Getting the hang of things. Maybe.

I'm writing this while holding two babies.  I am amazing.  (I am aware that a comment like that is just inviting spit-up in my mouth, but it needed to be said because at this moment I am a superstar.)

For those of you who've known me for awhile, try to contain your disturbance at my ham-like arms.  I officially started at Physician's Weight Loss Centers on Monday.  It's a crock, but I'm down two pounds.  Much more to go.  I'll keep you updated.

I've discovered that the babies' happy place is the same as Roar's:  the bathroom.  I turn on the fan and they can lie there contentedly for literally minutes at a time.  :)  Yesterday, I put them on the floor to get ready for a bath, and I made a spur of the moment decision to enjoy the tranquility.  I brushed my teeth, put in contacts, and even tempted fate by taking the time to change out of pajamas.  Later, I was punished with spit up in my mouth.

Quietly plotting their revenge.

Even Zachary seems to have decided that the two interlopers aren't all bad.  Unlike the first couple of weeks of their arrival, he now calls both babies by name (instead of "Conor" and "The Other One").  He also now only looks moderately dejected, rather than completely heartbroken, when I'm holding one or both of them (he still regularly says, however, "I want to hold you, Mommy!" when I've got one of them in my lap).  And finally, he enjoys giving them kisses (regular, Eskimo, and butterfly) -- either that, or he just appreciates the "Awwwww!" that he gets from me in response.  Either way, these are good signs that I may not have to pay for therapy for him. 

Kissing "Sah-manfa!"

More often than not, I still feel completely out of my element, like yesterday, when I was holding two babies (and had not yet thought of the baby carrier) and had to try to grab the phone with my toes.  But we're plugging along.