Dear Baby Girls

It’s 3am and I’m plodding down the hallway answering the call of a crying child. I comfort her and get her back to
sleep and thankfully the twin doesn’t wake during the process. I shuffle back to my own bed like a zombie and collapse on the bed.

As I try to get back to sleep I can’t help but wonder “haven’t I already done this dance before?” Didn’t we already get through the sleep problem stage? But of course, this time their interrupted sleep is from a cough and although it’s not their fault, it’s as if we’re back to them being infants and Daddy being awoken every half hour or so. Sleep-deprivation is not a welcome flashback or happy memory.

But it made me think (a week later when I was actually vaguely conscious again) that this parenting gig is a bit misleading. It’s supposed to get easier as we go, isn’t it?

We all know that signing up for babies includes night time feeds, crying and sleep deprivation early on. But they grow out of that right? Well, yes, but you can’t foresee the unexpected such as sickness. And it never really stops.

Secondly, I’ve noticed it doesn’t actually get easier. Things don’t really get better, they just change. For example, when they’re young and you can’t work out why they’re crying non-stop you wish they could talk so they could tell you.

Then, in a perfect be-careful-what-you-wish-for moment, they learn to talk. And talk back. And they talk non-stop. And you sometimes wish they’d just be quiet.

When you’re housebound with babies that can’t move themselves, you wish they’d start crawling. Then you blink and they’re running in different directions and you can’t keep up and you’re thinking about leashes and longing for the days they couldn’t get out of the lounge room under their own steam.

In fact, just about every time I’ve started to relax into a routine, the twins have changed and once again I’m chasing the game.

I could go on and on but it boils down to them having phases. They grow, they change and we adapt (in theory). But man it just makes things harder, doesn’t it?

I asked my parents about when it started getting easier and they could start living their lives again and they replied “Well, you’re still asking me questions this minute, aren’t you?”

They’re very funny my Mum and Dad. But they’re also wonderful. They’ve stuck by me through thick and thin. They’ve loved me unconditionally even when I was being troublesome. They’re STILL putting up with me and their non-stop support has made the person I am today. And I’m someone who loves being a parent.

I know it’s easy to focus on the tantrums and frustrations but for every twin-fight there’s at least two cuddles. There are nose rubs, impromptu dances, made-up songs and surprise pounces. I delight in the wonder in their eyes and the curiosity of their minds. Sharing new experiences with them and showing them the world is simply incredible.

So, while I have bleary eyes rather than answers, I’m trying to remember the bigger picture. They’ll keep growing and becoming even more independent. And there’ll come a time when they don’t want their Dad in their lives every minute, so perhaps I should be careful what I wish for.

I’ve never been so scared in my life.

And let me put that in perspective. I’ve been shot at, had a knife held at my throat by someone who wanted me dead and been in riots. I’ve jumped out of planes, off towers and into misadventure frequently. I’ve often chased my curiosity passed the point most would. But never have I ever felt as sick to the stomach as the moment I couldn’t find one of my children.

We were on a cruise liner on holidays. Twin A broke right, Twin B broke left. I chased the quicker one but the other had rounded a corner by the time I swooped up the first. I wasn’t concerned at this point, just irritated by their behaviour of the previous hour and this seemingly co-ordinated escape plan.

I set off down the corridor, but no Gypsy. Rounding corner number three, still no sign, so I picked up the pace. Around the fourth corner and about to complete a rectangular journey, I stopped cold. There in the middle of the corridor was the stuffed turtle she carries everywhere. Everywhere. The one she wouldn’t even allow to go in her luggage.

I feel a chill down my spine. I scoop it up but my fast walk has become a run now. I complete the circuit to no avail and check into the lounge in the middle where the rest of the family is but she’s not there. I dump Rhapsody with grandma while I take off at a sprint: me one way, grand-dad the other. We meet without toddler.

I’m very calm in a crisis but I’m aware my heart-rate is higher than normal. The wife has checked in with a staff member who shows little concern, with an offhand: “It’s a ship – it’s not as if she can go far”. I widen the search doing the entire level at a sprint. By the 15-minute mark I’m checking toilets as I pass them trying not to think about the why of my actions. One level of 14 searched. Corridors and toilets anyway. By 25 minutes I’m almost frantic. In the face of gunfire calm, but here? I’m aware I’m starting to lose it. It’s at this point that I peer over the mezzanine and, luckily, spot my wandering daughter – perhaps determined to live up to her name – walking purposefully through the
crowds two floors below.

I fly down two flights of stairs quicker than Usain Bolt and sweep her up in my arms. Surprisingly, I have no anger in my system. Just relief and, oddly, I’m on the verge of tears.

Unlike her daddy, she is relatively calm and tells me she couldn’t find me so she was heading back to our cabin. She is almost there too (later I would marvel this was quite a feat for a three-year-old).

