Yesterday Lulu was going to town on her Johnny Jump-Up and I didn’t want to mess with a good thing, so I decided to feed them individually. As I fed Lulu her purple sweet potato (side note- all the root vegetables on this island seem to be purple or hot pink, no joke) I was struck by how insanely easy it was. I could keep up with her hungry little mouth, catch all the gobs of food falling out and put them back in. There was none of the teacup trying to bail out the ocean feeling I usually get when trying to catch the downpour of mushy veggies and stuff them back into two hungry mouths. The latter I always fail at, resulting in copious amounts of goop both on the floor and sliding down the once shiny refrigerator (antagonizing the gnome who lives there until he acts out, see Known Gnomes and Unknown Gnomes).
With one baby, it was smooth sailing. Actually, my husband and I joke about the fact that when we split up while shopping, each taking a twinnie, it feels like a mini vacation. Even when one freaks out (and someone always freaks out) it is comparatively so much easier to calm one baby down than two, especially when the two babies in question love nothing better than whipping themselves up into an absolute frenzy in public places at any given opportunity. Of course, as an added bonus, my husband shopping alone with a baby causes quite a stir around here. Men on this island tend to favor a more detached approach to child rearing until the age in which the child can hold a football, or cage-fight, or both, so the sight of my husband rounding a corner in Home Depot with an infant in his arms inevitably results in gasps and dropped power tools, not to mention outraged cries of “Where is the Mother!?!?! They seem to think that unchaperoned my husband will leave said infant in a bin of nails or scrunched inside a plastic pipe (or whatever else they have at Home Depot, I wouldn’t know) in a moment of distraction.
I digress, but the point is its easier. Much much easier, and I don’t take kindly to people telling me its not. I mean, I don’t pick fights or anything. I don’t walk around saying this shiz to peeps who only have one baby. I never let on that I think they’ve got it made in the freakin shade. I only rant about it on my blog, cause the blog is called “Jungletwins,” for chissakes so ya know I’m talkin twins here. And jungle. And all things pertaining.
Soon after the twins were born my mother came to visit/help out, and she was extremely helpful, but she also spent a lot of time trying to convince me that several parents of single babies had it harder than us. I don’t really remember her argument for this because she may as well have been speaking Klingon to me in my breast feeding around the clock 2 preemies who refuse to latch or nap state. I, in return, spent a lot of time making faces of a can you believe this shiz she’s obviously been eating fermented coconut nature to my husband when she wasn’t looking.
Now I wouldn’t trade my twinnies for anything. They are the cats meow, the applesauce to my pork chop, and I love them so so much. I’m just saying that Twin Mommies deserve medals and ribbons and shiny engraved silver cups, and ponies and ski lodges and beach houses, and huge disposable incomes and since no one is giving us any of these things, we deserve at a bare minimum, the right to whine.
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