I may not get a lot of sleep, but I am making the most of 24-hour lounge wear
DOUBLE TROUBLE FOR A FIRST-TIME DAD OF TWINS
IT’S 2.30pm on a weekday, and I’m still in my dressing gown, wondering whether I should take a nap.
For me, time has no relevance. Anyone in higher education will be familiar with this concept.
As a student, the dressing gown was a mainstay of my daytime wardrobe.
In a way, I’ve recaptured my youth; days used to come and go and I’d never actually wear what people call proper clothes, and nothing much has changed. My attire is that of the unemployed agoraphobic – jogging bottoms, oversized T shirts in loud colours emblazoned with slogans telling me to ‘Just do it’, and flip flops.
And my top clothing tip for anyone considering parenthood; the soft brushed cotton dressing gown with a very functional and effective belt to protect any relatives staying in the house.
There was very nearly belt failure on my current gown as Victoria’s mother was milling around the kitchen. Thankfully my catlike reflexes saved us all from a terribly embarrassing situation.
Attire is just one of the many problems surrounding the sleeping patterns of babies. The twins come alive when the sun goes down, which is apparently because women produce more milk at night so they want the best of the buffet while it’s still fresh.
This twilight life is only a problem when you’re spotted in Tesco at 4.30pm wearing a Mr
Messy T-shirt and pyjama bottoms.
Hopefully, I’ve told that many people we’ve had twins everyone assumes it’s my inability to cope with children and not a drink problem.
And my reliance on nappies, cotton balls and ready meals gives a few clues.
The other collision with daytime reality is the arrival of Alan the Postman, who has witnessed me in a series of undignified outfits.
This would have been a problem if he noticed but it quickly became apparent my rushed apology was falling on deaf ears. He was too busy complaining that Christmas was on the way and he’s too old to be one of Santa Claus’ little helpers.
Alan the postman’s inability to sympathise made me realise, the truth is, nobody cares. The twins render me untouchable and my slovenly appearance acceptable.
So, it’s 3pm on a Saturday in December and I’m eating porridge on the sofa while Thomas sleeps on my chest.
Maybe I’ll put my flip flops on and go to the post office, or I might just sit in Costa and cry with tiredness... the world is mine.
Being a student was no excuse to spend a life lounging but twins is a different matter and I’m going to make the most of it.