I’ve decided that blogging about my experience as a father of twin girls is likely to be preferable to most of you (mostly because it will eliminate the need for repeated intrusive emails containing pictures of me changing diapers, weeping, feeding the twins, changing diapers, feeding the twins, weeping). I think we can all agree that none of you need to see this kind of thing again.
So, here we are. Back at the blog. Naming the blog was an issue. I considered renaming the blog “The Douglass Twins” but it was obvious, bland, and freaked me out a little. Amy wasn’t fond of “What Have I Done To My Life?” so I went to music for inspiration. Amy rejected all the good ones ...
The end of the world as we know it (REM)
Stop this train (Mayer)
What is and what should never be (Led Zepplin)
Harvester of sorrow (Metallica)
Run like hell (Pink Floyd)
Living on a prayer (Bon Jovi)
Testosterone (Bush)
Armageddon (Def Leppard)
Run to the hills (Iron Maiden)
When you wake up feeling old (Wilco)
Interstate love song (STP) (it’s just a good song)
King of pain (Police)
anything by Megadeath
But in the end, I decided that Upovahsdownundah is likely to sum up our impending experience better than anything else.
To get you up to speed, we returned home from Australia and promptly ended up pregnant. Skipping ahead to the 35th week of the pregnancy … all I can say is so far so good. No morning sickness and just a bit of fatigue. Amy talks about being tired too (as an aside, I’ve noticed that these are the kind of statements that make people nervous. For example, during one of our doctor’s appointments I commented that Amy looked substantialesque. The nurse gave me this look of horror, like I’d just offered a cigarette to an infant, and forced me to take two pamphlets: Top 10001 Things You Should Never Say to a Pregnant Woman and Empathy for Dummies).
We now have what can only be called a vast library of books describing what we can expect in what can only be called frightening and often unnecessary detail. This week our twins are the size of roasting chickens (the authors have an unfortunate tendency to help us visualize our children as food). Our children have also been the size of chocolate chips (week 7), garden beetle (10), peanuts (11), lobster tails (18), apples (19), mango (20), small grapefruit (22), box of sugar (23), banana (24), pot roast (27), and a bag of flour (28). Amy’s least favorite week was the week they were the size of gerbils.
We’ve also been inundated by information, advice, guidance, and observations from strangers. Not the Jerry Seinfeld “You ever notice how twins look alike” observations. No, instead our interactions tend to run along the lines of “OH MY GOD, how many MINUTES until she’s due?” “How much weight have you gained?” “Is she supposed to look like Violet from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory?” and “Isn’t vegetarianism a cult?” In moments of frustration, I occasionally offer to bring such people to the Lukidian compound that I’m building in my subcellar where we await the arrival of Armeggedon, Ragnarok, and the next season of America’s Got Talent. With twins, I will have an instant two disciples until they start to worship Dora the Explorer or Veronica the Harmonica or whatever Disney dreams up next. However, usually I simply nod and agree that a) Amy looks like Violet, and b) she scares me.
Amy’s personal favorite experience has been an interaction with a woman at the grocery store who, upon being told we were having twins, said “Oh my GOD! What a nightmare. You’re never gonna sleep again.”
Another favorite is that first look of fear that people give her when they see her midsection, followed by a look of relief when we tell them that we’re having twins. “Ah,” they tend to say (as if to say) I thought you were an extra for a sci-fi film. Parenthetically, if you see Amy on the street, do NOT mention how the movement of the twins reminds you of Alien.
You might be wondering how all these changes are affecting our pup. She adopted a very zen attitude that we attribute to her limited attention span, small cerebral cortex and greater interest in the garbage can. No kleenex is safe. Our vet gave us a pamphlet that gave a few helpful hints on how to introduce a newborn to your dog. Some of this was pretty down to earth and practical, such as “When you return from the hospital, have the mother come in alone first to reacquaint herself with the dog.” We liked that. Sensible. Doable. Something that we sort of wished we had come up with on our own. However, the list culminated with the tip …Do not dangle your baby in front of the dog.
Seriously.
This advice ranks up there with …
Do not teach your dog to ‘fetch’ your baby
Do not wrap your baby in sausage and leave her on the floor
Do not tape rawhide bones to your baby’s toes
Do not use your baby as a prop in recreating the movie Cujo
Do not let your baby go swimming in the ocean after playing in chum
Do not allow your baby to play in chum
Do not give your baby a toaster in the bathtub
Do not dress your baby in furry clothing and drag her across the floor whistling and yelling “Here, boy.”
