Saturday, July 25, 2009

Month Eight Letter

Dear Oscar and Judah,

Your dad and I are generally under the impression that we are not having any more kids. We always said we wanted two, and now that we have such a perfect little family, it is hard to imagine changing it in any way. There are lots of reasons that we think of when explaining why we are "done." For example, a family of four can always get seated quickly in a restaurant. We have four Colts seats. And most importantly, there are two of you and two of us, so we as parents will never be outnumbered.

In all seriousness, the best part of having two kids at the same time is also the worst - That each phase of your childhood only happens once. For the bad stuff, this is quite handy. Only one period of infancy (and not sleeping more than three hours at a time), teething, terrible twos, zit faced, angry adolescence, and saving for college. But for the good stuff, it seems like I am getting cheated a little. I hate that you will only be babies for such a short time, one first birthday, one first ice cream cone, one bar mitzvah, one first school dance, one first date, that I can only teach you to drive once (maybe your dad would be better suited for that task, considering my driving record). And your age right now makes me want to stop time.

You are becoming autonomous beings. This morning we plopped you on the couch and you both could hold your own bottles. Oscar, you figured out how to maneuver the bottle into your little mouth first, and Judah followed soon after. Feeding you guys has been the biggest commitment, by far, of time, energy and resources. The fact that you are starting to understand how to handle that basic survival instinct yourselves is nothing short of amazing to me. Judah, you have even taken things a step further, and have started feeding yourself finger foods. I love the look of shock mixed with pride on your little face when you can grasp a puff off the tray of the high chair and actually deposit it in your mouth. And talk about positive reinforcement, every time you succeed in getting a morsel of food in your mouth, it just makes you want to try again. I suspect you will be dipping french fries in ketchup before we know it.

Your play is more self directed now too. We have all figured out that you are your own best toys. If I sit you guys on the floor facing each other, you can provide each other with plenty of entertainment. You are laughing at each other, having babbling conversations, and even getting frustrated or tired together. True to Joseph and Kaufman form, you are also already fighting with each other. It doesn't matter if I put twenty toys in front of you, both of you only want the toy in the other's hands. It is hilarious and fascinating.

All in all, I am beginning to understand that parenting twins (and probably all kids) changes the meaning of time and memories. I don't want to get all existential here, but sometimes when I watch you, I realize that memories are being made as we speak, and I feel a sort of instant nostalgia. If time never went more slowly when I was pregnant, it never went faster than since you have been born.

For balance, I think I will finish this post with a good old fashioned story about poop. Brent and I have been dying to see The Hangover. Our friend Jonathan Baer offered to babysit the boys while we ran out to see it one weeknight evening. Bear in mind, (haha, no pun intended) that Baer (get it?) has never babysat for anyone or anything before, not even a neighbor's plant. However, he has joined us frequently for "Freeloaders Sunday" where we feed all our stray single guy friends on Sunday nights. And Baer has really become a part of the Joseph clan lately, coming over for lots of meals, drinks and good times. We love hanging out with him and he is very helpful with the babies. That being said, we figured we would put the boys to bed and then all Baer would have to do was sit on the couch and watch some bad TV (he has an unusual affinity for Real Housewives of NJ). But that wasn't exactly how things turned out.

Not fifteen minutes after we left, Baer called Brent in a panic. Judah had pooped. (Which is quite out of character for him, he usually does his business in the morning, like his dad...) And we are talking a MAJOR breach here. Out the diaper, up his back, EVERYWHERE. Brent had to walk Baer through the whole debacle. And remember, this is a man who had never changed a diaper in his life. But he got through it like a champ, and he got a fifth of Jack as a reward. And as an unintended benefit, when Baer told all his female co-workers about his adventures in babysitting, he got major brownie points! He is welcome back anytime.

Wednesday, July 8, 2009

Misshapen Head and Nasal Aspirators


People say the most amazing things. Yesterday, I noticed that my neighbor and her daughter were playing on our playset in our backyard. Now, this playset is going largely unused since obviously the boys are too small to enjoy it and Brent is too big (except when he is drunk, which is another story altogether).

I noticed that this neighbor was also with another woman and her kid. I went out to say hello and introduce myself. Immediately both little girls started begging to see our babies. Now, I am slightly uncomfortable about inviting people into the house, especially considering we have two HUGE dogs and that tends to freak people out. I also don't love having company without getting a chance to hide the stacks of clutter and papers that tend to accumulate. But I felt like I couldn't say no. So we all trooped into the house to show off Oscar and J.J.

As soon as the neighbor's friend (we'll call her Nosy Rosie) walked into our house, she took an appraising look around. She then glanced at Judah and said, "I know this isn't any of my business, but you know how Judah's head is long, especially for his body? Well, they make helmets that can correct that." I stared at her for a full beat, making sure I just heard what I thought I heard. I then said to her, as calmly as I could, "I think Judah's head is fine. It is shaped just like his dad's. She then repeated that it could be fixed, and that her niece wore a helmet to reshape her head and now she has a lovely round head.

Come the fuck on. It was all I could do not to ask her to get the hell out of my house. In this age of botox, lipo, collagen, and electrolysis (even for pre-pubescent girls), it appears there are no limits on the cosmetic requirements of life. Judah's head is a normal shape. It doesn't need correction, and even if it did, it wouldn't be on the advice and counsel of someone I met eighteen seconds ago. Where do people come up with this shit?

This isn't the first time I have been aghast at the things people say to me. Of course it started when I was pregnant ("How much weight have you gained?"), but it didn't end there. In fact, over race weekend, we hosted a friend of a friend (let's call her Sally, although her name has been changed to protect the, ahem, innocent). That night, pursuant to Murphy's Law, Judah cried ALL NIGHT. I was an absolute wreck, running up and down the stairs all night trying to quiet and comfort him, agonizing that the three house guests in the basement were poised to dial child protective services, or at the very least, were pulling their hair out at his endless screams.

What they didn't know, is that occasionally Judah just tests our limits. He is just going to be that kind of kid. He wants to know whether he can find a way out of his crib. And that night, every time I picked him up, he started smiling and laughing at me. But when I put him back down, the hysterics resumed.

During one of these interludes, as I was on my way out of bed, I was accosted by Sally. She walked into our bedroom, at 3:00 a.m., without knocking. She then asked if she could feed my baby. As if I was neglecting him. As if she knew better what he needed than I did. It was HORRIFYING. Again, it was all I could do not to throw her out on the street then and there. Instead I calmly explained that he is six months old and hasn't had a bottle overnight in three months. I informed her we had the situation under control, thanks so much. Judah eventually settled down. Clearly I have not.

Sidebar, Sally also "allegedly" helped herself to the four nasal aspirators that we had rightfully purloined from the hospital for use with her own kid. She was amazed we had those aspirators (they are the good ones, and you can't buy then anywhere), and she kept talking about them. About a week later, we realized they were all missing.

Coincidence? I think not. So, now we have no nasal aspirators, and a kid with a misshapen head. The next time someone says something like that to me, they are the ones that are going to need a helmet.

Tuesday, July 7, 2009

Month Seven Pictures!