December 10, 2008

Dear Cole and Owen,

It has taken me ten minutes to type the first sentence of this letter to you because I am so tired that I have made a billion typos just getting these few words out. Amazing how the manual dexterity and hand-eye coordination start to go when you don't get any sleep. But I digress . . . let's not talk about sleep. Because we're not getting much. I left something of your sister's at a friend's house at the end of last week and she emailed me asking if I was desperate to get it back. Desperate, I asked? On a scale of 1-10 with my desperation for sleep being a 10, my desperation for your sister's fork (She can eat with her hands, right? She has opposable thumbs.) ranks about 0.000000001.

This month I have started taking you on outings - gasp! - by myself. It takes about a half hour to get all of you out of the house. Most of the time it seems akin to the mobilization of American forces at Omaha Beach. Minus the enemy fire unless you count explosive poop which both of you have. I hope that when you're big and grown that you'll forgive me for writing about your poop on the internet. Know that you are very good at the poop.

Even though you are very little people, you do have distinct opinions about things. Owen, you like milk, your swing, moving lights and the gym set. Cole, you like boobs, sleeping, views of the outdoors and singing. Neither of you are particularly fond of baths or your car seats.

Every night we put you in the gym so that you can do your exercises. You love to listen to the crunch of the parrot wings and the crinkle of the elephant ear. Those baby product people have gotten really good at this because you are completely transfixed by those creatures.

I know that we weren't going to talk about the sleeping, but here's the deal with the sleeping. Cole, you are the better sleeper, at least during the day. Owen, you don't seem to like to sleep. Except in someone's arms. Which is a problem because during the day the only arms in this joint are mine and there is lots of competition for these arms. In a fit of despair, your dad and I put your Barcaloungers (bouncy seats) in your crib and put you to sleep in them. You are all swaddled and tugged in snug and tight and you know what? It works. You sleep better. You actually both take things that sort of resemble naps and not the little sleepy crabby things that you were doing before which required nearly constant vigilance to keep you from waking up. It is indeed our Christmas miracle or it will be if it lasts for longer than a day.

You have become proficient at wrangling free of your swaddling in your crib. If there were wrangling Olympics you two would be in hot pursuit of as many gold medals as Michael Phelps. Your daddy swaddles you kids tighter than one would need to swaddle a large tiger and you can still get out of it. But you guys don't just have run of the mill parents. We are trying to actually excel at this whole thing. So we brought in the big guns. We brought in The Woombie. A tight stretchy device that zips up and keeps you from moving at all. Then we swaddle you on top of The Woombie. And then you just sit there and vibrate. And sleep. Parents: 1. Owen and Cole: 1,000,000.

Both of you have started to smile at us in the last couple of days. Trust me, YOU. REALLY. NEEDED. TO. START. GIVING. BACK. and now you are. Owen, your first really noticeable smile was for Sarah for which we will forgive you (kid, she put your pacifier in the litter box this morning!). Cole, yours were for daddy and then mommy in short order. In an effort to provide honest reporting I have to say that you have smiled at lights and light fixtures more than you have smiled at us. Smart man, you have yet to be seen smiling at Sarah. I guess you don't like your pacifier with a little extra crunch.

I've got to be honest with you, this twin thing is really hard work. But, know that even if you are howling or cross with us about some service that we aren't providing you (Sir, is that milk just a touch too cold? Shall I heat it up for you in a warm water bath?) we are really working hard. All of the time. Well, except for when we're watching The Daily Show. Because, John Stewart? He makes us laugh and that keeps our hopes alive.

Baldies, we love you more than you'll ever know. We're working harder than we've ever worked. And please, please, keep those smiles coming. Because the gypsies? I've heard they love buying twins. And if they show up around 3:30AM we might not hesitate for too long.

Love,
Mama