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!

an observation on my semen’s creation of twins & the viewing public is a post from: havingtwinsnow.com

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Excuse my absence from actual posts. In a few weeks I’m sure my body will adapt to these weird hours.

The purple painted room is a “while you were out” that myself and a few friends arranged as a surprise to Julie when she returned from the hospital. I’d show you the reveal video, but Jules would kick my ass.

Picture Post is a post from: havingtwinsnow.com

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So far we’ve see Leah the beautiful on many occasions. She is the social uterine-fly we’ve always dreamed of. When the wand sends out its pulses of soundwaves, she waves back. We’ve already contacted three modeling agencies to take pictures while still in the womb and pay us in large amounts of baby swag (read: diapers yo).

Yet, every time we go through the growth scans or quick peeks, the little lady of the vag is all smiles and showing off, while my son Mason has only graced us with clear shots of his ass and coin purse. We have actually seen in real time Mason flip from facing out to completely facing the spine in mere seconds, once the wand is turned on. Maybe he can feel the tepid blue goo squirting onto the bell bell, who knows? We’re beginning to think things are amiss.

Not amiss like something is wrong with him or something dire like that. No.

I’m under the impression that he works for a shadow agency for the American government. He has been commissioned to listen to the mindless chatter of womenfolk who come in contact with my wife. *I’m making the chatty motions with both of my hands.* He must be armed with a device that allows him to process classified military intel at such a high rate that the drivel that the rest of the male population hears spewing forth from the female population is just yadda-yadda-yadda-yadda-and then i says to the gal-yadda-yadda-yadda.

My son is a double agent in a double sac with a double placenta and a 100% chance of being fucking adorable. Armed with his umbilical cord, transparent liquid shit and the ability to barrel roll like a hotdog underwater in a soggy bun, Mason is a man on a mission.

If he isn’t working for the American government, maybe my trip to Russia in 2002 was actually a front and I was receiving robot implants in my seminal vesicles.

YEAH, THAT SOUNDS GOOD.

Having Twins Now: Seminal Vesicle Implants.

You can’t make this shit up people.

So yeah, every time we go to get a shot of the kids in their fetal glory, my lil punk ass kid flips his shit around and moons me!

FINE DUDE! WE’LL JUST KEEP SHOWIN’ PICS OF YOUR SEESTER THAN!

Oh Leah, You're So Much Cuter Than Your Brother

TAKE THAT SECRETIVE LITTLE MAN UP INSIDE MY WIFE’S VAGINA!

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My Unborn Son, The Masked Man… is a post from: havingtwinsnow.com

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During our visit with Focus On Women (*which won’t be Focus On Women next time we see them in two weeks), the doctor went over the usual questions like:
*Do you know the sexes of your twins? Yes doctor, you ask us that every time.
*Any swelling of the hands or feet? No. Just this huge ass belly yo.
*Any hard time breathing? Of course. Especially when my husband’s pullin’ 2 footer’s with the local hooligans.
*Any grouping of contractions of 4 or more per hour? Well, yeah.
*Any pain? Yes, everywhere. Not to much here, or here, but right here *she makes circular motions around the bell*
*Are you going to the mall later? No, keep spelling mister.

The trend I’ve noticed as the semen donor, housekeeper and wife flipper (when she gets sweaty I flip her over and powder the moist side) is that when she has a stressful day at work, she is a contraction machine until the following morning. A rough day at work doesn’t mean she’ll have a relaxing time at home because it takes her nearly 12 hours to get back to Juliostasis (Julie’s homeostasis). So in actuality, a bad day makes for a bad week because right after she’s calm again she has to go right back into the stress festival at work.

So I let the doctor know my concerns about these contractions potentially leading into a pre-term labor situation and the fact that her blood pressure shouldn’t be poked and prodded by an up and down work environment. I wanted her off her feet and I said so.

The doctor was already planning on bed rest for Julie at week 28, we just didn’t hear him actually SAY it so I wanted to at least say my piece.

My’s pieces weres saids.

Julie will not be returning to work after the Thanksgiving holiday to SIT AND INCUBATE.

Regardless of her boredom and the potential stress from not being able to wipe her own ass, home is the where she’ll sit and I’m extremely relieved the doctor was already heading in that direction.

If he wasn’t on board, I might have had to throw a tantrum like my soon-to-be two year old is now perfecting the art of.

Thank the vas deferens my Julie will have time to RELAX before we never, ever, ever get the chance to again.

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Bed Rest Reality. is a post from: havingtwinsnow.com

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WAIT. YES THEY DID.

Rita at Safekeeping: High Risk OB at the lovely and spacious Delnor Community Hospital offered me a piece of taffy which was orange in color, yet tasted like black licorice. Had I known her longer or had she been looking at MY vagina all those times maybe I could’ve told her, but I HATE BLACK LICORICE. Rita is now on my “scowl upon seeing” list that now has 4 members. All three of those members are either on the Chicago Cubs or are part of the management of the Chicago Cubs. So Rita holds some pretty shady company.

BUT, yes, we had the 25 week growth scan and saw the twinsies rockin’ and rollin’ all ’round the ute. Everything is right where it should be and the kids are growing nicely.
Leah is an amazing 1lb 13oz.
Mason is a svelte 1lb 110z.

Mason can already be heard saying things like:

• “You sure you wanna’ eat that Leah? That might add on another ounce or three. Imjussayin.”
• “Don’t worry about it, it’s probably just water weight, or my liquid feces.”
• “You want me to eat half of that? No? Figures.”
• “Damn, I am getting RIPPED doin’ these spine pull ups! What are yo- Oh, eating?”
• “Leah I don’t think you’re fat. What? No, no one said anything, I just want you to know that I do not think that you are a fatty. Fatty.”
• “Hey, you go first out the chute over there so there’s plenty of room for me to drop out. K?”
• “Can a fetus get some frickin’ room? Huh? JEEZE MA NEEZE!”

As you can read, my son is already the picture of sarcasm, humor and what I refer to as “shit wit” – meaning, you give people shitty witty banter in exchange for rude looks, kidney jabs and the occasional back of the head slap.

While peekin’ around inside the womb hotel we got a few pictures. And when I say pictures I mean actual frickin’ “this is what my daughter looks like” pictures.

We learned that if there is a great profile shot and at least a few centimeters of fluid between the profile and the sac wall, you can hit this magic button on the machine and you get a frickin 3D image. I mean, we got one with our son when he was around this age, but holy CRAP this is unreal.

I never thought I’d say this, but: “Son? Your sister is cuter than you are. In the womb.”

CUTE!

And well, Mason wasn’t having all the bright lights and paparazzi, so he remained face down towards Julie’s spine, which is quite the spine I must say. We couldn’t get an accurate face shot, but I can assure you the following image will someday make the Yorkville chief of police furious as it will be driving by at 30 miles an hour out the window of a passing Ford Fusion.

MOOOON!

Yes, my unborn son just mooned the crap out of you. TAKE IT! TAKE IT! TAKE IT!

As you can see, the censorship board got ahold of the image.

My kids are adorable, even if I can only judge one of their looks by the shape of their chunky little old man ass cheeks.

3D Ultrasounds Are Bad Ass + Old Man Ass Cheeks is a post from: havingtwinsnow.com

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