Never before has ‘WTF’ been more appropriate than the moment you’re told at a scan, “It’s twins.”
You could have literally smacked me over the head with a brick and I wouldn’t have been more shocked and numb.
Twins? WTF was she on about?
I couldn’t have twins. I didn’t want twins. I DO NOT WANT TWINS!
But apparently I WAS about to have twins. My life turned totally and utterly upside down with those two words from the sonographer. I was going to be a Mummy of three children under the age of 2.5. Shiiiiiiiiit!
Nearly a year on from that quite frankly hideous moment, I’ve decided to blog about how ridiculous my life can now be at times with effectively three babies.
I’m already wondering what the hell I’m going to write about – and more importantly, who the hell cares enough to read it.
But hey, I’ll do it anyway. Because you know what? I’m sitting in a quiet office, on my own, there’s nobody else here. Did I mention that I’m ALONE? That, my friends, doesn’t happen very often.
You see, my life is rather, ‘noisy’ right now. I have a toddler who turned 2 in June 2017, and 5 month old twins. There’s never a dull moment, hey? Well whilst there are lovely moments, yes there are actually bloody LOADS of dull moments. And ludicrous moments, and annoying moments. And downright I want to scream, hide in the shed and drink a litre of gin moments.
It’s those times, amongst others, I’m going to share with you. Because anyone who is a parent (I’m guessing if you’re reading this you’re likely to be one) will tell you, it’s not all newborn baby smells, cuddles and cooing. Or happily playing cars and jigsaws and trips to the park with a well-natured toddler. If they tell you that – THEY ARE LYING!
I want to show you my life. ‘Warts and all” as they say. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not all shit. Not by any means. But this will be an honest, realistic account of what it’s like being a stay-at-home mummy to three boys under the age of 2.5. And how coffee, chocolate, wine, gin and an unhealthy obsession with Facebook are my best friends.
It all started in December 2016, the day before my 37th birthday at my local hospital’s antenatal clinic. I was pregnant with my second baby, and my husband (from now on to be known as The Other Half) and I were waiting for my 12 week scan. Everything was going swimmingly in the right direction, we had a beautiful 18 month old, Thomas (Toddler) who was (and still is – most days) the best thing ever. Exactly the planned two years later he would become a big brother. One more baby would complete our 2.4 children/ stereotypical/average/normal family. Box ticked, job done.
But there was a vague nagging feeling. I already looked about 5 months pregnant, my morning sickness had been insane, and all I wanted to eat was McDonald’s fries. Like, ALL the time.
I explained all of this away by telling myself my stomach muscles were already f**ked by having had a baby so recently, and convincing myself I was expecting a girl which was why this pregnancy had been so different to the first one.
I hadn’t dared let the idea of anything else enter my head – not even that very morning when one of my best mates said nervously “What if it’s twins?”
There was no way I was going to let that idea creep in and ruin my excitement. I wanted twins like a hole in the head. One baby (ideally a girl, please) would do us just fine. Box ticked and all that, remember?
We were so blase about the prospect that we even joked with the sonographer at the scan. When she asked if we had any questions before she started, we quipped “No, just tell us it’s not twins”.
Oh how we all giggled. She teased us saying she’d not scanned twins for ages. She laughed, we laughed, everyone laughed – increasingly nervously on my part. The Other Half said “If it’s twins, just say ‘Oh dear’”, and we all giggled some more. Weren’t we all amusing.
30 seconds later, with the doppler on my tummy, she said:
In fact she said it three times before we realised she actually wasn’t joking. There were twins in there. F*************K.
A wave of panic washed over me, tears filled my eyes, swear words came out of my mouth, and I wanted to escape to the loo where I promptly sobbed uncontrollably before realising I’d better get a grip.
The Other Half’s first words?
“We’re going to need a bigger car.”
And that, is how all this began….