If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it just about every blog entry.
Nothing gives a mother of twins greater joy than when they’re playing together. Two three-year-olds…born within a minute of each other…raised in exactly the same environment…rarely separated for more than a few minutes a day?
They have a lot to talk about. A lot to “play act.” And it’s so darn cute when they do.
Unless it’s three-thirty in the morning.
I’m not kidding.
I had just gone to bed after nursing Nate when I woke up to hear Sam and Ellie chatting. Loudly. I did what any mother would do…I kicked M. and whispered, “Check on the twins.”
“I did,” he replied. “They’re just up. They won’t go to sleep.”
So M. and I tossed and turned and put pillows over our heads and tried to block out Sam and Ellie playing “mommy and daddy.” Which segued into a game of “Sam!Pretend you’re a bad guy who likes to play with my dolls.”
“Okay!”
Which turned into a trip down Memory Lane with recollections that may or may not have happened… “Ellie, remember when you saw a snake?”
“Yes!”
“Sam, remember your tractor birthday cake?”
“Yes!”
No. Nononononono.
The frosting on that proverbial cake is that I had just gotten Nate to sleep.
But even when I get him to sleep, it takes me another thirty minutes or so to fall back to sleep. I had just gotten to that point.
Only to be woken up by my chatty twins.
The only good news was that they slept in until almost nine this morning.
And they played so well together all day. Bad guys and pretend and remember and all of it.
Which always makes me smile.
Well, except at four in the morning.
