Dear The Dad,
I have nearly-three-year-old twins, and am growing frustrated with the comment, “Oh, it must be so great to have twins, since they play together!” It is great that my daughters love one another, and yes, they do play together, but no, that does not mean that having two children is way easier than having one (which is often implied or actually said directly). I often launch into a rather long-winded explanation about how, no, two is not easier than one, but find my explanations usually only convince people that I’m a big whiner. Any suggestions on pithy responses, or am I doomed to smile and nod?
Look them in the eye and say, "Well, it's not like the second one is a fucking Au Pair."
The "play together" comment is a frequent one, and, as someone who had a single child for about four years before my twins came, I can totally understand it. Imagine this: A singleton parent is in the kitchen, cooking dinner. The singleton child wants attention, so the child spends the entire time trying to climb the parent's leg, making a sound reminiscent of a bagpipe being shoved down a cat's throat. Sound familiar? Of course it does. But then one day, right around dinner-cooking time, the singleton child has a playdate, and all of the sudden, viola! the child and her friend are off in another room, playing happily, and for the first time that the parent can remember, cooking dinner does not necessitate a bottle of wine and half an Oxycodone. That is the image that singleton parents have when they tell you how great twins must be.
Of course, what they don't realize is that for us, that magical second child, the one that is supposed to steal our child's interest away from us, is still our child. For our twins, this is not a playdate, they are not happy to be there, and they are not excited about all the toys they see, and therefore, the second child spends all of our cooking time clamoring for our attention just like the first one does, but even more so, because now it's a competition.
But now I, too, sound like a big whiner. Oh well, maybe a smile and a nod are the best way to go. But make sure you add, "Oh yes! And their poop smells like sunshine!"
Dear the Dad,
I am a stay at home mom with year-old twins. This is the most fun, easiest job I have ever had and the idea of returning to a cubicle when they go to kindergarten already fills me with dread. What steps can I take now (and don't even think about suggesting that I have another baby) to find some kind of money making opportunity so I don't have to go back to cubicle hell.
You could always try drawing robots on the Internet. There's got to be good money in that. But if that doesn't pan out, might I suggest removing the spam filter off your email. Lots of delightful job offers to be had there.
Dear The Dad,
Yesterday, I called the Poison Control Hotline number when my son tried to eat a drinking bird because I had no idea what the red liquid contains other than crazy amounts of permanent dye. Turns out that it's non-toxic; it's just the broken glass he chewed that we have to worry about now. Trent is 21 months old. So, I'm wondering when you first called Poison Control and what the kid had eaten when you did?
Oh, my. Chewing broken glass can't be good. I hope everything turned out okay. Believe it or not, I've never called poison control for something my kids ate. Once, however, my wife brought home from a spa party (spa party?) a goodie bag full of homemade, cookie-sized fizzing bath cakes which I, not my children, saw fit to snack on the next day. I didn't call poison control, but I did call my wife at work, spewing out both obscenities and aromatic foam all over the phone.
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