Summer loving

We pull up to a collection of picturesque villas, nestled in amongst the olive trees. We're relieved to have survived the hair-raising taxi journey over the Cretan mountains, eyes squeezed shut as our driver took swigs from a can of lager mounted to his dashboard while negotiating the hairpin turns on the narrow road. My brother and I heave our heavy suitcases out of the boot and Mum and Dad sort out the keys to the villa.

We're getting our stuff together when a friendly guy, about my parents' age, with a charming Northern accent pops out of the adjacent villas and invites us over for a welcome drink. Being the sociable types we are (and we're from Croydon so we don't turn down a free drink), we gratefully accept his offer, dump our bags, and head on over. When we arrive we're introduced to the family - his lovely wife, two sons (one around my age, one younger), his daughter and her boyfriend.

Now I'm eighteen, so obviously the older son and I don't really communicate, but I definitely notice him in his battered New York Yankees baseball cap. The whole family have brilliant Geordie accents and seem like a good laugh. This family holiday (a last resort after I failed to get myself organised to do anything else) is actually looking up.

It's a few days later and the holiday's going well. I'm spending most of my time swanning around in a bikini and sarong, pretending to be oblivious to the admiring looks I believe I may be receiving from Boy Next Door. We've exchanged a few words now, sat outside having a nightcap with the others before bed. There's definitely chemistry. I blush when our eyes meet, though luckily the sunburn tan doesn't make it too obvious. One evening, after the parents have retired to bed, boy next door, his little brother, my little brother and I all decide to head down to the beach to have a paddle.

Little did we know... (August 1998)

The little brothers are at an age where they are incapabe of making conversation so after the paddle, they leave Boy Next Door and I chatting and go off to skim stones. Eventually they bore of this activity and decide to head back to their respective villas. Boy Next Door and I are alone at last. We talk and talk (and paddle) and talk until the sun starts to come up. Nothing's happened, so on the walk back to the villas I feign a stumble and he grabs my hand to steady me. And he doesn't let go. At the top of the path we stop to marvel at the beautiful starry sky and finally share our first kiss.

The next day I decline my parents' offer of a daytrip to the other side of the island and spend the day with Boy Next Door. It's the last day of his holiday, while we have another week to go. My family are out for the evening too, so I go for dinner with the Boy Next Door's family - a delicious meal of Greek gyros pittas, and then we split off from the rest to head to a bar for a drink. He buys me a huge tumbler of Baileys on ice, and we watch the world go by.

We take a detour on our walk back to the villas, heading back down to the beach to chat again until dawn.

The next day, Boy Next Door popped round to my villa and we exchanged email addresses before he left. The rest of my holiday dragged, and the second I walked through the door back home in Croydon I rushed upstairs to log onto the family computer to check my emails, fully expecting an empty inbox. But Boy Next Door didn't disappoint.

Eight years later we headed down the aisle. Eleven years after that fateful holiday to Crete, Miss E and Mr A joined us. And all thanks to my now father-in-law for inviting us in for a drink. Cheers Graham!

Mr & Mrs (December 2006)

This post was written for this week's Writing Workshop at Sleep is for the Weak. I chose prompt 1 'Have you ever had a holiday romance?'

Hello? Is anyone out there?

Dear World,

I'm still here. Sorry? You didn't hear me? Let me say it a little louder for you. I'M STILL HERE!

When my babies reached six months, I did not drop off the planet, I did not move to Outer Mongolia, I did not change my telephone number, my email address is the same and the postman still visits my street.

Do I need to apologise for the fact that I dropped off the radar for a while because, you know, I HAVE TWINS, and my life has been turned upside down. Personally, I don't think so. 

What changes at six months? Why the sudden drying up of support and contact? Nothing's changed from where I'm standing. I'm still at home all day looking after two (admittedly gorgeous, but challenging) babies. Sure it's easier, but it's no walk in the park, it's not a holiday, I'm not skipping off into the sunshine without a care in the world. It's still bloody hard work and it would be nice to get a friendly call once in a while to cheer me up. Or get invited out so I can remember who I used to be.

I know, I know. You all have busy lives to lead. Out of sight, out of mind and all that. And I'd probably just bore you with tales of the babes if you did ring, or visit, or email. Because I have no life or interest outside babies, right?

No, really, I don't care. Not one bit. I'm not sitting here feeling sorry for myself. Wondering what I've done to offend you, or if I really am just too boring these days. Oh no I'm not. Well... maybe I am... just a little bit...

