So this week has been a little different and has made me realise that I have not yet fully got over the ‘baby brain’ infliction that comes from having twins, double the brain loss I would surmise.
Every week I conduct a routine led weekly shopping challenge with the babies whereby I attempt to purchase food for my little brood and cleaning supplies for the endless jammy finger prints, poo explosions and food throwing match aftermaths.
This shop began as normally as expected. After the hour of preparing the girls to leave the house and packing the car with every essential known to mankind in case of a torrential snowstorm, nuclear attack or zombie invasion, we finally set off on our way. The car crawling along, labouring at the weight of its cargo and no doubt wondering (if cars could do such a thing) if it had a higher purpose in life?
Finally we arrive at our destination, the humble supermarket car park. I expertly park the car, yes expertly, between two vehicles either side of me, yes without hitting either, and prepare the disembarkment of the children. Their belongings and mine consisting of the survival kit for mothers, namely handbag, mobile phone, purse, keys, baby wipes, nappies, food, beakers, cloths, spare vests, spare socks, toys, biscuits, coats, raincover, buggy, shoes (they have in veritably managed to remove during the journey), nappy cream, address book for emergency contacts, shopping list and oh not forgetting the babies themselves.
Safely away on our shopping trip we make our way through the fellow shoppers with the odd ‘excuse me’ and a ‘sorry’ here and there as the double buggy clips ankles and nudges pedestrians out of my path.
Now the girls have decided they are not going to play today and have conspired together to play a rather cruel game with their mother, bringing shame and pity onto me with their cunning actions. For every shop we enter the girls begin a unison of screaming and crying as loud as their little lungs will expand, ensuring the full attention of everybody within a five mile radius and thus demonstrating their orchestral ability to prove to everybody surrounding them what a bad mother I am for dragging these poor little fretful babies out shopping of all things.
They succeed at every stop, grannies cooing into the buggy exclaiming how sad the poor little angels are and siding with the girls by proclaiming with a scowling look ‘how dare SHE bring you out and make you sit their whilst SHE indulges in such selfish pleasures of shopping, there there babies, poor things’…….conspiratorially slipping pencilled notes into the babies hands with the telephone number for ‘Childline’ clearly etched for effectiveness of reading.
This game continues around each and every shop only ceasing when I return to the outdoors whereby the girls, upon realising they are moving and cannot engage any potential sympathisers, go about their daily gurgling, giggling and chatting as if they are having the most wonderful leisurely and carefree stroll!
After the marathon that was me running around each shop conducting my own version of mini supermarket sweep in an effort to thwart of grannies and other sympathisers pitiful looks at the girls and scornful looks at their mother, I finally got back to the Supermarkert car park and unloaded my half completed shopping list, cursing at the non existent items that I had forgotten in my haste.
Now Supermarkets hold a different light to the girls. Placed in the trolley seats, there they sit, eyeing their surroundings and discussing with each other the finer points of their earlier performances in the local town shops, providing each in turn with a pat on the back for the best performance.
We stroll around the supermarket with little effort and confrontation and manage to complete this shopping list with some success. We get to the cash till and I begin unloading the trolley with the help of the girls who have decided they will assist by removing any items within arms reach and throwing them as far away as possible, avoiding the goodies such as chocolate biscuits and strawberries of course.
After collecting the make shift missiles scattered around the other shoppers, aisles and cash tills, I finally load up the shopping, shudder at the cost of it all and conduct a ten minute discussion with the cashier over the increase in prices and discount options that could possibly be available to a poor and lowly twin mother? Walking away unsuccessfully from my discount bidding we travel back to the car.
Girls are happy, well of course they are going home to chill out and play, I am relieved I have survived this weeks shop in tact and still sane and all in the world is merry and good, I can even hear bluebirds singing angelically in the foreground……..then it happens. I fumble, I shake and then I begin dismantling every bag, item of clothing and child until at last I come to the conclusion that yes, indeed, I have locked my car keys in the car!
After spending a further ten minutes providing the children with a series of one day useful expletives of which Lilly happily joins in by repeating quite loudly ‘bugger, bugger, bugger’, I come to the realisation that I am still suffering with ‘baby brain’, my foregone conclusion being that I am a dick!
I eventually manage to bribe a friend to come rescue me after admitting to the husband I am an idiot and realising the admission need not have been necessary as he was out of town working and therefore was unable to help.
So off I trundle back up the escalators and into the supermarket cafe. Two tired and impatient babies, a trolley full of shopping and a watered down scum lined version of a cup of tea in hand I sit and wait rather awkwardly for an hour whilst the babies feel this the appropriate time to demonstrate their disgust at my actions and lack of sleep they should by now be enjoying. Customers of that cafe deserved an explanation of why a mother was sitting sipping a cup of tea, apparently switched off to the world, whilst her little defenceless poor babies were wailing at the top of their lungs. I considered the merits of standing up, climbing onto the rickety table and declaring to the world ‘I am an idiot, I have locked my car keys in the car, I am not a bad mother ignoring her two tired and irritated babies, I am in fact a stupid person, forgive me and the interruption to your afternoon cup of tea’…….instead I chose what most mothers in this situation would opt for…..ignorance.
We finally manage to get home after profusely thanking the friend in shining armour. Babies are in bed attempting to catch up on some much needed sleep after their exhausting routine of screaming and sad faces, the shopping has been unceremoniously dumped into whichever cupboard or fridge compartment looked free and at last I sit down with a decent cup of tea, slippers on and decide that perhaps Internet shopping is the way to go!