Twin Conundrum

There can be only one winner. The other, by default, is the loser... 

My brother and I are just over two years apart, and I don't recall every feeling that our parents had to force a winner - maybe they were adept at dissolving sibling rivalries, but more likely, it had to do with our age and gender differences. 

My only tool is difference in temperament.

While dropping my daughters with my co-worker for some Christmas fun, Jaeda announced that she needed to use the restroom. Upon being told she would need to put on her socks and shoes (she insisted on being barefoot during the car ride), and deciding she abhorred the socks I had brought for her, she began crying for her Hello Kitty socks. 

The very same socks that her dear sister had so dutifully selected when asked to go find socks. 

I looked at her incredulously and said with sarcasm (that was lost on her), "You want Tristyn to take off her socks and give them to you???"  

My co-worker suggested that they trade one sock each. Tristyn, always the agreeable one, sweetly offered one Hello Kitty sock to her sister, but to no avail - irrationally, this only made Jaeda more defiant and angry. 

"That's the best I can do", my co-worker said very matter-of-factly. A sentiment that I admired because, truly, coercing Tristyn into relinquishing the socks to her sister would be unfair. 

I often see Tristyn as being "punished" - for lack of a better word - for being the obedient one.

I looked at my co-worker and said, "you're experiencing first hand a 'twin conundrum' that you always hear me talk about".

Luckily for me, she was undaunted, not having to deal with this on a daily (hourly) basis, and I left the bickering children in her capable care.

By the way, at naptime, I noticed that Jaeda had on ONE Hello Kitty sock. By bedtime, she had managed to finagle both from her sister. *sigh*

bickering since the very beginning...

Logistics

I've written before about my singleton angst towards mommies of one baby. It's all about perception. When the girls were newly home from the hospital, I recall seeing a documentary about newborn triplets. During the first night at home with all three of them, juggling feedings and intermittent sleeps, the mom joked to her husband, "twins would be a breeze... one would be a cinch!" I never forgot that.

It has always been the logistics that have flustered me. I'm an analytical person, always trying to solve problems in a mathematical way. Which, of course doesn't necessarily translate to having two babies.

In my online research, it appeared that the accepted advice for grocery shopping with young twins was to use two shopping carts - pushing one while pulling another behind you.

Uhh, two shopping carts? No. Freaking. Way. 

But where do you put two babies while attempting to shop? If you push a stroller, you might as well do the double cart juggle. The best way we found was to have one baby in a Bjorn strapped to your chest, and the other in the car seat situated atop the cart. But having a 15 pound baby strapped to your chest does not make for an easy shopping experience.

Honestly, nothing is easy with twin babies. But I was determined to make it look easy.

I can think of a few times when I failed miserably. The girls must have been about 6 weeks old, and I decided to stop by a friends' office to see her. I hefted both car seats out of the back seat and carried them both into the lobby. By the time I had crossed the parking lot (imagine carrying 2 buckets of water at your sides holding them out so they don't spill), I was sweating and overheated. And the girls were getting hungry and starting to whimper. I immediately regretted getting them out of the car. The visit was rushed and anxious.

That's another thing. Breastfeeding. Normally, a mom can scoop up her baby and calm a hungry baby in her arms. Don't get me wrong, I was "tandem" feeding before the girls were out of the hospital, but in public? Hell no. Simply getting situated to breastfeed 2 babies required an assistant (either a nurse, my mom or my husband), and eventually, when I figured out how to do it myself, I needed a gargantuan twin breastfeeding pillow, an armchair and cover-ups because guess what? It's impossible to breastfeed two babies simultaneously and be discreet.

This post about trying to figure out how to navigate a bathroom break while on a road trip with twin toddlers (sans a stroller) really hit home for me. Their infant car seats had their own challenges, but portability issues become even more challenging once they are in toddler seats.

Walking toddlers, too, came with challenges. I bravely attempted to utilize the dual leash system that is despised by many moms, and that was a PARENT FAIL. It worked great at first, but when the two independent minded little girls decided to go in different directions, I was forced to cruelly pull one child down onto the floor in an attempt to thwart them.

