Hey, I survived 48 hours with six-month-old twins!
Ha. Not much of an accomplishment, really, since I’m pretty sure I’ve survived nearly EIGHT YEARS with twins of my own. But man, it’s been a while since I’ve cared for a newborn, much less two of them.
And man, does it all come rushing back to you. Like a freight train. Within ten minutes of their parents leaving, both boys were wailing and I had one on each hip, screaming into my ear and wondering what the hell to do. That was a little overwhelming.
But you really do remember pretty quickly. I set up a cushion to prop them up so I could feed them their bottles at the same time. I opted for putting their beds in different rooms in the name of not waking each other up, even if it meant I had one in my room, waking me up every time he sleep-kicked the Pack & Play.
I rolled that double stroller to the park and was a magnet for questions (“oh my god, you didn’t have two more babies, did you?”). I made formula by the quart and watched the clock for the next nap/feeding time.
It was trickier than the last time I did it, mostly because these were not my kids. I didn’t know their signals or their routines as well, and I didn’t have all of my tricks and toys and tools set up the way I’d want them. Plus, you know, I didn’t have three other kids the last time I took care of infant twins.
I was very clearly reminded of that which I already knew: infant twins are exponentially more work (and less flexible) than having just one baby. One baby – even a high-maintenance one – is logistically so much easier than two, it’s ridiculous.
And really, these were perfectly delightful babies. They’re cute. They’re too little to get up to much trouble. Sure they didn’t exactly sleep through the night, but it really wasn’t that bad. There was nothing remotely wrong with the two of them.
But holy shit do we not want to have any more babies.
I mean, we already knew that, and took steps to ensure that it would not happen. But M and I said to each other over and over this weekend, “I’m so glad they aren’t ours.”
I’m not really a baby person, to begin with. I loved my own when they were infants, and there’s nothing wrong with babies. I’m not afraid of them, I don’t hate them. I just don’t especially enjoy them, most of the time. Truly, the older my kids get, the more I enjoy them. Give me a three-year-old over a 3- or 13-month-old, any day of the week.
(And yes, I know there will come a point in the tween/teen years that I may recant that statement, but so far it’s holding true for the first eight years.)
Anyways. I have no particular love for taking care of infants. More than that, though, I have no interest in the way a three-nap-a-day infant (or pair of infants, especially) can shut down everything else you want to do with your day. No, I like the life we have now, thankyouverymuch.