Gwen Stefani nearly killed me

Some days start off normal. Same old routine; get up, feed the twins, change three kids while husband makes breakfast, eat together, husband goes to work, change three shits, clean up breakfast dishes, move all three kids into the bedroom while I shower, chill, morning tea, nap the babies, have a cuppa on the balcony while the big one plays, babies wake up and we're ready for lunch.

Then on a whim I decide to take all three to the local shopping centre to have lunch and a stroll around the shops, a play on the rides and pirate ship, visit the pet shop. 

All hell breaks loose.

While I get ready and by that I mean get our stuff together and scribble on some eye brows and eyeliner, one of the twins decides to howl as loud as possible, fat tears streaming down her cheeks the entire time. The other twin tips over the bucket of toys I just packed up and distributes the neat pile of books I just stacked around the entire lounge room floor. The eldest decides to follow me around so closely she is practically crawling back up into my uterus. I bump and knock her over several times and she still walks around glued to the backs of my knees; giggling every time she lands flat on the floor as I rocket around the house with gusto trying to get ready before I change my mind. I always vow to travel light, but I still need a whole bunch of shit 'just in case'. The day I don't take something with me is the day I need it.

Anyway, I'm finally ready to walk out the door; twins in their capsules, one clipped on to one side of the double pram, the other capsule needs to be carried out; the eldest sitting on the other side of the pram. Got my wallet, phone and lippy (as if I'll reapply) in my back pack on my back. I've packed three water cups, three bibs, three jumpers, a stocked up nappy bag and my house and car keys. No one is naked, me and the big one have shoes on, all have clean nappies, I've peed. I'm sweating profusely by now, I think I've smeared one eye brow, one twin is red faced from her heartfelt meltdown; sniff sniffing so sincerely and broken heartedly, you'd think I'd just flogged her, the other twin is squirming profusely and about to pick up where the other left off. The eldest is calm; well actually she's shocked into silence; I've put her in the pram awkwardly and scraped her arm by accident. She thinks I've done it on purpose; toddlers don't understand apologies for being flustered. But we're out the door. I push the behemoth of a pram with one baby and one toddler out the door while carrying the other baby in the other hand; we're all in the lift to go down to the garage. I park everyone near the door and get the car out of the garage. I put everything in the car. First the toddler, then both capsules, then all my crap (hand bag, phone, nappy bag and sundries), then fold the pram and put it in the boot. It is now 40 minutes since I decided to go out and we are all very hungry.

I am calm when I drive. Everyone is strapped in and safe and I'm in control; the air con is on and my body temperature has stabilised. I'm breathing calmly again. I get to the shops and the car park is full. I want to cry, but instead I drive off trying to think of what else to do. Do I go home or go to the other, duller shopping centre. I drive around the block and think to myself "I can turn this shit around!"

I glimpse my toddler in the back through the rear vision mirror. She's dozing. This used to panic me, but now I welcome it as a resting snooze she will benefit from instead of a sleep that will ruin her for the rest of the day. I drive into the car park again and as I'm entering a car pulls out of a spot so I wack my indicator on with such force I nearly snap the thing off. I park. I rest for a bit, because now I have to get all the shit and kids back out of the car. Only now I have it down to a fine art, everything in reverse. Pram out of the boot, nappy bag and all paraphernalia loaded onto the pram, kids last. Babies out of the capsules and into the pram from either side of the back seat, pull one capsule out and extract the toddler then trap her between the car and my body while I replace the capsule, in case she runs off in the car park. She doesn't ever, I make sure of it. Then I sit her on the handle bars of the pram and sing the song I made up until we are out of the car park. "Hold on to mum and you won't fall off, hold on to mum and you won't fall off..." etc.

Once in the shops she's walking again, she holds my hand and we go to the supermarket to buy the babies some packet food. Of course it is right up the back of the fucking shop. I can't just pop in. I have to maneuver the double pram and the toddler, dodging other shoppers and their trolleys, display shelves and all manner of obstacles to get to the right isle. And then back to the self serve where the pram just fits. I pay and head to the food court. It is now a good hour and a half since I decided to go out and we're starving. No one has died.

I get to the healthy take away shop, order mine and the toddler's sandwiches and a smoothie and chat to another mum with a toddler and baby. She inflates my ego immensely as she considers her own struggles and thinks mine must be so much worse. I assure her they are not. Whether you have one, two, three or sixteen, kids are hard work and sometimes they aren't and you're organised and it's fine. You just do it. Sometimes shit goes smoothly, sometimes it hits the fan.

I find an empty table and park the twins; I leave them momentarily while I fetch a high chair from nearby, taking the toddler with me. We return and I sit her in it and assemble everyone within my reach. I take everything I need out. Wipes, spoon, three cups, three bibs.

We eat. I'm now completely confident and relaxed. The hard shit is over. That's it. Whatever happens from now doesn't matter. We're sitting down and eating, my brain is now functioning optimally and I have this. I banter with the elderly couple sitting near our table. They have twins on both sides of their families, the husband is a twin himself. They didn't have children just in case. They were both terrified. They ask me if there are twins in the family. I tell them apparently yes on my dad's side, but I only found out after I had mine. It wouldn't have stopped me having babies.

