Taking the babies out in public is a bit like being Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt. While it's true that at first it was like being a dirty, tired, haggard, overweight Angelina Jolie, with ill fitting clothes, accompanied by a weary, scraggly bearded, pack mule-type Brad Pitt, we have a bazillion kids and people pay a lot of attention to us when we take the twins out in public, and I consider these significant similarities.
The first time we took the babies out it was to Red Lobster (which, like the minivan, everyone pretends not to like, but secretly loves. Otherwise, why is there ALWAYS at least a 20 minute wait?). Anyway, it was for lunch, during the week, so we were swarmed by the well intentioned elderly. The first thing people always say is, "Twins?!" and then, when we confirm that they are twins, they say, "A boy and a girl?!" Charlie, at one point threatened to tell the next person that asked that they are not twins, "one of them is from a sister wife".
On this occasion (and several to follow), not only did we eat our meal in uncomfortable silence while the elderly couple next to us hovered and beamed at us, but the entire Red Lobster wait staff stopped by our table to say things like, "Oh! I heard there were twins over here! They're beautiful!" It's very nice that our babies bring joy to people..it's just that attention is the last thing you really want when you're tired, dirty, haggard, overweight, and you have a mouth full of cheddar bay biscuit. Also,(at the risk of sounding like a grumpy old lady myself) I don't want a bunch of dirty stranger hands on my kids. Go have your own kids to put your grubby hands on.
Another thing the elderly say a lot is how blessed we are. I get that a lot in the grocery store. Mostly from older men, strangely enough. I appreciate the sentiment, and I'm not sure what "blessed" looks like to most people, but to me, it doesn't look like staggering around the house at 3am changing diapers and crying.
To be fair, on some days, now that they're older it's nice to get the attention. I'm so proud of them and they are beautiful and really sweet. They smile and coo and my heart could just burst with joy. On other days, I just want to get groceries and have no desire to explain how I, "do it/manage/have my hands full". It's enough to make one sympathize with Brittany Spears during her bald-headed-umbrella-fit period.
The old and the sleepless
At first, the babies had to be fed every two hours. They were not on the same eating schedule, so we were feeding babies every hour. It took about 30 minutes for them to eat and fall asleep, so it was constant. At night, we started out doing shifts. Charlie would stay up with babies from 8pm until 12pm. I would get 4 hours of uninterrupted sleep and then would be up for the rest of the night. Charlie would go to bed at midnight and get up at 5:30 or 6am for work. I would be with them for the rest of the day. It was like hell in our house. I would squeeze in an hour or two of broken sleep during the day. My mom came to help for the first week, then Charlie's mom came for the next week. Charlie took the third week off of work, and then I was on my own.
On Charlie's first day back at work, he had to work late and he didn't get off until 8pm. By the time he got home, I had been caring for two babies for twenty hours in a row. I went to bed immediately, but when he came to get me up for the late night shift, I laid in bed and thought to myself, "I can not get up and go take care of those babies." I felt like I physically couldn't get up and go care for them. It was the first time I realized that as a parent, you don't get an option. I got up and staggered down the hall. I spent the first weeks being so tired, it hurt. I kept hearing that thing got better around 8 weeks, but that seemed like forever to me. We were like zombies. One morning, I was carrying a baby and I slammed my little toe into the bed. My foot was swollen and purple and I hobbled to and from the kitchen to make bottles for the next feeding. Most days, a shower was a pipe dream. I was flabby, dirty, unwashed and none of my clothes fit. Miserable doesn't begin to cover it.
Postpartum blues were horrible. I cried every single day. I was convinced that I had made a terrible mistake by having children. My mom drives me crazy in a way no one else can, but all I wanted was for her to move in and help. I cried the whole day she left, even though Charlie's mom had arrived to take over. I was terrified I wasn't going to be able to do a good job. I was fine and euphoric in the hospital. Everyone is so positive and tells you what a great job you're doing and they take the babies away and you sleep, then you call and someone brings you pancakes. I didn't realize how good I had it, and I couldn't wait to go home and start being a parent. Then, when my mom and I took the babies back 2 days later for their first check-up, all the nurses remembered me and the twins. They all asked how I was doing and I burst in to tears and asked if I could come back to the hospital. After the doctor examined them and proclaimed them healthy, I (still crying) said, "They're OK?" he said yes, and mom patted me reassuringly and said, "See, I told you you're not killing the babies." It was very comforting.
