April 3, 2012

Dear Babies,

I still get those weekly Babycenter emails, you know.

Oh how I used to devour them when I was pregnant with you guys. I’d get all set up on the couch at night with pillows and my laptop and read all about your latest development and what to expect and what to do, sometimes reading choice lines to your father–“they’re the size of kumquats…they have ears!”

Now, I skim the emails on my iPhone halfway, at best, while standing with my hip against the kitchen island.

It’s not that I care any less. It’s not even that I’m too busy.

I see so clearly how you guys are individuals. Life with twins affords you this, a reality check that what is true for one child may not be true for the other. I remember when a friend of mine had her second baby she was so confused by her son’s sleeping habits not being anything like his older brother’s. I remember blinking at her–yes, blinking–so confused myself like, duh? Like what did you think? This is a completely different animal here. 


There are milestones to hit, sure. Developmental things. You guys are seventeen months one week and hitting many of them, bravo.

And then I scroll down and read something about you guys being able to hold your own crayons and scribble nicely by now. And that’s when I’m okay with putting the phone down.

Because maybe you guys are the next Michelangelos. But I see what you do with spoons full of applesauce–as of now, we’re leaning more toward Jackson Pollocks. I’m not afraid of mess. We just already have so much of it, there’s already danger, danger, everywhere! why add eating crayons and drawing on the walls into the mix? You guys are nowhere near being able to sit and “scribble nicely.” (Isn’t that an oxymoron anyway?) And I’m okay with that.

So we’ve all made some progress, sure.

I care about things like “you should be” emails less and less. Perhaps what would also be helpful to parents is one line text messages along the lines of: REMEMBER: NO ONE IN THE WORLD IS LIKE YOUR BABY. DO WHAT WORKS FOR YOU!

Time to go now. I hear you awake upstairs, Baby Girl, throwing all of your “friends” out of your crib. Pippa. Kate. Even Chelsie. Is this for fun? Or trying to get your brother’s attention? Maybe you’re working on a performance piece for Art Basel?

Love,

Mom

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