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Things Not To Say To a Twin Mum (Not Ever). Part 1 of an occasional series.

1
Let’s start with the obvious. ”Double Trouble.”

Just don’t.

Don’t.

We hear it every single day. Multiple times a day

When they were still side by side in the buggy I once counted how many times people said it to me whilst going from one side of the Marks and Spencer’s Food Hall to the other. 13. In a 15 minute window. I shit you not. Thirteen fucking times. That’s not even one day, it wasn’t even one hour. Do you know how irritating that gets?

By the end of the first year the joke has worn so thin it starts chaffing at your

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touched-out skin. Not least on the days where you have had just a small fraction of the amount of sleep you need to survive. Which let’s face it is. Um. Let’s count. Oh. Every fucking one of them. And how exactly should I respond? A good sarcastic witty snipe back could work, right? But to be honest I’m not good at those at the best of times, let alone in the crazy hazy early days of Twin Motherhood, a time in which just an empty coffee canister may be quite literally perceived as the work of the Highest Chancellor in Hell. And besides. I’m English.
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So it’s with a polite smile and a nod of course.

And there in lies the rub. Because as I’m walking away I’m not only internally groaning at the irritation like an enormous Crocodile with toothache I am also seething with the things I should have said. If I agree I am party to the crime and if I disagree I am soliciting confrontation and confrontation, well, I would rather nail my tits to a tree. ”Oh just reply with double the fun, or double the love,” my lovely ever-patient Mum says trying to jolly my cynical sleep deprived ass up. Can you

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imagine repeating ”double the love,” 13 times in 15 minutes? I’m ready to drown myself in the dregs of my very mediocre flat white just thinking about it.

By year two I am also contending with the problem that my Girls have cottoned on to the fact that this is said to them throughout most days. So much so that when a Granny type gets into the lift they start saying it first. ”Double Trouble,” they pipe up, pipping the old dear to the post, as if my mini-anthropologists have observed that this is some sort of pleasant nicety that people go about

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saying to complete strangers.

Aside from the irritation of being repeatedly caught up in this strange and awkward social exchange, it’s plain rude, right? To suggest someone’s maternal situation is trouble? Ya’know we Mothers can get quite sensitive when you start berating our offspring. And I am not for one moment denying that parenting twins can, at times, present as a very unique demand but I don’t go down the street pointing out other peoples apparent challenges at them?

Anyway soon after, maybe two and a half, they start asking,

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intrigued, every time it slips out of someone’s passing lips, ”Mama what did that lady say?” And they feel too young still at this point to explain the crapness of this joke and I don’t want them thinking that they are trouble – give a dog a bad name and so on and so forth. So I bluff them and start replying with ”double bubble,” which I have to say with a grit tooth saccharine sweet smile because I start annoying myself. Then they get a little older and they rightly correct me and say, ”no, she said double trouble,” and so in the end I’m left
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explaining the concept of bad jokes, really bad, not funny ones, to my two and a half year olds.

So you can see. And it’s not just me. This is a thing we complain about, the other twin Mums and me. Just don’t. OK? Don’t. Wasn’t ever funny. Never will be. Spread the word. Let it be known. Shout it from the rooftops so that other Twin Mums in my wake won’t have to endure this misery.

And Twin-Mamas be assured this particular issue, it get’s easier. By year 3, once they are out of that buggy and running in different directions. Fast. And

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disappearing down invisible rabbit holes. People will rarely even notice you have twins because you are likely to spend a lot of time with only one of them. That one being hoiked up under your arm whilst looking for the other one with crowd dispersing wide wild eyes…

Sorry, what was that you were going to say? … Don’t.

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- 24 Feb 16

Let’s start with the obvious. “Double Trouble.”

Just don’t.

Don’t.

We hear it every single day. Multiple times a day

When they were still side by side in the buggy I once counted how many times people said it to me whilst going from one side of the Marks and Spencer’s Food Hall to the other. 13. In a 15 minute window. I shit you not. Thirteen fucking times. That’s not even one day, it wasn’t even one hour. Do you know how irritating that gets?

By the end of the first year the joke has worn so thin it starts chaffing at your touched-out skin. Not least on the days where you have had just a small fraction of the amount of sleep you need to survive. Which let’s face it is. Um. Let’s count. Oh. Every fucking one of them. And how exactly should I respond? A good sarcastic witty snipe back could work, right? But to be honest I’m not good at those at the best of times, let alone in the crazy hazy early days of Twin Motherhood, a time in which just an empty coffee canister may be quite literally perceived as the work of the Highest Chancellor in Hell. And besides. I’m English. So it’s with a polite smile and a nod of course.

And there in lies the rub. Because as I’m walking away I’m not only internally groaning at the irritation like an enormous Crocodile with toothache I am also seething with the things I should have said. If I agree I am party to the crime and if I disagree I am soliciting confrontation and confrontation, well, I would rather nail my tits to a tree. “Oh just reply with double the fun, or double the love,” my lovely ever-patient Mum says trying to jolly my cynical sleep deprived ass up. Can you imagine repeating “double the love,” 13 times in 15 minutes? I’m ready to drown myself in the dregs of my very mediocre flat white just thinking about it.

By year two I am also contending with the problem that my Girls have cottoned on to the fact that this is said to them throughout most days. So much so that when a Granny type gets into the lift they start saying it first. “Double Trouble,” they pipe up, pipping the old dear to the post, as if my mini-anthropologists have observed that this is some sort of pleasant nicety that people go about saying to complete strangers.

Aside from the irritation of being repeatedly caught up in this strange and awkward social exchange, it’s plain rude, right? To suggest someone’s maternal situation is trouble? Ya’know we Mothers can get quite sensitive when you start berating our offspring. And I am not for one moment denying that parenting twins can, at times, present as a very unique demand but I don’t go down the street pointing out other peoples apparent challenges at them?

Anyway soon after, maybe two and a half, they start asking, intrigued, every time it slips out of someone’s passing lips, “Mama what did that lady say?” And they feel too young still at this point to explain the crapness of this joke and I don’t want them thinking that they are trouble – give a dog a bad name and so on and so forth. So I bluff them and start replying with “double bubble,” which I have to say with a grit tooth saccharine sweet smile because I start annoying myself. Then they get a little older and they rightly correct me and say, “no, she said double trouble,” and so in the end I’m left explaining the concept of bad jokes, really bad, not funny ones, to my two and a half year olds.

So you can see. And it’s not just me. This is a thing we complain about, the other twin Mums and me. Just don’t. OK? Don’t. Wasn’t ever funny. Never will be. Spread the word. Let it be known. Shout it from the rooftops so that other Twin Mums in my wake won’t have to endure this misery.

And Twin-Mamas be assured this particular issue, it get’s easier. By year 3, once they are out of that buggy and running in different directions. Fast. And disappearing down invisible rabbit holes. People will rarely even notice you have twins because you are likely to spend a lot of time with only one of them. That one being hoiked up under your arm whilst looking for the other one with crowd dispersing wide wild eyes…

Sorry, what was that you were going to say? … Don’t.

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Emily is a writer, creative facilitator and (mostly) single Mama to 4 year old twins. She can be found keeping her head above water. Mostly.

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