I spend the rest of the afternoon strolling around the shops to kill time, letting the toddler play on the rides and play equipment. On a whim I walk to the park at the end of the street, leaving the car in the car park. As we walk we meet twin men, probably in their late 50s. They are besotted with my twins and I with them. They tell me my girls are beautiful and twins are heaps of fun, I add "...and it appears, best friends for life!"

At the park the toddler plays. We meet a young mum with a smaller toddler who my daughter instantly befriends. Her mum and I chat and compare stories, we have a laugh and part company. As I'm leaving the park, a woman with twin boys holds the gate open for me. We exchange meaningful looks. I'm euphoric. I really did turn the shit around today. The babies are tired, but content. The toddler is giggly and obedient. We walk calmly back to the shops and I point out wildlife and chat to her about road safety. I'm feeling very bloody smug.

I buy a giant coffee with hazelnut syrup and re pack the car. I decide to go for a long drive so I can hold onto this feeling of smugness achievement and calm and let the kids all have a sleep. I know they will. All three can't resist sleeping in the car.

As I'm driving home Gwen Stefani comes on the radio....

It's perfect. It epitomises everything I'm feeling in that moment. I don't know all the words, but the ones I do know I sing with enthusiasm and volume. The chorus happens on a particularly bendy and descending road. I nearly lost control, but I turned that shit around.

Mummying My Way

Looking after three kids under the age of two is hard work. I find it goes in cycles. If I am organised and create rituals and routines for me and the kids to follow, it does make life much more predictable and it definitely contributes to a settled brood and household. It’s impossible to be a clock watcher and it is imperative to have flexibility; anything too fixed and militant is absolutely impossible if not psychosis inducing, but just observing daily markers and chopping up the day into achievable segments minimises chaos. When I say it goes in cycles I mean that sometimes everything is in alignment and those rituals ebb and flow throughout the day flawlessly. Other days it’s Armageddon. It takes commitment too. I can’t just observe routine some of the time; I have to do it most of the time. Not all the time, that’s impossible. I’d never leave the house. However, it helps to do the same thing over and over again. It can become tedious and boring, sometimes I feel like the walls are closing in on me, but it gives the kids security and it works.

We observe daily patterns anyway as ordinary adults; in our workplaces, on our weekends and evenings at home, on holidays. Humans have historically measured and applied repetition, counted and noted events and actions to get us through the hours, days, weeks, months and years.

Generally, the day can be broken down in relation to mealtimes. I guess it has something to do with survival and base instincts and since having children, I have found that mealtimes are my touchstones. We do breakfast, morning tea, lunch, afternoon tea and dinner. We fit in nap times, play time, nappy changes and toileting, bathing and leisure amongst the moments when we employ self sustenance. 

Even with newborns; especially with newborns, breaking down the day and night into doable parts allows us some control over the unpredictable and helps us to survive the difficult moments. Feeding a newborn is frequent, particularly breastfeeding so maintaining my own daily routine amongst the constant feeding, changing, sleeping pattern of an infant (or in my case, two), not only contributes to my own well-being so that I can care for a helpless human, it assists in maintaining a sense of calm so that when the shit hits the proverbial fan; sometimes literally, because baby shit is often like a fire hose spewing out pumpkin soup; I have the opportunity to leave that segment behind and correct my path during the next one. It is often the hardest when the cycles bleed into each other and one stuff up snowballs into ruining the whole day. I’ve had many moments like this. Whether it be over stimulation from having visitors, or a loud noise waking a baby, or teething, or illness, or an outing – a missed or disturbed nap, a disastrous breastfeed, a poo explosion – all these things can throw me and how I handle it, how tired I am and how much positivity and enthusiasm I can muster can mean the difference between simply getting it right at the next cycle or writing off the entire day to start clean tomorrow like erasing a drawing on an Etch a Sketch. Sometimes I can have a week of crazy, especially when the babies are ill or teething or going through a milestone. Some days I cope with the stuff ups. Some days I lose the plot over the tiniest crack in the system.

It took a while to find my rhythm with my first baby. That’s understandable. Being a first time parent can be daunting, confusing, exhausting; the flip side of course is the equivalent joy, but it’s challenging. You made a human. You have to keep it alive. It has to thrive on so many levels and people expect you to look like you are coping and glowing like all the cultural representations of parenthood that are blatantly shoved down our throats to give us an ideal to measure up to and make us feel guilty and shitty if we fall short. Just google celebrity mums or yummy mummy or some shit; the imagery is hilarious and often for most mothers on a day to day basis, unattainable. However, other mothers still insist on giving me pity face. You know, they look at you like you’re a poor soul struggling, getting it all wrong, because you’re not doing it their way or visibly fitting into the cookie cutter version of what motherhood or parenting is supposed to be according to the sheeple of the world. They’re probably struggling in many ways just as much as I am, but focusing on my failings is comforting to them. Mothers should make a pact to always give each other empathy face rather than pity face. We’re all doing the best we can, given the circumstances. There is no right way or wrong way most of the time. 

