So, picture this: it's a weekday morning in the Baby Squared household. I am upstairs getting ready for work, trying to find pants that won't fall off my flat-and-deflated-by-nursing-ass* and a top that will fit over my inflated-by-nursing boobs** that actually somewhat go together. Alastair, meanwhile, is downstairs in the kitchen making coffee and doing last night's dinner dishes, listening to NPR. Elsa and Clio play contentedly nearby, stacking mega legos and eating Cheerios and trying to crawl into the dishwasher. They are happy. They are calm. When I approach, they smile at me. "Hello, mommy," they seem to say. "Welcome to the kitchen of domestic bliss! We're so glad you're here. And how lovely you look! Come, nourish yourself, and bask in the light of our smiles before you head off to your daily toil!"
Now, picture this: It's five minutes later. Alastair is sitting at one end of the kitchen table with a bowl of cereal and a cup of coffee, scoffing at the Muzzy brochure I've forced him to read, cracking wise: "Oh, big deal, your kid can count to ten in French. You need a $300 set of DVDs to teach her that?"
Meanwhile, I'm on the other side of the table, trying to eat my breakfast while two small babies are grabbing onto my legs and/or lifting their hands to be picked up and whimpering pitifully, tears and all. So, I pick up one baby and put her on my lap for a little while, at the same time trying to talk to the other baby, eat my cereal left-handed, and move aside objects that the baby on my lap is trying to grab (coffee, cereal bowl, a New Yorker from last June, etc.) Then, when that baby seems content, I put her down and pick up the other one, which causes the recently dumped baby to start whimpering again, of course. After a few more minutes of this, I try to get them both to stand and look out the window at the snow and the birdies -- something they occasionally seem to enjoy -- which works for about 12 seconds (1.5 bites of cereal) until they're both clinging and whining to be picked up again. And occasionally bumping their heads on the kitchen table, which is exactly as tall as they are, which gets them even more upset and more in need of mama love.
Alastair (who, meanwhile, has managed to eat his breakfast, refill his coffee and read an entire thirty-seven-thousand-page article on Eliot Spitzer in his New Yorker ) looks up at me, smirks, and says "Ha ha."
See, they don't do this to him. And when I'm around, they (usually) won't settle for him as a substitute. This new cling-fest is almost completely mommy-focused. It doesn't just happen in the mornings, either. When I'm alone with the girls for any stretch of time lately it's "Pick me up! Pick me up! Hold me! Love me!" On the one hand, it's quite sweet and flattering. On the other hand, it means that I have to focus my full attention on them all the time. No more playing for a little while, then puttering a little -- doing dishes, checking email, etc -- while they play on their own or together, then playing with one baby, then the other, then puttering a little more. No sirree bob. The past few days, it's been all about them, them, them. I mean, what the hell? It's like they think they're the center of the universe or something!
It would be easier to deal with if it were just one baby. But they seem to set each other off. When Clio gets clingy, Elsa seems to think: Hey! I've got needs, you know! and she starts in, too. It's a logistical impossibility. Picking them both up at the same time, while do-able, is not easy, and is arguably dangerous. (Hercules, the legs! Lift with the legs!)
I can fit both of them on my lap at once, when sitting on the floor, but just barely. In a chair -- like at breakfast -- forget it. And Clio often won't settle for mere lap-sitting, or sitting in front of me on the floor. Her big thing right now is being picked up and carried around so she can point at various objects and say "da."
I don't always give in to the girls' pleas to be up in my lap or arms. Otherwise, I'd be holding a baby all the time. And while I know that in some cultures this is the norm....well, it ain't my culture. (And again -- two babies.) Sometimes after a little bit of kvetching, they end up being fine just playing with me or with each other. But other times a.) it's just easier to give in, or b.) it's so sweet I can't help myself, dammit. Because, after all, there will come a time when they'll be embarrassed even to be seen driving in the same car with me, right? So, how bad can it be to be desperately wanted by them now? Not that bad, I guess. Just a wee bit tiring.
*This is not a good thing, I assure you.
**This most certainly is
