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describing what having twins is like to people is like trying to describe how hollow you feel after getting raped by a politician who gave you a semblance of hope in change after such a long period of reactionary cynicism that you’re actually more embarassed that you got duped vs. angry that this smoothie hasn’t done anything but make shit worse.

everything  seems complex, emotional from all sides, tear inducing, stressful and makes you feel distinctly isolated from anyone else who’s experienced something like this. and even though support would, and probably will ultimately get you through this, admitting that someone else has done this fucking shit is almost like allowing someone to steal your fucking thunder.

holy shit. i just connected twin parenting to disgruntled americans who voted for obama. what the fuck am i talking about?

so this could be considered symptom #47 of raising newborn twins. the weirdest thoughts pop into your brain at all hours since you’re never not half awake/half asleep due to the constant interruptions of sleep and cohesive thought. they may or may not make sense, but if you don’t document them, you’ve lost them. so i’ve documented it, let’s move on. (wait, wait, wait, i should tell you that im on the toilet right now too)

but can i make sense of what these past two months have been like in a descriptive, honest and if i say so myself, whimsical manner? YES WE CAN! (the fuck is wrong with me?!)

i liken newborn twin parenting to a smattering of jobs and careers all mixed into one potent ass cocktail. let’s explore the randomness i’m writing as i shit upon my shitter at 2:47am on a friday morning shall we? (for the record im handwriting this on a notebook normally reserved for grocery lists)

war medic: you fix on the fly, often elbow deep in shit, mucus or puke, putting fingers in wounds to stop the bleeding or using the blown off extremeties of the ones who didn’t make it to block full on streams of urine from hitting you in the face.

hollywood agent: you’re placating one personality with bullshit and one with hugs and kisses while constantly fighting for a goal, like more money or in this case, sleep, which is unattainable.

wilderness explorer: what’s in your backpack or diaper bag will determine your survival.

baptist minster: at times an exorcism is the only thing that will work.

bartender: since we premake mason’s formula with a few extra scoops and a thickening agent, i have perfected the two hand cocktail shake from Cocktail. one word of advice, kids don’t understand cocktail umbrellas so save those fuckers fer their 1st birthday party

day trader: never before have i felt the need to use cocaine to improve my daily job performance. so i liken myself to a day trader in that im constantly thinking about using uppers to stay at the top of my game

congressman: like the hollywood agent, but more underhanded. feeding a kid bullshit and smiles and doing things only for the photo-op. but then when the cameras are off being a complete asshole again. (but then you realize how fucking cool these two kids are and how remorseful you feel for being a cockface and by the time you’r ready to publicly apologize, someone’s written a book)

birthday party clown: not quite sure how many times i try and alter the tipping of the scales by making a funny face, jiggling my tits or utilizing my propensity for fart noises, but to the untrained eye, im a fucking freak in dad’s clothing.

astronaut: walking at night in the dark and your eyes crusted shut you kind of walk like a fucking space man with huge careful steps that are concentratedly soft. night vision cameras confirm that im a fucking dandy when i cant see and im gravitating towards a wailing baby.

pothead: the only way to not kill your significant other is to turn off your ego and forget any plans you had socially and just shut the fuck up. see that couch? make love to it with your ass cause it’s where you’re going to want to be after the 45th minute of bouncing and pacing to quiet a gassy baby or two. the pot is actually quite optional, and definitely not recommended because the amount of concentration needed to actually tend to the needs of these adorable monsters.

speaking of pothead. i completely forgot what the fuck im talking about.

coffee anyone?

Pretty much the first thing you notice as a new parent of multiples is that you are now the center of attention wherever you are in public. This might last a few seconds in passing down the grocery aisle, a few minutes in the doctor’s waiting room or complete fucking days if one or both of your twins are ever hospitalized. The first few aren’t so bad, and you might be able to sneak up a few spaces in line from a gracious fellow shopper or medical office waiting room participant. That last one though, fuck hospitals, andthatsallImasayabouthat.

