Like mother, like daughter

At what age does separation anxiety start to ease? When do you start to look forward to time apart, rather than worrying about what will happen? Start reveling in 'metime' instead of fearing it? Please tell me it's soon. Please tell me it's 36...

OK, so it's not only me. But it is my clone. To the outside world, T is the outgoing one. She's the twin who takes the lead, who introduces her shy sister around, who rolls up her sleeves and gets the games started. But I know my middle daughter. I know her because she's me. Although it was nothing more than chance that meant G took prime spot inside Mummy and became my firstborn, since they arrived, she's acted like the eldest. She's bossy and opinionated and generally believes she's in charge (although in reality,we all know little M is the boss around here...). Just like my big sister - just like everyone's big sister, I guess. I'm the second of three girls, and the fate that decided G would fulfill her firstborn destiny, also decided T would  match her mum's family position. Seems like it was fate, because she's just like me. She's cheeky and extrovert and loves to be centre of the action. And beneath that, she's hiding the fact that she's scared and insecure.

Do her nursery teachers get to see the cheeky T I do?

I had a catch-up today with G's nursery key worker. Nothing they said surprised me. She's a bit shy and quiet, and doesn't tend to speak up, but she's well-behaved and intelligent. Although 'quiet' is not a word that can remotely be associated with G in the house (my poor old ears and rapidly growing crop of grey hairs are testament to that), I know she's always been shy in social situations, clinging to me if I'm around or her twin sister if I'm not. But I also know that once she's familiar with somewhere, she's fine. She's a dreamer, who can be perfectly happy constructing a jigsaw or pouring water or looking at books by herself. I do think it's such a shame that they don't get to see the real G quite yet. That they don't know that she can sing and dance and spell and add. But she'll show them in time. She's not the one I worry about.

Under that shy exterior, G is a bundle of personality

I have T's one-to-one in a few days' time, and I honestly don't know what I'm going to be told. Which T do they get to see? 

The past few times I've taken the girls to nursery, I've noticed something. T gets very quiet. There's a look in her eye. Tears lurking somewhere deep down. When I ask if she's OK, she always smiles and says she's fine. But I know her. I am her.

As my mother will delightedly tell you, I was the queen of the tantrum. I could scream and shout and rage and wail with the best of them. But that just meant I was tired or grumpy. The real problems came when I went quiet. My silence was never a good sign. And T is her mummy's girl. Once she's at nursery and I've completed the abandonment she's feared, I'm pretty sure she manages to have fun. She always has tales to tell of what she's been up to, and I know she throws herself into looking after G, into making sure her shy sister's OK. Just like I used to do with my sisters. But does she really want to be there. I just don't know.

And I just don't know when she's going to outgrow it.

I'm a married thirtysomething, who's had a great career, a social life I loved, and now loves taking the girls to new and exciting places where we can have little adventures together and meet new people. But deep down, I'm still fearful. I'm still hiding the fears about what will happen, the worries that maybe no one really likes me. On days where I don't have M to concentrate on, when she goes off to have fun with Granny while the twins are at nursery, I never quite relax. After my meeting today, there wasn't really any time to get home and get stuck into any gardening or housework before I'd have to be heading back. So I went for a coffee. A latte, a biscotti and a copy of The Guardian. That's pretty much my idea of heaven. People watching, relaxing, time all to myself... But the whole time, I felt sick. Physically sick. I couldn't concentrate on anything more than headline, and barely tasted my coffee.

What if G doesn't feel confident enough to go to the loo when she needs? What if her clumsy genes (also inherited from me, I'm sorry to say) show themselves and she gets hurt? And what if T is sad? What if she is really sad? 

Those last two are the thoughts that really kill me. I'm so proud of that brave little face she puts on, of how she always looks out for her sister, but the thought of how hard it is for her underneath is like a knife to the gut. Of course, on my return, everyone was uninjured and unsoiled and perfectly happy, but I know as long as T goes quiet, I'll feel just the same tomorrow. I guess all I can do is encourage and smile and reassure her that I'll always come back. That herds or wildebeest and flocks of dragons could not stop me getting to her. And hope that in time she will relax. That she will begin to love the nursery that she could so easily love. That is a perfect place for her to learn to be herself without me there. Like her sister, when she's with someone she knows, she's bubbly and feisty and cheeky and bright, and all I can hope is that, with time, the whole world will get to see that. That the whole world will get to see both my girls in all their glory. Until them, I will just have to enjoy every minute I have with them, and learn to live with the times we are apart.

