The twins keep us firmly on the bottom rung of society’s ladder
DOUBLE TROUBLE FOR A FIRST TIME DAD OF TWINS
One of the advantages of being a firsttime parent to twins is you have no perspective of what’s ‘normal’. All you’re equipped with is horror stories from the internet and anecdotes from friends and work colleagues.
Hence, I have no idea as to whether our twins are ‘spirited’, or we’ve created a monster (x2).
The current concern is our household hierarchy. Within a more Victorian set-up, I’d be giving the orders (ha!), Victoria’s in the deputy role and the children are at the bottom, grateful to be heard between the hours of 5-6pm, after which they’d go to bed, leaving me to read the day’s news and mother the opportunity to complete the housework and cook.
Instead my status is comparable to the domestic mouse who comes out at night to feed, when all is quiet.
At the weekend, we went for a picnic and Emma insisted on sitting on my stomach because the ground was hard and uncomfortable.
It was a pleasant family scene; despite the abdominal pain and lack of blood flow to my lower extremities. She finished eating a peach, handed me the stone and then wiped her little sugary sticky hands down the length of my light blue T-shirt. As I surveyed the finger-sized trails of dark peach juice, my concern was I’m neither a large cushion nor a human wet wipe for my three-year-old. This lowly status was
a small child had crashed their doggy bike into me. I looked down to see Emma. ‘Move’, she commanded.
My son is no better. He recently sauntered into the kitchen clutching Minnie Mouse and barked ‘Porridge, blueberries and honey and jam’, before taking a seat at the kitchen table, like a hotel guest appearing for breakfast.
I duly served the meal, he ate it, with compliments to the kitchen and then demanded an apple without the skin. I refused on the basis it’s a short step before we’re peeling grapes.
My theory is we established ourselves as no better than scullery maids in the twins’ eyes with the introduction of the potty system. A set-up in which they do their business, shout ‘poo-poo’, bend over and wait for assistance.
Victoria or I then appear, equipped with wipes to deal with the aftermath, very much like the slaves of the emperor during Roman times.
Until, they learn the finer points of toilet training, I fear our status will remain at the bottom.