The Chloe Diaries

I figured it was time to separate the twins, if not physically, than in this blog. After all, Chloe and Sophie are two separate little people, even if they often act like one big, cute headache.

Chloe in a Nutshell

Where do I start with this little drama queen? Chloe was titled Baby A in the womb, and boy does she live up to living in the spotlight, taking first place, and being in the lead. She was the first to be born and stole most of the nutrients and food from her sister – something she still does to this day – well before they were both ready to leave their cushy, submerged home. Because of Chloe’s food hoarding, Sophie did not grow as quickly as she needed to, which is why I was induced. Doctors suggested that they would both grow and thrive better beyond the uterine walls than having to compete for the food haul.

Fast forward to the days where Chloe was no longer a continuously pooping, crying, and sleeping infant and you’ve got a very determined baby who army crawled her way to more food, toys, and cuddles before she learned that her hands and knees were much better means to get around. She was the first to crawl (the legit way), first to walk, and first to protest to things she didn’t like.

Chloe may be hungry and headstrong, but she is also our little helper. Chloe helps by organizing our shoes in the correct order, getting us items we ask for (like a pair of socks), and picking up garbage off the floor, stating “Guh” (for garbage). She also loves to help tidy; putting books on the shelves, blocks in the buckets, and used diapers in the garbage. She does this not so much to help out her family, but because she knows that we’ll be impressed. Chloe is, and always will be, an entertainer.

Even at four months old, Chloe was making the hilarious faces and noises that she knew would get a reaction from us. She’s kicked it up a notch by learning to say funny phrases (like, “no, no” and “Whaaat?”), doing random dances (mostly just enthusiastic foot stomping without rhythm), and making even more bizarre faces (imagine a toddler’s version of a harsh face of disapproval), proceeding to wait for our reaction. If it’s a positive one, she’ll pocket this adorable action, adding it to her arsenal. We honestly love it, but this quality is also leading to a less favourable side of her. For example, if we spend time laughing with Sophie, Chloe’s green-eyed monster comes out, and she is FIERCE.

Jealousy is a major quirk in Chloe that we just can’t seem to tame. It’s so brutal that she’s learned to take preemptive action in certain situations where Sophie might get attention, or literally anything at all.

  • Handing them their pacifiers or sippy cups: Chloe grabs both of them, chooses the one she wants, and gives Sophie the “second choice”.
  • Food: Chloe will stuff as much into her mouth and hands and run away with the rest of it so Sophie can’t get any.
  • Playtime: to Chloe, they’re all her toys and she only shares if she feels like it, or if we make her.
  • Cuddles: Chloe will full-on wedge herself between Mama or Dada and Sophie and push Soph out of the way to ensure cuddles are strictly reserved for her.
  • Tickles: if Soph is being tickled, Chloe will NOT be happy.

Basically, Chloe rules the house. We often try to intercept her protests and “me, me, me” behaviour, but the tantrums that result are hardly worth it. And Soph doesn’t really mind.

Side note: if any parents have advice for navigating this twin dynamic, PLEASE let me know!

Other than Chloe’s need for attention and jealousy, she is also a little social butterfly. She’s not afraid to mingle with other kids or adults and is not timid around animals. Chloe LOVES any and all furry creatures. She’s a little cuddle bug herself, so anything fuzzy and warm she’s drawn to like a Chloe to a cheesy poof.

She takes her blanket with her from crib to table and from the couch to the bath. And concerning the pacifier, she’s definitely more attached to it than Soph. While Soph will happily hand it over when asked, Chloe will run away and whine.

The “terrible two’s” are strong with Chloe, but we know that she’s going to grow up to be a confident, fearless, opinionated, and loveable little girl once she outgrows what feels like is a decade-long phase.

Chloe – our little Chloworm – may be stubborn and temperamental, but she’s our one and only Chloe. When she’s not chucking water on the floor, tossing potatoes at the window, or stealing a stuffed animal or blanket right out of Sophie’s hands, she really is capable of lighting up our whole world with her smile, giggles, and sense of humour.

Next time, on The Chloe Diaries: “These Are a Few of Her Favourite Things”.

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Stripped

The other night was probably the worst night I’ve ever faced since becoming a parent. When I say it was the worst, I may even be downplaying the description of how this night went down.

After surviving the first few months of newborn madness and round-the-clock feedings and diaper changes to two infants, we began to see the light and enter some sort of nighttime routine. We endured the first nights in their own room, their first colds, and the cutting of their first teeth. Even the blur of sleepless months we first experienced when the girls arrived at home was nothing compared to what we faced three nights ago.

At around 2:30 am, we awoke to the sounds of coughing and gagging. Drowsy from the noise we continue to listen and then jolt out of bed at the additional sounds of vomit splashing against little Chloe’s bed linens and crib bars.

For those of you who don’t know, we put up with eight months of spit-up from our girls and they had finally outgrown this nasty, annoying, laundry-soaking phase. What we discovered was NOT the spit-up we knew and trusted.

What we faced was not only a massive amount of partially-digested vomit, but also a sad and smelly Chloe, paired with the most rotten scent we’ve ever encountered in our pre and post-baby lives. If I had to describe the smell, I would file it next to old Kraft Dinner that was prepared with spoiled milk and then fermented for a month.

We immediately took action; me grabbing the baby, and JD grabbing the soaked sheets while suppressing his own urge to gag. The bed and baby were both stripped. My shirt and hair had vomit in it from Chloe’s need to cuddle her spewage-slathered face into my chest. BLEH!

The next four hours Chloe and I stayed up to watch cartoons as she fought her stomach to puke again, as well as fight her need to sleep. Every time she almost fell asleep, she would startle herself awake and begin to cry. Nightmare.

If you thought that was the worst of the night, you’d be wrong.

At 6 am, I hear Sophie begin to wake up. The normal time, but I was just not ready to face the regular morning routine. I waited fifteen minutes before going to check on her, when she began to get annoyed and whine for attention.

I finally visit her and get hit in the face with an even fouler smell. Could it be that the vomit stench remained in the room? I open the blinds and look at my daughter.

POOP. EVERYWHERE.

POOP ON EVERY BAR OF THE CRIB.

POOP ON HER BLANKETS.

POOP ON HER ONESIE.

POOP ON HER LEGS.

POOP ON MY SOUL.

She had the most extreme case of diahrrea I had ever witnessed. Even from myself.

I could not deal with the scene before me. So I scooped her up, put her in the bathtub with her onesie and diaper still on, and woke up my better half to help me cope with my emotions, which at this point were running as wild as Sophie’s sphincter.

After I scrubbed the feces from her body, I grabbed a rag and a shred of strength I had left on reserve and went to assess the bedroom damage.

As I stripped a second bed of its linens and began to scrub the mattress, I began to hysterically laugh-cry. Not laugh to the point of crying, but I simultaneously experienced two emotions at once: bawling my eyes out and laughter.

I peed myself. And then I stripped off my vomit and piss-covered pj’s and went on with being a parent.

The beds were stripped. The girls and I were stripped. All I have left to strip is the horrific memories of the night from my mind.