Friend: "Hi there!"
Friend: "How are you?"
Me: "Good, thanks!"
Friend: "How are the twins?"
Friend: "Great. See you soon"
I am always the person who is "fine".
Except recently I realised that I wasn't fine. At all. So, I was forced to do the one thing that is harder for me than giving birth. OK, maybe that's a slight exageration, but let's just say I'd rather jiggle down the high street, naked, in all my stretch-marked glory than ask for help.
But ask I must, and in a nutshell this is why:
- I was shouting a lot
- I was crying a lot
- I felt out of control when dealing with the twins
To be honest I wasn't expecting much from these visits, but when the health visitor turned up she uttered the following magic words:
"My name is Jane, and I have twins."
Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Even better; she'd managed to keep hers alive for THIRTEEN YEARS!!!!!!!!!! It was so lovely to sit down and have a talk with someone had a bit of distance. Even though I know quite a few mums with twins, they are all around the same age as mine, and because I'm obsessed with giving advice and telling everyone I'm "fine", I felt the need to talk to someone who had done it all and survived to tell the tale. Jane went through some of the key times I felt overwhelmed and just talking about it made me feel better (such a cliché, I know).
In total she came to visit me 4 times, and I genuinely felt better each time. She gave me some practical advice (about getting them into the car, for example. I now do it as a race to see who can get into their car seat first) and she also told me the stuff I knew, but needed to hear from someone else: that it's OK not to be fine all the time. Who knew?!