Good News and Bad News

The bad news:
There are so many things about pregnancy and child-care that people just don't mention. THe topic of current times is that babies are bad at digestion. You know that cute face babies make when their pooping? Yeah, that's because it's painful. Everytime you, as an evil parent, force them to eat, their digestive system hurts.

Then, this discomfort peaks at about 6-8 weeks. That's where we are. So there's two babies, in the most gastro-intestinal distress they have ever experienced, and then there's another gem. Their milk-laden guts can just get bound up, and they might not poop for up to seven days. Let me tell you, if I was corking it for seven days, I doubt my demeanor would be pleasant. So Monday, they cried. A lot. Then they pooped. A lot. The adjectives I would have to use to describe some of the atrocities are usually reserved for horror movie monsters, and natural disasters. Things like surging, explosive, and demonic.




And Hug-able.

If you read that pokemon's powers, that's basically what it's like: "what is that smell? Oh, you reshuffled him into your pants."







The good news:
We slept for a solid five hours last night. We bought new basinets for both girls and their much more willing to pass out in them. That meant less baby-night-holding. It also meant I had a good chance to have my advanced brutally rebuffed.




Headache, huh? Why? It's not like you were holding a screaming infant with a veritable gut-geyser stopped up for eleven hours today.






But, life is becoming something resembling normal again. Normal has changed, but we can make plans and do something other than wait for a feeding now.

Let's play Pretend

My sister watched the girls last night. She volunteered so Abby and I could have a nice couple's night/Valentines dinner. It was pretty marvelous. We had an exquisite dinner, that no one vomited, pooped or cried during. Abby had 2 glasses of wine, and I think she was pretty loopy by the end of the meal.

It was a pleasant treat to see that we still have something in common even without our little genetic legacies. Consciously or not, we kept conversation away from talking about parenting, money or the short term future. The topics de jour were vacations, winning the lotto and the proper way to skin a cat.

I feel comfortable saying that we came to a consensus. It was decided that we should obtain a large amount of wealth, sit on a beach, and eat things that only really rich and really poor people eat. Like snails, or obscure local produce.

Abby looked beautiful. The combination of seeing her in makeup, low lighting, and a couple glasses of wine myself; turned me into the blubbering man-child she started dating all those years ago. Hopefully it was endearing.

How to Compose Yourself

Recently, we've come to the conclusion that children shouldn't get in the way of our busy social lives. The culmination of this realization is that we dragged them cooing and pooing to a Superbowl party. Those girls know how to party.

I didn't expect it at all, but they were all about the crowd, just couldn't get enough. Doing body shots, eating pizza-dip; they got so drunk they crapped themselves. Both of 'em. I mean that's a major party killer right there.




Picture this, but more socially acceptable.




I suppose we're going to have to go over some of the basic party rules with them.
-No fallen soldiers
-If you spill it, you should make at least a halfhearted attempt to look like you plan on cleaning it up. Patting it with a bare hand, while looking around plaintively, is the bare minimum.
-No double dipping. This hasn't been much of an issue, but it's always good to remind people.
-Try not to pass out on anyone. This was a big issue.

To be honest, they were awesome little munchkins. They didn't cry hardly at all. They used some pretty creative anti-steeler insults. And they didn't have any major freak-outs. We just set up their pillows in a corner and plopped them down on the floor. I don't' think they got stepped on more than a couple times. Plus, Abby got the chance to have more than one beer for the first time in almost a year.