But throughout all of these attention festivals that you find yourself the main attraction in, the most fun you can have as a parent of multiples is when speaking with new parents of singletons. New parents are the most sensitive, uptight, snobbish folks on the planet and nothing makes them feel more inadequate than when you pull up next to them at the grocery store with your pimp ass double stroller, you’re showered and shaved, your wife is lookin’ fucking hot, your two year old has a halo around his head eating some sweet sweet deliciously nutritious fruit snacks, and you’re so relaxed on lack of sleep that you look baked the fuck off on some seriously primo shit.

It’s almost like drag racing for pink slips. We’re the badasses in the leather jackets with our twins, and those pansies are the skinny, wussy, over reactive parents of singletons in their mismatched socks, tight jeans and high school sweater. “Apppffft. One kid? I could do that with my eyes closed, one hand duct taped to my scrotum, and my dick in a vise. Eat it you LOSER!” *And the hanky drops as we burn rubber towards the cliff*

Yet we really don’t act or think like that, but that’s exactly how we thought the twin parents saw us when we came across them just as we were settling into being new parents two years ago or so. It’s completely understandable to feel intimidated by people who are doing twice the work as you are and don’t seem to be sweating at all. It’s complete bullshit, but it SEEMS that way when you’re on the outside looking in at the twin parents.

Twin parents and the parents of multiples might be better at multitasking, but it isn’t because we were made that way, we fucking became that way out of necessity. And just because we look calm, cool and stoned as shit it doesn’t mean we really are because we’re fucking ACTORS. If we looked frazzled and out of sorts all the fucking time there would be a five foot circle around us as we plow through crowds; our friends and family wouldn’t touch us with a five foot whale’s penis. We would be outcasts merely because we acted like how we feel some of the time.

Would you want to hang out with someone who is so worried, concerned and paranoid about every little thing all the fucking time TIMES TWO? Hail no!

I remember when our first child was born in 2008 how intimidated I was with leaving the house or even thinking about preparing to think about preparing to leave the house. Well, if we would have had the twins first, I’m pretty sure we’d still be on the couch shivering in fear. But we didn’t, so we aren’t, and we haven’t had that sense of impending doom at all when considering leaving the den.

In fact, leaving the house means you get to see PEOPLE! PEOPLE THAT SPEAK ENGLISH AND DON’T PUKE AND SHIT ALL OVER YOU! REAL ADULT HUMAN PEOPLE! Eeeeeeeeeeee! After that first month of staying the fuck away from all walking and coughing humans, you come to appreciate human contact after all. So much so, that when either of us mentions being low in something essential, be it diapers, formula, apple juice or the all important anal lube, we actually FIGHT over who gets to leave the house! Whoever gets to leave the house gets to shower. And showers kick a shitton of ass!

WOOOOO! SHOWER!

GROCERY STORE! WOOOO!

Do you feel even the slightest hint of pity over this? We are two adults who are so fucking excited over going to the store or running an errand with just ONE child, that we can often be seen from the street wrestling in Japanese Sumo garb to avoid staying home with TWO!

Jesus fucking christ we’re fucking insane!

But at least I get to see two babies smile for the first time instead of just one baby smile for the first time.

One baby? appppppppt!

Which means, as much as I like to put it up the pooper, I give a little bit too.

Take a gander at my latest blog post, on someone else’s website.

You heard me correctly.
I’m crossing streams.
I looked both ways and shoved my pelvis towards another side of town.
I cheated on my own blog!

But look at the bright side, the lady that I cheated on the blog with has twins too, and she has a husband that I share a dirty sense of humor with, and as far as I know she’s a Cubs fan too so rest easy, this won’t hurt a bit!

Take a gander over at Mama 2.0 and read my latest gross out tale, involving a roll of duct tape, a used condom and a tight rectum!

http://mama2point0.wordpress.com/2010/03/24/how-to-shut-em-up/

every morning is a battle to get out of the house for me and my 181 kids.

We want to publicly thank Enfamil for sending us a box full of formula. We aren’t sure if it was our doctor’s office that arranged that for us, but what you sent will feed my kids for 5 days straight. That’s enough to start saving for more diapers. If you could arrange for the diaper fairy to send us some pampers #1′s we’d be even more moist for your company.

We appreciate it completely.

Thank you.

Now if you could just talk to Avent bottles about WASTING your product with their leaky ass bottles, we’d be in bidness!