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.