Photos copyright SS Kelman (http://pkperspective.co.uk/)

Fear of failure

Starting preschool can be a scary time. Getting into a new routine, being separated from those you love, worrying that you'll do something wrong... And no, I'm not talking about the kids.
The twins have been in nursery for over a month now, and have easily got into the swing of things. Although they are still not as over-enthusiastic as some of the other wee ones about going each day (I think maybe the fact that they have a permanent playmate at home makes nursery an added bonus, rather than a looked-forward-to-treat) they are having fun, and both seem to have grown in confidence. T especially has become more independent than ever, insisting on completely dressing herself each day, and sending me out of the room if I dare to try to help her go to the bathroom. G is coming out of her shell too, though she does tend to let T take the lead and introduce her around when she's feeling shy. After all the dramas we had toilet training G, being a nursery seems to be helping with that too. She loves the perfectly G-sized toilets, and the independence she has to go all by herself whenever she pleases. But we have had a couple of slips. And therein lies my new biggest fear. The accident book.
Each afternoon at 3.15, an orderly queue of parents and grandparents file in to collect their little ones and are greeted by one of the nursery assistants at the door. Holding a book. The first time she stopped me to ask for a word, I didn't know what was coming.
'I just need you to sign this,' she smiled. 'G came up to one of the teachers and told them she'd wet herself. She's all changed and she wasn't upset. We just need you to sign in the accident book.'
She was friendly and casual, waving away my apologies and assuring me it happens, but I felt bad all the same. So when I was beckoned over on the way in one day the following week, my heart sank.
'She didn't realise she needed to go to the toilet and soiled herself,' the teacher explained.
'There was quite a lot and she does look a bit peaky now,' she added, explained that G's wasn't the only such incident that afternoon.
It soon emerged that G had caught a wee tummy bug but still, I felt bad. And now, every day as I file my way in, I'm torn between desperation to get my babies back, and fear of the book. As soon as I have a view of the teacher, I try to catch a glimpse of her hand.
Is she holding the book? Is she pulling aside anyone else? Is it for me??
I can feel my heart-rate start to rise as I get closer, desperately hoping that all I'll receive as a welcoming smile.
And nine times out of ten, that's all I do get. Those two are the only incidents we've had. But I still can't shake the feeling of shame.
Not of G. Never in a million years could I be ashamed of my bright, beautiful girl. This is all new to her. The odd accident is more than understandable, so why can't I help judging myself? Worrying that somehow I've let her down?
Potty training has been quite a journey. T was dry within maybe a week, and after an initial reluctance to poop in the potty, clean within a month. But my pride in how easily she coped is marred by the guilt I feel that G has struggled. After months of accidents, simply giving up on pull-ups and putting her in pants no matter what did eventually work and she has now been pretty much dry for a few months. But I just can't convince her to use the toilet to poop in. After introducing a system of 'no accidents all day' rewards, she's got into the habit of going in her night-time pull-ups in the morning, so it's not like I have a lot of mess to deal with, but I feel awful that I can't seem to get her over whatever mental barrier is stopping her using the toilet. And I can't help but worry that people will think I'm not doing a good enough job as her mum.
I never judge any other parent I see signing the book. All kids get distracted and forget to use the loo. But none of those mums had three kids in the space of two years. I feel like I have the justify that by being better. By not making mistakes. Are people looking at me and thinking that if I wasn't capable of raising these girls, I shouldn't have had so many? Do they think I'm not coping?
T was trained easily and little M has already started to run to the potty saying: 'Did a poop! Did a poop!' I can't see how she won't be out of nappies by the age of two. But I don't have two children. I have three. And I feel like I've let one of them down.
I'm actually quite relaxed about it from G's point of view. She'll do it when she's ready and her delayed cleanliness will make not one single ounce of difference to her life. But was there something I should have done to help her along the way that I missed? Was training her and T together a mistake? Should I have guessed she wasn't ready? Was trying too soon the cause of these fears now?
I don't imagine I'll ever know. One day, G will simply get up and go to poop in the loo, and this will all be behind us. But will I learn to go easier on myself? I don't know. I know I'm being ridiculous. With three times as many kids, it's only natural I'd be making three times as many mistakes. And despite all those mistakes, my girls are pretty great. They're bright, intelligent, funny and wonderful. I should accept that that is a reflection of my parenting skills. I had a lot of children in a short space of time. It wasn't exactly planned that way, but I knew what I was getting into. I have made mistakes, and I can assure you I'll make many more. But I love my girls more than anything in the world, and that's all that matters, right? If I have to sign the book again, I'll smile and thank them for taking care of my little girl. I'll keep trying to help G master this latest skill, but until she does, I'll still be just as proud of her as ever. I just have to work on being a little bit proud of me too.

Who's in charge here anyway?