And it’s competitive. Once you join that world and you start associating with other parents, it’s game on. Everyone wants to tell you what they did and how they did it and what they read and who they spoke to and what technique they used and what products they bought and blah fucking blah blah blah. I participated with my first baby. I listened intently to every piece of advice that I came across. I figured everything would be helpful whether it was right for me or not and I shared my experiences because I thought the interaction was constructive. I was either getting help and support or I was giving it. However since having twins, I’ve completely surrendered. I’ve decided it’s a waste of energy and it’s an exercise in futility. Who gives a shit honestly? Just let me get through my day with all of us alive and well. And sane. In saying that, I’m writing a blog about how I mother….the irony hasn’t escaped me. I guess we just want validity for what we are doing and rightly so. And you know what? I still believe the dialogue is constructive. So humour me. For the record, I wrote this for myself, but if even one person can relate or gets some ideas or it reinforces what they do by disagreeing with me, then we all win.

I’m still breaking down the day. I’m better at it. I’d be level champion if I’d had one baby the second time around, but I had twins and I’ve had to stomp down on the accelerator pedal with both feet. Actually, I am Grade A+ level champion when I have a good day. It’s not quite double the work, but it’s close and add a toddler to the mix and you have a very busy day if you try to cover all bases all of the time.

So now I not only try to see the day in time slots marked by meal times, I’ve also learned that the most important thing that babies and young children need to thrive; heck I need it too, are three things. Good nutrition, adequate rest, basic hygiene. That’s it. If I aim at achieving these three things I reckon I'll survive the first few years of child rearing and instil some excellent habits in my children that will see them through to prosperous adulthood.

Good nutrition doesn’t mean eating impossibly expensive, difficult to obtain, guilt free, completely devoid of any excitement, fad diet type food or eliminating entire food groups. I don’t understand the obsession with food, I understand passion, but not obsession. To me eating and preparing food can be simple, creative and enjoyable – given you are healthy to begin with and don’t have any adverse reactions to certain foods. Food allergies are very real and certainly debilitating to some people and this can’t be ignored. Otherwise, balance is the key. We eat plenty of fresh fruit and vegetables, lean meat and fish, wholegrain and seeds, dairy and eggs and don’t deny ourselves the sweetest things in life like chocolate. We enjoy beer and wine (I appreciate this the most at the moment because while I breastfeed I abstain). We control our portions. We drink heaps of water and hot drinks often; tea and coffee are the nectar of the universe (I don’t believe in gods). That is not to say that I don’t sometimes fret over where our food is sourced. I have ethical questions too and I limit our consumption of pre-packaged, processed foods and have heaps of questions about sugar and salt and animal by-products (this one haunts me and I’m sure if I were single and childless I’d be vegan), but I must admit I don’t obsess over it. I’m not perfect and I wish I could participate in sustainability more. I stay away from fast food as much as possible, but the only thing I never touch is offal, you know, because IT’S OFFAL! 

I always made baby food for my first and aim to do the same for the twins. Nothing fancy, just introduced vegetables and fruits and stuck with fresh from the beginning. I did give her a couple of those packet meals if I was out, but she was so used to eating our food and my cooking by then that she refused the bland packet stuff. I kept it simple. I mashed sweet veggies like pumpkin, sweet potato and carrots to start. I gave her avocado, banana, apple, pear and blueberry. I gave her baby cereal and cow’s milk by around 10 months. She weaned off the breast by 11 months when I fell pregnant with the twins. Once she was old enough to have more textured stuff, I started blending our own food for her to try. Meat and veg, coarser veggies like broccoli, peas and corn kernels with their skins on, combinations of fruit, leaving it chunkier as time went on and experimenting with what she could handle. I gave her bread and pasta and crackers to gnaw on. As soon as she could I gave her eggs and make sure she has one every other day. She drinks water all day long. I let her try whatever was on my plate if I ate out and when I cooked I was not afraid to flavour food with salt and pepper, curry, stock, herbs and spices and even a bit of heat as in chilli – not too much, just what I can handle, which isn't much. She even eats Thai or pizza (the good healthy versions) if we order out. 

She is an amazing eater, but it wasn’t always without its dramas. If she refused something, I offered something else, but I didn’t give up on that particular food. For example it took many offers of tomato over many months for her to even try it and now she devours them. I employed a little trick I discovered when giving her grapes and mandarin segments. I learned that if I cut them in half before giving them to her she wasn't intimidated by the skin. She tasted the flesh immediately and didn't have to bite through the weird stuff to get to the good stuff. It also goes the other way. She ate baby stick cheese every day for months, then all of a sudden decided she hated it and hasn't touched them since. She prefers grown up cheese now.

