Dear Babies,

HOLY. CRAP. You guys turned seven months old last weekend!  There were so many moments when I thought we’d never make it, it’s shocking to me that we’ve all made it this far.

This last month has been a time of transitions. You are eating more solid foods now and sitting in high chairs just like big boys and girls.  Parker, you can now sit up all by yourself, even though we have to stay close because after a short time the weight of your noggin gets to be too much and you slowly sway to one side, so we try to break your fall before you crash into a heap on the floor. Not that we’ve ever let that happen.  I’m just saying.

Jax you are not a fan of the whole sitting up thang.  I guess it’s easier to sit on Mommy’s lap on the floor, even though within a matter of seconds all blood flow to my lower extremities ceases and I have to endure severe numbness followed by pins and needles but that’s what Mommies do:  WE SUFFER.

On the other hand, you are a professional roller-over and should the Olympic Committee ever decide to institute a Rolling Over event you would surely qualify!  When we put you on the highly colorful rubber mat made from tiles displaying the ABC’s, now gracing our living room despite the fact that it matches NOTHING and makes the room like a traveling carnival (the TRAVELING kind!  Not even the GOOD kind!  But whatever.) you roll and roll so fast that within seconds you’re on the floor and heading straight for the drool-encrusted dog toys in the corner.  Mommy’s ‘salad days’ of sticking you on said mat and running to the kitchen for a glass of cooking sherry to start dinner are O-V-E-R.

Soon, I guess, we’ll have to face the proposition that you two will be crawling which is too terrifying for me to contemplate. I’m not at all sure my 10 mgs. of Lexapro will be sufficient.

Can we talk for a moment about sleeping?  You know, that THING YOU SHOULD BE DOING FROM APPROXIMATELY DUSK TO DAWN?!?

Here’s the dealio:  Parkie, you continue to be, for the most part, an excellent sleeper. You can go down when your brother does, and despite his frequent fussing that sometimes escalates to out-and-out screaming, you are able to gaze at your adorable visage in the little crib mirror you have and kick your legs a few times and presto! sweet dreams…

Jackson, you are another story.  After the weeks of torture sleep training, you finally managed to sleep through the whole night.  For a total of THREE whole weeks. That’s it. THREE. I was counting on something more along the lines of FOREVER, UNTIL YOU MOVE OUT OF THE HOUSE TO ATTEND COLLEGE but this was not your plan. You determined, after these three pitifully short weeks, that you should wake up at 4:00 AM, flip onto your tummy and commence shrieking. I’m not sure if you can’t or won’t turn back over, and I have no clue what to do at this point.

Your grandmother, ever so helpful, decided that bringing over some magic little plastic disks would help.  Something about realigning the energy flow in your room or something…or something about underground water because she used a dowsing rod to determine which three corners to place these magic disks in.  I’m still not quite sure what the hell they were supposed to do, but as you can see sleep-deprived Mommy = DESPERATE.

So after determining where to place these disks (by using the dowsing rod, DUH), she placed three of them on different spots on the floor.  Which inconveniently ended up being in three very-much-traveled areas of the nursery so I was stepping on them for the next few days. I’m sure my stepping on them disrupted their super duper secret healing powers because GUESS WHAT they didn’t freaking work. I know. Shocker.

Jackson last night you woke up early for you, around 9:30.  You started screaming asap.  Didn’t waste any time with the screeching, nope. I tried to comfort you and rub your head and talk softly to you, asking why on earth you were so upset?  Mommy and Daddy and Parker are right here and so is Bosco, and everything’s alright and blah blah blah…

And too bad you can’t talk because you surely would have said, in response to my sweet and reassuring words murmured softly in your ear. “I just dropped a load in my diaper you clueless heifer so for CRISSAKES WOMAN PICK ME UP AND WIPE MY ASS!!”

Yes, it did take me a few minutes to detect the not-so-fresh scent wafting from your nether regions and figure out that, perhaps, that was the cause of your wailing. Ah, the joys of motherhood.

In general, you two are great babies.  I’m slowly emerging from my PPD-induced semi-coma and getting brave enough to take you places, where you attract a lot of attention. It’s like no one’s ever seen boy/girl twins before!  Like your Daddy likes to say, sometimes people react as if they’ve just seen a unicorn with a rainbow-colored horn.  “TWINS!  A BOY and A GIRL?!?  OHMY.  Are they identical??” We get that a lot.  But you’re very good-natured, most of the time, about all the attention you get from total strangers.

And really and truly, you are the joys of my life. Dirty diapers, sleepless night and all.

Love,

Mommy

 

Do dee doh…just practicing the sitting which I CAN do Mommy…not focusing on my sister crying in the background.  Nope.  Can’t hear a thing.  What sister?

 

Is this shot inappropriate?  I think hot pants is a BIT MUCH, MOTHER.

We’ve mastered tummy time, so all you haters can SUCK IT.