I have this vague recollection of half-sitting, half-lying in the hospital bed cradling both of my drowsy newborns. I was overcome by their new human smell and that hormonal, drugged-out postpartum fugue that's an awful lot like a hangover before the headache really hits. And I looked into the Beans' absolutely perfect, sublime, beatific faces and said to them, "You girls have the most wonderful thing any girl could ever ask for. You each have your own twin sister," and I remember tears welling up in my eyes and looking up at Hubby who said, "Yeah," with a cute little proud daddy smile on his face too.
A mere seven months into their lifetime together, the honeymoon's absolutely over. They've been in separate cribs for a little over a month now- ever since they began whacking each other in the night and waking each other- and ME- up at the most inconvenient of times, namely while they were sleeping. Very bad, very bad indeed. Now, you should know that Pooki's always been a bit of a binkie hog while Pipsi is the toy hoarder.
See? I'm not being unfair. That's really how it is. Or, at least, that's how it was up until they began teething in earnest about two months ago. I thought that they were tolerating each other and the whole teething experience very well up until the other day. Here's what happened:
The three of us were on my bed, playing, rolling, sitting, chewing, fussing, screaming, cooing, babbling, singing-- you know all the usual. They were both getting sleepy and Pooki was going to town on her binkie and I was happy because I knew her naptime was drawing near and Pipsi was sure to follow and after that, lucky me, I was going to get to vaccuum. Then, out of nowhere I saw Pipsi, surrounded by mounds of toys as usual, zero in on Pooki's binkie. Her face a portrait of intense concentration, Pipsi's little hand reached over, popped the binkie out of her twin's mouth and stuck it in her awaiting maw and then she resumed her previous activity as if nothing happened. That's how she rolls.
Pooki, meanwhile, had looked up in surprise when Pipsi so rudely yanked away her beloved binkie. Pooki reached toward Pipsi's mouth and got her hand on the subject binkie with the intent of returning it to its rightful place when Pipsi, having none of it, pulled her other hand back and clocked Pooki in the side of the face with a hard plastic (made in China, much to my chagrin) toy. Pipsi was heartless, emotionless. It was like looking into the vacuous eyes of a trained government assassin. One who never openly acknowledges the devastation he wreaks on the lives of others, but rather hides behind a veil of ambiguity and you know that deep in the night he somehow believes himself to be some kind of twisted savior.
Well, this was not a good situation. Pooki's face screwed up and she started those little gasping inhalations that immediately precede a full-on meltdown. Mommy to the rescue! I sprang into action, reaching over and picking her up and popping another binkie in her mouth and singing to her. Distracted enough to forget that she was about to cry forever, Pooki calmed down and reached out in another direction for another toy. I lay her down on her tummy out of arm's reach of her sister and briefly turned around to open the window. When I turned back to the babies I was just in time to see that Pooki had rolled onto her back and had just grasped a handful of Pipsi's hair (quite s feat, considering how little hair Pipsi has). Again I swooped in before any serious damage could be done, damage that would certainly lead to creating mortal sworn enemies for life out of my little angels.
And I found myself wondering, "Why? Why am I going to such lengths only to prolong the inevitable?" The answer, my friends, is hope. Will they hate each other? Will they hate hubby and me? Will they become some misanthropic scourge of the earth? Well, they will, for ten years of their lives, be American teenage girls. So yes to all of the above. However, they are also two people whom I love beyand all measure of reason and because of that, I will always try to help them learn how to be happy and love each other.
Sigh. I had to go and get yucky, didn't I? Once in a while isn't so bad. After all, I still get the hormonal excuse for a few more paltry months so why not make the most of it?
The future is gloomy for us all. Gas will soon be $4 per gallon, the economy will totally suck for a long while, and Hubby never wants to eat pizza any more. But at least I have a ton of baby cuddles and kisses, chubby baby cheeks to chew, and baby's breath to breathe. And as long as I have that and the promise of more Bean antics tomorrow I'll be a happy camper!
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment