As I’m writing this one baby is in a bouncer, with a propped up bottle. The other, in baby jail, chewing on and throwing around an empty baby wipe package like it’s the best toy ever, completely ignoring the plethora of toys surrounding her. Our TV room floor is covered in blankets, which have spots of baby puke at random intervals. My “sewing room” is nothing more than a catch all for baby crap, surrounded by encroaching dust bunnies; the dust bunnies also have a sub-colony under the TV table. After a morning of rolling and crawling around on the floor, the girls pajamas look like they’ve been rolling around outside in the dirt, even though I swear I just vacuumed yesterday, and didn’t I just wash those blankets for the umpteenth time this week?
Against the end of the small wall that divides the kitchen from the living room, sits an old wooden speaker. At all times there is a broom leaning against this speaker, with a pile of dirt and pet hair behind it. This is because during any random minute I happen to have, I sweep from our room, down the hallway, around the living and dining room, and into this pile that sits in front of the speaker. Once a day, or every other day, the pile gets swept up into a dust pan, and dumped in the trash. I’m somewhat embarrassed to admit this is a regular habit, but at the same time, it’s part of how I survive.
Our kitchen, which use to be used to cook absolutely delicious meals, is used much less than in the past. I can’t remember the last time anything was deep cleaned. Our sink is clear of dirty dishes, maybe for a collective four hours a week. Our kitchen counter has been taken over by the Baby Breeza, baby bottles, nipples, baby spoons, and other baby feeding paraphernalia. There are containers of homemade baby food in the freezer, which my babies have pretty much decided are no longer their “thing”. The floor is spot clean by shuffling around with baby wipes under my feet, more than actually being mopped.
I have an amazing, supportive, husband and co-parent. Usually when I hear the term co-parent, I think of divorced couples. That’s not the case with us; when I say co-parent, I mean he is my equal partner in this. He changes diapers, he battles nap times, he washes bottles, he gets puked on, he chases mobile babies around the TV room, and he soothes crying babies, every bit as much as I do. He is my partner, and he is literally the only person on this planet who knows what this crazy journey is like for me. At 7:30 pm when bedtime has finally come, he hands me a glass of wine, puts his arm around me, and we sigh in relief that we’ve made it through another non stop day.
I am powered by caffeine, I don’t work out, and most days just putting on mascara seems like more effort than it’s worth. There are some weeks when my carefully planned out dinner list is mostly neglected, and our trash can is full of take out containers. I have adopted this practice of leaving work at work, yet still having to bring home to work. The corner of our bedroom has a mountain of clean laundry that grows throughout the week, because I only get around to folding it once a week. I can’t remember the last time I ate dinner before 8:30 pm on a weeknight, and honestly it’s usually closer to 10 pm. We formula feed, and solids don’t happen as often as they should. I rely on bottles, and Baby Einstein crib aquariums for nap and bedtime.
We have kept the tiny humans alive for seven months now. They are two of the happiest babies I’ve ever met. They laugh and smile, they babble, they interact with each other, they mostly (almost) sleep through the night. They grow, they gain weight, they develop, they thrive.
Why am I telling you all this? Because this is how we survive, this is what works for our family. Pediatricians may balk at the propped bottles, and lack of solids. The expert moms may tisk at the bottles at nap and bed time. The breast feeding moms may have some suggestion for boosting supply, or a recommendation for a lactation consultant. The singelton moms may raise an eyebrow at the chaos that is our home and routine. None of this matters to me, because this is what works for our family. There are so many ways to parent, and whatever way works for your family, is the right way.
Also, playtime and going down for a nap happened while I wrote this post, which took me two hours to finish. That, is the life of a twin mom.