Sometimes, when they were crying and I was all alone taking care of them, I would be near tears because I was so exhausted, but when I saw their little faces, I would get a rush of joy and energy. Sometimes, when they wouldn't stop crying, after feeding them and changing them and holding them, I would just lay them on the bed and cry with them. Sometimes, at 3:30 in the morning, when twin A was asleep and I finally got twin B down and was about to get a fifteen minute nap on the couch, Twin A would wake up screaming and I would feel a surge of anger and frustration followed by a surge of crushing guilt. I was desperate for sleep. After a while I was convinced that I had grown accustomed to 4 hours of sleep, but looking back, I'm sure I was functioning in an impaired way. On top of the babies, I was recovering from surgery, so I was in pain. I was afraid to take the narcotic pain medicine very often because it made me drowsy. I did ask Charlie at one point if he thought if I doubled up on vicodin, the babies might sleep longer (I was breast feeding). I was half joking...
We tried to keep a sense of humor about the situation. After 5 or 6 weeks, we stopped taking shifts and started getting up together. It was much easier, because you only had to deal with one baby at a time. We also started having some time together- when we fed babies. We were still getting up every two hours, though. We would jolt awake when they started crying on the monitor, and for some reason, we would both think they were in our bed, so we would dig through the covers, looking for the babies, until we were fully awake and then we would stumble out to feed them. We talked over and decided that it was a sign of a healthy relationship that we had replaced the sex we no longer had time, motivation or energy for with identical middle of the night, exhaustion induced hallucinations. It wen on like that for two long months. Gradually, things have gotten better. By week 10, I started believing we would survive infancy.
On Charlie's first day back at work, he had to work late and he didn't get off until 8pm. By the time he got home, I had been caring for two babies for twenty hours in a row. I went to bed immediately, but when he came to get me up for the late night shift, I laid in bed and thought to myself, "I can not get up and go take care of those babies." I felt like I physically couldn't get up and go care for them. It was the first time I realized that as a parent, you don't get an option. I got up and staggered down the hall. I spent the first weeks being so tired, it hurt. I kept hearing that thing got better around 8 weeks, but that seemed like forever to me. We were like zombies. One morning, I was carrying a baby and I slammed my little toe into the bed. My foot was swollen and purple and I hobbled to and from the kitchen to make bottles for the next feeding. Most days, a shower was a pipe dream. I was flabby, dirty, unwashed and none of my clothes fit. Miserable doesn't begin to cover it.
Postpartum blues were horrible. I cried every single day. I was convinced that I had made a terrible mistake by having children. My mom drives me crazy in a way no one else can, but all I wanted was for her to move in and help. I cried the whole day she left, even though Charlie's mom had arrived to take over. I was terrified I wasn't going to be able to do a good job. I was fine and euphoric in the hospital. Everyone is so positive and tells you what a great job you're doing and they take the babies away and you sleep, then you call and someone brings you pancakes. I didn't realize how good I had it, and I couldn't wait to go home and start being a parent. Then, when my mom and I took the babies back 2 days later for their first check-up, all the nurses remembered me and the twins. They all asked how I was doing and I burst in to tears and asked if I could come back to the hospital. After the doctor examined them and proclaimed them healthy, I (still crying) said, "They're OK?" he said yes, and mom patted me reassuringly and said, "See, I told you you're not killing the babies." It was very comforting.
