And then there were two…

Irish twins I read, is when you have two children within eighteen months of each other. That is what happened when Dawud decided to enter our lives fourteen months after Musa.

I have always been told that I look at the world through rose tinted glasses. Giving birth to my first born Musa did very little to change that. I’m glad. Musa made a very graceful entrance into the world; he looked at me, gave a short, sharp, shriek and continued to look around. I was in love, the love I felt was the perfect anaesthetic to the aftermath of Labour pain. I stared at him in awe all night. I didn’t want to leave him, so afraid I was to even make a much needed trip to the ladies.

My little Musa became my handbag, just as essential but not as light! Rarely did he give me any trouble. Every mother and baby group I visited would be littered with storied told by tired and exhausted mothers, who would be sharing their stories of boisterous toddlers keeping them on my toes, whilst I would withhold a smug smile.

Six months later, life took a new twist, to my shock I was expecting again. Had I been careful? No Breastfeeding had been my form of prevention. Now I know better. My love of all things natural took a nose dive. I fell into a sort of mourning. Not because I didn’t want this child. I had always had visions of a big Brady bunch style family. I grieved for the impending loss of one to one time with my angelic boy. The beautiful, silent moments spent gazing at him as he nestled close to me, as soft and comforting as a pashmina shawl, making purring kitten like sounds as he absorbed himself in the task of drinking milk. The bond, strong, secure and nourishing as the cord that had supplied him with all of life’s essential whilst he was curled up in folds of my tummy, deepened day by day. I would set two hours a day so I could devote time just to play sing and read to him, he would rush towards me at intermittent moments to plant a kiss on my nose or give me a clumsy embrace. As a new life formed inside me, I knew the milk feeding days would be drawing to a close and the quiet tender moments with my first born would soon end. Our times of play would no longer be certain or leisurely. A dull pain would enter my heart every time I contemplated how Musa would cope having to share mummy without having any grasp of what that really entailed. How would I share my attention? Or keep my sanity?

My tummy continued to expand, at times acting as a buffer between and Musa, for his arms could only reach half way across my tummy. Slowly his affections and preference turned towards his father and my heart began to pave a second path for the life that grew within me. Some moments I would lie back and imagine giving birth to another Musa, there would be two little angels to light up my life.

I spent hours trawling websites, gathering tips on how to juggle two babies and came across some very negative comments. The fear of not being as available to provide love and security to Musa for this child I didn’t even know gnawed inside me.

One day, the short sharp pains returned. Hours later he arrived. Dawud was born. A noisy entrance he made. He screamed his way into the world and he didn’t look impressed with what he saw. The first few weeks whizzed by, he cried incessantly, especially in the early hours of the morning. Musa did not stir, we had moved him to his own room and he didn’t bat an eye lid, markings of an independent man, we felt proud to have a secure little boy.

Whilst Musa slept, Dawud and I became acquainted over night feeds. I began to feel an attachment and overwhelming sense of love, a different love but just as intense growing inside, watered by the moments we shared.

There were times when Musa showed resentment, especially when I fed Dawud, and a flying teddy would land on his head. But I also I began to witness the beginnings of a lifelong friendship as they would eye each other, at first Musa only glancing from the corner of his eye, not even making efforts to turn his head. But as Dawud became more mobile and would make funny head movements, my first born would shriek with laughter and referred to Dawud as ‘awawa’, perhaps a reference to his early crying days?

It’s been twenty-two months since Dawuds birth and they are inseparable, if one is asleep or away, the other will go around like lost sheep. Dawud is constantly the subject of Musa conversations. Sometimes they are even mistaken for twins. They have moved in together…in the same room. When I put them to sleep, I can here giggles as they play games in the dark I will never know about. I still yearn to have a sibling of the same gender to share close, unspoken secrets with; I am so glad that we have given Musa the gift of a friend to share the joys and sorrows of life with.

Musa is still calm and tolerant and often gives in to Dawuds demands, not getting a fight, Dawud hands the items of dispute back and runs of screaming for something else or sometimes he even tells himself off!

Dawud is the son that tires me out with his demanding personality and constant need for reassurance, the same reason he sucks his two middle fingers when he is upset or tired whilst he is clutching a teddy in the other hand. Yet his adoring ways accompanied with his comic antics as he tells us off, never fails to amuse us and makes him all the more endearing.

We named Musa, Arabic for Moses and Dawud Arabic for David after the Prophets. Both were courageous and led their respective nations to victory in difficult circumstances.

I hope my boys, with their differing natures, take on challenges with assurance and confidence, in the knowledge that they will always have each other.

Life is not the same with two. It’s better. Is it double the work? At times, double the pleasure? Always.

5 comments October 26, 2008