Revelation du jour.

A “lightbulb moment,” if you will. As I was putting the twins to bed last night, alone, as B. played his effing video game downstairs on the couch, it came to me that I might as well accept the fact that I’m doing 98% of the work and will continue to do so. This is probably not going to sound right in writing, but these are my babies, my responsibility, my world. And I’m their world.*

Yeah, sure, B. is a good dad when he’s involved, but how often is that? Morning, noon and night, it’s Mommy doing the work. I have a choice to make here: I can either accept that I’m going to bear the bulk of this burden and reap the bulk of the rewards, or I can continue to ask for more help, make a fuss about the lack of it, and be bitter when my wishes are not acknowledged or accommodated. I can accept what help is given me graciously and with gratitude, or I can always think it’s not enough and wish for more.

I’m not sure if this realization is a good or bad thing. It makes me feel a tad lonely and yes, bitter. At the same time it’s freeing; if my expectations are lower I’m bound to be disappointed less often. Right?

I have continued to try to communicate some of my frustrations to B. Nothing much ever changes. That’s why I’m asking if it’s even worth the battle at this point? Why not spend my energies working to accept my situation gracefully and with good humor, rather than carry around a bunch of negative feelings all the time?

Probably easier said than done, long term. For today, though, it’s working for me.

*Little Girl has developed full-on stranger anxiety - even with B. She does warm up to him fairly quickly, certainly much quicker than she does with others, but still, it must be heartbreaking for him. Me, on the other hand? Mommy is the Sun, the Moon and the Stars, with both babies. Feels pretty nice, I must say.

Mama knows best, and man, does that suck.

I’m tired of being in charge. I’m tired of being the only person on god’s green earth that knows all the little tricks, secrets, methods, timetables, ins-and-outs of taking care of Little Boy and Little Girl. Being the bearer of all this knowledge is exhausting, especially when you are asked for said knowledge only to have it ignored.

I’m speaking of B., of course. He returned yesterday after being gone for nine days. Granted, I am always somewhat of a certifiable lunatic by the end of any of B.’s trips, but within minutes of his stepping into the house yesterday I was irritated with him. Poor guy gets no reprieve, but I suspect he’s not even aware that I’m out of sorts. I do my best to not constantly snap at him, so maybe I am effectively suppressing my irritation.*

The man ignores me. I suggest a course of action and I might as well not have bothered speaking. He is also clueless about picking up the slack for me. He went from pitching in a good amount to, well, not. I am aware that I tread a fine line between being a bossy nag and merely giving instructions. If I don’t provide some direction, though, nothing gets done. Even still, providing direction or not, half of the time things just don’t get done.

I can’t talk to him about this. I’ve tried. He immediately gets defensive, gets his hackles up and shuts down. Any complaint I might have is taken as a critique of his parenting skills. I try to use the right language...you know, the “I feel such-and-such when you such-and-such” rather than the more accusatory “you do this, you do that.” At this stage I think I’m going to have to write him a letter. I’ve fallen back on written communication before when verbal fails. Whatever it takes so that I can stop feeling like a simmering pot ready to boil over at the mere sight of the guy.

Anyhow, onward...the babies have adjusted to their helmets. Little Boy’s already stinks, which means a intensive daily cleaning procedure for the helmet and a bath for the little guy. Quite a bit more work for me, who normally bathes them every other day or so. I suspect it’s only going to get worse as the weather heats up and Little Girl’s helmet follows suit with a stank of its own.

I’ve been taking them out in public quite a bit. So far there have been no awful moments, but it has given me some small insight into what it might be like to be handicapped. The furtive glances, the slightly patronizing smiles, the questioning looks. People don’t really know what to make of them. Believe it or not, I’ve already gotten so used to the helmets that I sometimes catch myself wondering what people are staring at.

I do miss ready access to their heads, though. A lot. One hour a day is not enough time for all the smooches and sniffs and snuggles I’m missing. Not nearly enough.

*He is certainly capable of being clueless about such things, evidenced by his recent admission that he had no idea I was depressed. Whaaaat? Come on now...

A longer update.

Sigh.

It’s been a long weekend. We had our high notes, we had our low. At times I thought I might be escaping this depression, but those moments, delicious as they are, are fleeting. Still, I take it as a good sign that they exist at all. I will pull myself outta this, I’m sure. Or I sure hope so.

We’re gradually ramping up the helmet wearing. I’d give Little Boy’s overall helmet experience a B+. He occasionally scratches at his head as if he were surprised to find a hard surface there, but otherwise seems to experience little discomfort other than the heat we were warned about. Little Girl, on the other hand, she’s struggling a bit with the whole thing. Her first helmet time this morning ended after an hour of crying and fussing. I’m not sure what the issue was, as she had worn the helmet yesterday for several consecutive hours with no problem, and was able to wear it again this afternoon without issue. Residual soreness from wearing it so long yesterday? Improper positioning? It looked like it was on right, but something was wrong. I dunno.