G&T - 35 months  M - 13 months

So, as predicted, as soon as G decided G was ready to be potty-trained, there was no going back. There have been no puddles for a week, and she's quickly moved on from the potty to the toilet. We're still having a few issues with the more, erm, solid deposits, but I have no doubt we'll get there. In fact, I'm sure we'll get past there. G is working the system.
The twins love JellyBelly jelly beans. I hate them having them, but their dad is a softie, so they do get the occasional little bag, which always sends them into raptures. So, it seemed logical to introduce a couple of jellybeans per pee to help motivate G. And it worked. A little too well. She's gone from only two or three big pees on the floor a day, to sometimes 10 or 12 tiny ones in the potty or toilet. Each time, she leaps off in delight. exclaiming: 'I did it! I did it! Three jellybeans please.' (Cue beautific smile). She's no fool.  I've also had to re-introduce treats for the long-since toilet-trained T, who suddenly started having 'accidents' when she saw G being rewarded for something she did for free.So I've had to introduce a rating system, whereby the bigger the pee, the more jellybeans it earns. Now, G leaps off exclaiming: 'I did it! I did it!' (examines potty contents) 'It's a two jellybeaner!'  I find myself wondering how I got here. How on earth did I reach the point of grading urine?
Well, I did because I always do. Kids are sneaky. They know they're cute, they know you love them and they know your weak points. T has a different approach to getting her way. She's adorably affectionate. She'll look into my eyes, stroke my face, tells me she loves me... and get whatever she's after. Even M is learning the power she has, though thus far, she's going for the physical approach. She's started using her body to get out of things - the 'I don't want to get in the buggy' reverse C-shape, the 'I have been wronged' dramatic floor drop and cry, the 'Don't pick me up' arm lift... The girl knows what she wants - or doesn't want - and isn't afraid to show it. I'm a (relatively) mature, (relatively) intelligent women, who built a (relatively) successful career in a job where people relied on me and trusted my judgement. Now, I'm constantly out-witted by toddlers. So is it true that pregnancy actually costs you brain cells? Or has motherhood just softened me?
My girls have boundaries and rules and they know what's expected of them. I am tough when I need to be and won't let them get away with bad behaviour. But when they turn on the charm, I'm mush. I just hope I'm preparing them well for their lives ahead. Not to use their looks to get ahead, but that sweetness works better than temper. I know I'll have to phase out the jellybeans soon, and I will. I'll ignore those big brown eyes, and those sparkly blue ones. I'll say no and stay strong. Soon. Honest. Just not quite yet...

A golden miracle

G&T - 35 months M - 13 months

It's been a few weeks since I've managed to find time to write this blog. We've had tummy bugs, baby jabs, horrid colds, more vomiting, doctors' visits and very nearly a stay in hospital.... In short, it's been hell. But amongst it all, a little chink of heaven has shone through. We've had a miracle. Six whole months since I began the process, I finally, after countless trials and traumas, have two totally toilet-trained toddlers. Well, kind of...
What with little M arriving when the twins were 22 months, then us all upping sticks and moving from London to Scotland a few weeks later, I didn't even start trying to potty-train the girls until they were nearly two-and-a-half. All the signs were there. They had long since had the language and understanding of what was expected. They were incredibly enthusiastic about potties and pees and big girl pants. They were ready. And after a few messy Dettol-filled days, T just got it. She soon started asked for the potty at the right time, then quickly got the hang of the toilet. We swiftly moved out of pull-ups to go out, into pants all day, and she never looked back. I turned all my attention to G, praising, rewarding, cajoling and cuddling. My reward? Nothing.
Frustration soon set in. Aware losing my patience wouldn't exactly help, I gave up and put her back in nappies, waited a few weeks and tried again. And again. And again. Even little M taking to sitting on the potty and announcing 'Poo!' didn't spur her big sister on. I began to panic. I hadn't expected this to be a completely seamless process, but, honestly, how long was it going to take? Would she be trained before she was due to start nursery? Before school? Before her baby sister?? It soon became obvious where the problem lay. G was having fewer and fewer accidents, and had clearly gained control of her bladder. But when the time came, something was just stopping her using the potty instead of the floor.
Five six months in, I decided to just go with it. I put her in pants whenever we were in the house, and just accepted that I'd have to be on the ball and clean up any spills before a curious M got her hands, mouth or anything else on them. It actually wasn't too bad, though I'd only recommend this course of action if you have wooden floors... And after about three weeks, it just happened. We had a living room full of guests when G told her Daddy she wanted to try the potty in the dining room and voila! A pee! A golden stream of wonder! It was a warm, wet miracle! Within days, she was doing everything in the potty, and has even made the odd attempt at using the toilet. I honestly can't believe it. After all this time, it seems to have just happened. Accidents are few and far between and, despite all my fears to the contrary, I have no doubt she will be totally trained before her third birthday next month. The past six months have suddenly become worth every pee-obsessed second.
I've been trying to think of what tips I should be passing on to mums who have all this fun ahead of them. Of what pearls of wisdom these tough few months have afforded me. Only I can't. I don't have any. This isn't an exact science, and I don't have a magic wand to wave.
In hindsight, perhaps I shouldn't have tried to train the twins together. But which one would I have tackled first? Both ticked all the boxes, both were equally willing and able. Should I have been more consistent? Gone with one reward system and stuck to it through everything? Maybe, but it isn't that simple when you have two other toddlers to chase around. And when it comes down to it, I'm not sure it would have changed anything anyway. G started using the potty when G was ready. Not when the books told her she was, nor when I decided she should be. Whatever mental block was stopping her, she simply decided one day to step over it, and that was that.
It's easy for me to say now, and I know I ignored this very advice myself mere weeks ago, but the only thing you can do with potty training is relax. All the experts in the world can't tell you about your own child. T and G have the same level of language, the same comprehension, enthusiasm and sense of fun, but they are two very different people, and I can't force them into boxes to suit me. T has always been more willing to try new things, she's more compliant and trusting. G is a fiercely individual soul, who likes to observe and assess and wait until she's fully ready before she does anything. And that's OK. It's more than OK, it's who she is. It's who they both are. Who all three of them are. I call the girls 'the girls' out of convenience. They are not a set, a neat little group of Russian dolls. They are three wonderful, crazy, challenging, separate little people. And no matter how many heartaches that causes, and how much money I spend on Dettol and kitchen roll, I wouldn't have it any other way.