Simple pre-babies tasks became herculean to me. A necessary trip to the post office bogged my mind down with details. Besides being physically exhausted, my postpartum depression made me anxious and overwhelmed. After much mental deliberation, I opted for a single umbrella stroller and a baby on my chest in the Bjorn. Once I had negotiated the babies into their designated spots, I felt the stares of strangers boring into me like lasers. Did they know I was cursing the task, my car, the World? Did they know I was overheated and grumpy? Or was I successfully disguised behind my pseudo happy facade? 

I begged family members and friends to accompany me to the girls' doctor visits after a solo trip when a second hand umbrella stroller broke halfway across the parking lot and I was forced to ask a stranger to hold one of my babies.  

I became increasingly frustrated trying to explain the logistics to those around me. My friend didn't understand why I was hesitant to have lunch in a restaurant with two babies (I did it a number of times, and found it to be doable, but remained anxious throughout). My husband didn't understand why grocery shopping solo terrified me. 

Parks felt like a complicated puzzle that my brain wouldn't grasp. How could I be in two places at once? I recall my anger after attempting to observe both of my daughters equally at a playground, only to watch helplessly while the baby furthest from my grasp stumbled and fell right off the play structure, landing roughly on the bark mulch below, and eliciting screams that felt like daggers in my heart, my brain projecting her thoughts: 'Why weren't you there to catch me?'

I've found the peace within me that parenting is never perfect, and in every situation, you do the best you can. My daughters survived their infancy, and so did I. 

That's all I can ask for. 

Unaccompanied Minor

My first solo airplane trip without my twin daughters felt Sooo Simple that I reprimanded myself for ever complaining pre-children, with only myself (and sometimes partially my travel companion) to take care of. Only my luggage to cart, my shoes to remove, my_self_ to walk through security.

I hate airplane rides. It's not that I'm scared of flying. I'm not claustrophobic. I don't have a phobia of germs. Unless its intense, turbulence doesn't even really bother me. Quite honestly, it's the air. Not the air outside. The recycled, nauseating, dry air that seems to always be blowing at gale force on the top of my head, no matter how many times I twist the damn thing to OFF.

Oh, and I'm one of those lucky people whose ears pop incessantly during takeoff, and then refuse to pop at landing, so my voice is trapped inside my own head, oh-so-annoyingly, until I can snort just the right way with my head tilted to the east and my left index finger on my right nostril to clear my ears.

We traveled across country a staggering four times (that's 8 flights; 2 segments each for a total of 16) before the girls' 2nd birthday (with the last trip occurring on their 2nd birthday). And I'm not talking quick jaunts from Seattle to Portland. I'm talking 6-hour, red-eye-to-save-money, transfer-planes-in-unfamiliar-airport-with-too-little-time-in-between, lap-infants-to-save-money flights and let me tell you, It Was Not Fun.

I would scour the Dollar Store weeks before each trip searching for airplane activities that were age appropriate for my two babies/toddlers - books that made animal sounds when you press a button, large piece toddler puzzles, child-safe stamp kits, washable markers, notebooks for them to scrawl all over, stickers, you get the point - and diligently pack them away for the surprise unveiling on the plane.

Not to mention the bottles so their ears didn't hurt on takeoff and landing. The massive amounts of food and related accoutrements required to keep two babies happy on a long flight. The diapers (and extra diapers just in case) and changes of clothing. The additional layers for unanticipated changes in weather.

And all the other little items that are simply expected of a mother to have at a split seconds' notice - tissues for efficiently wiping noses, baby wipes for inevitable messes, sticky hands, POOP and the like. Band-aids - lest there be a minor toddler EMERGENCY in need of one, sugar-free suckers for soothing an over-tired 18-month old, baby advil and OMG a baby thermometer - what if baby/babies get a fever? Teething tablets, ear-ache drops, Benadryl....

