Picture of the week: 17 weeks

We had our four-month checkup yesterday. The girls are finally meeting the standards for a "normal" four-month-old (since they were preemies, we've been playing catchup). The doctor said everything else looks good. But he did about laugh us out of the room when we (read: me) asked if we should be waking them overnight because I think they are sleeping too long. Apparently we should just be thanking our lucky stars.

Caption Contest #3 Winner!!

And the winner is ... Lyndsay Stauble!



Claire: "They see us rollin', they be hatin'"
Grace: "Word."


Runner Up: April with "Which one of us is the O.G.?"

LOL

It was gone as fast as it came.

A chuckle.

Two, actually.

This weekend, we heard the most glorious sound. Claire laughing. Twice. And then nothing. We tried all weekend to get her to do it again. We replayed the circumstances — Scott very loudly kissing her cheek. Nothing. I tried silly faces. Silly sounds. Peek-A-Boo. Nothing.

And when I did all of these things, she looked at me like, "Lady, what's wrong with you?"

But I can't stop myself. I want to hear it again. It was such a funny little chuckle. Huuh, Huuh, Huuh.

Sure, she'll smile at me from ear to ear on demand, and that's great. When I see that smile, it makes my day. But there's something about laughter that just makes your heart explode with joy.

So, I'll just keep waiting.

Caption Contest: April 28

We provide the picture. You write a caption (in the comments section below). The winner will be showered with fame and glory. Ready. Set. Go!

Izzified

When we're out and about, people look at our two car seats and say, "You must really have your hands full." They don't even know the half of it.

We're actually a family of eight. Two parents. Two babies. Two dogs. Two cats. We started our family nearly five years ago with our cat Rocko. That led to our cat Lily. And we lived happily as a family of four until about three years ago.

On a very fateful Valentine's Day in 2007, Scott gave me Izzy.



Cute puppy, right? Let me walk you through just how cute she is.







She's part St. Bernard, part Great Pyrenees, part terror. And a few days ago, as I was closing the sliding glass door behind me, she tried running inside before I closed it. Not only did she probably break a rib or two, she broke the door. Took it right off its track.



Are two babies a handful? Absolutely. Add in two dogs, two cats and Scott, and I have about seven hands full.

Don't Worry, Be Happy

Yesterday, the girls turned four months old. Wow, that makes them sound so old. So less fragile than the previous three months. When I hear four months, I think sturdy.

I worry less about them in some ways, and more about them in others. Less about if they are eating enough, more about if they are developing on schedule.

When I was pregnant, I was constantly worrying. I worried they weren't kicking enough. I worried they weren't getting proper nutrition. I worried they were being strangled by their umbilical cords. My doctor bluntly told me to get used to it because, "You're a Mom now. It's your job. My Mom still worries about me."

How true. But there's a fine line between worrying about the health and well-being of your child and driving your husband (and yourself) crazy because you want to write down every mL your child is eating. That's right. I kept track down to the milliliter.

I know I will worry on their first day of kindergarten, when they graduate to middle school, when they get a car. I think I just had a mini heart attack thinking about that moment.

But for now, I feel pretty good about things.

Well, at least until they wake up. Did they sleep enough? Did they sleep too much? When will they roll over? Sit up? Are we doing enough tummy time? Are they being stimulated enough? Being stimulated too much?

And on and on my worries go.

Bullies

They ganged up on me this weekend. Bullies.

It was Friday night. We had just finished feeding babies and Scott left to go help his Mom. I was burping Grace when someone flipped the switch from calm and peaceful to SCREAMING CRYING MADHOUSE.

It started with Grace. She was very obviously in pain, but I couldn't figure out what was wrong.

I'm trying all of my soothing tricks: burp her, pat her, hang her by her toes. Nothing's working.

But I got this. I'm a determined woman. I can figure out what's wrong.

Cue Claire crying.

This is where parenting twins really has its disadvantages.

With Grace in tow, I check on Claire. Grace still crying in my arms, Claire crying in the crib. Think, Katie, think. I can do this. I can figure out how to soothe both girls. I got it. MUST. GROW. MORE. ARMS.

I try to put Grace down. BAD idea. I try to put in Claire's binky. WRONG choice.

So, with only two hands and no good ideas left, I do the only thing a good Mom would do. I call mine.

She, being cool, calm and collected, instructs me to put Grace down while I put Claire in the swing. The swing calms Claire. I calm Grace.

Twenty minutes later, the girls are sleeping in their crib. And I'm crashed on the bed. Face down. Exhausted. TGIF.