House of Twins

As I write this, I can hear G making a little wailing noise upstairs. She's started experiencing 'night terrors' - where she has a bad dream and starts crying, but is completely asleep throughout. Scary for us, but she's completely unaffected by it.

We've shortened the girls' daytime nap to just under 1.5 hours and it seems (touch wood) to have helped a bit (only a bit) with G's night waking. R could probably still do with a decent 2 hour nap in the day and tends to get more grumpy, but I don't want their routines to be out of sync with each other.

(just popped up to see the girls - G had lost her beloved doggy and managed to wake a slightly confused R up. Doggy found and now safely in G's arms. They both seem fine..for now...)

Weirdly, the new environment seems to be wearing them out. They have so much more space to run around in now and although we're still taking the girls out and about every day they aren't at nursery, they seem to really want to nap and sleep. I wonder if G was disturbed by our old next door neighbour - she's such a light sleeper that I wouldn't be surprised. Their new room isn't joined on to another house so hopefully that will help as well.

R is pretty much the perfect sleeper anyway and always has been. G is more of a challenge (to put it mildly), but we'll get there with her.

The house move has had an impact on the girls' routine. In the old house, the bathroom was downstairs and we had R and G's day pretty much nailed. The new house, with an upstairs bathroom, has led to some small changes.

Under the old regime, they went downstairs for their first nappy change of the day and were put in their highchairs for their morning milk. Now, they are changed in the upstairs bathroom before going downstairs for their milk.

In the evening, they used to have a bath, then milk, then upstairs for pyjamas and story time. For the first few nights in the new house, we experimented with giving the girls their milk in the bedroom after their bath and before story time but found they couldn't focus on it and took ages to drink half the bottle.

This evening G decided to implement a little alteration of her own and it seems to have worked. They now have their milk downstairs at 6pm, have a little play afterwards and go up for their bath and story at 6.30pm, so that they are in bed by 7pm. It's just the first night, but I think it might just work.

On non-nursery days the girls sit at the dining table to have breakfast with dh and/or I - something that was difficult to do in the old house due to the space constraints. I'm also planning to do the same at lunch time so that's it's more of a fun, sociable occasion rather than a routine drag.

As dh and I unpacked last week, we commented that there are going to be many more changes to the girls' routine over the next year. At some point after their 2nd birthday we'll have to look at dropping the morning milk entirely. This time next year they might be potty trained, although I'm in deep denial about the whole process. Their high chairs will (hopefully) be a distant memory. They may have given up the buggy. We might even be feeling brave enough to take down some of the stairgates and room divides.

Although I'm still terrified about potty training, the other changes seem less radical somehow now. As G demonstrated tonight, the girls will let us know when they are ready to make changes.

Our new house. I think I'm in love. From the outside it looks like a fairly non-descript Victorian semi-detached house but inside it's just...well, I think it's amazing.

The living room is so large (and long) that we've been able to divide it in two (dh has cunningly converted the girls' old playpen into a zig-zag room divide) so that the front half is our grown-up living room and the back half is a large playroom for the girls. Along the hallway, there is a downstairs toilet. At the end of the hallway, there are a couple of steps into the dining room, which opens out into a large kitchen at the back of the house. The plan is that we will put another room divide between the kitchen and dining room so that the girls will have a free run between the playroom and the dining room.

Upstairs there are three bedrooms, all doubles. Dh and I have the largest room at the front of the house which has a plethora of built-in wardrobes and storage space. Our clothes and shoes have got completely lost in the many wardrobes! The girls share the second largest room. The third bedroom will be a guest room and study for me on my two working at home days each week. The bathroom is a little on the small size and lacks a bit for storage, but it's not really a problem.

The l-shaped garden is completly paved, but is safe enough for the girls and is a little sun trap during the day. It's great to be able to put washing outside on bright days. I'm planning to buy a number of garden toys (and a little storage shed) for the girls when we've settled in.

I also love all the little details in the house - the pulleys to open and close the curtains; the pretty wall and ceiling lights; the ice-cube maker in the massive fridge; the brekfast bar in the kitchen; the high ceilings; the light, bright and airy rooms; the patterned coving on the walls; the fancy oven with ceramic hob; and the wooden floors.

I couldn't wait to get home from work this evening and pick the girls up from nursery so that we could play together before their bedtime. R and G have settled in really well. I think that all four of us will be extremely happy here.

