belgianwaffle

Twins

Variation on a theme


Posted in: Princess, Twins

We bought the Princess a large helium Dora balloon some time ago for reasons I will not bore you with (comments along the lines of, don’t stop now, are as tactless as they are unwelcome). This was very unwise. Scenes of bloody chaos ensued as the Princess held it above her head and beat off her little brothers who desired the Dora balloon with every atom of their beings. “Take them away” she screamed as she whacked them in the face and they cried with mingled shrieks of pain and desire. Wouldn’t you love to live in our house?

Princess: So, if Dora dies, her heart will stop beating and the blood will stop pumping and all her limbs will die and she will turn black underground.

Me: Well, yes, except she’s a balloon.

Also, she’s a very creepy balloon. For evidence of how she follows one round the house, please see here.  Yes, I know, it’s sideways.  Is that a problem?

Eighteen months as described by Mr. Waffle


Posted in: Twins

The boys are eighteen months old today – a year and a half since our lives changed forever. Eighteen months of being outnumbered and not sleeping, but also eighteen months of being the centre of their little worlds.

They say you shouldn’t compare, but it’s impossible not to. We feel guilty that they get so little attention compared to the Princess. At eighteen months she could speak a hundred words in two languages. The boys at the same age can only make a few noises, you have to be very perceptive (and indulgent) to recognise them as words. For the record, Daniel can say “de ba” when he wants to go and have his bath. Michael can say “bye bye” (sort of). And that’s pretty well it. [Comment from me: This is so untrue. Daniel can say “ba” for ball as well and “bye bye” and “ta da” and “Mummy” and “Daddy”. It is true for Michael though.]

They are alike, and completely different at the same time. Overall they’re two very charming sunny little boys. Michael smiles more readily and so he’s an immediate hit with strangers. Daniel is more grave and is slower to smile, but it’s worth waiting for.

Physically, it’s quite easy to distinguish them. Michael is tiny: he was born small (2.2 kg or 5 pounds) and is still at the smallest end of his age group. Daniel is frankly massive. The odd thing is that Daniel is the fussy eater, while Michael will try anything. Daniel loves his bottle of milk but beyond that he’s less keen on food. Because Daniel is bigger, he’s also less steady on his feet: he was slower to walk than Michael and is still not as confident.

Michael is also unusual for one of our children in that he has hair. The Princess was bald until she was about two (we used to think that she was the most beautiful little girl, but looking at the photos it’s impossible not to think of former Irish rugby star Keith Wood in a dress).


In temperament, Daniel is more placid and Michael more nervy. Daniel is also cautious by nature (like the Princess) and is easily upset, even by misfortunes that happen to others. Michael, in contrast, is a complete daredevil – see the photo of him climbing up to the stereo. Yet he’s more clingy – he’s the one who needs a comfort blanket (or doudou) to get to sleep, and who often demands to be held. They still wake frequently in the night (last night was dire). We deal with this by giving them bottles (we know it’s against all the parenting advice, but we don’t dare stop!) Usually Daniel will take his bottle and just go back to sleep, but Michael will often demand to be held. So because he gets so little attention, poor Daniel seems more interested in books. Very often he ends up sitting in a corner looking at books while we deal with the demands for attention from the other two.

We hope they’ll forgive us. [Comment by me: Though it is typical of their lives to date that the only photograph adorning this post is one of their sister].

Sharing


Posted in: Twins

Daniel and Michael are very different from other children their age in one significant respect: they share. Not necessarily willingly, but they understand the concept and each will surrender choice toys (staplers, sharp nails etc.) to the other upon request. They often spend time holding a cherished object and then handing it over, waiting a moment or two, screaming to get it back and then handing it over again. In the car on the way to the creche the other morning, Mr. Waffle, foolishly, brought just one bottle. Daniel glugged away happily but, after a while Michael indicated he wanted the bottle. Mr. Waffle while driving deftly transferred the bottle to Michael. He expected Daniel to start wailing but he didn’t. When he next looked back, he realised that Michael after taking a refreshing slug, had passed the milk back to Daniel.

Oh God


Posted in: Princess, Twins

Daniel is still sick. Michael isn’t better at all and has started vomiting and clinging again. We had to collect the Princess early from school because she was vomiting. And it’s perishing outside and snowing.

