Holy double trouble Batman!

Whoa! Even over achiever, Type A personality, enough energy for a village GirlFriday could not have predicted just how time intensive these two tykes would be. They were 6 weeks on Sunday and I only just feel like I am coming up for air. I actually write a to do list each day on the bottom of their feeding schedule and the first item on the list is shower. One day I forgot to write it and I kid you not, I went to bed a dirty girl (and not the fun kind of dirty girl). That said, they are brilliant and I am totally loving being a mum. Six weeks into my new job, here is my list of the top things that were a shocker to me.

• I am not even going to discuss the birth experience. I will tell you a funny story though. I had a yoga instructor when I was knocked up who didn't like the term labour. She thought it made the "joy of birthing" sound like a job. Her philosophy was that it only hurt if you let it hurt and that pain was a choice. When I was ready to leave hospital after my "joy of birthing" experience the Dr reminded me that it's very easy to get pregnant right after you have given birth and enquired what type of contraception I was thinking about. The kind where no one comes within 6 feet of me for the next 18 years unless they have 3 layers of clothing on? Does that kind count? She wasn't amused. Neither was I to be honest as she clearly hadn't experienced the joy of birth.
• Speaking of the birth and never ever having sex again, I can also never ever leave CB. The things he has seen. Nough said.
• Two really is twice the work. I am told (and do have faith) that it gets a bit easier when they are old enough to entertain each other. Right now they throw up on each other and wake each other up, so there's that.
• Sleep deprivation is a legitimate form of torture. I was so sleep deprived one day a few weeks ago that when talking with a friend about our partners, I referred to mine by the name of hers. She hasn't spoken to me since and I suspect she thinks her husband and I were having a torrid affair.
• We applaud infants for doing things that we will most definitely scold them for when they are teenagers. Farting, burping and pooping not to mention sleeping for 5 hours straight in the middle of the day are all accomplishments for baby.
• I can eat any man woman or child under the table right now and I can do it one handed in 30 seconds. I am feeding 3 people at the moment and I feel like I am feeding 5.
• Its taken me 7 days to write this post. I rarely have 10 minutes straight that aren't interrupted. When I do, I often nod off. I fell asleep while talking on the phone the other day. True story.

I promise not to be a stranger now that things are falling into place a little, but posts will definitely be less frequent then before. Until next time.....

About Face

I am rethinking the whole, trying not to blog about the twins thing. One blogger who I read regularly is randomly knocked up with twins as well. We were emailing earlier this week and I realised in writing to her that it may be fairly silly of me to think that I can go on talking about the same things I did before. They aren't even here yet and my life is already radically different. I, for example, no longer have the use of the left side of my brain. It's a good thing I stopped working when I did because I stopped being able to process logical thoughts and important information about a month ago. I am like my grandmother was before she died, only trouble is, she was 103. Tell me something and there is a very good chance I will forget it within the hour. Damn good thing I am organised I would never remember where I was supposed to be or when. I have to do things right when I think of them or I completely forget. I had a call from a friend yesterday who is restructuring his company. He was looking for consult on branding and media exposure. I managed to have an intelligent conversation with him for a whole 40 minutes before I had to pee and completely lost track of what we were talking about. I also get tired doing really simple things, like getting dressed. It's way more fun then you can imagine. Also as I haven't gained any non baby/boob weight in being pregnant (as in my pre prego stuff fits me if it comes under my bump or is long enough. No hip, butt, thigh or arm expansion), so my brain has somehow decided the last 2 weeks will be spent eating chocolate. 3 days in a row I had chocolate before noon, one day it was even before breakfast. We aren't talking a muffin or a pain au chocolate...I am talking about a piece of Lindt or a bar of Green and Blacks.

That's all from the front lines. Still deciding how much I should blog about this kind of thing and how much I should just try and stay GF BB (Before Babies).

How the Other Half Live

I have officially been on leave for 2 weeks now and here is what I can tell you about what happens when the rest of us are at work.

