The Twinkies

So here I am, as promised last week, to do another question about twins on Friday. What, it is Saturday? You’re kidding, right? How did that happen?

OK, so I thought yesterday was Thursday. Did you know that women’s tested IQs go down after they get pregnant? Or that a woman’s brain actually shrinks during pregnancy? Or so I read somewhere. My brain is flypaper for crap. Where was I? Oh, yes. Me dumb. Today not Friday. Today Saturday.

B. is at work today, so it doesn’t actually feel like a Saturday. And he was at home on Monday, so this is the 5th day of my workweek, and, thus, Friday. So, here is this Friday’s Twinny Question.

How good are J. and F. at self-entertainment? Do you ever get any moments to yourself? What do you do with those moments?

Self-entertainment can be summed up with the phrase a quiet baby is a baby in trouble. F. in particular can keep herself silently entertained for minutes on end as she tries to chew through an electrical cord, or eat the newspaper. She also likes to pull coffee cups off of the table onto herself and lick tubes of diaper rash crème. She would probably spend hours happily trying to kill herself with electricity, hot water or poisonous ointments if I let her. When left to approved toys (which currently include an empty coffee cup and an almost empty tube of Lansinoh) she is somewhat less enthralled, but she bucks up and plays on.

How happy either is to play without me is directly related to how well rested they are. In the morning they play quite happily for up to an hour. By the afternoon they are army crawling over to me and demanding a lot more attention. I’ve noticed that if I am sitting on the floor they are much more likely to stay happy than if I am up at a table or in a chair. I can be reading on the floor, but they do prefer me to be at their level.

They also play together. I realize that child development experts claim that children this age only parallel play, but that just isn’t true. They grab each other’s feet (a game that is particularly fun if the grabee is in the swing), swipe toys from each other, crawl on each other, and, most adorably, look at each other and giggle.

I can’t seem to get that last on video because as soon as I take out the camera they stop doing it.

During my free time I try to get laundry done, beds made, the house picked up, the blog written, other blogs read, the cat pet, the bills paid and so on. I’d say I need a hobby but I’ve noticed that I only get stressed when I try to accomplish something. As long as I keep my daily expectations low I stay much calmer.

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Have a question? Put it in the comments or email me at stacie at bastetweb dot com. I’ll answer it on a Friday. Or maybe a Saturday.

After my first post on the dearth of available children’s books that feature, or even include, breastfeeding several people sent in suggestions. I have not read all of these so I am not sure I can call this list recommendations per se; it is more in the realm of a gathering of resources.

Thanks to Gloria and Eva for their additions to the original, very short, list.

Children’s Books with Breastfeeding
Breastmilk Makes My Tummy Yummy
I Eat at Mommy’s
If My Mom Were A Platypus
I’m Made of Mama’s Milk
Mommy Breastfeeds Our Baby
Near Mama’s Heart
Only The Cat Saw
The Baby’s Catalogue
The Best Gifts
We Have a Baby
We Like to Nurse

I like to watch decorating and renovation shows. We call these “house porn” because contractors always show up on time, no one goes over budget and everyone seems to be having a good time. Utter fantasy, as anyone who has every done any kind of renovation knows.

Our last renovation was a bathroom remodel. The bathtub started to rain into the kitchen and we felt that was a bad idea. Because 65 years ago builders cemented pipes into the floor we actually had to totally gut the room to get at the pipes to replace them. We were without a shower for about three weeks - scheduled for one - while this was going on. I spent a lot of time at the gym where women complimented me on still working out while I was pregnant, not realizing I was just there for the showers. Yes, this all happened while I was pregnant. The plumbers were less than competent; they screwed up everything. The pipe out from the toilet had to be redone, requiring a hole in the kitchen ceiling to get at it since the bathroom floor and tile had already been laid. They put the pipes the wrong distance apart on the sink. They didn’t put the tub fixtures on correctly, requiring going in through the wall in the hallway to fix. They were a disaster. Fortunately, the general contractor was great. The bathroom looks fantastic, and after much much much aggravation and delay, the plumbing all works. Worked.

On Valentine’s Day the bathtub started to rain into the kitchen again.

So, I like home renovation shows, but they really are just fantasy. House porn. Of course, what I really have been fantasizing about these past few months hasn’t been a kitchen redo or a themed guest room but a full night’s sleep. So…sleep porn.

She entered the softly lit room. The bed was turned down and the 300-thread-count Egyptian cotton sheets beckoned. The pillows were fluffed, the comforter down, and was that a chocolate on her pillow? The laundry was done, the room was clean, she had no worries, no responsibilities. There was a thick novel of no redeeming literary merit sitting on the bedside table. Should she read it? Should she wait until the next day, postponing the pleasure. Knowing that the next day was a lazy day with nothing planned other than sleeping in, she caressed the cover of the book but decided to wait. Wearing nothing but her favorite flannel nightgown and a pair of thick, cashmere socks she slipped between the covers and turned off the light. It was dark and quiet, without ever the faintest whisper of a sound. She sank into a deep sleep and slept without being disturbed for 9 hours. Ah…bliss.

Whoever came to this blog after a Google search on “redhead twins” was probably deeply disappointed.

And I thought I was a geek. Someone is writing a blog, in Middle English mind you, in the guise of Geoffrey Chaucer.

It took J. and F. less than 6 hours to each remove the “childproof” cord cover.

I used to think that Murphy’s Law of Cloth Diapers was “If you forget to include a flushable liner, the baby poops” but now I know that it really is “The week you cancel the diaper service and really commit to washing your own, the washer breaks.”

Not to me. I actually rather like avocado. I put it on sandwiches. I eat it plain. I mash it up, add stuff, and dip chips into it. I am, in fact, a big fan of avocado. My only objection to avocados is the difficulty I have getting those pits to take root and turn into house plants. My mother has several gorgeous avocado plants grown from seeds. Me, not so much. But, really, that is a fairly minor objection.

J’s only objection to avocado is that they exist.

I really thought that F. would be the fussy eater. She used to make such a face at formula. She looked so sad at our betrayal of her, trying to get her to drink that nasty stuff when she knew perfectly well there was breast-milk available. J., however, didn’t care what you fed him. Formula, breast-milk, infant tylenol, it was all good. How times have changed with the solid food. So far we’ve tried sweet potato, applesauce, banana and avocado (and I slipped a little pear to F. one afternoon.) F. likes everything. J. likes banana. Oh, the applesauce is OK, and he’ll tolerate the sweet potato, but he draws the line at avocado. In fact, he spits it out. Vehemently. Then he tries to get every last speck of avocado out of his mouth. Then he gags, and looks hurt. Then, I offer him banana.