Flynn and Margot at Three Months |
Their
personalities are beginning to shine a bit, I think. Flynn is pretty mellow for the most part. He finishes his bottles without a lot coaxing
and general falls asleep once he’s done.
He can be content hanging out in the jiminy-thing or sometimes in his
crib. Margot, on the other hand, is a wee
bit more high maintenance. She likes to
sip on her bottle; drinking an ounce here, maybe two ounces there. Then she might take a quick nap and then maybe
she might have bit more to drink. She
does not like to be put down; she is happiest when she’s being held, cuddled and
rocked.
Flynn |
Margot |
In
the past week or so they’ve started to spend a good deal of time watching the
world around them, taking it all in. Just
this week they started smiling quite a bit and making their first sounds (other than crying).
I
have to confess that parenting “3 under 3” can be rough, and it’s even rougher
with twins in the mix. When Coco was
born, I took six weeks of leave before I went back to work, and Ken took that much
time off as well. By the time I went
back to work Coco was sleeping four to five hours a night pretty consistently. And course with Coco it was two dads per one baby.
With
the twins, it’s been completely different.
When we came back from India Ken and I went back to work right away. We got home on a Saturday and I was back in
the office on Monday morning. Ken also started
traveling to Los Angeles almost weekly for appearances on Home & Family,
while I’ve made three trips to Seattle in the last two months. And the twins are not on any sort
of schedule – despite Ken’s continued attempts to impose one.
When
one of us is away, the other one is at home alone with three kids. Ken seems to be nonplussed by it. I was gone for five days in late October and
kept calling and asking, “how’s it going?” “is everything going okay?” “yep, it’s all fine,” Ken would say.
Why,
then, is it not “all fine” when Ken’s away and I’m home alone with the kids? When it me on my own, I come home from work, Mari leaves, and I
immediately start worrying. “When are
the twins going to start crying?” “What
if they’re crying at the same time?” “How
do I get Coco her dinner if both twins are crying?” “How do I make
dinner for Coco if she insists on jumping off her stool and both twins
are crying?” (Jumping off things is one
of Coco’s favorite things to do right now.)
The worst is when all three – Coco, Margot and Flynn – are crying at the
same time. I admit that a few times I've parked
Coco in front of the TV with “Dora” while I tried to make dinner or alternated
between picking up two crying babies.
As
for sleep those nights? Forget about
it. I mentally prepare myself to pull
an all-nighter every time. Just like in
college, right? Yeah, except college was
20 years ago. Okay, more like 25 years
ago. I put Coco to bed and give the
twins their 8:00 p.m. bottles. Typically
they sleep for 2 – 3 hours and I logon and get some work done. Then, around midnight, the “up and down” starts. Basically I am on call for
bottles for two babies who are not on the same schedule and who are not
sleeping more than three hours a stretch. (I know, I know, you’re supposed to get them
on the same schedule. Except I’m not
very good at giving them both a bottle at the same time. So the "same schedule" theory doesn’t work very
well for me.) In the morning I get ready for
work before Coco is up and then when she wakes up I get her breakfast – all the
time hoping that the twins won't wake up until Mari arrives at 8:00.
Then, a few weeks ago, it dawned on me. Those kids have figured it out. They know that Ken is “no-nonsense Papa.” They know that Ken is like, “Don’t you cry for no good reason!” Me? Daddy? I’m like, “Huh? What do you need? Bottle? Diaper? Rocking? Cuddling? What do you need?” Last Saturday Ken left the house to work at the store for a few hours. As he left, and as the front door shut, I swear Margot and Flynn turned their heads, looked at each other, paused (for dramatic effect) and then started wailing. Full. Throttle. Wailing. And, in the same instant, from another room in the house, Coco looked up, cocked her head slightly, and started yelling, “Daddy! Daddy! Come jump with me!” Yep, those kids have figured it out.
Then, a few weeks ago, it dawned on me. Those kids have figured it out. They know that Ken is “no-nonsense Papa.” They know that Ken is like, “Don’t you cry for no good reason!” Me? Daddy? I’m like, “Huh? What do you need? Bottle? Diaper? Rocking? Cuddling? What do you need?” Last Saturday Ken left the house to work at the store for a few hours. As he left, and as the front door shut, I swear Margot and Flynn turned their heads, looked at each other, paused (for dramatic effect) and then started wailing. Full. Throttle. Wailing. And, in the same instant, from another room in the house, Coco looked up, cocked her head slightly, and started yelling, “Daddy! Daddy! Come jump with me!” Yep, those kids have figured it out.
Those kids . . . . |