Amazingly, Plan B turned out to be ok. It was blooming hard work doing everything in a much shorter space of time than we had originally planned, but we managed.

On Wednesday afternoon we got the keys to our new house. We had been warned that the previous occupants (our landlords) hadn't exactly left the place in a 'ready to move in straight away' state. They weren't wrong. There was washing-up on the draining board, food in the kitchen cupboards, coat hangers in the built-in wardrobes and a collection of 'stuff' scattered around the house. The kitchen and bathroom were decidedly unclean. One look at my face as we went into the house to have a look and the woman doing the inventory was on the phone to a waste management and cleaning firm, who duly arrived an hour later. They cleared out all of the things we didn't want and spent over 5 hours making the house ready for us, cleaning, polishing and generally making everything sparkle. Best of all, we didn't have to pay a penny!

On Thursday morning dh and I dropped the girls off at nursery at 8am. The two men and a large van arrived bang on time at 9am and proceeded to make extremely light work of moving our furniture and belongings out of the old house. They completed the job in just over three hours and dh and I were left with a mountain of things to move and unpack in the new house.

We were discussing where to put the sofa when I collapsed. With brilliant timing, my 'lady trouble' arrived on Thursday morning and that, coupled with forgetting to have breakfast, contributed to a rather nasty white-out. After an hour of lying on the sofa (cushions hastily thrown on by dh as I toppled), some nurofen, a couple of sugary biscuits and a large glass of water, I felt ok again. Being a girl is rubbish sometimes.

Anyway, once I had recovered we cracked on with the unpacking and furniture moving. Apart from a brief sojurn to the pub for a late lunch and a shandy, we spent the afternoon working on the house. Our primary aim was to get the girls' room ready before we collected them from nursery. Cue a 'Changing Rooms' style flurry of activity at 5pm as dh hastily rebuilt their cots and shelving unit and I put away their bedding and clothes.

We collected the girls from nursery at 5.45pm and G had her now obligatory tantrum on the way home. When they were bathed, storied and in bed (without so much as a murmur) we carried on unpacking until 9.30pm when we collapsed into bed.

On Friday, the girls went to nursery for a pre-arranged extra day so that we could carry on sorting the house out. We were just back at the old house to greet the cleaners who would sort the old house out when my Mum rang and offered her unpacking services for the day, bless her! The three of us did a sterling job and by the time we collected the girls from nursery (G tantrumming her way home again), the house was 80% finished.

As I write, there are still a few boxes to unpack - Virgin Media is being installed at the weekend so we can't unpack certain things until they've been - and we need to hang the pictures and photos on the walls.

Last week I sat surrounded by boxes in our old house and wondered how on earth we could possibly move it all in the time we had. A week on, I feel rather proud of what dh and I have achieved over the last week. We're a cracking team.

3 days since G took on the nursery floor and lost, the bruise on her nose is now probably at its worst. It is now black, brown, purple, yellow, grey and green. She doesn't seem to be in any pain and it isn't bothering her at all. She's still as much of a daredevil as ever and it still launching herself around in her usual fashion - she even managed to climb out of the bath on her own tonight, much to my surprise!

We have attracted quite a few stares when we've been out for walks though. Passers-by see R toddling along and smile. The then see G and try to disguise mild horror when they see the bruise. A couple of people have even nudged and whispered to their companions. I've also received a few hard stares.

I'm not hugely surprised by this. After various recent high-profile child abuse and neglect cases, the general public is more sensitive to child protection issues. However, I'd like to point out two things: 1. Abusive parents don't usually sock their children across the nose - they tend to go for the places that don't show. 2. They don't parade their poor battered child around the shops, a huge public park and popular tourist attraction.

I can't even watch a fist fight on a soap without hiding behind a cushion. I'm a huge James Bond fan but always flinch at the fights. In short, I'm a complete wuss and can't bear violence in any form so the thought of doing anything harmful to my children is...well, unthinkable.

Poor G. She's just as accident-prone as me. Hopefully the bruise will heal soon and she'll be back to her usual cute and lovely self.

This week, the following things have happened to her:

Tuesday = conjunctivitis. Gunky, crusty eyes - drops obtained from GP.

Wednesday = fell over whilst running and cut her lip at home). Bled a bit, cold compress applied.