Sometimes, when they were crying and I was all alone taking care of them, I would be near tears because I was so exhausted, but when I saw their little faces, I would get a rush of joy and energy. Sometimes, when they wouldn't stop crying, after feeding them and changing them and holding them, I would just lay them on the bed and cry with them. Sometimes, at 3:30 in the morning, when twin A was asleep and I finally got twin B down and was about to get a fifteen minute nap on the couch, Twin A would wake up screaming and I would feel a surge of anger and frustration followed by a surge of crushing guilt. I was desperate for sleep. After a while I was convinced that I had grown accustomed to 4 hours of sleep, but looking back, I'm sure I was functioning in an impaired way. On top of the babies, I was recovering from surgery, so I was in pain. I was afraid to take the narcotic pain medicine very often because it made me drowsy. I did ask Charlie at one point if he thought if I doubled up on vicodin, the babies might sleep longer (I was breast feeding). I was half joking...
We tried to keep a sense of humor about the situation. After 5 or 6 weeks, we stopped taking shifts and started getting up together. It was much easier, because you only had to deal with one baby at a time. We also started having some time together- when we fed babies. We were still getting up every two hours, though. We would jolt awake when they started crying on the monitor, and for some reason, we would both think they were in our bed, so we would dig through the covers, looking for the babies, until we were fully awake and then we would stumble out to feed them. We talked over and decided that it was a sign of a healthy relationship that we had replaced the sex we no longer had time, motivation or energy for with identical middle of the night, exhaustion induced hallucinations. It wen on like that for two long months. Gradually, things have gotten better. By week 10, I started believing we would survive infancy.
Mini me
When we found out that we were having twins we realized that with E and L, the older kids (13 and 16 years old respectively), we were a family of 6. For travel, that's four adult sized people and two tiny people that require gigantic plastic car seats.
While we're on the subject of car seats, it seems like they could be made of a lighter material. We have sent people to the moon and I'm lugging around two car seat that have to weigh 30 lbs apiece once you put a 10 lb. baby in them. They are the albatrosses of early childhood.
Anyway, this is not a story about car seats, it's a story about the death of my youth. When I met Charlie, I was driving a Ford escort ZX2. I bought the car the same week I started my first real job, right out of college, and it sybolized my carefree youth and my independence. It was tiny and red and it had a sunroof and a stick shift. Escorts are not high performance vehicles, but I managed to get pulled over 6 times in as many years for speeding. It had over 120,000 miles on it, and had never needed major repairs. I loved the cassette player and the ashtray that could be moved from cup holder to cup holder. I love that for a $30 tank of gas, I could drive over 300 miles. Most of all, I loved that, after 5 long years, it was paid for.
Once the twins arrived, it was clear that we needed a vehicle that could seat 6 people. Since the beginning of our relationship, Charlie has complained about drivers in minivans, insisting that they are the worst drivers on the road. I think he also found minivans to be old, stuffy and a little emasculating. When we started talking bigger cars, he steered me towards SUVs or cross over vehicles, thinking he could salvage his (in his mind, anyway) cool reputation and his masculinity. Turns out, he could save neither. The problem with SUVs and crossovers is that they are not made with parents in mind. The doors open out instead of sliding, making it difficult to put a car seat in the car without hitting the car in the next parking space with the door and they are woefully short on cup holders. We looked and looked, and finding the SUV market lacking, on the advice of my women co-workers, I finally insisted on checking out the minivans.
We ended up at a Honda dealer, looking at an Odyssey. We were both reluctant and sullen at first, but as we looked, I felt myself falling in love. The Odessey has bluetooth and 5 plug-ins for car chargers, it has a "cool box" which will cool food and drink (it can hold a 6 pack) to 55 degrees. When I was shown the cool box, I exclaimed, "Oooh! Somewhere to put my beer when I take the twins to schoo!", at which point the salesman looked alarmed. Then, wanting to make the sale, with a nervous laugh, he agreed that it was perfect for drinking and driving children around. There's a little ring that pops out of the console where you can clip a trash bag, and seat belts that come from the ceiling, and a camera that helps one back the van up, but the best feature by far is the 15 cup holders. That's right, 15!!! One could drink 15 Diet Dr. Peppers without having to remember to throw away a single can or bottle. I was sold. Charlie agreed to the purchase as long as I agreed that he could buy a sensless, and expensive sports car once it was paid off. I said fine, thinking that the payoff is five years away. Statistically speaking, with twins in the mix, we should be divorced by then. On the off chance we are still together, I'm really hoping he'll have forgotten. On the way home from the dealership, Charlie said we should get a bumper sticker that said, "I sold out", I suggested one that said, "I left my dreams in my old car".
