Don't quit your day job.

Mornings are my favourite time. Coconut and Snort make clucking and whimpering noises, respectively, and I lift them out of their crib. We move into the lounge, where each baby goes into a bouncer. I sit on a beanbag in front of them and talk, sing, tickle, boop their noses. I am rewarded with at least thirty minutes of smiling, laughing, wiggling before they want to eat. They are the ultimate receptive audience.

Snort particularly likes (and Coconut doesn’t mind, either!) a song I used to sing when I worked at camp. It goes a little something like this:

Ding ding ding ding ding

Here comes my wagon, my wagon,

I think I hear my keeper calling meeeeeeeeee.

Ding ding ding ding ding

Here comes my wagon, my wagon,

To take me to the funny factory.

(You want the rest of the lyrics, you just let me know.)

But somehow this morning, whether I was singing that song, or even just giving them a rambling monologue about bottle preparation, I kept drifting off into some sort of trance state. That’s all I can describe it as, because whenever I snapped back into reality, I was singing that good old Venga Boys song. You know, the one that was my favourite when I went to the gay club with OGS every Thursday night. The one with the big honking horn in it.

Yes, that’s right: We like to party. We like, we like to party. The venga bus is coming, blah blah blah blah blah BLAH blah. When I say I kept singing this song, I mean for like an hour or two. I would consciously change songs or start talking again, and then the fucking Venga Boys would sneak up on me, climb into my ears, and come out of my mouth. At top volume.

I don’t get it.

While feeding Coconut, I decided to combat this problem (’problem’?) by pretending I was a songwriter for the Disney Channel. You know, earnest and heartwrenching songs aimed at the core 8-12 year old audience who believe in true love, et all. The result was quite stirring, if I do say so myself.

You…are looking at me…

Looking at you.

You don’t seem to know what to do.

I….am looking at you….

Looking at me.

Feeling this was…meant to be.

I know, I know. Close your mouths, because your jaws have no doubt dropped to the floor in amazement at my mad songwriting skillz. I only wish you could hear the melody.

My kettle boiling skillz, though. What the fuck. In baby bottle land, you need to boil a kettle with fresh water, let it sit 15 minutes, and then decant it into bottles. I have boiled that fucker three times while writing this, because I can’t manage to take note when it stops boiling – and then set an alark clock for fifteen minutes time – BECAUSE I WOULD NEVER REMEMBER I HAD BOILED IT.

Perhaps I should write a song about this.

For now, I decided I would give Coconut and Snort some twin time. You know, there is tummy time, talk to them time, feed them time, change their nappies time. Why not a time when they can play next to each other? I think they are being raised quite singleton-ish-ly, though no doubt being twins is already influencing their behaviour and development.

All I know is that I spread out a Hello Kitty blanket on the floor, plopped them both on it (Snort is making himself miserable in his attempts to roll over, so I figured throwing him on the floor would help. You know, because rolling out of a bouncy chair probably wouldn’t be the best start to your Move By Yourself career.)

Coconut actually turned her head and looked at Snort. For a good long while.

They are becoming more and more aware of each other – this is a key difference between singletons and twins. Rumour has it within the next few months they will be entertaining each other for hours on end, staring at each other and giggling. So I’m fostering that with Twin Time, because it is so easy to not have them together you wouldn’t believe it.

I am so, so, so lucky. My little/big babies are healthy, happy, gorgeous.

They may be starting to ’set each other off’ (in previous weeks one could repeatedly punch the other while screaming at the decibel level of a rock concert and the other one would sleep through it), but those few times Snort starts crying because Coconut is poking him when he’s trying to sleep? Totally worth them becoming more and more aware not just of myself and TMD, but of each other. It’s miraculous, and I don’t care if it has happened for centuries with every set of twins.

Just because something seems ‘everyday’ doesn’t mean it isn’t spectacular.