I am adjusting to their appearance in the helmets. As I mentioned in my last post, the pattern on Little Girl’s helmet is not very appealing. I’m pretty peeved about it, actually. The sample photo we saw showed a pastel blue & pink camouflage pattern, but what we’ve ended up with is nothing even remotely like that. It’s far closer to neon than pastel, and there’s probably no other pattern that is louder and more obnoxious. If I’d wanted to be subtle, well, this isn’t it, and that sucks.

So it is...

Since perspective has often been an effective balm for me in the past, I’m trying to remind myself how very lucky we are. As far as health problems with the babies go, this is a good one to have. We are able to afford to treat it, as much of a stretch as it is. I suspect (hope!) that the babies will readily adjust and the next few months will pass quickly.

It still sucks, though. I want to sniff at will the downy hair on Little Girl’s head. I want to smooch Little Boy behind his ear, where it tickles him. I don’t want to worry about odd suntan lines, or sweaty stinkiness, or raw spots, or heat, or, or, or.

B. has been great with the babies this weekend. I think he was afraid that I would dissolve under the strain, and had it gone less smoothly I might well have. He stepped right up and handled the babies as needed, albeit always requiring my direction. I was even able to cook a bang-up Easter dinner today, probably the best meal I’ve made since the twins arrival.

I would have less issues with him of late if it weren’t for his current obsession with an online game. He spends every spare and some not-so-spare moments playing, and like the time he spent in grad school, it’s all concentration on the computer and no Claudia. We’ve had several (and I mean several - I’m not exaggerating) incidents of late where he’s not heard me when I’ve spoken to him, or misunderstood what I’ve told him, all because he’s completely, totally, 100% wrapped up in this online game.

It’s always something with me, isn’t it? Or maybe it’s always something with B.

Anyhoo...off to watch the first of the last new episodes of The Sopranos. A large small pleasure for me.

A quick update.

Babies are helmeted. I didn't realize that there's a break-in period, so they're not wearing them 23 hours a day just yet. That comes in a few days. They seem to tolerate the helmets fairly well so far, but then again the longest they've had them on has been two hours.

They don't look like my babies anymore. I'm going to have to get used to their new appearance. Kinda sad about that.

Two irritating things...one, the velcro strap is on the left side of each helmet, which means that each time I pick up a baby and attempt to hold him/her close I get a face full of scratchy velcro. Ouch. Secondly, Little Girl's helmet is supposed to be covered in a pink camouflage pattern. Camouflage, my ass. More like a bad acid trip. It's definitely far more psychedelic than subtle.

Me, I think I'm handling it all fairly well, given how much I was dreading this. We'll see as it soaks in...

I'll update more later and post a couple of pictures.

"H" minus one day and counting.

Tomorrow's "H" day, or so I've been saying, to the point where B. has been shooting me dirty looks. I have been dreading it, moping about it, and generally ill-at-ease at the thought of it. I can't seem to smooch or sniff or put my cheek against my babies' uncovered heads enough.

I feel like a real tool for not handling this more graciously. I would be better able to if I wasn't convinced that at some level this is my fault. At least with Little Girl, anyway. I feel less guilt over Little Boy’s head just 'cause I wasn't a complete disbeliever about his head shape and went along with the appointments and repositioning and other efforts.

I'm doubly dreading tomorrow because after the helmet fitting appointment B. has to go to work and will be working all night. That means I'll be handling their first bedtime with the helmets all alone, and let me tell you, a normal bedtime alone is already a challenge. They've gotten mobile enough that it's a real struggle to get two babies changed, fed, read to, calmed down and into their cribs on my own. Seems one of them is always rolling off somewhere, god only knows what kind of new hell the helmets will add in. I'm hoping they adjust quickly, it's said most babies do, but in my usual manner I like to try to prepare myself for the worst-case scenario. Better to be pleasantly surprised at how things turn out rather than shocked at how awful something is.

I'm not looking forward to the attention the helmeted twins are going to get during our outings. I already have to answer the "are they twins?" question over and over, which doesn’t generally bother me, but this is a whole new ball of wax. I'm such a sourpuss that I'm contemplating making stickers for the helmets that say, "Mind Your Own Business!" That's me, giving a bad name to moms of plagio babies everywhere...

Maybe it’d be a better idea to type up a short explanation and hand out copies instead. Is that completely dorky? I’m worried that I’m going to have to defend my already defenseless situation and I’m not going to be able to do so without being defensive, or bitchy, or god forbid, teary-eyed.

Or, as B. puts it, if it bothers me so much, I can just not leave the house until the helmet-wearing stage is over. This, obviously from a man who hasn’t spent an entire day alone with two stir-crazy babies.

Stay tuned. I’ll let you know how it goes.