Baby talk

G&T - 2yrs, 9mths   M - 11-and-a-half mths

Am I the only one who'll miss the baby talk? Compared to my kids, speaking with adults is just so, well, dull. In the few weeks since I've found time to write a blog post, little M has picked up at least 15 words and counting. I simply could not believe it when she crawled over to her plastic shopping basket, fished about, held up something and proclaimed: 'Banana!' And there in her hand a was indeed a plastic banana. She also now loves to drop things and shout: 'Bang! Bang!' which, at the dinner table might be carnage, but it's still pretty impressive! But her absolute favourite word is 'flower', which she delights in shouting every time she sees one. You can imagine the noise whenever we're out and about...
Hearing her say it for the first time brought back a memory of something I'd managed to forget. When the twins first started speaking, they couldn't pronounce the letter F, instead replacing it with S or Sh. So, a frog was a 'srog' and they'd count 'one, two three, sore, sive...'. Flower was 'shower', well at least it started off that. Then it sort of mutated. Into something rather unfortunate. I have a very clear memory of taking the girls to London Zoo with their grandad. As we walked through Regent's Park, admiring the beautiful summer gardens, I brimmed with pride as the girls attracted smiles and admiring comments from all the tourists. Then G spotted the flowers.
'Shite!' she exclaimed. 'Shite!'
A little part of me curled up and died. What must people have thought? To this day, I've no idea how Flower turned this way but, within a few weeks, it had turned back and instead of being relieved, I realised it was a little sad. When would speech ever be so amusing again?
Actually, the twins are still pretty cute. T has an adorable toddler lisp, and both girls still insist on pronouncing pillow as 'piddow'. T caught me eating a biscuit the other day.
'What you eating?' she demanded.
'It's called a Hobnob, honey,' I replied. 'Would you like a piece?'
Of course she did. She took a bite and screwed up her face.
'I don't like pob-a-nob-as,'she declared solemnly.
I don't really understand why McVities didn't name them that in the first place.
So, although I make a point of saying things correctly, secretly I'll be devastated when they start saying pillow and Hobnob. That's just so boring. At least I've got little M to amuse me for a while yet. I wonder what gems she'll come up with? Let's just hope they're not too profane...