Thursday = fell over whilst running and banged her nose at nursery). Her nose immediately swelled up. Cold compress applied. She is now sporting a very attractive black and green bruise across the bridge on her nose.

So, she looks like she's taken up boxing. Unsuccessfully. Poor G.

Unfortunately, we're definitely doing Plan B. Instead of doing the house move in a leisurely 7 days with lots of help from friends and family, we now have to squeeze it into 3 days, with some hired help.

Dh has the whole of next week off and I've taken Tuesday-Friday off. The girls are going into nursery for an extra day next Friday. Our landlord is definitely moving out of our new house next Wednesday and we should be getting the keys that afternoon - fingers crossed. The removal men (two men and a van) are booked for Thursday morning. The cleaners are booked to sort out our current/old house on Friday morning, ready for the checking-out inspection next Saturday. That gives us two days without the girls and one day (Saturday) with, to get both houses sorted before dh goes back to work next Sunday.

It's doable but is going to be extremely stressful...

So our no-nap day involving swimming, lunching and shopping didn't help the whole sleeping through thing. G woke at 4am on Monday morning and was so hysterical that she woke R, who was completely and utterly furious at being disturbed and expressed her displeasure to the whole street. When we tried to calm them down - dh dealt with R and I sorted G out - I noticed that G's feet were really cold. She had managed to kick her covers off.

Last night we went back to grobags. R slept through beautifully (purring and snoring her little head off) but G started making noises at 3am. Argh! Luckily she went quiet fairly quickly and we all went back to sleep again. At 5am, we got another early alarm call from G. When dh went to check on her, she was completely asleep but wailing and howling. She didn't even notice that dh had entered the room.

A 5am waking is fatal for me. I tossed and turned until the alarm went off at 6.30am and dh dozed on and off. I expected G to be feeling the after-effects of a disturbed night when we woke her up at 7.15 (dh and I were certainly pretty worried about it) but she was her usual herberty self. Night terrors? Dreams? We'll have to see.

So, that's four consecutive sad faces on G's sleep chart (kept for our own reference, not to reward or punish her), which we (thankfully) haven't had since February? Teeth? Who knows. Will she go for number 5 tonight?

As the title suggests, the house we currently rent has not sold, despite the best(?) efforts of Dickandom (actually Richard, but dh gave him the nickname) the 12 year old estate agent and his colleagues.

Over the last six weeks we've had a succession of viewings, none of which have resulted in a heathly bit of commission for Dickandom. Lots of lovely young couples, full of love, happiness and apparently with £335,000 to spend on a house come and go in a flash.

R and G were initally quite unsettled by the ebb and flow of visitors (sometimes 3 or 4 viewings in a single day - how dare people come into the house and not immediately give them their undivided attention(?!) - but they have now developed the perfect technique for dealing with the situation. They shout HELLO HELLO at the people as they arrive, wait until they go upstairs and shout BYE BYE BYE BYE until they leave, usually in quite a hurry.

We were trying to be co-operative to start with - tidying the house up, cleaning the bits that showed but now we barely acknowledge the procession of different faces as they come and go.

Several other houses in this area of the same size and type have sold in the last few weeks but ours still has the 'For Sale' sign outside. Dickandom becomes more demoralised with every unsuccessful viewing. I can't think it's our decor and furniture that puts people off - we have basic but reasonable taste and prospective buyers should look at the bones of a house, not the furnishings. Several people have complained about the downstairs bathroom (annoying but you get used to it), the garden (a raised patio - unsuitable for children) and the inability to extend the house (it's in a conservation area so first floor extentions are banned and the lofts are too small to convert). I think it's the price that is putting people off.

Our landlady desperately wants to sell the house, but only at the right price and frankly £335,000 for a two bed terraced house is ridiculous, even in this rather nice area of South-East London. It's a nice house and will sell but not unless she lowers the price. She'd better do it soon or Dickanddom might just have a nervous breakdown...

Thanks to our swimming, lunching and shopping exploits today, we inadvertently conducted a little experiment = how long could the girls stay awake for with absolutely no daytime nap?

G seems to have decided that 5am is the new 7am and we have been treated to a very early wake-up call for the last few mornings. Yesterday, despite a fairly busy morning in the park, G really was not happy about going up for her usual post-lunch snooze and let me, R and the whole street know exactly how she felt about it. They only nap for about 45 minutes to an hour at nursery, so they can cope with less sleep - well, G can.

