|The Dark Knight jammies were meant for Captain Outrage
though it was Super Salty who was really showing his dark side last week.
They’re both healthy and sweet as Sugar Pie this week, though. Hurray!
This is not a picture of me and Kent holding the babies. It isn’t even a picture of me and some random guy holding the babies. It is a picture of my little sister, (6’1″ is more like “middling” than “little” I suppose) and her husband holding the babies in the superdude jammies that they brought over for the boys’ birthday.
You heard correctly! The boys have entered the single digits. On the morning of their first birthday, they both took their first unassisted steps, called me “Mama”, gave me a hug, fully finished weening, began feeding themselves with a spoon, and–this is the best part–didn’t whine at all! It was amazing.
And then I woke up. Though none of those things except the hugs have happened yet, I do feel a tangible difference now that they a year old. Things are easier. They communicate primitively with me and others. They show affection. They need far fewer diaper changes. They only nurse in the morning and at night! And only when I’m wearing my uniform of course.
All these past 12 months, mothers of twins have been telling me, “Oh, it gets easier, honey. The first year is the hardest.” Or as one lady in Wegman’s put it, “There is life! There is life after the first year, I promise. There is life on the other side!”
Now that we’ve passed that milestone, those same mothers are saying, “Oh, it gets easier, honey. The first two years are the hardest.” Slow. disgusted. blink.
The worst was when a father of twins at Kent’s work said, “You just have to hang in there, after the first eight years (!!!!) it gets a lot easier.”