The Twins and me...

                                                                                                                     Image: twinstuff.com

After my initial scare, I tentatively approached the small people lying in the cot. They were still, sighing softly rather than breathing, their long fingers stretching and stroking something invisible. I put my little finger in

Mustafa’s palm, and with a yawn, he closed it. He was accepting my solemn offer of peace. I wondered if he would let out a scream to seal the deal, but he smiled a little, and let go of my finger.

I sat on the bed, and my cousin placed baby two, Muhammad, in my arms. I shifted uncomfortably, and he stretched in frustration, seeming to say, stop holding me so tightly, I’m not going to jump, you know. This is my first time holding such a small tyke, I told him, and he smirked [in his sleep nonetheless], this is the first time I’ve been held by a cold frightened teenager. You don’t seem to mind, I remarked, and you’re pretty good at it, came the loud reply. I raised my head from the conversation, wondering if this baby was a miracle, and would start quoting verse in a minute. My cousin giggled, ‘Earth to the new nanny’ and I sighed in relief and a bit of disappointment. If Muhammad were to speak, he would make my new occupation so much easier and my internet credibility would have certainly skyrocketed, with YouTube videos stating ‘Miracle newborn baby narrates poetry....’ Muhammad certainly did not like this idea, because he let out an ear shattering scream. ‘Sorry,’ I told him, as I stroked his cheek, maybe you’re more into the rap scene.’

One of the things I enjoyed most about them was swaddling them. And choosing their clothes. They were like dress up dolls when they were happy. It is pretty easy to swaddle a baby, and you can carry them much more easily when they are all wrapped up like presents. Bathing them, by the way, is not a very enjoyable exercise. Their mother insisted on bathing them everyday, for hygienic reasons of course and that they slept much better once they felt the calming effect of the water. I felt it was more like a trauma, I mean, in the Middle Ages, the people would have a bath annually and they all remained perfectly happy. These poor kids were not even two weeks old, and they had to be subjugated to a scrub. I helped bath them, tickling their spotless toes, and they would scream with righteous indignation. I hope they don’t hold it against me when they grow up.    

On my first night, I felt worried, but with a slight triumph, thinking that it would not be so difficult when the boys were all fast asleep and at night maybe I would be free to do something else, update my blog for instance. I had just settled down, with a blank page, a wonderful view of the sea, and a mind full of words. And then, a slow low sigh came from the nursery. I crept in quietly, and there, a swaddled baby, with the prettiest light brown eyes, looked at me. ‘Good morning’ he seemed to say, and proceeded to stay up till dawn.

Instead of sweet conversation about the state of test cricket, the babies mostly cried. And cried. And cried. Their poor mother. Their poor granny. For the rest of the month that I stayed with them, they cried with such ferociousness that sometimes when I was at the end of my sanity, I began to cry. I had learned how to carry a baby, and so I now learned how to rock one, and do a little jiggle [sort of like a folk dance] so that they stopped wailing and rather looked at me in astonishment. I would read Quran, whispering softly, encouraging them to fall asleep, and for a moment, when you held your breath and willed world peace, Muhammad and Mustafa would sigh, and slip into dreamland. For about a minute and a half. And then they would start howling all over again.

Oh yes, remember that are two babies. So, when one wakes up and goes through the entire process, which I call, 'FEDUP: Fetch me, Eat, Digest, Upchuck, Play'  the other twin would wake for his turn.  the poor mother would not be able to breath had she no help. The babies drank bottle milk, but when they were hungry, which was about every five and a half minutes, they ordered their dinner ravenously. It really seemed that they wanted grilled steaks instead of boring milk.  

Twins buggies are pretty expensive, I guess you could buy a proper little old car for them to whiz around in rather. I could picture their cute faces and one spike hair while they sped away, to meet friends their age, or whatever.  And the baby car seats are really silly for newborns, and I don't even know if you get twin car seats. The very first excursion the twins had was a visit to the doctor, where they were given a check-up. He started by quoting some weird Latin inscription and I did not quite trust him after that. Once he had finished mumbling to himself, he undressed the baby that had been wrapped in layers and layers of blanket, and laid him on a freezing grey scale. I flinched. ‘Whew’ said the doctor, ‘the babies are growing most wonderfully, and the crying is just part of the process and they need to grow up [till when?!] and I’ll see them again in the next two months.’ 

The next excursion was to the photographer, where the twins needed passport photos because they were going to go to Swaziland in a week. No matter how much I jumped and pulled funny faces and said, say ‘babies’ they snored obliviously. I guess the twins were used to being stalked by the paparazzi and had learnt to sleep through it. Eager relatives would lean over the side of the cot with fancy flashing cameras, cooing, ‘baby smile for me, I’m your cousin, you’re going to be staying next to me, and the famous one, you look just like your mother did when she was young’ and the twins would yawn, and be like, ‘please dude, can’t you see I’m trying to sleep, educate me on the family tree next year you come round’ or so I imagined. Perhaps they enjoyed the attention, because real stars love it but always try and pretend they don’t.    

Oh yes, what is this thing about mothers feeling that their babies, though very beautiful Mashallah, are been given the evil eye? Subhanallah, I mean seriously, there is nothing to believe in these ignorant pagan customs. Man, maybe my family might think I'm a rebel with no respect for some ancient tradition, but you must read the last three Surah of the Glorious Quran and by the Will of the Almighty the babies will be protected. Some lady would come in, and have half a glass of water and add another half of sunflower oil, and mix it, while intoning some prayers and say 'oh my, look how thick it is and its not supposed to mix, lots of people have been given your babies the evil eye and its all removed now.'Man, I seriously rolled my eyes at that, its a chemical reaction dude! To prove this, I mixed the concoction myself without the baby and without reading anything, and the exact same thing happened. Please.  

At the end of my stay, on the morning of Eid-ulFitr, where eager relatives were waiting to have a look at the gorgeous twins, I felt kind of chuffed that these babies knew me and knew my voice and I loved them very much. I was going to miss them. I told my cousin, that whenever she needed to go on a cruise maybe [she needs the break] maybe when they were, um, three years old, she could gladly leave all the boys with me. I learnt a lot about life during my stay, but one matter I most appreciate is that I seriously admire people who have children. It takes more than life. May Allah Almighty bless all the past and future parents! Oh yeah, one more thing, I think I might consider adopting children when their about twenty-two and then marrying them off in a week....