Don’t Call It Double Trouble by Tom Beasley

Last month, I opened my copy of Your Call as normal, but something was very, very different. For the first time since 2009, I didn't flick straight to the back because I knew that there wasn't an edition of Tom's Column for me to find there. You'll be pleased to know, though, that I had a good reason for missing an issue of this magazine for the first time in more than 15 years. At the time of the last print deadline, I was in hospital with my wife and our newborn twin boys.

It has been a whirlwind few months since we welcomed Zachary Steven Beasley and Jude Elliott Beasley into the world. There have been lots of tears, lots of screams – and the babies have been pretty noisy too! If becoming a parent for the first time is turbulent and life-changing, then becoming a parent for the first time to two children simultaneously is like being chucked into a blender and pureed alive. But in a good way, obviously.

Everything is harder with two babies, especially when those babies react to being gently put down in a cot as if they've had one of their legs cut off. Apparently, the act of not holding your baby 100% of the time is something close to a war crime in their minds. Forget making dinner, or even a cup of tea – there's no chance of that.

Leaving the house is an impossible mission worthy of Tom Cruise too, and that counts tenfold if we want to actually fit some shopping into the car as well. Twin prams are larger than some countries, I think, which is quite tricky when you're trying to manoeuvre through Aldi.

Then, once you do make it out of the house, the presence of the aforementioned twin pram means you become a magnet for every passing stranger to stick their head in and have a good look. Quick note: commenting with a chuckle about “double trouble” or letting us know that “you've got your hands full” is about as original as asking a taxi driver if they've been busy. Nothing makes a joke less funny than when you've heard it more times that day than the number of hours you slept the night before.

Then there's the screaming. According to some research I just read, baby screams can reach 120 decibels, which is roughly the same sort of volume as a whirring chainsaw or a plane during take-off. Frankly, I think that's a low-end estimate. My biggest complaint about this summer's Fantastic Four movie was that, during the scenes in which a baby is menaced by a city-sized cosmic villain, he cries less than either of my twins do during a routine nappy change. That was far more unrealistic than the superpowers. Galactus should have been the one cowering in fear.

But being a dad to twins is full of joy, for the most part. The boys have just started to smile and there's nothing like the cuteness overload of two tiny babies grinning at you. Even if the follow-up is usually a projectile vomit, a very full nappy, or a scream that could shatter windows as far away as Birmingham. You take the wins where you can get them.

© 2025 Tom Beasley

Tom Beasley is a freelance film journalist, Rotten Tomatoes-approved critic and podcaster
now living in Coventry. He can be reached at tomjbeasley@gmail.com.