The babies open a portal to my spiritual world, but they also catalyze a deep dive into the material — all of the makings of man and industry that promise better, brighter, and easier experiences for parent and child. From the rockers, bouncers, noise makers, and night lights to the mobiles, monitors, swings, and bassinets, I am now engaged in an unending analysis of what is necessary versus superfluous.
At first, we limit our investments to the twin bassinet and two bouncers. During the first few weeks of recovery from my C-section surgery, the bassinet by my bed is a lifesaver. The babies are separated by a thin mesh divider, keeping them safe from suffocation while close to their wombmate. The bottom of the bassinet hovers above my mattress, and all I have to do is rotate it to reach whichever baby needs me.
The bouncers sing songs and vibrate but they do not actually bounce without someone to bounce them. I place one by each foot and am able to keep them moving like a drummer with two pedals. While my feet keep the beat, my hands type fervently on my computer.
The twins spend so much time sleeping, I have no problem running my marketing business at the same time. My client in California is launching a cannabis brand and it’s nice to dive into West coast counterculture from my very domestic kitchen table. My work is just about the only connection remaining to the life I used to live.
Having spent the year prior to meeting you living in a camper van with a capsule closet, all of this stuff for the babies overwhelms me. I’m wary of plastics and chemicals and anything unnatural — concerned not only for my children’s welfare but the health of our planet. I try to offset our hard-plastic consumption by purchasing second-hand goods but inevitably we’re gifted things from our family, and when push comes to shove, Amazon is only a click away.
As we accumulate more contraptions, we purchase more batteries. Never in my life have I seen or used so many double-Cs. We soon become battery connoisseurs, buying better brands with longer lifespans. We fear the moment when the machines will die, sending us scrambling for more batteries and a miniature Phillip’s head screwdriver as our own brethren heckle us to move faster, smarter, better.
At times, I feel like a basic training recruit, eye-to-eye with two drill sergeants blowing whistles in my ears. While I struggle with a particularly awkward battery chamber, my infants scream louder and louder. I try to maintain my focus as sweat beads my brow. I try not to buckle under the pressure.
Time after time, I perform. You perform. We come through in those clutch moments. We succeed. Our infants gain weight. They poop. They sleep. They smile. We move forward, doing life like we did it before. We make plans. We book travel. But life is nothing like it was before.
Now, life is stressful, with loud noises and strict schedules. Like the devices that clutter our space, we are battery-operated parents, slowly expending our energy stores. Like the circuitry that puppeteers the babies’ playthings; with the mindlessness of a machine, I am a product of my own programming, driven toward productivity and completely unaware I could run out of juice at any moment.
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This post was previously published on medium.com.
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From The Good Men Project on Medium
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Photo credit: Ash Quinn’s Twins on Unsplash