Did you know that lap infants/toddlers cannot sit on the same side of the same row of an airplane? In other words, even though we were often gifted an open seat or two, we could not let the girls sit next to each other, nor could my husband and I sit next to each other (leaving one child unaccompanied on the other side of the row).

Which means passing and re-passing items back and forth across the aisle to my husband and other child. And it means having to share the coveted single DVD player between two demanding toddlers.

My anxiety before a flight has always been high. Even though I've been a regular airline customer since I was 8 years old, I still get pre-flight clammy hands and sour stomach. But with children - and postpartum depression, my anxiety began days before the trip, not the morning of.

I would keep detailed lists, scurrying around the house to make sure my carry-on bag included a solution to every possible potential problem that might occur.

This past October, at a very mature 3 1/2 years old, we all flew to San Francisco for a weekend with Grandma Starr (my mom). It was heaven. Each girl carried their own bag filled with their very own selection of toys. No need for diapers or bottles. The little seasoned travelers followed instructions perfectly, removing their own shoes at security, waiting patiently in line to get on the plane, and just generally being cute to all the other passengers.

As luck would have it, my most recent flight to Mexico with hubby and friends put me smack in front of a grumpy lap pre-toddler.

Whom I could not take my eyes off of.

I twisted around to wriggle my fingers at him between the seats. I removed my scarf and passed it to his chubby hands to play tug-of-war. I offered his harried mom one of those sugar-free suckers (that I still keep in my purse) during a tantrum.

And then I turned forward in my seat, put in my earplugs and fell asleep to the random rhythm of kicks on the back of my seat with his adorable toddler tennis shoes, thankful to have served my time on an airplane with babies.

Trying to make it look easy, 5 months old

Connecting

Traveling outside the country always provides me with an unexpected perspective that ultimately makes me feel more contented with my life. Greece post college gave me an awareness of what it means to be an American. Central Mexico with my mom made me realize that possessions do not make a life; love does.  And Europe with my husband was a chance to appreciate history, discover different cultures and explore my family heritage.  

Post-children, the perspectives are no less profound. Last year, when my daughters were 2 1/2, I left them in the capable hands of their father and took a girls' trip to Mexico.

I re-connected with my inner self on that trip. I climbed out of the muck of diapers and spit-up and discovered the woman that still lived inside.

Last week, my husband and I took our first vacation without the girls since they were born. At the tip of the Baja peninsula, between Lover's beach and Divorce beach, I realized this trip was about connecting.

I re-connected with my husband - seeing him again with the eyes of a wife, not as a harried working mom. Seeing him as my husband, and not just as the father of my children and partner in twin parenthood.



I re-connected with humanity outside of my own circle of family and friends. I related to strangers lounging around the pool, old and young. Tears dewed my eyes as I silently wished for a good outcome for a Multiple Sclerosis surgery recipient that was staying at our resort. I imagined her grandchildren, and prayed that she will one day be able to frolic with them outside of her wheelchair.

My twin-mom friend/travel companion and I met a kindred spirit and we celebrated their 40th birthdays dancing like college kids, reincarnating our youth, uninhibited and unabashed at our age, our confidence fueled by alcohol and the fun-loving atmosphere. We celebrated our freedom from our children, and then discussed them incessantly.

And I discovered the natural longing of a mother away from her offspring, ironically choosing to read a book about motherly ambivalence. I missed their voices, their forms, their delicate arms and legs wrapped around my neck and torso, clinging to me with feisty ownership. I missed the warmth of their bodies in my lap and their determination while weaving their way through childhood.

Most of all, I missed their need for me - the indubitable desire for their mama.

Thereby, unknowingly, connecting with my purpose in life; my children.

Socially Awkward

I remember my first few forays out into the "real" world after having my babies. I felt like a fish out of water. What was once easy and natural was suddenly awkward and uncomfortable.

The worst was while I was still lactating. My breasts were like ticking time bombs strapped to my chest. 