Playing favourites

G&T - 32 months  M - 10 months

When a good friend of mine was pregnant with her second child, she tearfully confessed to me a secret shame. She was terrified that she wouldn't love her new baby enough. After all, how could she possibly love anyone the way she loved her son? When her daughter arrived, she snorted with laughter at the very suggestion of favourites. Asking which of my girls I love best would be like asking if I love my heart or my lungs most. If I prefer breathing in or breathing out. If I'd rather have Haagen Dazs or Ben and Jerry's... Ridiculous. I'd lie down in front of a train for any one of my girls. I love each of them more than I ever thought was possible. Sometimes, though, it's harder to like one as much as the others...
We've had a diva in our house this week. G has been always been the more prone to tantrums and drama, but this week she crossed a line. Yes, the tantrums multiplied, and she spent many a fraught few minutes screaming bloody murder from the 'Time-out corner'. But I understand tantrums. Fun they might not be, but I get them. She's exerting her independence, trying to gain control. As my parents will delight in pointing out, I was the tantrum queen, and G is my karma. But that means she doesn't know who she's messing with. There isn't a strop she could throw that I can't out-stubborn. This week, however, she went from tantrums to hitting out. At her baby sister. Out of nowhere, she suddenly started grabbing M's ears, and gave her two scratched cheeks. It was all I could do to stay anywhere near in control. She seemed so vicious. It was horrible to see and really put a strain on our relationship as she took trip after trip to the corner, and my throat became raw from shouting. It was hard too, to avoid the impression that she was 'the naughty one' to T's 'good girl'. That is something I always fear - making one of the twins feel less loved. But as G first had treat privileges removed, then snacks, then puddings, I couldn't punish T too, and had to tread a fine line of emphasising T's good behaviour without branding G 'bad'. It was one of the worst days I remember having since becoming a mum. Even bedtime didn't bring relief. Having calmed briefly with Daddy's arrival, the volcano erupted once again when it came time to go upstairs. An argument over a straw escalated to her refusing to walk up and being carried, screaming like a banshee, to her bed. There followed five minutes of chaos as she sobbed and roared and tried to climb out of her cot. Then... silence. I went upstairs to check T and M were calm enough to settle, then gritted my teeth and headed over to G. She was lying on top of her covers, fast asleep yet emitting pathetic tearful gasps, clutching the all-important straw in her little hands. I almost wept with love. She was so sad and beautiful, it was all I could do not to scoop her into my arms. I didn't, obviously. I ran. But I couldn't believe the change. That sleeping beauty was my real G, and I knew that nothing she threw at me could change that.
We've had two more hard days, but slowly, my cheeky charmer is on her way back. M is still a little wary, pushing her away if she gets too close, and that breaks my heart. G was by far the more enthusiastic about M from the start. T was indifferent and a little irritated by the screaming bundle that had invaded her life, until M became the interesting playmate she is today. G however, adored her from the beginning, and the main problem we've had is her being a little too keen to cuddle and kiss her. I can only imagine this phase is G trying to hang on to a bit of being a baby. With T pretty much fully toilet-trained, I'm once again trying to get G interested, but she's still resisting. I think anxiety combined with a few disturbed nights thanks to M teething combined to cause the pressure cooker to boil over. I just hope that's the worst of it over. I want my bright little button back. I hate feeling nervous when she's around M. I hate getting angry. I hate not trusting her. I hate not liking her. But just as T's tired whining can drive me crazy and M's tooth-induced refusal to sleep has nearly brought me to breaking point, they are all my babies and I love each one as fiercely as the next. Especially when they're asleep.

Panic stations

G&T - 2-and-a-half   M - 9 months

What is it about being a mum that turns you into a neurotic, over-anxious diva? Honestly, what is it? Is it the hormones? The post-traumatic shock of having had to actually give birth to the things? Or does your sense of perspective simply exit your body with the placenta?
This week, we confronted yet another parenting rite of passage. At the grand old age of 2-and-a-half, we finally ditched the twins' dummies. I never wanted to use soothers. There weren't any in my hospital bag, or at home, waiting to be popped into two mewling newborn mouths. But after about ten days of constant breastfeeding, refusals to be put down and crying relays, I cracked and sent Daddy off to Boots for two little plastic lifesavers. And I think they did save my life. Or at least my sanity. Sometimes, when there are two people screaming at you, both demanding all your attention, now, you run out of options. The dummies gave me breathing space, provided blessed relief from the agonising sound of them crying for a mummy who couldn't get to them. As the twins got older, I limited the dummies more and more. I've never liked the sight of a child playing silently, sucking away, so the soothers became nothing more than a sleep aid. I intended to go by the book, and have them vanish entirely by the time the girls were 1.
But they've just started sleeping through the night. I don't want to rock the boat... 
OK, they'll be gone by 18 months.
But now I'm pregnant. I can't be getting up all through the night again. I'm so tired... 
I'll ditch them by the time they're 2.
Getting rid of dummies with a new baby in the house? I'm not crazy... 
So here we were, at 2-and-a-half, and every nap and bedtime, the twins would pop a dummy into their mouth and drift off. But I knew it had to end, so I scouted baby mags for tips. I knew I couldn't just sneak them away. The girls wouldn't stand for that. And a suggestion about burying them in the garden sent shivers down my spine, imagining the carnage the next time the girls were set free with their sandpit spades... So we plumped for the dummy fairy. I explained how we were going to be posting the dummies away, and how the grateful fairy would deliver gifts. Helpfully, the girls had apparently had their eyes on a few goodies, so were quick to suggest appropriate presents. My heart raced as we popped the dummies into the envelope and walked to the local postbox. The twins waved them goodbye then, overexcited by the prospect of presents, insisted on running all the way back. The sight of Igglepiggle and Upsy Daisy on the doorstep stopped them, wide-eyed with wonder, in their tracks. There was a wobble at bedtime when the reality of going into their cots alone sank in, but after about half an hour of singing and hilarity, and without a single cry or dummy demand, they both dropped off. Simple as that. Turns out it was yet another parenting dilemma I'd blown out of all proportion in my mind.
Sleep training, getting rid of bottles, changing from sleeping bags to duvets... Every time, I've spent days agonising over how the twins would react, and every time, they've barely batted an eyelid. Even potty training. OK, so it's not been easy, but I've realised that's only because I've got it double. T has been relatively easy and if I'd only had G, I'd simply have realised it wasn't her time and tucked the big girl pants away for another day. So what's with me? I don't think of myself as an anxious person. I'm pretty easy-going most of the time. Has becoming a mum made me this way? Am I resigned to a life of stomach-churning fear every time the girls go to school, or to a sleepover, or on a date? Seemingly it gets even worse when you become a grandparent. My dad, who spent my childhood returning to the house, shamefaced, with a grubby, happy child and a broken buggy, because, 'They'll remember the experience of the speed down that hill,' makes a grab for my daughters if they so much as stand on a chair. He can't explain it, but he sees danger everywhere, imagines every worst case scenario. I scoff at him and tell him that they need to learn to fall, but really, I'm no better. Having been determined to be an ethereal and serene earth mother, I never imposed a routine on the girls, but they ended up choosing one for themselves, and I ended up clinging to it, terrified of anything that would stop them sleeping. Stop me sleeping. I think that's the answer. It's self-preservation. My days are exhausting. Full on and fun, but exhausting. I need every precious minute of sleep I can get, and I live in fear of those bad nights when my body aches to be lying in bed, but just can't get there. So I'll keep dreading the changes, and with any luck, the girls will keep proving me wrong. I'll keep right on being an over-anxious diva of a mum and look forward to the day I can be an over-anxious diva of a granny instead, and just sneak off home for a good night's rest.