Later I would also wonder at how quickly my mind went to a bad place where I assumed the worst.

When did I go from fearless liver of life to vulnerable? The day I became a parent.

I grew up a very curious soul. And I’ve always actually looked forward to having curious kids. I couldn’t wait for them to start talking and asking questions so I could show them the world and how it works.

I wasn’t going to be a parent who used “just because”. I was going to educate and elucidate.

But it turns out that toddler questions aren’t the great learning exercise I expected. And while they do indeed have an insatiable curiosity, it’s often applied to mundane things.

“Daddy why does the moon change shape?” is interesting. “Daddy, why are cornflakes orange?” is not as interesting not to mention a lot harder to answer.

In fact it’s all too frequently a great challenge answering questions from those incapable of wiping their own bottom.

I’ve discovered there are roughly three ways to answer a toddler question. Take the following query for example:

“Why is my reflection upside down in a spoon Daddy?”

You really have three options.

a) Because concave surfaces reflect inversely
b) Because the spoon is curved.
c) Magic!

Now I know most of you are thinking option b) but that is a trap. Because their immediate follow-up question will be “why?” and you will probably have to resort to a) or c) anyway.

Nothing is straight forward and “Why?” is currently the bane of my existence. Those three letters often leave me exasperated. Not because they’re being asked but because they’re being asked beyond the point of being able to provide an answer.

You can explain how things fly (lift force) and why they fall (gravity) but how do you respond when they ask WHY gravity sucks things down? Or WHY solids can’t pass through solids?

You get to a point where where they’re asking the why about principles/theories/laws that we simply accept. It’s also – scientifically speaking – the point at which your mind just explodes.

One of these days they’re going to ask “why are you hitting your head against the wall Daddy?”

Just because honey. Just because.

IT’S SAFE TO SAY DAUGHTERS OF STAY-AT-HOME DADS EXPERIENCE A FEW THINGS DIFFERENTLY. IT’S NOT NECESSARILY BETTER OR WORSE, BUT IT CAN BE QUITE NOTICEABLE.

For example there might be a little less disney and octonauts and a little more Ghostbusters and Nightmare Before Christmas.

And – talking about no family in particular of course – perhaps they were exposed to Star Wars at a younger age than most. And yes, they might recognise the Dr. Who theme song. And they love Superman, Supergirl and Blackman (actually Batman but, because he wears black, the toddler logic will not tolerate backchat).

Okay so my twins might not be typical little three-year-old girls at this stage, but recently i dec ided it was time to expose them to the ultimate childhood classics: The original old-school disney movies.

I have wonderful memories of robin hood as a fox, the moral lessons of a wooden boy whose nose grew with dishonesty and those amazing dancing broomsticks, so it seemed a no-brainer that the girls’ cinematic education include the films from the
magic Kingdom. They’d already seen the Little mermaid and the Lion

King and even though I had some doubts about those (graphic death scenes and disturbing themes in both) the older movies were from a purer age right? Boy, i was in for a shock. Those sweet movies with the catchy ditties? Not so sweet and good.
Let’s start with dumbo. I remembered a vague story about a cute little elephant who finds his place in the world with a special talent. But the reality is a movie full of bullying, racism and general negativity. And, to make matters worse,
dumbo only flies in the last ten minutes.

Snow White and the Seven dwarfs? Lovely animation but full of plotholes and Snow White treats the animals like second-class citizens/slaves. Not to mention, she has the most annoying shrill voice of all time. And the prince goes looking for a beautiful princess he’s heard is dead but preserved in the forest? Soooo inappropriate.

I love Peter Pan but the stereotyping of Native Americans beggars belief. The song even says they have red skin because in the past a Native American blushed at a girl implying they were originally the ‘normal’ white skin. And misogyny? Don’t start me…

Cinderella does nothing but wish for stuff. And everything gets handed to her on a platter.

Beauty and the Beast supposedly teaches us to not judge a book by its cover (though I notice Belle is pretty attractive for some reason) but the message that actually shines through is that it’s okay to stay with abusive, temperamental men because eventually they’ll magically change.

Bambi’s mother’s death scene traumatised me when I was young. No way are my girls seeing that one.

Step-mothers are pretty evil across the board and most disney characters are missing at least one parent. And whether they have one or two parents there’s a recurring theme of “it’s okay to disobey your parents as long as it’s for love”.

It goes on and on and this is even without touching on the underlying disney messages of girls having to be pretty.

Seriously, what the hell was wrong with these people? I know it was another age but that still doesn’t make it okay for my girls today.

Thankfully we have one or two recent depictions of strong, fully independent women in the Princess and the Frog and Tangled (the modern Rapunzel is awesome) but as for those so-called classics? Well, I think we’ll stick to Star Wars and Supergirl thanks.