The Two A. M.Posted: May 30, 2009
The Saturday before Memorial Day was the first night Jillie and Hardy slept in their crib in the nursery. Their first seven weeks had been spent in Moses baskets in the master bedroom. I slept in the bedroom down the hall on the northern side of the house and agreed to do the two-in-the-morning feeding.
No big deal, you say. But these are twins. And you’ve never heard Jillie yell when she wants her bottle.
It was Hardy who cried first, and I didn’t hear him. It was his daddy who heard him from the other side of the split-plan house over the monitor. I heard the second cry, though, and I was up and in there. “I’ve got it,” I said, and Daddy went back to bed.
I put the bottles in warm water on the coffee table in the living room, raced to change Hardy’s diaper, put him on the Boppy cushion on the couch, put his bib on, woke Jillie up (yes, you have to do that with twins!), changed her diaper, put her bib on, settled on the couch beside Hardy, with Jillie nestled between me and the Boppy, her head against my leg, which was Indian-style. With my two hands, I put two bottles in two mouths.
At this feeding they were in unison. They drank at the same pace, both being satisfied with an ounce remaining. They hum and ah when they drink, and they were right together, right on key — a duet. Ten sucks, then high-pitched “ah, ah, ah, ah,” each with a lilt on the end, then ten sucks, then “ah, ah, ah, ah” and so on.
Two little warm bodies to hold close, two sleeping babies, double the pleasure, double the treasured moment. A chorus of ahs. Priceless.