We at Chez Hatchet have always felt that the first 3 months are the absolute toughest when it comes to baby wrangling. The twins have confirmed this theory.
Newborn infants are cute in their own brand new, lump-like manner, but 3 month olds are off the charts with the Cute Factor. (OMG! Did I just refer to my babies as lumps? Worse yet, did I just suggest that yours is, too? Whoops!) At 12 weeks, Emma and Logan have reminded me why we have children in the first place and my will to live has been refreshed. It's amazing the difference a little extra sleep makes. Instead of waking every 1.5 hours, we makes either every 4 or 5. If it weren't for Logan, it would be even longer.
Not that I'm resentful or anything.
The twins stay awake longer during the day, which makes it hard to get any holiday baking done, but I'm trying. They are reaching for dangling toys now and are getting better and better at bringing their hands to their mouths. Emma has been working out and does tummy crunches on a daily basis. She squeezes into a plump ball so that she can reach toys in the tray attached to the swing. I still haven't seen her roll over, but she says she totally could, if she wanted to. Clearly I'm not providing enough motivation.
Both of the are finally able to sleep in the co-sleeper or crib, when laid down for a nap and will sleep for longer than it takes their unconscious bodies to realize they are no longer pressed against my pillowy bosom. Sometimes for a couple of hours, even! Eric feared this would never happen and that we'd be stuck with them sleeping on our chests until they were 10 years old. Men give in so easily to despair, don't they?
The cooing, smiling and flirting is non-stop and ridiculously endearing. So much so that I've decided against trading them in for puppies, though I may yet come to regret this decision once they're six. On the bright side, Caitlin's twelveishness may put their sixishness into sharp perspective and I'll wonder what I was worried about.
For my part, I've lost a total of 55 lbs so far and my hair is starting to fall out, resulting in "poodles" in the bathtub again.
Yes, you could build small dogs out of the hair I shed. That doesn't happen to you?
Ahem! [Throat clearing noises.] Moving on!
While I have avoided being covered in curdled milk recently, the baby puking is still occurring. I think we might be getting better at burping them and the twins better at being burped. Logan sounds like a beer guzzling frat boy when he gets a good one off. It's somewhat disturbing how much excited cheering meets such wretched sounds, too, but if passing gas is keeping me un-urped upon, I'll cheer for that!
They still aren't excited about taking bottles, as Heather discovered the night she watched the twins, while Eric and I
Resistance is futile!