More vomit


Posted in: Twins

Yesterday morning Michael was as sick as I’ve ever seen one of my children.  He lay in my arms sobbing softly.  He had stopped vomiting but he was very warm, even after his paracetemol.  We had had a dreadful night and I was on the verge of going to the paediatric service of the local hospital when he had a few mouthfuls of food and a nap and started to recover.  By this afternoon he was fine and out on his tricycle.  Unfortunately, this afternoon Daniel started vomiting.  So I predict, one day and night of vomiting and one day and night of feverish moaning and then a complete recovery.  Poor old Daniel though, instead of being lovingly rocked by his mother and father in rotation, he will be minded by the childminder who will have no back up and the other pair to deal with as well.  Who’d be a middle child?

Foiled again


Posted in: Mr. Waffle, Youngest Child

Today was a trying day. Getting everyone out the door this morning was horrendous. Michael did not make matters easier by pouring water all over himself and then, once snug and dry again, getting sick. We decided, callously, because that’s the kind of parents we are, that it was only a little vomit and his cough made him do it. So Mr. Waffle whisked him and his brother to the creche while the Princess and I made our excuses for lateness to Madame Valerie.

I worked from home this morning and finished up at lunch time contemplating two hours of freedom until I had to collect the Princess. That was when Mr. Waffle rang saying that the creche had rung him saying poor Michael was sick. Mr. Waffle was going to collect Michael and bring him home. In the reduced time available, I cast aside all other tasks to write an amazingly witty and entertaining post on the comic relief apprentice show. Please don’t ask, I can’t bear it. Just as I was putting the final touches to my magnum opus my husband and sick son came in the door. The former had to hot foot it back to the office so he left me holding the latter, a wan sad little boy who promptly threw up on his mother and continued to do so at 10 minute intervals for the next hour and a half. During this period, Mr. Gates had been biding his time and, seeing that I was otherwise occupied, he automatically shut down my computer and restarted it with updates uploaded. Something he had wanted me to do all morning but which, to my subsequent regret, I had resisted. Oh, and also, the lovely German Gin tells me that she cannot read this site or comment on it. Anyone else having difficulty? Gah.

I found some old motilium (note for the childless with strong stomachs – anti nausea medicine) in the medicine cupboard. Its expiry date was April 2007 and it said keep refrigerated. I rang my parents for guidance and my father said crossly that they were at a funeral (Irish people almost always are*) but he relented when he heard why I’d called and said that they should be fine and the only reason it said “keep cool” was that suppositories (oh yes) can lose their shape otherwise.

So deftly, I changed Michael and inserted a suppository before he even had time to complain. He is my third child you know, I ooze competence. He wasn’t sick for two hours which allowed me to collect the Princess with relative ease though poor little fellow, he was slumped in the buggy looking green and he was clearly thinking “this would never have happened, if I were her first child”.

At 6.30 Mr. Waffle and Daniel came home and poor Michael was very down. It was, alas, abundantly clear that Mr. Waffle and I were going to have to abandon our planned dinner together. Poor Mr. Waffle, his birthday is on Monday and this was by way of advance celebration. Also poor Mr. Waffle because he always buys me wonderful presents for my birthday on March 10 and then, a week or so later, he gets another pair of socks, some cufflinks and a tie. So, here I am facing into a night of frantic sheet stripping instead of dining in one of Belgium’s many Michelin starred restaurants. It’s enough to make anyone want to be a parent, I’m sure.

*Irish people go to all sorts of funerals other people wouldn’t bother with, friends’ parents and grandparents, distant relatives, you name it. My husband always says that this was one of the problems the Guildford four, or maybe the Birmingham six, had. Apparently, they were all going to the funeral of an old school friend they hadn’t seen in years and the English jury just couldn’t believe that this was true. Why would you go to the funeral of a person you hadn’t seen in years? Irish people are odd this way. I read an interview with the Irish state pathologist (who is Scottish) and she said in amazement “Irish people don’t think it’s a good week unless they’ve been to a funeral”. My father is still bitter about the holiday in West Cork when it rained every day for three weeks except one and on that one day we were all at the funeral of a second cousin of my maternal grandmother’s.