I like each stage exponentially more and more. At this rate, my favorite stage will be when I'm in a nursing home and they come see me once a month. I love that they are becoming little people, with actual opinions and thoughts. Because it's really fun to get two kids dressed as they fight over who will wear THE SAME EXACT SHIRT except one is pink and one is blue. (I really don't want to dress them identical but if this continues I might have to buy two of everything. If so, I will punish them as teenagers by making them dress exactly alike, down to their socks.)
This photo kills me because they are more little girl, less baby. I found the tiny baby stage fairly unrewarding. When they are completely thankless even though you say "good job" as they projectile vomit on your shirt. Before they smile and they look right through you like they couldn't care less if Jack the Ripper was feeding them. A little recognition for my efforts, people! It's 3:00 am and I'm up for the fifth time tonight so you can live -- some eye contact please! It now gives me great esteem to have two children hanging on my leg wailing when I need to leave the room for a second. To quote Sally Field: "You like me, you really like me!"
Forgive me. I'm feeling sentimental today and as far as I know no celebrity named their kid Tomato or similar. It won't happen again.
PS -- More importantly, did Vince Vaughn call off his engagement yet? I'm reading The Secret and have decided to concentrate all my "power of thought" on that particular issue. Rather than, say, getting a good parking spot. I mean, do the powers of the universe really care where you park? Walk your lazy ass a few extra steps, I'd roar if I were the universe receiving such inane requests. And then, just to punish them, I'd give them the opposite of all the other shit they were asking for.
15 months old is right when I got the "second baby bug". But, I didn't have twins! (And the "this stage is better than the last" started to wear off during the Terrible Two's, at least for me...)
ReplyDeleteWell, I'm one of the weird ones. My babies are 6 months old and I'm already sad that there won't be any to follow them. :( boo hoo
ReplyDelete(I've missed some posts--I'm dying to click the link to the David Silver one--gotta go!)
thank you as usual for a good snarky laugh
ReplyDeleteWe thought about a 3rd, it seemed like everyone was doing it and I thought it was some kind of sign. I told my friend with triplets and she asked if I was "fucking crazy" and I snapped out of it.
ReplyDeleteIt is heart breaking and a complete joy to see them grow from babies to little people. They are 2.5 years old and play together so sweet I want to freeze time.
They are so cute until they start talking and thinking for themselves. Its all down hill from there.
ReplyDeleteThey are adorable! Each stage IS better then the last... but they grow so fast... too fast! Enjoy every second...
ReplyDeleteMy idiot identical children also fight over the EXACT SAME friggin' shirt in a different colour. I swear to you, it only gets worse. Last year was the Year Of The Red Coat. Holy tantrums over who would wear the red coat.
ReplyDeleteI swore that Never Ever again would I buy different colours. Henceforth everything would be uniform. To hell with helping other people tell them apart.
And seriously? Every day they wear identical outfits. I did, however, buy them non-matching spring coats. But I labeled them with their names, and they are very into ownership. So far, no shit-fits. I'm sure the wind will change next week and Thing 1 will just DIE if he can't have Thing 2's green coat.
Good luck. The fighting over junk is highly annoying. I feel for you!
Oh my - you hit the nail on the head with a Fisher-Price mallet! I know I can't be the only one who feels exactly the same way, but when my other mom friends start talking about number 3 I feel like there's a toddler sitting on my windpipe.
ReplyDeleteI'm through month 4 with number 2 and it's all I can do to not dance a jig whenever I realize I don't ever have to repeat those 4 months. Soon he will be throwing spaghetti at the wall and a tantrum at the park - yay! I will never feel crushing guilt again when leaving the house for a few hours, worried that my bottle-hating infant might feel a little peckish.