This is not the norm, I should state emphatically and with relief. Our kids are a riot to roust, honestly; it is easily one of the more enjoyable parts of any day. This scene unfolded only because I stole her pacimafier (our word for it, a bastardized take on a Simpsons reference...I also hate the word "nook" and steadfastly refuse to acknowledge other people when they use it), which is not itself a dealbreaker. But then I ducked into the hallway for a moment, which was quickly ascertained by Lily as life-long abandoment. Hence, The Cry.
The real danger lurking inside the waking of children is treacherous in its simplicity: it is transporting the kids from upstairs bedroom to downstairs rumpus area. This morning Jen was sleeping in (you may note in this and later posts my deliberate omission of any reference to myself doing anything remotely self-indulgent, while simultaneously highlighting anytime Jen partakes in leisure activities), so I got to get up with the girls. Around 7:10 they made their plight vocal, so I went in and was met with a wall of The Smell. One of my kids was smuggling a stinky gift.
It took no time at all to assess that it was Abby. So, I took Lily downstairs, closed the gates, put the dogs out, and went back upstairs for Abs. This was a dastardly poop (a 4 on the Wipe Scale if you're hip to that nomenclature). I was halfway through the changing when I heard The Sound. There's nothing quite like The Sound of what is unmistakably your kid falling down a couple stairs. I didn't even need to wait; The Cry came instantly.
I kinda froze for a few seconds, and this is the crux of the issue with twins. The obvious answer - and the one I utilized after a moment's consideration - was to call to Jen for help. And help she did. Abby's tiny little .01%-on-the-weight-chart butt was literally hovering in front of me, covered in poop. She was on the changing table. My hands had crap on them. I couldn't just run downstairs in an instant.
Of course it was all a non-event, like mostly everything with kids. Lily had fallen down the last couple steps on our stairs (reference the picture of her from last Monday for a visual) and she was fine. I am (though Jen is less of) a believer that a little fall is a good thing now and again. Or maybe I'm more a believer of how hard it would be to gate off the bottom two steps on our stairs.
It all just serves to make me wonder what I'd have done if I was alone and something really bad happened. I love to worry.
Day fourteen.
Lily migrates to this corner every night, and we love to posit that it's because Abby's crib is to the left a couple feet. We've caught them talking to each other.
Abs during the afternoon nap.
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