The Feller Squad, Growing Up

The older twin, Boompas, will come up to me when he is frustrated from too much fighting with his brothers or after a scolding, or when he is just plain stressed out, and stretch out his pudgy arms and insist, "Baby, baby!" in a kind of winey voice that on any other occassion I would find terribly annoying but that completely melts my heart (sorry about the cliche) for this particular demand. That is my cue to cradle him in my arms, rock him a little and coo in his ear about what a good boy he is and how much I love him. After a few seconds of this, he is satisfied, rejuvenated, and clambers from my lap, back in the game.

Two is a nice age in a lot of ways. For one thing, the twins are more independent. I think back to track meets and outings last spring, and they were very clingy, always in my lap, never wanting to stray more than a few feet from me and demanding my constant attention. Now, they have too much exploring to do to be bothered with sitting in Mommy's boring lap for any length of time. They now prefer the company of bigger kids like their brother Eighty-Eight Fingers to learn kid things from and play wild and crazy games with. Now I have more "free-time" (hahaha-more like more time to tackle the bottomless heap of laundry here). Yet, I find this newfound independence somewhat sad, and I feel somehow less necessary. I know they still need me, but I feel and instant of foolish jealousy when their attention is elswhere now. So I relish any opportunities to "baby them." After all, they are my last babies. Time flies (sorry, another cliche) fast enough. At those moments, when Boompas asks to be my "baby," I let him, if only to slow down the whirlwind of time for a moment. His small, warm embrace reassures me and rejuvenates me, too. It puts the fast pace of life in check for a few fleeting instants and makes everything brighter, better. Those "baby" moments bring us both a little peace.