set of twins twenty-one months younger than our middle child. Four in
diapers; four car seats; four child seats at table, four snowsuits, a
million little socks and six loads of laundry a day…
time our little ground hogs arrived on February 2nd.
awaken and Daddy retrieved him for first suckle. When he was
satisfied, #2 was awakened and presented to Mama. Daddy took # 1 for
diaper change while the second nursed. Baby #1 would be returned to
me so I could “top him off” while the second received clean
dipes. He was then returned for seconds, while #1 was tucked back in.
Then I would convey the second back to the crib shared by both, for a
nice uninterrupted 30 minutes of sleep. This, two- or three-times a
night, interspersed with lost pacifiers and the occasional “bad
dream” or other upset on behalf of the others.
The new day began at 6am with my being nudged out, if not shoved right
over the edge of the bed by the five squirming attendants. The two
big boys had migrated in the wee hours, and Mama had been too lazy to
return babies to bed after last feeding.
We hit the floor running: Pee. Nurse the babies. Line the boys up on the
living room rug to change diapers assembly line fashion (thankfully
one was in daytime undies!) Nurse and change diapers again, for
invariably it was necessary after breast feeding. Get breakfast for
the two elder sibs. Change diapers. Get the boys dressed. Nurse.
Change clothes that had been spit up upon. Nurse. Nap time for
babies. Sesame Street (Thank God!!). Get laundry in, clean up cereal
that has been flung all over the kitchen, make a plan for the day,
pee and get dressed. Snack time for little boys. Babies awaken and
nurse. Change diapers. Get snow suits on. Take snow suits off to poop
in toilet. Time for lunch. Nap time. Laundry time. Snack time. Change
diapers. Snow suits on. Ah… out the door at last! And it’s only
4:30pm! Realization that I never even got my teeth or hair brushed! Round
and round we’d go churning through our days.
The older boys wore disposable diapers, the babies cloth. Groceries for
our family then were $75 per week without disposables, $95 with. So
the wee ones would not get into the stinky mess, we had an
arrangement next to the changing table. Hanging from a macrame’ plant
hanger was the basket into which the disposable diapers were pitched.
Under that was the high backed stool holding the diaper pail for
cloth diapers. There were times when the disposables were heaped to
precarious avalanche state, and the cover on the pail below sat on
top of a mound surpassing its rim by 8 inches – Quite the
conversation piece!
As they grew, the babies never even had the experience of solids during
their first nine months. Their sole means of nutrition was breast
milk, for it was much easier to just “whip it out” so to speak,
than to try to prepare conventional meals for everyone single
handedly. They nursed simultaneously, crossed over one another in my
lap. Once when the phone rang I got up with the two latched on and
sat them on the counter while I took the call and they continued,
uninterrupted.
When they were big enough, the twins sat in seats hooked over edge of
counter, kicking their feet frantically and waving their little arms
as though ready to take flight. Phil sat in his high chair, more
often than not nodding off into his lunch. Henry, in his big boy
chair, was becoming devious, trading Phillip for the “good stuff”
when he thought I wasn’t looking.
When they had all graduated to peanut butter sandwiches, they each exerted
their individuality thus: one wanted peanut butter and jelly with
crust; one peanut butter and jelly, without crust; one peanut butter,
no jelly, no crust; one jelly with crust, no peanut butter. “Do you
want your banana big or cut up? “Big. No, cut. Ummm, big. No, I
want it cut” Are you sure?” “Yes,” I cut the banana.
“Whaahhh! I want it big!”
Our middle child was of the age that ideally, we would have ditched the
pacifier, but you can’t do that to a one-and-a-half-year-old that has
just been dethroned. Alas, by the time he was three, the only time
that thing was not in his mouth was when it was resting on his lip as
he cried 20 times each night until someone came to stick it back
where it belonged.
In frantic desperation one night before our weekly garbage pick-up, I
decided enough is enough and threw the slimy snot covered thing into
the trash- as it happened, the basket containing the disposable
diapers. As I was changing my youngest (by one hour and four
minutes!), I started thinking maybe I should talk with # 2 son about
this.
Then a wondrous thought occurred to me: Maybe the poop from the diaper…
I peeked under the stinker I had just deposited. Nope, no such luck.
I reached into the basket, opened the shit filled sack, swiped the
pacifier through the mess, crying “Eeew! Phillip! Look what
happened to your pacifier!” “Eww! We better throw it away!”
“Oh! Good idea Phil.” We stood at the window waving bye-bye to
“Paci” as the garbage truck traveled down the street. 
We owned a Honda Wagovan, only seating five at the time of birth, so we
bolted two of the car seats into the cargo area facing backwards. My
husband devised a “Ben watcher” (a round, convex mirror on the
driver’s sun visor so he could keep an eye on Baby Ben sitting behind
him when he drove without a copilot.
groceries and I looked over my shoulder, aghast to find Jordan waving
an empty egg carton about! “Stop the car! Stop the car!”
are those life altering moments that remain clearly etched in one’s
memory.
babies jabbering away in the room next to us. Then silence. “What
are they doing?” Suddenly, THUMP! “heehehehehe!”, THUMP!!!
“Hee-hee!” as they learned to free themselves from the
captivity of their cribs. Things were about to get crazy! – RDW, 11-12-11