I only embraced some aspects of baby lead weaning theory. It's pretty good and backed by research, but I just couldn’t handle the mess. To me, meal times aren’t play time. Yes babies need to touch food and feel their different textures, experience smells and tastes for themselves and no, they aren’t going to sit still and use cutlery like a civilised person from the get go, but I can aim for that can’t I? My instinct was just to aim for getting food into her mouth and belly with a balance between fun and the seriousness of making sure she was actually eating stuff. It felt more natural to build up to solid food from breast milk by not skipping the puree phase. I felt that she needed the mush in between breastfeeding and eating solid food to be able to experience different tastes separately to experiencing textures. I also couldn’t cope with her wearing her food from head to toe. I don’t see the point. I don’t mind her getting messy, but I don’t want her to think that meal times are an opportunity to go nuts either, especially if we were at someone's house or out somewhere. When it’s time to eat it's not time to play, but we can still have games and have fun. I’ll still make faces with her grapes and cheese and tell her that shredded ham around her plate are flower petals and I still feign surprise when the food goes into her mouth off the fork, exclaiming “where’d it go, oh my goodness, it’s gone!!” BLW has some amazing principles, but I didn't follow it to a tea and still reaped some of the benefits. The research and theories behind this practice are incredibly wise and valid, they just weren’t all for me. I took some principles on board, but not all of them and I genuinely respect mothers who go down that path. I might let go a little more with the twins, who knows? 

I recently allowed her to try chocolate. She’d had the baby custards and yoghurts before, but I didn’t want her to eat sweets regularly. At nearly two, she had a couple of chocolate eggs this easter. I didn’t even let her have a cupcake on her first birthday. She didn’t miss anything. I didn’t do a cake smash either – no way, not for me. Maybe on her second birthday she can try a piece of cake.

I’m confident though that she enjoys eating and is willing to try new things; she is curious about food. Meal times aren’t a battle most of the time. We try to sit down together to eat as a family. We have breakfast together before her father goes to work; I often have morning tea and lunch with her. Afternoon tea she has at her leisure, either in front of the tele or at a park or on the balcony. We sit down for dinner together as a family in the evenings. It’s a very important ritual.


I personally feel that the most challenging hurdles to conquer with kids are sleep patterns. Day naps and bedtime are difficult to negotiate because it involves a lot of cue reading and guess work and plenty of consistency whilst at the same time maintaining flexibility. There are so many factors to consider and when I myself am tired and sleep deprived, it is easy to take short cuts and avoid the hard work by looking for quick fixes and instant gratification – and there is absolutely nothing wrong with that. The aim is to make sure babies and kids rest when they need it and understand that they do. Giving them the space and security to sleep and helping them when they need it with cuddles and comfort and a relaxing atmosphere can take up a lot of time, but it is necessary. The biggest lesson I learned that helped me to understand when a baby needs to sleep (at least in their first year until they get to just one nap a day) is to always focus on their waking time instead. It’s no good trying to get them to sleep for a certain period of time. I can’t control that. A noise could wake them; they could just wake up or sleep for ages. The only thing I can observe and limit is how long they stay awake for, for their age group. This is a great resource. I swear by it.

My first baby was nursed or rocked to sleep in arms or a pram til she was around 18 months. At 22 months, she still sometimes needs to sit on my lap to fall asleep, especially if we aren’t home. I don’t think it will be any different with the twins except for them being rocked in vessels like the bassinets or the pram because I can’t carry them both at once and I refuse to separate their schedules too much, otherwise I’m bogged down with them all day, perpetually. I’ve never been keen on sleep training. I think it is futile more often than not because children’s needs for security change so often with different milestones and growth spurts. I never let my first child cry much, but it was easier with one. With two it’s a little harder to avoid because one always has to wait for the other at different times. However, I still try to avoid them getting too distressed. My theory is that they need help to fall asleep and I’m happy to oblige. Yes I can teach them to fall asleep by themselves, but I think there is always a level of disassociation that has to take place for that to happen and I don’t think it’s necessary. I’ve never seen anything wrong with comforting a child until they fall asleep and when I get the cues right and they’re tired, it doesn't take them too long. It’s not easy and sometimes it is the most frustrating thing in the world when they refuse to shut their eyes, but consistency and persistence, patience and trial and error reap results; and if they miss a nap, although it can throw out my whole day, it’s not the end of the world (although it feels like it is to me). They’ll catch up.

I maintain loose routines with all three; I’m consistent with what happens before it’s time to sleep while at the same time encouraging flexibility so they can sleep where ever we are when they need to. So whether it’s at home in their beds, the car, the pram or a portacot at someone’s house or on holidays; as long as the sleep happens at around the same times in the cycles of the day and there are familiar things for them to associate with the sleep like a muslin wrap, being swaddled, a favourite toy or if necessary a cuddle from me or dad; they know that when they’re tired they can let go and drift off. It is not always as easy as it sounds and if a nap is missed, so be it, we catch up the next time, but I make the effort to observe it every single day and bed time at night is not negotiable. It’s really important that they rest. It’s important for their physical and emotional well-being and mine. 

