Most of my friends would describe me as a worrier; in an affectionate way of course, e.g. “she’s super fit, hilarious and occasionally worries about really cool stuff”. Since the boys arrived on the scene my worries have got even cooler and not at all bat shit crazy. Over the course of a week I had the following irrational musings:
I don’t normally make New Years resolutions. I tell myself I don’t want to devalue the previous years wonderful-ness when actually there’s plenty of stuff I could improve on, I am just too lazy. Since I haven’t posted anything since last year (ironically, because I am so lazy) I thought I would list my more achievable (and in most cases, pretty shallow) New Years resolutions:
We made the early decision that we wanted baby names that were cute, not ridiculously trendy, not too run of the mill but most importantly, wouldn’t seem out of place if either of them became Prime Minister in 1940’s Britain.
Then, like most people, we ended up rarely calling the babies by their actual names.
So I thought I would give a run down of all the names we used in just one day. It is incredible how much ridiculous crap I end up spouting out loud in the hope that one day they will respond (with love, ideally, but I will take what I can get)…
*NB. all nicknames must be expressed in a high sing song way that, if you ever hear recorded, will make you hate yourself. In my head I have a husky, sexy, sultry voice, not unlike Rihanna…in reality I am a high pitched posh-sounding wanker.
Here goes… continue reading…
I have heard a lot of “birth stories” (at the end of every pregnancy yoga class) and none of them seemed to express any sort of fear, shock or panic. All of them seemed to remember pain, but that everything they had learned and read about and listened to had helped them prepare for this “magical” time.
I was pretty certain that no amount of breathing or calming music was going to diminish the pain of two fully formed humans wriggling their way towards my woefully underprepared vagina…
When the bone crunching tiredness has taken over and you are seriously considering duct taping a dummy to the baby/babies (I definitely thought it was “duck”tape, but that makes no sense – why would ducks need tape?) the days roll into nights and it’s difficult to feel like you have achieved anything.
I have to remind myself that the biggest win is to keep them alive and ideally not leave them on a bus – bonus points for making it look like it was super easy and not remotely boring.
So, to make myself feel like I’ve been productive, here are the stats for a typical 24 hours:
The lads have been alive for 3 months now and I thought I would share some nuggets of “wisdom” & lessons learnt from the last 12 weeks:
* I still can’t tell the difference between them, they don’t seem to mind.
I found out I was having twins on a cold evening in January while my husband played 5-aside.
I didn’t feel pregnant at all, so to be told there were two in there felt like I was being punk’d – I cried at the thought of my poor body being ravaged by the imminent onset of stretch marks.