Making up the milk bottles... it’s just the Tommee Tippie of the iceberg
DOUBLE TROUBLE FOR A FIRST-TIME DAD OF TWINS
THE joy of arriving home with the twins was offset against an argument about metric and imperial measures.
The nurses had given us all our instructions in millilitres yet the Tommee Tippee works in fluid ounces.
A Tommee Tippee is not a magical milk making leprechaun but a machine. It mixes powder and water to produce a white substance, which although described as milk is not something you’d ever put on Cornflakes. I’d certainly recommend one, just because it cuts down on anxiety over the temperature of the feed.
One thing I’d realised was there was no shortage of anxiety in our house.
After only five minutes of being left in charge, we had two screaming hungry babies, sitting in car seats, while I shouted “just measure it in grams, that’s the same as a millilitre anyway, stop going on about fluid ounces”.
The situation was made worse as I’d left the heating on when I left the house 10 hours ago so the kitchen had the climate of an equatorial rainforest.
Google, now the authority on all things baby, told me the house was too hot and the babies had been in car seats far too long.
The constant screaming told me they needed food quickly.
Parental instinct kicked in and we got to work cooling, making milk and preparing
Moses baskets. Within minutes, the situation was transformed and no longer were the twins bawling.
What they were doing was making a sort of constant generic background noise of grumbles, mumbles and mutters with the occasional cry. It reminded me of camping in a jungle, not that I’ve ever camped any further than Wales, but they were not peaceful.
I also knew they’d be sleeping in our room for the next few months.
This did not bode well for a restful night’s sleep.
No sooner had we gone to bed than Thomas needed feeding, Emma needed changing, then vice versa, then repeat the scenario until 8am.
I realised the last time I hadn’t slept all night I was 21, and it was my birthday. This wasn’t my birthday and it wasn’t a choice.
What was both pleasing and annoying was by the morning, the twins were now fast asleep in their comfy little baskets. Obviously, I’d do anything for my children but I was thinking more in terms of paying for clothes rather than not sleeping.
Victoria and I decided this would get easier as we washed bottles, loaded the washing machine and complained about being tired.
The difficult part of knowing it would get easier is knowing ‘when’ it would get easier. The best estimate we had was when they left home.