Since then, we have found that we love our minvan and we did't really didn't leave our dreams in our old car. What the minivan lacks in fun and style, it makes up for in comfort and convienince. It represents a part of our life that could be the most important and the most beautiful. Driving home from the grocery store last night, Charlie said to me, "You know, I don't know how we'll ever go back to a car."
While we're on the subject of car seats, it seems like they could be made of a lighter material. We have sent people to the moon and I'm lugging around two car seat that have to weigh 30 lbs apiece once you put a 10 lb. baby in them. They are the albatrosses of early childhood.
Anyway, this is not a story about car seats, it's a story about the death of my youth. When I met Charlie, I was driving a Ford escort ZX2. I bought the car the same week I started my first real job, right out of college, and it sybolized my carefree youth and my independence. It was tiny and red and it had a sunroof and a stick shift. Escorts are not high performance vehicles, but I managed to get pulled over 6 times in as many years for speeding. It had over 120,000 miles on it, and had never needed major repairs. I loved the cassette player and the ashtray that could be moved from cup holder to cup holder. I love that for a $30 tank of gas, I could drive over 300 miles. Most of all, I loved that, after 5 long years, it was paid for.
Once the twins arrived, it was clear that we needed a vehicle that could seat 6 people. Since the beginning of our relationship, Charlie has complained about drivers in minivans, insisting that they are the worst drivers on the road. I think he also found minivans to be old, stuffy and a little emasculating. When we started talking bigger cars, he steered me towards SUVs or cross over vehicles, thinking he could salvage his (in his mind, anyway) cool reputation and his masculinity. Turns out, he could save neither. The problem with SUVs and crossovers is that they are not made with parents in mind. The doors open out instead of sliding, making it difficult to put a car seat in the car without hitting the car in the next parking space with the door and they are woefully short on cup holders. We looked and looked, and finding the SUV market lacking, on the advice of my women co-workers, I finally insisted on checking out the minivans.
We ended up at a Honda dealer, looking at an Odyssey. We were both reluctant and sullen at first, but as we looked, I felt myself falling in love. The Odessey has bluetooth and 5 plug-ins for car chargers, it has a "cool box" which will cool food and drink (it can hold a 6 pack) to 55 degrees. When I was shown the cool box, I exclaimed, "Oooh! Somewhere to put my beer when I take the twins to schoo!", at which point the salesman looked alarmed. Then, wanting to make the sale, with a nervous laugh, he agreed that it was perfect for drinking and driving children around. There's a little ring that pops out of the console where you can clip a trash bag, and seat belts that come from the ceiling, and a camera that helps one back the van up, but the best feature by far is the 15 cup holders. That's right, 15!!! One could drink 15 Diet Dr. Peppers without having to remember to throw away a single can or bottle. I was sold. Charlie agreed to the purchase as long as I agreed that he could buy a sensless, and expensive sports car once it was paid off. I said fine, thinking that the payoff is five years away. Statistically speaking, with twins in the mix, we should be divorced by then. On the off chance we are still together, I'm really hoping he'll have forgotten. On the way home from the dealership, Charlie said we should get a bumper sticker that said, "I sold out", I suggested one that said, "I left my dreams in my old car".
Since then, we have found that we love our minvan and we did't really didn't leave our dreams in our old car. What the minivan lacks in fun and style, it makes up for in comfort and convienince. It represents a part of our life that could be the most important and the most beautiful. Driving home from the grocery store last night, Charlie said to me, "You know, I don't know how we'll ever go back to a car."
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