Flower fairies

G&T - 2-and-a-half  M - 8-and-a-half months

My house is full of flowers. Pink ones, white ones, red, yellow and blue. In the living room, in the dining room, the kitchen and the playroom. Tall, short, big and small. All supplied by the twins' fantastic imagination.
In the past few weeks, the girls' ability to conjure up whatever they want has exploded. I first noticed it in the nightly bath they share. G grabbed the plug chain and turned to T. 'Which banana you want?' she enquired. T thought it over. 'The purple one,' she decided. So G plucked it off and handed it over, before T scoffed it. I don't know where they've even seen bananas on trees, but it was just the start. The following day in the garden, T spotted a small piece of wood, which she placed upright in amongst some gravel, then asked for her little watering can. I filled it for her, then watched with a mixture of pride, amusement and overwhelming gooiness, as she watered the stick, and instructed me to come and look at her 'beautiful pink flower'. Now, every time they start up a little game, there is some element of the fantastic involved, making it even harder for me to guess what's going on inside those gorgeous little heads. After tea tonight, for example, they started chasing each other round the table (much to M's delight, by the way. She's feeling the benefits of their flights of fancy too). Suddenly, 'T started shouting: 'I'm a pancake! Catch me! I'm a pancake!' Soon, G was 'a pancake' too, much to everyone's utter joy. Yes, they're weirdos, but they aren't half cute! And it has been a very welcome light relief from what's been a tough few weeks.
They do say things come in threes, so I really ought not to have been surprised when toilet-training and tummy bugs were immediately followed by teething... Just when the girls all started sleeping through the night without feeling the need to wake up screaming and bringing up the contents of their stomachs, cheery little M suddenly became a fist-gnawing, bottle-rejecting, whining, crying nightmare. I know 8 months is hardly early for a first tooth, but it took me totally by surprise. I didn't get any teeth until I was one, and although G got her first at 9 months, T was 11 months before hers appeared. Recently, as her personality has been emerging more than ever, it's become obvious just how much M is like her middle sister. G is Daddy's girl, in looks, in personality, in everything. But T has always been my wee copy. She looks like me, acts like me, delights in tormenting her sister like me... If I look back at videos of the twins at M's age, the similarities are truly breath-taking. Yes, M as a singleton is a bit bigger, but she is the absolute double of T, even sounding just the same. And so far, they've been going toe-to-toe in the milestones. Holding their heads, creeping, crawling, pulling up... All within a few days of the other. So I just assumed the teeth would be the same. But sure enough, I can see two little white outlines beneath poor M's red raw gums already. It was a wake-up call I think I needed. 
I'm always telling Daddy off for comparing the girls, for calling M 'T mark two'. But it seems I was doing it too. And after all these months of the nagging worry that M will always be left out, I now find myself worrying about G instead. I have no doubts that the other two will spend their lives refuting suggestions that they are the twins, that G is the odd one out. Will she begin to resent her perfect little face? Her blonde curls and big brown eyes, amongst all the blue-eyed brunettes? So far, she's just delighted whenever anyone points out how much she looks like Daddy, and I hope that continues. In a way, I'm glad that G's the different one, rather than T. She's so independent, so sure of her own rightness, whereas T is a little more sensitive, outgoing and friendly, but deep down, a bit more insecure. So I guess maybe nature has been rather clever. G and T will always have such a special bond, but now M has an obvious connection too. They are all sisters, and that's all that matters.
I often wonder what it would have been like any any of them been boys. As one of three girls myself, I can understand my three, their bond and their closeness. OK, so the teenage years will be interesting to say the least, but I'm on safe ground. Hormones, I get. Queues for the bathroom and fights over hair straighteners, I can understand. I've been there. But boys are a mystery to me. Of course, had I had one, I'd have loved him completely and delighted in the new experiences, but I'm secretly pleased to have got all my little ladies. Their poor dad maybe could have done with a little testosterone around here, perhaps one less to worry about discovering boys, but it suits me just fine. Lots of pink and cute little dresses. Plaits and bows and imaginary flowers. Sugar and spice and all things nice. Unless one of them is getting a tooth, of course.