• The whole ladies who lunch thing is not a farce, although in these troubled economic times it seems to be more ladies who latte
• A lot of kids who should be in school aren't, do you know where your teenager is?
• Shop keeps are much nicer during the day, especially at the begining of the week
• Life moves at a slower pace during the day, except of course between 12-2 when "working people" are speeding things up by trying to have lunch
• Many more nannies, stay at home dads and stay at home mums are having affairs with the butcher/milk man/post man then you would think (and no I am not kidding)
• Starbucks/Cafe Nero/Your local cafe are always always busy...no matter what time of day

The first day of the rest of my life?

Bit of an exaggeration, I admit. But today is my last day of work before I take a year off to be a lady of leisure until the babes are born and then a mum. It does sort of suck that the first go I get at being one of those women who prances around midday without a care in the world except who has the best latte is overshadowed by more of a waddle then a prance and the need to refrain from champagne with lunch. Oh well, beggars can't be choosers. So I fretted loads a few months ago when CB and I sat down to negotiate what my year off would mean to us (financially, where we would live, would I FINALLY apply for my permanent citizenship in the UK and get my Drivers License here etc). I realised during that discussion that I have worked since I was 13. Without revealing my erm youth, let's say that means 20+ years. I have been in my chosen career field for over 10 years and stopped calling it a job about 7 years ago. So you see, it's a hard concept for me to get my head around, this whole no pay packet at the end of the month thing. Don't get me wrong, I know I will be working. I know that taking care of twins will be the most difficult job I have ever done, but I won't be putting on a suit, commuting into an office and playing peace negotiator in the name of a corporate multinational to multiple countries who can't get along. Now it will be playing peace negotiator to little rascals who spit on each other. Not too different then I suppose, just sans the suit and the commute. In any case, after months of fretting over how I would handle this new role and if I would feel like I was walking away from my career permanently (even though it's just a year) the day of reckoning has come. How do I feel? Not nearly as scared as I was 3 months ago and actually very optimistic about the things I can learn about me and take back to my role in the world of Business.

I wonder if I will eat my words in 10 months time when washing my hair and putting normal clothes on all seems like a luxury? Or perhaps I will be one of those women who just makes it look so easy and always seems to be able to pull it together even when the kids are running around like feral animals. The best I think I can hope for is something in between and a whole lot of champagne with lunch when I do escape from the house.

Open Letter to Fat Cow

Dear Fat Cow in Ealing Broadway Tube Station Monday Morning,

Let me begin by saying that normally I don't call people fat, because I don't think it's very nice. I also happen to think fat is far more about attitude then actual weight. I for instance, carrying two very large babies on a very small frame, might not be in a position to call anyone fat with reference to their weight. I do feel justified in calling you fat though as you are an awful and despicable human being. In case you have forgotten, which I am sure you have as it was likely far more traumatic for me then you, let me recap your Monday morning folly for you.

You-Walking down the wrong side of the staircase in a very busy tube station at about 7:30 Monday morning. Me-walking up the correct side of said staircase at the same time.

Now call me selfish, but unless you are 9 months pregnant with the two babies who are very big and you happened to be very petite (5 ft and change) I am guessing you don't know how much effort it takes to get out of bed and make yourself look presentable in the morning for work, much less to walk up a staircase. That handrail, you see, is my best friend. That handrail keeps me from toppling backwards down the stairs and into the person shoving me from behind. I realise I am slow, which is why I take extra measures to keep left, lest I hinder the people who are coming down the staircase on the appropriate side.

So when you came down the wrong side of the staircase, pushed me backwards and refused to acknowledge me when I said EXCUSE ME, very loudly, you can understand why I had criminal thoughts. After the person behind me caught me before I fell, I turned around giving you one more chance to at least make eye contact with me and give me an apologetic look. But instead you carried on as if you were the only person in the world and were off to save some one's life. I doubt you are a brain surgeon, so my guess is you were just off to your boring job that you aren't very good at anyway. My guess is that you haven't been laid in about a decade and have very few people in your life who love you. Under normal circumstances I would feel sorry for you, but in my heightened hormonal state of vulnerability, I don't. Instead, I actually considered turning around, grabbing you by the nappy hair and throwing your ass down the stairs. Luckily I am too immobile to do this.