For my kids, motion has always been a requirement in the early months to comfort them to sleep. Perhaps I indulged this as an easy way to get the sleep to happen and had I not, then they wouldn’t have needed to be literally physically moved to sleep, but I was more interested in the sleep happening quickly and easily than how to lay them down and make them sleep by themselves. I chose to embrace the rocking of the bassinets by hand, the use of the pram or car or holding them close to me and swaying if it meant the sleep would come asap. It was worth it with my first. She eventually didn’t need it anymore and she is a great sleeper most of the time. My twins are now nearly ready to move from the bassinets to their cots in the elder’s room. I have no idea how we are going to achieve sleep as they are rocked in their bassinets that are on wheels. The cots don’t rock and if I’m alone I can’t hand rock them both at once in my arms. I think the double pram is going to be the best option and then transfer to the cot at night or leave them there for their day naps. My first had day naps in the pram regularly beyond her first birthday. The biggest hurdle is going to be having all three sharing a room and learning to accommodate each other. I envisage many many challenges ahead, but am confident we’ll find a way and they’ll settle eventually. Bottom line is that when kids are tired they will sleep given the opportunity and space to do so. Eventually. Most of the time.  There is nothing more rewarding than watching those sleepy eyes slowly close and stay closed. To say I’m bloody terrified of this next phase is an understatement.


Personal hygiene is a big one for me. I didn’t bath my first baby very often as a newborn; once a week was sufficient. The hospital told me that right after they’re born, the vernix all over their body, that gooey thick white stuff, is really good for their skin and to just let it be absorbed. So we waited til we got the baby home and had a midwife show us what to do on one of her visits. The first time I bathed her, I dunked her face in the water and she cried her heart out. It was far from a relaxing bath. As she got older and we moved her to the big bath and she started walking and playing outside and getting dirty and messy with food and the like, the baths became more frequent. Now it’s like 3 times a week. I’ve never understood where the energy comes from to bath a child every day. My bad because I shower every day. When she’s independently bathing, I’ll encourage her to do the same. I am much more confident with the twins. We bathed them in the hospital. It was helpful that I had a sink that doubled as a baby bath in my room and once we got them home I found that I was eager to get them all fluffy in a bath. One of them hates bathing with a passion; the other one loves it. I do it twice a week. I look forward to chucking them all in the big bath together.

I like to think I keep my kids clean generally though. I wash their faces and hands and feet daily. I have given the eldest a toothbrush to chew on since she was 1. Not a lot of brushing takes place, but we’ve now added some kids’ toothpaste for her to swish around and she’s getting better at it. I just make sure it happens every day. Eventually I’m sure she’ll understand tooth brushing and I’m sure it’s doing her some good having the bristles in her mouth and chewing on them each day.

I get through a lot of wet wipes and not just for nappy changes, which happen very regularly, especially for the babies, after every feed. Particularly if we’ve been handling food or playing outside, hands and faces get a wipe often. Not incessantly, but enough to maintain hygiene. When they’re old enough to reach the sink, they’ll be encouraged to wash their hands. After playing outside, before meals and after meals. This simple ritual escapes many people. I absolutely love washing my hands. I know it sounds weird. I don’t do it obsessively or anything, I just enjoy it. I love the feeling of the cold water in my palms and the aroma of the frothing soap and I just love having clean hands. Add moisturiser and I’m in heaven. The Mor argan oil range is bliss! I've also been known to brush my teeth so enthusiastically that I've injured myself. Once the toothbrush slipped and I stabbed myself in the gums with it, nearly rendering myself toothless.

Don’t get me started on runny noses. I will chase down my kids all day if I have to when they’re unwell, which is rare, to prevent that stream of snot ever reaching their top lip…there is nothing more repulsive to me, let alone watching kids wipe snot into their eyes and having people wonder where their kid got conjunctivitis from. And I will spend an entire morning digging out a booger, even if I heave the whole time. 

If they’re snacking on something messy, you know, banana, any kind of spread on any kind of cracker, it’s nice for them to have that stickiness be temporary. It’s uncomfortable being covered in gunk. Don’t get me wrong. I let my daughter get dirty. I love watching her face covered in food and her trying to lick jam off her nose. She hates having sand on her hands, but will immediately scratch her eyes the moment a grain is on her fingers. I love watching her forget about it and lose herself in play when she starts to appreciate its texture. She loves water play. I don’t care how wet she gets – clothes, hair, whatever. If it brings joy to her, then I’ll deal with it later. But I deal with it. When play time is over, it’s time to get cleaned up and if a bath isn’t on the cards that night then just a change of clothes and a quick do over with a soapy face washer or wet wipe will do. Children want to feel fresh too. Same goes for wearing shoes. Being barefoot feels awesome. Around the house, at the beach or at a park - but I'm cautious. I use a simple rule. If I'm wearing shoes, so are my kids. I know I over worry about stubbed toes, stepping on glass or sharp stones and sticks, hepatitis, salmonella, but I don't think my worries are unfounded and I won't walk around the shops or the streets barefoot so why should they?