Twice as nice

G&T - 2-and-a-half  M- 8 months

So, one week on, and potty training doesn't seem that bad after all. A few accidents, yes, but many requests for, and deposits in, the potty, a sticker chart full of rewards, a few toilet attempts... All in all, progressing very nicely. Well, it would be if I was only training one child.
The other day, T just got it. We managed to time it right to catch a couple of pees in the potty, and that was it. She suddenly started telling me when she needed to go, and the puddles virtually disappeared. OK, so she's having a bit of a timing issue with more solid deposits, seemingly telling me she needs only when they're actually on the way out, but we're getting along very nicely thank you. And as for G? Nothing. She just won't do it. Stickers, chocolate, cuddles, pretty pants, princess-themed toilet seats, twin-induced peer pressure... Nothing can convince her that potties are the way forward. Yes, I might just have to accept that for all her intelligence and language, when it comes to this, she's just not ready. But I don't think that's it. She's just waiting. Waiting until she's seen her sister test the water first. Waiting to assess all the pros and cons. Waiting until she can do it perfectly before she even begins.
That's my little G all over. It was exactly the same when they learned to walk. G took her first steps within a week of her sister, at 11 months. But whereas T went on to slowly build up her ability a few steps and tumbles at a time, G just went back to crawling. Nothing could convince her to get up and walk again. Then, when she was 13 months old, just when I was beginning to worry she was being left behind, she simply stood up and strolled across the room. Within days, she was just as proficient a walker as T. It was the same recently when they discovered the mini carousel in our local shopping centre. At first sight, T launched herself at it, attempting the scale it herself and demanding Daddy feed it money. G meanwhile stood back, observing. Waiting. Then,the other day, after several weeks of careful observation, she turned to me and said: 'My go now, Mummy.' And we haven't looked back. She's the carousel queen, grinning and waving as she trots round on her favourite horse. She just likes things to be just so, just right before she commits. In this, as with everything else, she takes after her dad. A scientist and an accountant, he's careful and considered when it comes to anything new, analysing all the variables before making a choice. It turns out, G is not only his double in looks, she's a little mathematician in waiting too. But she has an advantage her father didn't have. She's a twin. And she's a twin with a sister who takes after her mum. T, like me, is more of a leap in head first, think about the consequences later type of girl. She's perfectly happy to be G's personal tester.
Once again, I'm in awe of people who have just one baby. My girls are so lucky to have each other, and the fact that they are such opposites does them both good. Sometimes we just can't believe they are so different, that of all the possible embryos created during IVF, fate gave us one perfect little clone each. (M, by the way, is shaping up to be a Mummyalike too. Not that I'm keeping score...) So, I'm just sitting back and letting the twin-ness work its wonders. G's back in pull-ups for now, until she decides it's time. Until she's let her whirlwind little sister show her it's all OK. And that's fine by me. When I found out I was expecting twins, although I always knew I might be, I was still shocked, still a bit apprehensive. Scared even, about the challenges that lay ahead. But now, it just makes sense to me. Of course children should come in pairs, each with a ready-made friend and confidant, a foil for their little quirks and a ever-present rival to push them along. Sometimes, I'm even a little sad that M isn't a twin. Until I think about having to potty train two at the same time all over again. Maybe singletons aren't that bad after all...