My clothes felt like an ill-fitting costume and I would self-consciously fiddle with my earrings and hair and wonder what was the point?

Heels felt like stilts, in contrast to my birkenstocks worn while waddling through the neighborhood pushing my double stroller.

Was it my post partum depression? Was I simply out of practice after a challenging pregnancy, extended hospital stay and maternity leave?

Or had my perception of society - of the world - changed?

Which is not to say I didn't enjoy the company of friends. But my priority had become these two new human beings that relied on me for life support that were made of my own flesh and blood.

Now I had a built-in, fool proof excuse for remaining away from social events. The old stay-home-and-wash-my-hair bit was put to shame by the I-have-two-preemie-babies-to-sustain. 

Who wouldn't want to spend every free moment with these 2 little nuggets?

Daylight Losing Time

There are all these concepts that as adults we simply accept. Like changing the clock and sleeping in an hour later, or vice versa. But when babies enter the picture, we question the validity of such reasoning.

My girls came home from the hospital on April 30th, 2007 and we struggled to settle into a four hour feeding/sleeping interval schedule. The predictability was the only sense of frail composure in my sleep-deprived, post partumly depressed brain. 

Six months later, along comes our trusty friend Daylight Saving Time (or rather, the end of it). I know to "spring forward" and "fall back", but I couldn't always calculate if that meant I would be early or late. It didn't matter. I would dutifully change the time, and follow the clock. "Losing" or "gaining" an hour was never a big deal.

Then I had two babies.

The delicate balance that existed in our household was like a thin sheet of ice on a warm spring day, a microscopic fissure just waiting to crack open with catastrophic results, or so it felt in my overworked brain.

Unlike (most) adults, its a bit more challenging to shift sleeping and eating patterns for an infant, much less two of them simultaneously. Daylight Saving Time felt like this completely ridiculous, totally unnecessary wrench in my schedule. What did I care if it was lighter later or earlier? The whole concept felt outdated and ludicrous.

I remember we had managed to push the nighttime feeding from 3AM until 5AM. A blood-sweat-and-tears feat that took six months to carefully manipulate.

When DSL ends, we move the clock back; we "lose" an hour. What it meant for me was hearing those needy cries at 4AM instead of 5AM, which felt like needlessly unravelling half of a nearly completed hand made sweater, and being unable to do anything but pick up those knitting needles and start all over again.

Looking back, I realize that having some control over the feeding schedule (as opposed to feeding on demand) saved my sanity, and over the past few years, I have developed a strong belief that not only do babies and toddlers need routine, but adults do too.

Snoozing atop the milk factory

Vulnerability Captured

Children ooze vulnerability from their pores. Sometimes it tugs at my heart and elicits that motherly response to simply hold them to me as close as I can, as if my touch is a panacea for what ails them.

At birth, their wrinkled, jaundiced bodies covered in cords and sensors were the essence of vulnerability. It brought me to a place in my mind that was difficult to confront. It was easier to focus instead on the task at hand, which was to provide them with sustenance.

As they grow, there is a new challenge at every corner, and I take such pleasure in their focused concentration, and such distaste at their hasty frustration.

My dad is always reminding me that everything is new to my daughters. There are so many "firsts". This past weekend, walking through a field of rotting pumpkins, I overheard a conversation between him and Tristyn. While she was observing all the pumpkins, he asked her (in jest) if she had ever made a pumpkin pie? To which she replied earnestly, "No, grandpa!" and he joked with her saying, "You've never, in your whole three years, made a pumpkin pie??"

It made me think about all that lay ahead for her and her sister.

Not only experiences, but emotions and thoughts and disappointments, fears and thrills, joy and pain.

I can only cradle them in my arms when they are crying for so long. Eventually, they will need more than a kiss on a boo-boo to make it better. The mere sound of my voice may not always have the profound calming effect that it has on them now.

Maybe it's me that's vulnerable? Vulnerable to relinquish these creatures to the world, and let them experience it without holding my hand, or comforting them at every turn.

8 months