The worst possible thing has begun to happen. She’s interested in what’s going on in her nappy when I’m changing her these days. I’ve had to sing songs about putting your hands in the air at that moment because she once grabbed at her poo. I nearly fainted. Of course the dirty hand went straight to her face. I wet wiped her like a woman possessed.

As at the time of writing, I’ve never dealt with food vomit or diarrhea. I hope I don’t jinx myself. I’m very lucky they’ve never been that sick. I dread the day. One of the twins was a real chucker as a newborn. She suffered from terrible reflux and threw up volumes after each feed. Although breast milk spews aren’t that smelly, it still got my goat that I had to change bibs and clothes, both hers and mine (not the bib, I don't wear a bib), so often. She still posits every now and then as does her twin, but it’s manageable. Wet wipes to the rescue. I have an open packet in every room of the house. 

I’m not saying that my way is the only way or even the right way, it’s just my way. In contemplating all of this I've felt conflicted. I don't want to be a helicopter parent, I don't think I am, I try not to be and when I think about all the things I try to consider when raising my children day to day, my attention turns to broader global issues that affect children and how other parents must cope.

How are Aboriginal parents coping whose communities are being closed by our government? What happens to their child rearing routines and customs? The government is claiming they are doing this to save children from abuse, but much of this information is being distorted and statistics the government uses are often mirrored in the broader Australian context, but systematically ignored. 

What about the children locked up in detention at the moment on Nauru? How are their mothers coping in those dismal conditions? I read that "New mothers are forced to queue up for strictly rationed nappies, baby wipes and powdered milk, with staff telling them constantly they will never be resettled in Australia." What does that stress do to them on a daily basis?

What of the children in Syria or Nepal? 

My ramblings seem rather insignificant. 

Bottom line is we should love and nurture all children and aim to make them happy and healthy at all times. Nutritious food, clean water, warmth, rest, hygiene, access to medicine and vaccinations; this is what we should aim to provide ALL children everywhere. If that was the focus of governments and politicians and corporations at all times, instead of profits, power, accumulation of wealth.....Imagine the planet we would live in!

Multiple Birth Awareness Week - Not Enough Hands

“There’s heart beat no.1 and there’s heart beat no.2.”

That’s how the sonographer broke the news to us at the 8 week dating scan. No lubricating our feelings first or checking whether or not either of us had any heart conditions to be aware of. Just straight out with it. My first daughter was 10 months old. We’d spent a year trying to conceive her, becoming sexual dynamos in the process and when we had no luck were about to resort to intervention before I finally fell pregnant on our last attempt. We were away for our wedding anniversary and Manly lost the footy, so my husband and in the end both of us got lucky.

This time I was still breastfeeding and although we weren’t really trying for another baby, we weren’t trying to prevent it either thinking we probably had plenty of time, if it even happened at all, but when I started feeling absolutely dreadful and my daughter was starting to wean off the breast, I became suspicious. A home pregnancy test came up positive and the GP confirmed it and sent me in for a scan to date the pregnancy. I knew exactly how far along I was. I’d had only one menstrual cycle and we had sex once. We thought we had at least 12 months of pressure free humping to enjoy, but it wasn’t to be.

At the scan I saw the two heart beats and the two sacs before the sonographer even spoke, but for a moment I thought it was a split screen; the same image twice. Nup. Twins.

To say we were shocked is a giant understatement. Happy, ecstatic even. We weren’t sure we’d have one child let alone three. We laughed and laughed. Too much. Uncontrollably, at the scan….completely flummoxed and ….  freaking terrified. We spent that night in complete silence, each in our own thoughts, wondering how the hell this happened and the million things we would have to change to accommodate twins. I threw up a lot.

At the 20 week scan we found out we were having two more girls. At least we wouldn’t have to buy lots of new things like clothes. Not that we ever really gender branded our daughter, but others did, giving us lots of pink things, feminine things, supposedly. We also found out that one of the twins had a cleft lip. The sonographer kept saying that it was only superficial, but we wouldn’t know the exact extent until she was born. Just one more thing to worry about. It turned out fine, it is superficial and will only need a day surgery procedure.

The pregnancy went really well mostly. I didn’t have the high blood pressure I had with my first and I was under the care of a private obstetrician. I was a lot sicker in the first trimester, I threw up every day and more than once; had a very short period of the blissful second trimester and then the third trimester crept in and the discomfort really started. Although they insisted I have regular scanning because the babies were measuring small, it felt like I was carrying two baby elephants in my belly. I felt heavy and sore and out of breath most of the time. I couldn’t sleep, it hurt to roll over, I got tired walking and my abdomen, hips, back and knees ached. All the while the babies kept measuring just under the required size on their charts; charts developed in the 1950s that only accounted for a singleton pregnancy. I did what they told me, but took it all at face value, knowing that twins had to measure a little smaller to fit inside me. Most of the medical professionals agreed with me off the record. My obstetrician was incredibly reassuring and just urged me to rest as much as possible. I took her advice on with gusto and it served me well. I was able to enjoy the last weeks of my pregnancy in relative comfort and got them to 37 weeks. They were tiny compared to my first, but were good weights and grew quickly.