#Tippingpoint Writing for Syria

G&T - 2-and-a-half   M- 7-and-a-half months

I can't read it. I've tried several times because I know I should, but I can't read it. I get a few paragraphs into the now infamous Times front cover on the Houla massacre and I have to look away. The details of the horrific killings are just too much.
I didn't use to be able to watch animal programmes. There was a blanket ban in our house on Animal Hospital or Animal Rescue, for fear that a pet cat or dog wouldn't make it, and I'd be reduced to a gibbering wreck. But ever since I've become a mum, I've found it's the news I have to be wary of. I'm a journalist by trade, and I believe in the power of the media, in the responsibility of the press to tell the stories that we need to hear. But now, every horror story involving a small child just makes me think of my own, and my brain shuts down at the slightest suggestion it could happen to them. The reports from Syria tell of scores of dead children. Dead babies. Dead, mutilated babies. It's the 21st century. How can those words even fall in the same sentence? When I tried to read the Times article, I thought about someone looking into my girls' innocent, trusting eyes, and... I couldn't even bring myself to finish the thought. I shut down the computer, snuck upstairs and just looked at them all asleep in their cots, resisting the almost overpowering urge to scoop each one up  and never let go. But if you feel you can read about what happened in Houla, you should. http://www.thetimes.co.uk/tto/news/world/middleeast/article3430302.ece?shareToken=9ff5af6c6f90f29bcc1634dd0ae942bc Because we have to do something. We have to know. We have to remember. We have to shout. And we have to be heard. That's why I'm writing this piece, even though I'm struggling to keep it together as I do. Even though it makes me never want to let my girls out of my sight. When we're thousands of miles away, the only thing we can do is care. One person can't be heard. But what about a thousand? A million? Please, sign the Save the Children petition. http://action.savethechildren.org.uk/ea-campaign/clientcampaign.do?ea.client.id=7&ea.campaign.id=15098&ea.param.extras=tracking:HmPg&utm_campaign=SyMay2012&utm_medium=web&utm_source=SyMay2012HmPg Add your voice to the cry for change. Join the #tippingpoint roar on Twitter. Write about it, talk about it. Be enraged.
Suddenly, all my potty-training stress seemed silly. Celebrating getting a good night's sleep seemed so small. But it's not. Life's little victories are exactly what's been stolen from those children. All that's left now is to pray that their parents died with them. That they didn't have to live having seen them die. Those mothers and fathers would have given all they had to clean up accidents or tend to their baby at 3am. And they would have got stressed and annoyed too. Because it's hard work. It's stressful, tiring, frustrating. And wonderful. And we owe to those parents to live, to become exasperated at the difficulties and revel in the victories. And we owe it to them to do it all in their name.

Potty mouth

G&T - almost 2-and-a-half   M - 7-and-a-half months

I am obsessed with poo. And pee. And everything bottom-related really. Yes, we're potty training. Well, that's the idea anyway. Mostly, it's just me mopping up puddles and maintaining a falsely cheery face while scooping up crap. Quite simply, it's hell. I have no objection to the mess really. I have three kids under 3. Mess is the default position around here. It's just that I can see no hope of it changing. They're just not getting it.
I don't like to boast, but my girls are pretty clever. Well, OK, I do mean to boast a bit. They're little chatterboxes, often surprising people with just how much they can say. I've long since stopped counting how many words they have. They have language. I'd just read in a mag about how, by the age of 3, children should 'have about 300 words, and put them into three- or four-word sentences' when T wandered up to me. 'Mummy,' she informed me. 'Yesterday, you went in a car. I went on a choo-choo train with Daddy and Morris. This is Morris here,' she added helpfully, holding up her monkey. 'We saw elephants and rhinoceros and meerkats,' G piped up. Not words. Language. It's not just that they repeat things. They understand.
I assumed I'd start training the girls by about 2, but when they were 22 months, along came M. And two months later, we upped sticks and moved across the country. Life kept getting in the way, and all my efforts were a bit half-hearted. The potties have been around, and G even managed a couple of deposits a month or so back. But then she went through a bout of constipation, and the potty progress stopped. So I decided to take matters into my own hands, and ditch the nappies. They proudly carried their 'big girl pants' home from the shop, and went to bed delighted at the prospect of the day ahead. Come D Day, on went Peppa Pig and Princess, and... nothing. The whole day, not a thing in the potty. Puddles in the living room, the playroom, the garden (thank God for the hot weather and the ability to just let them run bare-bottomed outside), soiled undies and even one ill-timed present on our bedroom floor... They just couldn't be persuaded to use the potties. They sat on them frequently, but they remained stubbornly empty. At one point, I changed T, telling her, 'Never mind. Next time you need a pee pee, you can take your own pants off like a big girl and go on the potty.' She showed up five minutes later pants-free. I couldn't find them, there was nothing in the potty, and I have no idea if and where she'd peed. It was exhausting. Oh, and I also had a grumpy baby to deal with. Of course, she'd chosen D Day eve to wake up countless times and end up in our bed, shoving me off the edge and preventing any meaningful sleep. And of course, she refused to do anything but stand up holding my hands. By the time they were all in their cots, I was totally wiped out, despairing to their dad and seriously considering giving up. But I couldn't. Not after one day. They'd have never been sleep-trained or learned to feed themselves if I just gave up. So on to day two.
M helpfully slept like an angel, and I woke up full of positive thoughts and potty dreams. Twelve hours on? Nothing. Not a tinkle. It's not like I expected them to just wake up and calmy ask for the potty every time they felt the urge. I was fully prepared for accidents. I just expected something. Anything. Some progress. Some hope. I know they know what's expected. Where am I going wrong? Are they simply not ready, despite being so advanced in everything else? Or am I the problem? Perhaps trying to train two toddlers and look after a 7-month-old is too much. Maybe I just can't watch them as closely as I need to. Just one tiny little wee in my plastic nemesis, and it'll all be worth it. So tomorrow, I'm abandoning all my principles. Chocolate stars bought and ready. Let's see if bribery does the trick...