I do have one word for you though. Karma. You'll pay. Oh yes, you will pay,

Signed,
Angry and bitter pregnant woman who shouldn't be in public, much less on a tube

Friday I'm in Love

I went to see Tori Amos last night and absolutely loved the show. Apart from the fact that there was some woman behind us who shouted the most odd thing between each song. Woo Hoo or clapping or even whistling is expected at a gig, but this was animalistic. At each song interval the woman would shout AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH, like when you are young and go to the Dr and they ask you to stick your tongue out and put a stick halfway down your throat. It was so strange, at first we thought she was in pain, or just special. We quickly realised she was neither, but instead was highly annoying.

Anyway, these babies are quite the musical bunch already and seemed to enjoy it a little too much as they danced away until the wee hours this morning (4am to be exact) meaning I got a sum total of 3 hours of sleep and rolled into work 20 minutes late looking like death. I seem to regress to a very American state when I am knackered as evidenced by my exchange with the Costa Coffee person this morning:

ME: Hi. How many shots are in a medium?
Non English Speaking Costa Coffee Person: A medium what?
Me: Whatever, Capp, Latte, whatever.
NESCCP: How many shots in a medium what?
Me: See above
NESCCP: 2
Me: Great, thank you. Can I please have a Medium Soya Latte with one shot of decaf espresso and one shot of regular?*
NESCCP: You vant 2 medium latte, decavvv and veglar?
Me: No. I would like one latte please half regular half decaf.
NESCCP: You vant 2 latte, decavvv and veglar?

Now a queue was forming behind me. Any self respecting English woman would have given up, but in true Yank fashion, I persisted. Finally she did get it and shouted it over to the other Non English Speaker who was making the coffee. I know this is part of the reason people hate Americans. I happily fed the stereotype this morning and I will not apologise.

*I have chosen to give up caffeine whilst I am knocked up. I know it's not everyone's bag, but it was a choice I made. I had to relent this morning as I thought there was no way I could be human and present in the office without something more then adrenaline.

Don't call it a comeback

Particularly if a blogger has the audacity to return only to fall of the face of the earth again. As usual, I could give you a litany of excuses, but I won't. Instead I will say that I am sorry and that I cannot promise it won't happen again. Very well then, onwards and upwards.

Speaking of comebacks, I have a theory. I think that soon(ish) people will tire of electronic forms of relationship building and social interaction and will return to a more primitive state of communicating. Not like carving on cave walls or anything but more 1:1 interaction, more coffee dates/pints at the pub/walks in the park. This coming from the IT PR Gal. No doubt I am dooming myself to a life of unemployment. Seriously though, how many random friend requests on Facebook from a bloke in Tajikistan can one girl take? And if they come up with any more emoticons for IM, I might vom. And Twitter, what does that even mean that I have 350 followers? Can I get a restraining order on some of them? Back in the days of my dalliances in Internet dating I realised rather quickly that I was meant to be born in like 1950 (although as CB says, I wouldn't have done very well as I don't listen to anyone who tries to tell me what to do).I just have such a hard time understanding how to connect with someone I have never met, am fairly suspect of from the outset and am secretly worried may maim and pillage me in my sleep just based on the first 2 bits of my post code and a pseudonym I have creatively made up.

Deep thoughts for a Tuesday huh? Don't say I never gave you anything,

Another Manic Monday

Apparently my whinge last week about being up at the crack to have pointless discussions with the Middle East fell on deaf ears, well la de da! So here we are arrived at another Monday. I am still not sure why time moves faster when we are older. Is it because we are busier? Because each day is a smaller portion of our life then it was when were 5? Who knows, but the fact is, I still can't believe it's the middle of August, so imagine my surprise every week when I wake up and it's Monday again.

