Oh, how our Irish twins fill our days with the most sensational drama…
We’ve got plenty of wild chaos around here to spare, trying to wrangle our turbulent Irish twins. What we find ourselves in limited supply of lately: energy. Mental energy. Physical energy. Creative energy. Pft. Nada. You’re lucky I’m even writing this right now.
Past couple evenings, right after Orson and Nova’s bedtime, it feels like it’s Mamasaur’s bedtime. I lie down for a few minutes and feel myself drift. Surrendering myself to my utter exhaustion… But I’ve still go stuff to do! I need to write. Exercise. Maybe get some Supernatural VR in to get my blood pumping…
But somewhere in the process of putting our Irish twins to bed, I lose my last vestiges of physiological energy and mental fortitude.
ZzZzZzzzzzz…
Yet, here I am, pushing through. I can’t promise absolute flow of prose or that I’ll wax all that eloquent, but something’s going to come from this.
Double Trouble
I’ve written previously about how we CHOSE this life. Have the babies as close together as we could. Built-in best friends. All those major stages: diapers, potty-training, yada yada yada… You get through them in relatively short order as opposed to finishing with one just in time to start all over again when the next baby comes around.
Theoretically.
While all of that may theoretically be true, something else is also true about having Irish twins. Difficult stages can last twice as long. You’ve got the older one who should be edging out of a phase, but then the youngest hits it and regresses the older sibling back down into it. Now you’ve got TWO little geysers running around spewing water and drool pools all over your house…
TWO little shrieksters facing off with a lung-capacity contest. Full-on, no-holds-barred competition to see who can shatter all of the windows (and eardrums) in the house first.
Double the snacks, somehow quadruple the mess, and negative infinity the energy…
Gotta love these feckin’ Irish twins.
These Are the Days of Our Lives
My Bullet Journal (BuJo, for short) is quickly becoming an anthology of chaos. Bullet points documenting the unhampered, primal clawing at survival during the day to day…
Captain’s Log, Star date 2024:
January 19th- During an errand run to Walmart with the babies after our library visit, Orson and Nova entered into an earth-shattering screech fest. Once I deescalated the situation, an elderly woman approached, asked if she could scream with them… And then proceeded to. I love that woman and aspire to be her.
January 23rd- Nathan enters Nova’s bedroom to get her up from naptime and is greeted by the word, “Messy…”. Upon closer examination, to his horror, he realizes that she had reached into her diaper and smeared shit across her face like battle paint. “Messy” indeed.
January 24th- Orson threw himself out of his crib at 2:20 AM. We woke to screams from his bedroom, “Open door! Open door!” He was fine, still half asleep. Our adrenaline, on the other hand, was surging.
January 24th (cont.)- Disciplining Orson for throwing hard things after our evening walk. While addressing his behavior, Nova capitalizes on the opportunity to immediately start pooling drool on our coffee table. Any excuse to get a towel and sing the “meen-muck” song. (Roughly translated: “clean-up” song).
Of course, that’s not nearly the end of the recent collection of adventures. It goes on, and will continue to go on. The nap strikes we’re back on from Nova. Peeking at Orson on the monitor to notice he’s removed and thrown his soggy naptime pull-up out of his bed and gone back to sleep…
However, for all of the multiplied mayhem and pandemonium that our Irish twins cause, I make sure I’ve documented as much of the sweet cherished moments that I can.
The Bold and the Beautiful Irish Twins
Yes, they feed off of each other in the worst ways. The screams… Tantamount to bamboo under the nailbeds, I’m sure. The screechiest, torturous, nails-down-a-chalkboard misophonic trigger I could ever imagine. I see their bodies LITERALLY tremble trying to eek out every last ounce of treble vocal strength…
The way Orson will dribble spit down his chin right before he tries to give me a kiss. Yeah, Mama’s gonna pass. Please stop spitting. Nova hiding in the playroom to soak the upholstered toy bench with drooly spit water… STAHP SPITTING!!!
Trudging through the “Mine!” fields. Preventing daily attempts at sibling battery when toddler tensions get too heated. There’s plenty evidence to dissuade anyone from making the same decision we did to have Irish twins.
HOWEVER…
I have documented proof of satisfying dividends yielded by this Irish twins investment. Small things, little interactions that just compound and fill our hearts with joy.
Nathan and I frequently catch ourselves sharing glances when we witness a wholesome interaction. You know the look… The “AwWwWww… We MADE them!” melty, soft glance that SLIGHTLY smooths the rough edges of the hellish day. Little mental snapshots…
When one of them coughs, the other reflexively jumps at the chance to offer sympathy. “Okay, Orson?” “Yeah, I ate a pancake.”
When Nova sneezes. “God bless you, Nova” is Orson’s immediate reply.
When Orson, instead of selfishly possessing a toy, he sees Nova’s interest and shares of his own volition. During our preschool activities, like color-sorting apples, he’ll graciously hand one to Nova and patiently direct her where it belongs.
Neighborhood walks take FOREVER… Because our Irish twins constantly want to stop to hug each other or show each other some new discovery.
And with every witnessed, wholesome, minute, isolated exchange of love and concern between our Irish twins, we’re getting that sweet ROI. In so many ways…
Irish Twins: The Gifts that Keep Giving
Most days, raising Irish twins, it feels unsustainable. The fatigue and mental drain. The overstimulation from sunup to sundown. The perpetual limbos of extended phases and neurotypical toddler intransigence.
The ad nauseum comment from strangers passing by while out running errands: “Aww, looks like you’ve got your hands full”. Yup, sho do. Thanks for noticin’. (Psst, this also frequently happens when my Irish twins are being perfectly well-behaved. You can just tell me they’re cute, y’know.)
But then I witness the majesty that is their blossoming friendship. The kisses, the hugs, the sharing, the giggling, the laughter, the love. I see so much of their interpersonal behavior and dialogue reflecting what Nathan and I have modeled for them. The gentle, but persistent, sometimes authoritative, reminders of manners and kindness… They are paying off.
The worst days are undoubtedly the ones in which you feel like you’re spinning your wheels, exhausting yourself past any capacity to recuperate, and you feel as though all the effort is wasted. We’re screwing this up.
We’re failures as parents.
We spiral and bitch and moan and beat ourselves up. Which, really, just wastes more energy. But then we see it. The ROI. The pay-off. Glimpses that we are actually doing some things right.
And we see all of the ways that our Irish twins are different. The massive contrasts in their personalities. In some ways, that makes things even more challenging. Can’t just have one standard, blanket response to any given scenario (as though you can even do that with one toddler, much less Irish twins). You’ve gotta perform this constant balancing act.
But we also get the absolute best of both worlds! Nova is the brazen, aggressive, extroverted, party-animal princess; Orson is subdued, sensitive, affectionate, hesitant, introverted, and thoughtful. It’s exhausting, but enriching, growing and nurturing these distinct, altogether unique souls in our care.
To think of all we’d miss. How painfully incomplete our family would be without each of them… I shudder to think.
Irish twins aren’t for the faint of heart. The young and the restless Irish twins, Orson and Nova, definitely keep us restless and our energy tanks empty. But our hearts are always full.