The birth was very straight forward. A scheduled caesarean. I knew what to expect sort of, having had one with my first, although with her I laboured for 11 hours and only had the epidural in the last few. I got to 5cms dilation and the baby started to show distress so we all agreed on surgery. This time it was planned. The ob advised against waiting beyond 37 weeks. By that stage I was eager to get them out too. 

On the table everything went smoothly. Like with my first, they took them out all bloody and slimy and showed me and after a quick check, letting my husband cut their cords and wrapping them they gave them to me, laying them across my neck and chest so that I could study and kiss their little faces and hands and heads and meet them intimately. With all three girls they are the moments immediately after birth that I’ll never forget. I will treasure that elation forever. Soon after the twins came out though, I started to feel the procedure. I’d had a spinal not an epidural, which comes on sooner and lasts a shorter time and I found out later from the ob that my uterus wasn’t contracting and so it was taking her longer to finish up. As soon as I told them I was feeling the pain, they placed a mask over my face and knocked me out. The ob finished the job with impeccable expertise and I woke up in ICU. After a day or so I was transferred to the delivery ward and the babies were released to me by the paediatrician and we were transferred to the maternity ward to ‘room in’ for our six day recovery. This period too is one I remember as blissful, with both births. To me, that hospital room became my cottage sanctuary. I barely left the room and just got to know my babies and developed my rituals and routines to start to get them to thrive whilst healing myself. With the twins I had the luxury of a private suite with my own bathroom, which definitely sped up my recovery in terms of how confident I was to nurture my body and its hygiene and functions back to health. In short, I was able to work on pooing without being disturbed; that’s all they want you to do after a caesarean, they want you to poo. I guess to make sure everything is working and back to where it should be and just as well because I was sure my bowels were somewhere near my throat after that pregnancy. 

 I loved having my own bathroom, but even at the public hospital with my first, I found this time of rooming in with my baby to be absolutely exquisite. I enjoyed every minute. Ok I was off my face on pain relief drugs both times, but it was just me and the babies.  I was being fed well and checked on and fussed over, especially with the twins and I stayed in bed all day; although I did force myself to have a shower and change my clothes every morning. That is one thing I have continued and which has helped me to maintain my sanity. With both births I made sure that despite having to care for newborns, I had a shower every morning. Then I had a blank and not so sweaty slate to begin the day. It was a really healthy ritual to adopt and when it is threatened by an unruly baby, I knuckle down and get what I need to done to make that shower happen.

I went home with the twins after six days, heavily medicated. I was cruising; so happy to be home with my oldest daughter who I’d missed terribly and her two new baby sisters. My husband was off work for a few weeks, it was over the xmas period and suddenly we were a family of five. Together we established some patterns, an extension of the rhythm I’d developed in hospital and everything seemed to fall into place. With two adults caring for three children, one of whom was rather independent and comfortable in her routine, we found that things were going really smoothly. We mostly dealt with one baby each. I directed my husband, he was my extra set of hands. We had this.

Then my husband went back to work and I’ll never forget that first day completely on my own with three children under two. To my surprise, I coped. It was a good day. Bit rough around the edges at times, but I’d survived and was confident I would be ok. As time went on though, things started to slip from my grasp. The medication ran out. I went from being heavily sedated and pain free to depending on over the counter stuff that didn’t even touch the sides. I was eating them like lollies with little to no effect. The surgery scar and my uterus ached, especially with each feed which was happening every two hours now. In hospital I was on a schedule. You can do that with newborns, but as they get bigger and start to demand feed, it starts to get more frequent. Soon I was exhausted and I found it really hard to keep up with them all during the day. The oldest one still needed my attention and her routine observed and the babies were on a constant feed, change, settle pattern. I needed to eat and drink often and I was in pain. I was a little sleep deprived, but was resting during the elder’s nap. It was tiring and hard, but I was still pushing through. My parents visited regularly so I wasn’t always coping on my own. They were an extra two sets of hands and evened up the ratio; one adult per child. It was always harder to go back to doing it by myself. 

Then the breastfeeding issues started. Suddenly I was having excruciating pain. It coincided with me trying to cut down on analgesics. My surgery pain was dissipating, but my nipples and breasts were killing me. I’d had absolutely no issues breastfeeding my first. I tried to understand what was happening and put it down to having to feed two babies so frequently.  With my first I gave her one breast at a time until she became expert and then offered her two. She was content and fulfilled and slept well in the day, feeding every three or four hours. These guys got a boob each and became accustomed to snacking. By the time I fed both, changed and settled them, they were almost due for another feed. There was no time to recover from feeding injuries either. If they latched poorly and my nipples cracked, tough luck, I had to feed them again in two hours and there was no giving one side a break. It became a vicious cycle. I’d feed them and they’d latch badly, my nipples would be sore and cracked so I’d take them off early. They’d wake up sooner as they quickly digested the milk they drank and caused more damage at the next feed, especially if I made them wait too long and aggravated them with my hesitancy; it made them suck poorly and aggressively. I used balms and ice and gel pads. I tried different positions, but nothing worked. I was reluctant to pump, formula was out of the question if I wanted to stick with the breastfeeding, I bought shields, but couldn’t work out how to use them. I was a complete mess. The lead up to every breastfeed was riddled with anxiety and the aftermath was utter shock. 