Please call, I miss you.

Young Mummy x

P.S. To my lovely friends that read this blog: none of the above is aimed at you, I promise. x

This post is written for this week's Writing Workshop at Sleep is for the Weak. I chose prompt 5: Pick an emotion that best represents your state of mind right now. I'm feeling angry, in case you didn't guess.

Not so blooming marvellous

I was just having a long-overdue clear-up the other day when I came across the handbag I used when I was pregnant. A few of its contents included: 

• 
  
  Empty chewing gum wrappers
• 
  
  Small jewellery box (empty)
• 
  
  A packet of tissues
• 
  
  Parking receipt from the hospital
• 
  
  Boarding pass
• 
  
  Three packets of Rennies
• 
  
  Business card for the local beauty salon
• 
  
  Fan

This seemingly harmless array of bits and pieces got me thinking back to my pregnancy, and how it wasn't the beautiful, soul-enhancing experience I was expecting. A close friend of mine had loved every minute of being pregnant, so I couldn't wait to have my turn to glow and bloom. Maybe if I'd been growing just one baby inside me it would have been different but I felt let down by my pregnancy. I loved my bump, but my love affair with the state of pregnancy ended there.

23 weeks

Let's look at those items again...

Chewing gum wrappers - I suffered from terrible morning sickness 24 hours a day from week six to week 22. Got to week 12, thought, 'hurrah the sickness is over', and then continued to be sick at least once a day for the next ten weeks. When the nausea hit in a big way (most often on the train into work every morning), some chewing gum would keep the sickness under control for the ten minute journey, if I was lucky!

Small jewellery box (empty) - No-one warned me about the constant fear. I spent all 37+2 weeks of my pregnancy with a feeling of terror in the pit of my stomach that it was all going to go horribly wrong. Superstition took over, and I had lucky rituals I couldn't and wouldn't break. This box held my two good luck charms - a small brass bear my dad brought me back from Berlin when I was about ten years old, and a piece of rose quartz a friend gave me when I was trying to get pregnant.

Hospital parking receipt - I seemed to most of my pregnancy at the twin clinic at Lewisham Hospital. On the plus-side it was reassuring to be monitored so closely, on the downside the endless hours on the uncomfortable chairs in the waiting room dragged terribly, and the parking was extortionate. 

Boarding pass - A dream trip to New Zealand was booked before we got pregnant, which we still went on, flying out when I was 14 weeks. 29 hours on a plane with awful morning sickness was not fun, but was worth it to see NZ and my brother. At least I got to be sick somewhere else for a change.

Three packets of Rennies - I had dreadful heartburn and gobbled anything that might help. Typically it was at its worst when I was lying down, so I would struggle to sleep (something I wanted to do almost all the time). I glugged Gaviscon out of the bottle and got through bottles so fast I started getting them on repeat prescription.

Business card for the local beauty salon - So many aches and pains. I took myself off for a few massages while I was pregnant (with non-scented massage oil, as anything smelly made me sick). A pedicure just before I had the babies was just the ticket, as there was no way I could have reached my own toes, and I had to look at them for hours lying in my hospital bed for eight days and nights.

Fan - Being pregnant with twins over the hot summer months made for a rather uncomfortable time. I tried to avoid getting on the Tube as much as possible, and luckily my train journey into the office is relatively speedy, but the fan came in very handy in times of need. It was a great weapon to wield when every miserable commuter on the train was avoiding my eye so as not to have to offer me their seat. A bit of huffing and fan waving piled on enough guilt that someone usually caved eventually.

37+2 weeks

And then there was the insomnia, the constant tiredness, the sore knees and ankles, the uncomfortable feeling of a baby bouncing on your bladder. But of course, the two beautiful babies at the end of it made it worth it. So when you're reading this in a few years time Miss E and Mr A, go and make your lovely mum a cuppa, as she deserves it, don't you think?

This was written for Josie at Sleep Is For The Weak's Writing Workshop. I chose the prompt, 'What eagerly anticipated experience turned out to be a complete and utter let down?'.

There's no 'I' in team...

So, the results of some new research are in, and what a surprise, having twins is hard, financially and emotionally. Jaw-dropping stuff, eh?

