upstairs tonight - with toys. They are not used to being able to play with anything except the saucepans and washing up liquid that reside around kitchen sink, so they were bemused. All going well until I thought it was about time to introduce them to the shower head. Milo obviously relived some traumatic event (Having an industrial vacuum attached to your head and then being yanked to oblivion by a large pair of sausage turnings is fairly traumatic) and becomes hysterical. I wonder if they are scared because it is noisy or because deep inside the psyche of every male is a deep aversion to cleanliness? Had a look at Fabians bedroom before I went to bed. I am thinking of installing a fire escape so that I can separate his bedroom from the rest of the house. If I charge him rent then I won't get so distressed by the disarray. They have both taken full advantage that nine months of continual vomiting, followed by nine months of sleep deprivation is almost a guarantee that the mother from hell shall rarely make it up the stairs.

Tuesday 29th June
''Tis the morning of my birthday. Have to get up early because insurance person coming. Paris brings me a cup of tea in bed. I still wonder if he is too young to be carrying hot cups of tea up the stairs but realize that actually I am more worried about the cream carpet than anything else. The day is uneventful. Babies and I take up our normal residence on the kitchen floor. I loaf on a cushion, surrounded by garish plastic toys which Felix and Milo ignore so that they can suck on the radiator valve and the remote control. Lunch is its normal swift affair and before I know it - time to pick up Fabian and Paris.

I loathe Wednesday with a passion. School - home - clear up - make early dinner - feed eldest two - feed youngest two - change babies nappies - get in car - drive to swimming lessons - shout at children to hurry up - struggle to get double buggy through swimming pool foot bath - smile encouragingly - get them in car - babies bath - bottle - bed - shall I go in? Weds are tiring, annoying, stressful and rushed. I moved out of the damn city so I wouldn't have to drive around. I am the only parent I know that actively discourages her children from extra curricular activity (except swimming which they are only allowed to stop once they have crossed the channel coated in whale blubber)

Martin cooks my birthday dinner. I am of course an ungrateful old cow because despite smiling inanely cannot help wondering if at 36 I am really past the tagliatelli and jar of Carbonara stage. I think I am. He clearly doesn't. Paris and Fabian have bought me a lovely silver charm for the bracelet I got myself on Mothers day. The babies give me saliva and squished up rice cakes.

I spend the evening of my birthday in the local state primary school, listening to the welcome blurb, meeting the new tutor - who has never officially taught before. I am reassured to discover that despite forwarding Paris's ed psych report and meeting the SENCO teacher - the tutor knows nothing about him. Tell her that he is 'highly gifted' and may become very quiet if distressed. She asks me if I think that he might need extension work. I want to say "Of course he needs extension work you dimwit because having spent the last 7 years bored brainless there is a fair chance that he might spend the next 7 years equally bored stupid and turn into a drop out, drug dealer or deviant - all because he had nothing better to do. Of course I grin inanely, nod my head and say "Well I guess it might be an idea"

I may get ugly in the first term.

Wednesday 30th June
Went to lunch with my other American friend. ''Tres traditional. Tea rooms with serving wenches in black outfits and white aprons. Put car seats and babies under the cake counter until they woke up - which was about 2 mines later. Both joined us at the table. We had smoked chicken salad whilst the boys had lentil and vegetable. Amongst the many, many things I adore about these babies is the fact that I can take them absolutely anywhere and they are so good. Never crying, always laughing and flirting with everyone. They will go far in the dating stakes.

Had to listen to nauseating pregnant woman bore her dear old granny to death with a conversation on how, if you 'introduce babies to socializing' from the beginning - they will grow up knowing what behavior is expected when they were older'. She may be right, but it didn't stop me wanting to punch her for being as tedious as it is possible to be. Her child will no doubt be perfectly behaved, since it will live in fear of ever starting up a conversation with the dullest mother in the south west. The granny looked so mesmerized with her granddaughters insight into motherhood, that she may have actually been dead - for some time.

Thursday 1st July 2004
Spent the morning traipsing around estate agents in the hunt for a home. Whilst I love going out with Felix and Milo, at times it is a bit like being part of a social experiment. I am sure that you would get a similar reaction if you walked around butt naked. "Oh how lovely - I wish I had a pair like that' or "Oh you poor thing - I bet you wish you had a willy' 'Ohh you must find life hard' I digress. I like it - I hate it, all depending on my mood and how miserable the person who stops me. I like the old ladies that get really excited. I like the grown ups that stop and tell me that they are a twin and had a lovely childhood. I hate those that say "I bet you were hoping for a girl" or 'double the trouble' or "Got your work cut out for you haven't you dear'. I hate them because they always add the word "Dear' on the end, as if this excuses the fact that they are irritating and banal, and have stopped me for no good reason.

We have taught Felix a party trick. Wobble his lower jaw and he makes a jaw wobbling noise for you. It must be having so many children - whilst others sit on the floor coaxing their babies to count to three and say Daddy - we are actually encouraging our twins to appear retarded. If they escape their childhood without long term psychological damage - it will be a minor miracle.

Babies are over tired at bath time and a little fretful. Fabian has started singing a nursery rhyme to them. For some reason he seems to think that babies prefer completely monotone vocals. We all smile encouragingly, wince internally and suspect that this may be the reason that Felix and Milo are crawling sooner than we expected. It is in a desperate bid to get away from the wailing of the small blonde boy .

Friday 2nd July 2004
I have no idea what I did, so I have decided to make Friday the day of observations on my life with twins.

I love it. Having twins has been the most fascinating thing that has ever happened to me. Not one day goes buy that I am not mesmerized by how two babies can be so happy and so amazing. Life is hard at times, but it is the things that I have to do that make it tough, not the boys. Paris and Fabian still get tearful when playing with them because they are equally mesmerized at how damn cute they are. Sometimes we say 'ahhhh' so much that we must make onlookers want to vomit.. I wonder if you ever really get used to the idea of two? I look at people with twins when I am out and wonder how they do it - then I realize that I have twins too. I don't feel that I am a mother of twins - just incredibly lucky.

Other things. On the rare occasions I have sex - I instantly get up and go for a wee. Not very romantic - not for any pelvic floor issue, simply because I don't want to lose a single minute of sleep. My stomach muscles are so slack that when I bounce the babies on my tummy, my intestines hit the back of my throat. I have an obsession with my bikini line. After months of not seeing it and blindly attempting to remove it, often resulting in Alopecia of the pubis - I now can see it and it seems to cover a far greater are than it ever did. It probably doesn't, just like my breasts were firmer, my hair shinier, my nails healthier. Blame it all on twins I say. I would like to say that twin-dom didn't effect my marriage but it did. The stress for men seems less bearable in the initial weeks than it is for women. Somehow they consider not coping an option. However, in the long run it has been more beneficial than damaging, because partners simply have to be more involved and thus gain more pleasure than perhaps if there is only one. When Martin comes home from work, two little babies dash to the door like a couple of terriers (at which point I dash out and have a cigarette).

On a last and final note. The next person that watches me struggle through a shop door with a double buggy without helping and whilst grinning like a loon and then say's "I don't know how you manage", may have to have their wisdom teeth surgically removed - from the gullet.

Read about Karen's week

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