For the first time since giving birth to Microtoes two months ago today, I’m outnumbered by my babies. Technically speaking, they’ve always outnumbered me, but DearDaddy is away on an overnight work trip so I’m properly alone with them for the first time. What’s more, his work trip has been cleverly timed to coincide with when SuperGranny (my invaluable back-up support) is also away.
Pathetic as it may sound, I confess to having been a little terrified by the prospect. I want to be the best mummy I can to both of them and thus far both babies have always had one-on-one attention from a parent in the night time, evenings and early mornings. Generally speaking I’ve been the main person to take care of Microtoes during these times, as her key need is being breastfed. And consequently, DearDaddy has had more contact with Tinytoes.
I’m also mindful of the fact that 21 month old Tinytoes has become more of a daddy’s girl than ever recently. Last week she had a series of meltdowns and spent what seemed like entire afternoons chanting – or shouting – “daddy,daddy, daddy…”. How can one person handle that and meet the demands of a newborn and stay sane?!
In the run-up to DearDaddy going away, my brain began working overtime and I tried (unsuccessfully) to stop myself coming up with ‘what if’ scenarios. What if Microtoes’ umbilical hernia changes colour and becomes strangulated (there’s a 10% chance) and I have to rush to A&E in the middle of the night with both babies for an emergency operation? What if I get one of my aura migraines (which happens about once a year and my vision goes like shattered glass) and I can’t see enough to care for either baby? What if – heaven forbid – we get another mouse in the house?!
I know there’s no point thinking like that – I may as well worry about getting knocked over by a bus when crossing the road – but for the first time ever, I’m solely responsible for two tiny and helpless little people.
But so far – and I don’t want to jinx this – things have been going astonishingly well. Take nursery pick-up yesterday. Last Friday Tinytoes had refused to go down the stairs and had lain like a draught excluder outside the upstairs door to the nursery. If I hadn’t been carrying Microtoes, I would have been able to scoop her up kicking and screaming and march her down the stairs. I felt so desperate I even contemplated going back in and asking her carer how the hell I could get her to go down the stairs. But I chickened out. I mean, what kind of a mother cannot get her own child to go down the stairs?!
Anyway yesterday, Tinytoes obediently climbs down each step, takes my hand to cross the road and gets into the car of her own accord. She doesn’t scream the whole way home either; instead she spends the journey turned towards her baby sister, saying ‘hello, hello, hello!’.
She goes straight off to sleep for her nap, and when I’ve had lunch I nap too. For nearly two hours. Microtoes naps too. When Tinytoes awakes, she smiles at me. I give her supper and she eats it. She is happy and chatty. I take them for long walk in the twin buggy. I buy Tinytoes a magazine with stickers and she reads it all the way home. Microtoes sleeps.
After sticking the stickers in her magazine, I let Tinytoes watch an episode of Peppa Pig; the one about a power cut. She gets frightened when it all goes dark and calls out “mummy, mummy!” flinging her arms around my neck for a cuddle. I feel guilty for enjoying her rare display of affection, because I know it’s because she’s scared. Microtoes wants a feed so we watch it again, both babies on my lap this time. I stare at them both, brimming with love.
As the programme comes to an end, I marvel at the fact that Tinytoes has not once asked for her daddy. This is even more incredible given she doesn’t even know daddy won’t be coming home from work yet.
Bath time turns out to be a breeze. Microtoes normally cluster-feeds at this time and I had been concerned as to how I could possibly perform both tasks at once. But Tinytoes is delighted I have brought her little sister up to watch her have her bath. She runs over to stroke her, bring her toys, and gently bounce her in her little chair, before going to bring me her towel (something she’s never done before!).
The whole bedtime routine goes like clockwork and I only have to break-off once to feed Microtoes; more because Tinytoes is concerned about her crying (I would have probably waited otherwise).
As I go to kiss Tinytoes goodnight, she asks just once “daddy?”. I say “oh he’s working darling, but you can kiss your little sister goodnight instead” and her eyes gleam with excitement. She then sleeps the whole night through. Microtoes wakes just once for a quick feed. In fact the main disturbance is the heating coming on loudly in the middle of the night because I had forgotten to turn the thermostat down.
Today, too, has gone swimmingly well so far. It sounds naff, but I feel empowered. I realise I needed to manage alone in order to be a better mother. I think my empowerment must, in some way, have rubbed off on Tinytoes and she has sensed the need to behave for me these couple of days. She has also clearly enjoyed having more contact with her baby sister.
And more quality contact with her mother, for that matter. I’ve been more focused on making sure she has fun entertainment (rather than thinking ‘oh well DearDaddy will be home in 15 minutes, 10 minutes, 5 minutes.. and then he can entertain her’). It obviously helps that she’s not permanently crying and shouting ‘daddy’ in my company. And that she is no longer teething with a nasty cold.
I now feel considerably less anxious about DearDaddy’s week-long trip to the Middle East at the end of the month. It won’t be easy doing this for six whole days and nights and mornings and evenings – and I mustn’t brag too much to DearDaddy about how ‘successful’ his absence has been – but at least next time SuperGranny will be around. And at least I know I can cope.
Calamitous Mummy 