"Families of multiple births face significant financial hardship according to a major new study by researchers from the University of Birmingham. 'The Effects of Twins and Multiple Births on Families and Their Living Standards', which is supported by the Twin and Multiple Births Association, found that families with multiple births were more likely to report a drop in their income level following the birth of their children. They were also twice as likely as families of singletons to report ‘quite difficult’ financial stress. The report also found that twins and triplets experienced higher levels of material deprivation, and their families were more likely to separate or divorce." (TAMBA website)

Don't worry, this isn't going to be a woe-is-me post about how awful it is to have twins. In fact, the stats about divorce got me thinking about my own marriage, and how, if anything, it feels stronger since the arrival of Miss E and Mr A. Because we were expecting twins, Young Daddy took advantage of a scheme offered by his work to take seven weeks (unpaid) leave, on top of his two weeks paternity leave. So we muddled through those early weeks together. Yes, it was a massive struggle financially, but getting to know our new babies together was priceless.

Young Daddy has really stepped up to the plate and has been the best running mate I could have ever asked for. Unlike many other fathers I see, he is totally hands-on and dives straight into the fray the second he walks in from work. We are a team, and rather than drive us apart, having twins has bound us together in a way that I'm not sure a single baby would have done. He has helped to feed them from the start (if he could breastfeed I'm sure he would!), he has always taken his turn getting up in the night, he isn't afraid of a dirty nappy (or two), and more recently, he's been making purees and planning the next meal for the babies. We speak countless times a day, making a myriad of decisions as one. Should I wake the babies now from their nap or leave them a little longer? Is there time for us to go for a walk before the next feed's due? How cold is it outside - do the babies need woolly hats on?

One of my favourite times together is the dream feed at 10.30pm. We used to take turns doing this, with the other person on call for getting up to feed in the night, but since the babies have been sleeping through, we've started doing the dream feed together. We creep into the nursery and take a moment to watch our son and daughter sleeping, Mr A usually with his muslin clasped tightly in his hands and held up to his face, and Miss E with her arms out in sleeping surrender.

We each gently lift a warm and floppy baby to our shoulder and carry them through to the playroom, taking our well-worn places on the sofa. Into their mouths go the bottles, and the dimly lit room is peaceful apart from their sucking and breathing. Every night, Young Daddy and I will look up at each other and can't help but exchange a smile, sharing without words the overwhelming love we feel for these little people. It's true that our life together has changed beyond all recognition in the last six months, but I wouldn't swap these moments for anything.

This post was written in response to Josie at Sleep is for the Weak's prompt, 'tell us about something you do really well and are proud of', for this week's Writing Workshop.

A letter of apology

The Young Household

South East London

25th February 2010

To My Dear Forgotten Friends,

Oh my darling bed, how happy we were when you were delivered the day after we moved in. You were our treat, our luxury purchase, and how worth it you have proved yourself to be. I still relish the time we spend together, but those moments are too fleeting, gone in the blink of an eye. But you are loyal, and I know you will be waiting patiently for us to return to you.

It pains me that, until last week, I didn't even know where you were hiding, dear hoover. When I found you, cowering in the depths of the understairs cupboard, buried by things thrown in to make the house appear tidy when visitors have been expected, I was ashamed. It has been so long! You have been silently waiting to come out and sing again, and sing again you shall.

We used to be inseparable, my dearest hairbrush. You were always with me, always happy to primp and preen. I have no excuses, I have let you down. I promise to be there for you more often from now on.

You are the love of my life, my beloved collection of chunky necklaces, bracelets and statement earrings. Your talent is unrivalled, and the skill with which you transform a boring outfit is something I cherish. Our separation has pained me deeply, and I feel your absence every day. It's a sad truth that you and the babies are not compatible right now, but I hope the time will soon come when we will be reunited.

And lastly, let me not forget you, faithful filing cabinet. You and I are great comrades in the common goal of organisation and tidiness. You have always shown understanding and support for my obsession with organisation, and you must be left confused by the way I have turned my back on you. I have starved you of important documents, and new filing systems. You would be sickened if you could see the state of the paperwork downstairs. I beg your forgiveness and will try to reconnect with my inner-Monica and feed you soon.

You are all important to me, and although I have taken you for granted, please don't give up on me. Our relationships are worth more than that, and we can survive these challenging times, of that I am sure.

Yours lovingly,

Young Mummy

x

I've been watching Josie from Sleep is For The Weak's Writing Workshops from the sidelines for a while, and this post is written in response to her latest prompts. Looking forward to next week already!