Eight months.


So. Long time no write. I wish I had a better excuse but truth is, I haven’t felt inspired to write anything. Not to imply that things haven’t happened-changes haven’t developed-just I haven’t felt the itch to write. The babies are 8 months. They are eating lots of baby food and we are trying to phase out bottles. Typing that rips at my heart a little bit-makes me feel a dull ache in my belly. But at the same time, I’m proud of how far we’ve come as a little team. The farther I get from their birth, however, the harder and harder it is to get a focused, clear picture of it.

I told my sister just a few weeks ago that as time with the babies elapses, I find myself straining to remember each little detail about their birth-details that the first three months of their lives, I marinated on and tasted on the tip of my tongue as I fell asleep at night. Now I feel like I’m looking in the rear view mirror of a car as it speeds away from a beautiful structure and I am straining and squinting to see what was so crystal clear just months before. I’m afraid with each month that passes, each milestone we cross, that image will become less and less visible until one day it’s gone completely. Practically speaking of course, I know that time has to move on and that I can’t go back to the day they were born but somehow losing that time, moving completely away from that image solidifies the fact that it really is over. That I am not pregnant with twins anymore. That I’m not at the hospital holding their tiny hands or nursing them behind curtains or calling family members to update them on each little development anymore. That I’m a mother not an expectant mother.

This blog seems very morose.

You should know that as I’m typing this very instant, both babies are inside in their pack and play screaming bloody murder. I, on the other hand, am sitting on the porch with our two dogs enjoying this brief moment of silence. Mom of the year? Doubtful.

These babies have such different, distinct personalities. Our girl is such a pistol ball. She is intense and curious and confident and takes over a room when in it. She refuses to fall asleep when there is action around here and you get the feeling she loves, absolutely loves life.

Our boy is different. He is sweeter and more snuggly and while incredibly curious about his world around him, he seems to observe it and reflect upon it with peace and serenity. His big blue eyes grow bigger when he watched the wind play with the summer leaves on the porch. He giggles at funny sounds and silly noises. Sometimes he gets so happy in a moment that his whole body erupts and it’s like the happiness in his mind is taking over his physical being-he pumps his legs and waves his arms and smiles. He reminds me of his dad that way.

And what’s best? They seem to genuinely love each other. Our boy is a bit of a mamma’s boy-something I’m not totally upset about-and the one other person he looks at with that amount of love is his sister. When he sees her, he just grins and reaches out to touch her hand or her hair or to chew on a toe. And the feeling is mutual. She sees him and this sweet sort of shy little smile takes over her face. She almost looks nervous as though she would do anything in the world to impress this baby. And they watch each other and coo and caa and giggle and it’s just utterly perfect.

The image in that rear view mirror is one I never want to lose and will try everyday not to. But instead of always focusing on what’s behind me, I am going to try and remember to look what is next to me. Because that’s pretty damn perfect as well.

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