R has always needed more sleep than her sister. She quite happily sleeps for 12 hours at night and seems to need a 2 hour nap in the day as well. She only gave up the morning nap at 13 months when G decided on behalf of both of them that she didn't need it any more.

The girls finally passed out in the car on the way back from Bluewater at 5.05pm and snoozed (loudly in R's case) for the 20 minute journey home. This power-nap seemed to be enough to tide them over until their normal 7pm bedtime. I'm not sure that I fancy trying to keep them awake every day though - R was extremely grumpy from about 2pm onwards, her displeasure becoming more vocal with every passing half-hour. G adopted a Blitz spirit attitude and sang and danced her way through her tiredness.

As a result of this, we have decided to limit the daytime nap to an hour and a half for R (perhaps a bit less for G) and not let them sleep beyond 2pm. They are at nursery for the next couple of days so we'll put the new nap plan into action on Wednesday.

We took the girls swimming for the first time today. Friends of ours (D and C) live in a block of flats (as dh rather ungrandly calls it) that has a swimming pool in and we thought it would be a good way of introducing the girls to the water without having to deal with 67 other families jostling for space in the local public swimming pool.

Pre-girls, in my honed 'n' toned gym days, I used to go swimming a couple of times a week and had forgotten three crucial things: 1. How much I enjoy going swimming 2. How ravenous I feel afterwards (I'm dealing with this by mainlining crisps and chocolate now the girls are in bed) and 3. How much my hair hates chlorine.

No matter. The girls' first experience of swimming started off quite badly. We trapised down to the changing rooms adjacent to the pool and the first sight of the water produced some serious bottom lip trembling and quiet whimpering. The four of us (two for each girl) decided to press on and R and G were dressed in their swimming costumes and swim nappies for the first time. They looked very cute, if rather chunky (shot-putter thighs!) in their swimming togs. G had treated us to a 5am wake up call this morning so dh decided that as punishment, she should wear the costume with horizontal stripes on (only slightly unflattering - think George Dawes at the beach) R got to wear the pretty costume with flowers on.

G barely made it to the side of the pool before breaking down into huge, heart-rending sobs of fear. We tried the softly-softly approach. The wails got louder. We tried the 'fling her in and hope for the best' approach. That didn't work either and led to several minutes of silent sobbing. For a little while I sat with G at the side of the pool (nowhere near the water of course), cuddling her and making soothing noises while she calmed down.

Meanwhile, R, normally the more wary of the two was having a whale of a time in the pool with Daddy, D and C. She was slightly confused by it all to start with, but thanks to a couple of pool props - balls and floats - znd the calming presence of dh, she was soon splashing about and giggling her head off. I knew we'd cracked it when she shouted 'OUT', got out of the water (with some help), stood on the poolside steps and shouted 'READY, STEADY GO!', leapt into the pool with assistance from one of the adults and started kicking her legs.

Dh and I swapped over and I played with R in the water while he coaxed G into edging a bit closer to the water. It was then that we saw one of the best things about having twins in action - healthy competition. G watched R getting in and out of the pool and decided she wanted a piece of the action. Gradually, with lots of cheerleading from all of us G did a little bit of light splashing at the poolside. Then she followed R on to the pool steps, gripped dh's hand and rather gingerly slipped in to the water, without tears or hysterics this time.

G wasn't quite as brave as R but at least she was in the water. We let the girls decide how they wanted to do things and let them play by the poolside as much as they wanted, occasionally asking them if they wanted to go back into the water. We actually stayed in and around the pool for about an hour and a half and only the tiredness of the adults involved and hunger pangs drove us back into the changing rooms. D and I sorted G out and I knew dh and I had done the right thing when, as we walked back past the pool to leave, G looked at the water and giggled.

So after a rather shaky start, another milestone reached, achieved and passed with flying colours by the girls. I hope they sleep well tonight. They certainly deserve to.

R and G love this song and video - I just hope they don't listen too closely to the words...

The decision has been made. Dh is booked in to have 'The' op at the beginning of October. No more babies for us.

He's had to fight quite hard to have it done on the NHS. He first spoke to his GP about it last year and was refused on the grounds that both he and the girls were too young to contemplate such a final procedure.