I rang the hospital, but by this stage the babies were over six weeks old and the hospital couldn’t help me. I saw the nurses at the baby clinic, but in their haste to support me ended up dismissing my issues telling me that as long as they put on weight and pooed and peed, there was no issue. But there was an issue; a big one. While the babies thrived because I was pushing through the pain to feed them,  I was in agony and my emotional health was deteriorating. Finally I read up about vasospasm and someone suggested breast warmers and I called in a private lactation consultant. She confirmed the diagnosis and after wearing the warmers for one day the pain was completely gone. It was the magic solution I thought didn’t exist. They still don’t latch as well as they should, but we’re working on that. I can’t believe I was using the gel pads OUT OF THE FRIDGE instead of warming my breasts. I was actually contributing to the narrowing of the vessels in my breasts  - insane!

So everything is now starting to align. As they get bigger, they are more settled and we as parents are more confident, especially me when I’m by myself with all three. I’ve even been out on my own a few times, although I do feel like a bit of a circus freak. There is genuine fascination with twins and people literally stop you to see them and talk to you about them. It’s mostly very sweet and polite and people are really sensitive about the cleft too; they don’t mention it, but I do. I’m not ashamed. She’s beautiful. In fact I’m a bit in love with it and will miss her mangled bubble blowing grin when it’s gone. 

The twins are now 3 months old and are still on a very tight feed, change, play and settle schedule during the day, but are mostly sleeping through the night, waking once sometimes for a feed. I know this will change with teething and illness and the dreaded move into the big girl’s room. I can’t imagine how I’m going to get them all to sleep in the same room. 

The hardest thing I find is that I only have two hands and after sort of attachment parenting my first, I’ve had to let these babies cry a bit more, simply because I can’t get to them in time or pick both of them up at the same time and soothe them. I grieve the cuddles, the baby wearing, the sitting on the couch for ages playing with one baby, the feeding and rocking a baby to blissful sleep, one on one. There’s not a lot of time for that and it’s physically impossible. Like I said to my ob when she told me she imagined it was like triage; it’s actually like spinning plates. You pick up the baby that is crying the hardest, calm her, put her down and pick up the other one should she need you too. You use your feet and your teeth when you need to; to rock bassinets, to hold onto bibs or nappies, to pick stuff up off the floor. You push doors closed with your chin, nudge things with your elbow and bum and you move a lot; constant activity. All. The. Time.  I have swinging rocker chairs and high chairs and play cots and mats and toys and music boxes, but babies want their mum to pick them up and cuddle them and gaze into their eyes exclusively and tell them they’re safe and you can only do that one child at a time. So in this house, one or two children at a given time are sometimes screaming in distress and a mother is physiologically programmed to respond to a crying baby, it triggers an emergency response in your brain and until you learn to interpret the cry and you develop over time the ability to stay calm and respond rationally, you go into extreme panic mode when that baby starts screaming. It is evolution, it’s how the baby survives. 

Sometimes I see them all competing. One baby will start to whine and she gets my attention. The other baby will eye ball me and start to call out, so I go to her. The other baby cries a little harder, I soothe her. The other escalates. Before too long the bigger one joins in because if the babies get mum’s attention by screaming she figures she should do it too and it’s a symphony. So I shout with them, I sing loudly or just match their tone and volume like a mad woman. I try to reason, to bargain WITH INFANTS, “Please wait, I’ve only got two hands, I’ll be with you in a minute. If you just be patient, I won’t be long. It’s alright sweet heart, I’m right here. Hang on a minute….for Pete’s  sake just wait…oh far out just WAIT…. JUST WAIT….I’M COMING.” I try to resist escalating and cursing myself.

When it’s bad, it’s pretty dismal. That few weeks when I was in constant pain and finding my feet, frustrated that the breastfeeding was failing, confused about finding a solution, feeling completely isolated and alone, being screamed at constantly by irrational newborns and a completely unreasonable toddler nearly broke me. However, when it’s good, it’s bliss. Three beautiful smiling faces, all content and settled beaming up at me, gazing at each other. The prospect of these three girls growing into women side by side fills me with sheer joy, the scale of which I never envisaged I’d experience.

I’ve only got two hands and three babes. I can’t hold them physically all at once, even though I’ve tried and we ended up in an awkward heap on the bed. I can certainly hold them all though; in my eyes and with my gaze, in my mind and thoughts, in my heart with all my being.