The weekend held lots of funness, which is fortunate for us as we are trying to cram as much fun as possible into the coming weeks before our concept of fun= 10 pooey nappies instead of 15. We succumbed to social pressure (the kind that tells you if you don't do this and your kids are messed up IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT) to attend "expensive ante natal course" which took up all of Friday and all of Sat. Useful but also very time consuming. So Saturday night, armed with the knowledge that we would at least knowingly being screwing up our first born(s) if we chose to, we headed off to the U2 show at Wembley. Great show and I have to say CB and I went in with low expectations. They were really really good and as their new album hasn't been out long they made the wise choice to play lots of old stuff. My decision to attend was questioned by strangers no fewer then 4 times from the tube to the show, but I assured them that if I did give birth there and then, I would at least consider naming the children after them. 10 more weeks I have of explaining to people that they are not in danger of having to deliver a baby as I am nowhere near my due date. If anyone has good suggestions for how to politely (or sarcastically) tell people to mind their own business, I would happily take them. Sunday we had friends round for lunch which was lovely. The weather was great, but it would be really nice if the MET could get the forecast right just once this summer. It wasn't supposed to be nice Sunday, so we planned a cosy lunch in. Had we known we would have been on the river enjoying the sun (or eclipsing it in my case) with some Pimms. Ho Hum, I am never happy am I? I was happy, however, to see Jessica Ennis as the first Brit female to win Heptathlon Gold last night. God Save the Queen.

Wake Up Call

It's 6:15, I have been up since 5:15 for a 6:00 meeting. The team I am meeting with in the Middle East is still faffing about on the other end of the line trying to get everyone in order. Also they are all complaining about how it's early (9:15/10:15 where they are) I have to say this is not the best way to start a Tuesday. Typical but far from ideal.

In other news, I had a visitor over the weekend from Amsterdam. Pretty funny when someone comes to London to "chill out." I can't think of many other cities that someone would feel London was chilled in comparison to. But hey ho, the Dutch are crazy, in the best way possible. She's a friend I met travelling in Indonesia last year. It was interesting to see each other in clothes (I spent the majority of my time in Indo in a bathing suit and kaftan) and more normal life. We had a great time, but I also realised I am not the hostess with the mostest right now. I can go out to the pub, but who wants to sit with someone who is tee totalling all night while you get more and more lit? I dragged CB along and that helped, but still. So Sat we tried shopping. Again, shopping with someone who really isn't buying anything given they are like a balloon that doesn't stop filling with air on a daily basis, not so fun. Shoes, you may say, are still an option. Alas, I have been warned that my feet will not be the same size once this is all said and done. So that leaves eating. THAT I can do, but one out of three isn't such good odds is it? Thus moving forward, visitors are going to be kept to those who come to help. Sounds harsh, but it's really in everyone's best interest. I still have about 10 more weeks of this whole rapid expansion project and I am already struggling to reach the taps in the kitchen. Talk about a wake up call.

Stuck in the middle with you

It's Tuesday, but it feels like Wednesday. The idea that the week isn't even half way done is dreadful. I live for weekends these days. Weekends mean sleep and sleep is like heroine to me right now, I would do anything to grab even the quickest of naps. The other day, with no shame I shut my eyes on the tube, lay my head on CB's shoulder and snoozed for about 10 minutes. I used to only be able to accomplish that when there were copious amounts of alcohol involved. I usually missed my stop and ended up somewhere unintended and unsavoury as well, but those are stories from yesteryear. Now sleep is like a compulsion. In my office the bean counters sit all around us flacks (didn't someone tell HR that PR and Finance are like Russia and Georgia?) which is funny at the best of times and shocking at the worst. I announced today when I came in that if I start falling asleep at my desk, it would mean a lot if they could put some music on and throw a pashmina over me instead of telling people I had a drinking problem. They kindly agreed. In any case, I am going to be very English and blame it on the weather. But seriously? What is with this overcast cold drizzly August. I am so over it. It feels like we are in between season...winter and winterer.