A year on, dh (and I) haven't had the change of heart that some people were perhaps expecting. At a time when several of our friends are contemplating having their first or even second (or third) babies we know that we're done with the whole baby-making thing.

We only ever planned to have one child. After I had been told that I might have trouble conceiving, the arrival of R and G was an wonderful, unexpected bonus. We have been gifted a ready-made family.

Although we both adore our girls, I don't feel a need to have any more babies. R and G may have been identical 'freaks of nature' (sorry Mum!) but genetics could still kick in (thanks to my Dad) and our next pregnancy might be twins of the (actual) non-identical variety. I don't think I could deal with another pregnancy on top of looking after the girls.

Neither of us can contemplate going back to the newborn days again - I like the idea of cuddling a newborn baby but I love the idea of handing said baby back to its rightful owner again after a couple of minutes.

We didn't have children to have babies. R and G are now reaching the age that we had children for and we want to focus on them. There's a whole world of possibilities out there and we'd like to get on with exploring them with the girls as they get older.

My career is going really well now and I love my job. If we had another baby I'd probably have to stop working and I'm not prepared to do that. The four of us have a good work/life/nursery balance at the moment and we don't want to upset that.

So, for all the reasons outlined above (and a million others), dh has volunteered to have the snip. He's made an incredibly brave decision, particularly as he has for some medical reason he has to have a general anaesthetic rather than the usual local procedure.

There are no regrets, no 'what ifs' on my part. This is the right decison for all four of us.

I knewit was all going too well.

We had everything organised. Our new landlord and his family were moving out of the house on 14th September and we were due to pick up the keys on the 15th. Dh had booked a van for the weekend of the 19th and we had arranged for help from family and friends on the 20th. Dh had moved heaven and earth to get the week of the 20th off work and I had booked Monday 21st and 22nd off to get settled in the new house.

Well, you know what they say about best laid plans...

Our landlord has bought a house in Glasgow which has a sitting tenant living in it. Said sitting tenant (who, if I could get my hands on him would be nursing an extremely sore bottom as a result of me giving him a few swift kicks whilst wearing my pointiest shoes) is refusing to move out, even though he's been served notice. Lawyers are now involved and he's going to be evicted.

This has a knock-on effect on our plans. Our new landlord is now trying to find a property to rent in Scotland short-term until he can get rid of the little (insert appropriate expletive here) and this means they may not be able to move out of our new house on 14th September as they need to find somehere suitable and go through the reference and credit check process.

Plan A (the one outlined above) is looking quite unlikely at this stage. Allow me to introduce Plan B:

We get the keys to our new house on Thursday 24th September. Dh and I, with the help of hired men and a large van move everything that afternoon (the girls will be at nursery). We're going to ask if nursery will take the girls on the 25th as a one-off so that we can get properly sorted out without two manic toddlers under our feet. We're going to hire a cleaner to clean our current/old house so that we don't have the stress of doing that whilst simultaneously unpacking the new house and taking care of the girls.

Luckily, we don't have to be out of our current house until 27th September so we have a bit of leeway. However, Plan A is much less stressful all-round.

Argh. Why is nothing ever simple?

We took the girls to the London Aquarium on Saturday. It was not exactly a roaring success. Well, the trip in and out of Waterloo was by TRRRRAIN TRRRRRAIN. Walking along the South Bank was quite nice. The museum shop wasn't bad either.

G HATED the fish, which was a pretty major problem. More precisely, she detested the manta rays. They were in a large open tank and kept floating over to the side and flapping in a rather odd manner. G coped with the smaller fish but was convinced that the rays would leap out and attack her in the manner of the bloodthirsty rabbits in the Life of Brian.

She leapt into dh's arms and buried her head in his shoulder, sobbing. She started wailing MUMMY MUMMY as the tears rolled down her face. This wasn't her average diva strop. This was proper fear.

We tried explaining that the fish couldn't escape and touched the glass to demonstrate that there was a barrier between us and the 'killer' fish but G was having none of it. In the end, dh and R strolled round (she was fine but preferred to keep a respectable distance away from the tanks) and I took G to the shop to create havoc with bouncy balls.

