Here Kitty Kitty

If you read the old blog you may remember that nine months or so ago I responded to the news that my wife of one week was pregnant by trying to write a book about a beaver, which somehow seemed like a reasonable response at the time. I put together something like 13 chapters and then my brain broke and I laid in bed for a week meowing like a cat. Then, I decided to turn it into a screenplay because screenplays have less pages and I am very lazy. Several months, countless drafts, and much meowing later I finished said screenplay. And in what is surely a sign of both the apocalypse and the untapped market for beaver related films, on Monday someone decided to take it off my hands.

Last time I sold something I got engaged. We had dinner at a swell restaurant, met our friends for drinks, and stayed in a hotel. This time we ate cold pizza and slept in different parts of house with our individual twins. From now on when someone asks me about having children I will tell them this story.

Writers of any real ability probably do not bother to celebrate when they make deals for their scripts. After all, it is just the first in an endless series of steps that rarely result in a film actually being made. But I am not a writer of any real ability so I have to celebrate while the celebrating is good. This may be my only opportunity to stand on top of something and shout that I am the 'king of the world'. But I will not do that because I think a global monarchy would be disastrous.

Really, I think of it like winning the lottery or becoming the dictator of a small country. Sure I'll probably end up in a trailer or ousted by a junta, but for now I am free to buy zebra furniture and make my birthday a national holiday.

Probably should have just picked one of those two analogies . Both was confusing. See? I'm a total hack.

I'm still excited though.

Meow.

The Skinny

The triplet is no more. Apparently breast feeding two babies gives you the metabolism of a hummingbird on meth, and Amy is now three weeks out and only a single pound heavier than she was on our wedding day. If it weren't for screaming kids, it would almost be like none of this ever happened. Oh, but it has.

We have identified the evil twin in our pair. The fact that one twin is inevitably evil is as old and as reliable as soap opera plots themselves. Our evil twin is Ripley. As evil geniuses go, she is mild thus far. Mostly she likes to allow 3/4 of what you're feeding her to dribble down her face and wake up out of a sound sleep with a full blown series of SCREAMS. She sleeps when you want her awake and is awake when you desperately want her to sleep. And she will pee on you. Also, she's learning to tent her fingers like Mr. Burns and practicing her first word: MWAAHAAHAA!

Nixon, despite the name, is an angel. Who will also pee on you.

We had a doula in this week to lighten the load and untie the nooses Amy and I had strung up in various parts of the house. A doula is like a mother-in-law that you pay. They make you food, change diapers, and tell you you're doing everything wrong. And there's lots of nudity involved. Most of the first day centered on the need for everyone to be topless at all times. Me, Amy, the babies, we had all made the classic rookie parenting mistake: clothes. Get topless, and our problems would disappear. We were naked before she finished talking. You go three weeks with little sleep and we'll see how hard it is to get your top off. Amy and the babies sat Indian style for several hours and had some good skin to skin time. I took my mom out for pancakes, but the restaurant insisted we put our shirts on, no matter what we told them about bonding and electromagnetism.

Hence, the doula experiment has now ended.

I have finally, belatedly, handed in my last draft of the script that began with Amy's pregnancy. It has passed agent and manager muster. They don't want any changes. At all. They're fine with it. Even if that means that I no longer have any excuse for escaping the house. Ever. We think it's great! You're done! Now you can hang out with those babies, full time! ... Why are you sobbing?

Did I mention that one of them is evil?

Mush! Mush Damn You!

I started this post about five days ago. I have typed it a few letters at a time while walking past the keyboard. The children have agreed to be quiet only under one circumstance: that I never stop moving. I am their sled dog.

They cry. I put one in a pouch around my neck. I walk. It is quiet. I stop briefly, say to take a bite of my dinner or use the restroom. It screams.

When I am too weak to go on, they will accept a ride in the car where they take issue with traffic signals. Red lights are two minute scream fests. Run them, they say. We dare the police to pull us over. Have you heard us scream, dad? Would you sit through this long enough to write a ticket? Drive!

If we ever sit, they must be bounced. There can be no rhythm or syncopation to the bouncing. You may not use a rocker or an electric bouncing chair. All movement must be random and unpredictable. It must be created by a beleaguered parent or it is not satisfying.

We are exploring the option of living for the next few months on a very large trampoline.

Take One And Call Me In The Morning

Sorry for the layoff from posting, but Amy and I have decided to split up.

This is not a divorce but part of our new divide and conquer strategy. We're not sure if it's a good idea. We haven't slept in two weeks. We're not even sure what year it is.

The new plan is to have Amy stay downstairs with one baby, and I'll stay upstairs with the other. That way the babies can't wake each other up and we'll get up to an entire two hours between feeding our individual baby.

So wait, I'd only have to take care of one baby?
Well, yes, but it means that after barely ten months of marriage we won't even be sharing the same bed and who knows when-
I'll start moving my stuff.

Two weeks in and we're idolizing single parents. That's how things are going.

I've also been armed with some sort of new swaddling blanket for idiots. Apparently mummifying your baby makes it sleep but I lack the fine motor skills to complete the task. When I give Christmas gifts they look like they've been in a bar fight with wrapping paper and scotch tape. My current swaddling efforts usually look good, and then you go to put the baby in the crib and discover that the bedsheet, burp rag, pacifier, and cat have all been somehow tangled up in the wrap. It's not so much a swaddle as the aftermath of a blanket based tornado. Needless to say this has not helped them sleep.

We have no idea if any of this will help. If it doesn't we're screwed. All my other ideas involve getting the cats to raise one of the twins.