G adores animals normally She loves ducks, edeputs (elephants), amals (camels), flammys (flamingos), dats (cats), doggies (self-explanatory), raffs (giraffes), lions, gooooose (geese) and tigers. However, sea-dwelling creatures are clearly not her thing.

Still, the rest of us enjoyed our morning out.

After months of resistance I have finally caved in and bought the girls proper dollies. I’m not totally averse to dolls (I had them myself as a child and loved them) but I don’t like the ones that do stuff. Inanimate objects that cry, wee, poo, gurgle or breastfeed freak me out.
G has been fascinated with dolls for a while. When I pick her up from nursery she is often pushing a dolly around in a toy pram. When we visit other children she gravitates towards their dolls. The final straw came when their cousin P visited a couple of weeks ago and brought her special doll along too. G got terribly attached to her and we had to prise the doll from her at bedtime and give it back to an annoyed P.
The thin end of the wedge had been reached. It was time for me to face the pinkest aisle in our local toy shop. Yesterday I stood in front of a display of a bewildering array of dolls. Some of them did the freaky stuff I mentioned earlier – I’m not actually sure if any toy manufacturer actually produces a pooing or breastfeeding doll but I’m sure it’ll be in the market before Christmas if there isn’t one already – and some just sat slumped in their boxes looking a bit gormless.
As well as just wanting a basic doll, I had already decided I didn’t want one with a stupid expression or a doll with a dummy. I can’t explain my aversion to the latter – I have no problem with ‘real life’ babies or toddlers with dummies – but the girls have never had them and I didn’t want them to think they had missed out on anything. My silly list of stipulations narrowed the choice down considerably. In the end I chose between a set of twins and a Baby Annabel basic doll. The twins looked a bit...twinny... (says the woman with spookily lookey-likey identical twins) so Annabel won.
In the interests of fairness I decided that R should have a doll too, even though she hasn’t ever seemed that fussed about them. I didn’t want her to have the same doll as G, so I bought her Annabel’s brother, who doesn’t seem to have a name but has freckles and wears a blue romper suit.
I presented the dolls to R and G when I got home. G’s face lit up and she shook with excitement as I removed Annabel from the box (she was tied in with those ridiculous plastic ties so the extraction took ages) and gave her lots of snuggles. R held her doll up, gave him a theatrical lip-smacking kiss and threw him on the floor with an evil cackle. I believe she treats her men in much the same way...
I predict that by the girls’ second birthday, our house will be full of toy prams, buggies, highchairs, dolls clothes and associated dolly paraphernalia. It goes to show that despite our efforts to give the girls gender-neutral toys, you really can’t fight nature.

G has spoken (actually, she started doing her impression of an eel trapped in a handbag every time I tried to wrestle her into her baby sleeping bag) and decided that she and R are too old for grobags and sleepsuits. They are now the proud owners of several sets of pyjamas and next on my ‘to do’ list is to purchase two duvet sets.
After bath time and the evening bottle (I know, I know – it should be a cup, their teeth will be ruined, yadda yadda yadda) , G starts shouting ‘DAMAS DAMAS PDAMAS’ and runs upstairs, grabs R’s pyjamas and throws them down the stairs to her sister. G proceeds to run around their bedroom with her pyjama top slung over her head while R throws herself on the floor so that I can put them on for her. Once dressed, they flap around (the pjs are 2-3 years and the girls are a tad small for them) looking extra-specially herberty and extremely cute.
At the moment, they just have a sheet because their room is incredibly warm but I’ll be off to Ikea once we’ve moved house. By the way, does anyone want two 2.5 tog 18-36 month grobags? I suspect we won’t be using them now...

R and G attended the 2nd birthday party of one of their nursery chums yesterday. The girls arrived fashionably late (after their nap), greeted the birthday boy with shrieks of CLACK CLACK (Clark), jumped around on the bouncy castle, had a boogie, ate some party food, chased ‘Clack’ around, met up with some of their other nursery friends and pointed at them (cue lots of slightly confused parents smiling uncertainly at each other) and got very excited at the presence of a large dog.
All within an hour of arriving.
Just after everyone sang Happy Birthday, the girls gathered up their party bags and made for the door, their party work done. Dh and I, reduced to mere chauffeurs and chaperones, followed meekly in their wake.
How come the girls have got the ‘fabulous at parties’ thing nailed at 20 months old and I’m still struggling with it at the age of 29 years?