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(Where I track how hard it is to type).

If it could just keep raining, I’d appreciate it.

Unlike rainy days as a teacher (where the teenagers howl at the moon), rainy days at home make for peace, especially during toddler naptimes and lazy lunchtimes and —

(One.)

— book-reading laptimes. It’s not that it’s free from interruption. It’s just that the house is a sort of almost quiet-ish where you can hear the hum of the dryer and the tapping of droplets on our porch and Carter’s breath in the chair next to mine.

(Two.)

The girls are four weeks old today. Their existence has given me a sense of something I can’t quite explain. One of those intangible somethings that I haven’t found any good words for. The closest thing I can come to is that I feel done, complete, and —

(Three.)

— full. Like I know I’m done with a part of my life, the pregnant/person-growing part of my life, and I know this is my family, my unit. Seeing into the future, just a tiny bit, has become that much more lucid for me.  This probably makes no sense. Does anyone, any parent, have better terminology for this? It’s a good feeling, a calm and solid, warm and gooey feeling. Of course I am frequently warm and gooey and wide-hearted anyways these days. New baby smell will do that to a person. It’s just that —

(Four.)

— I’ve got this husband and this marriage that I can wrap both arms around and never get enough. I have this sweet-souled six-year old with blue-blue eyes and two missing teeth. I have a deep-voiced two-year old with out-to-there lashes, the best kissin’ lips and humongous, ever-growing feet. And now I’ve got two tiny twins, each completely different and separately wonderful from the other —

(Five.)

Charlotte with her balding jet-black mop of hair, her round face and her crinkled ear. Her love for laying belly-down on Dad’s chest —

(Six.)

— and the funny way she clears her throat and grunts in her sleep. Her olive skin. Her bubble-blowing. Charlie. Char-Char Binks. Charmander.

Elizabeth? Prim and proper. Sleeps with her hands folded, tiny button nose in the air. Megan’s namesake and eerily-similar personality. Strawberry duck fluff; pursed lips. Tiniest peanut of a baby who still swims in newborn diapers. Mom-likes-Ellie-but-Dad-votes-Lizzie. Little Bit. Marmot. Squeaker.

It’s not to say life is perfect. Life is loud and messy, and we’re flying by the seat of our pants.

If I were to point out insecurities in the hopes of recording the grittier parts of reality, I’d write about how I’m still scared of having four kids. How that seems like too many. I’d write about how soft and squishy my midsection is; how it feels like puppy skin, and how this both makes me feel proud and daunted. I’d talk about —

(Seven.)

— my struggle with breastfeeding, and how small that makes me feel sometimes.

(Eight.)

I’d talk about losing my temper/mind at 3:30 in the morning, about worrying about medical bills and trying to figure out how I’m going to run this roost solo once Jesse goes back to work in two days.

We’ve got newborn twins — double blessings that keep us up all night and tethered to an insane feeding cycle during the day. Jack’s a walking accident with proprioceptive sensory issues. He’s also two with a powerful set of lungs and an Irish temper. Carter wants to play computer games with pixelated blood and is all of a sudden preoccupied with natural disasters: volcanoes, tornados, tsunamis, acid rain.

It’s a never ending juggling act around here.

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(Nine.)

In wrapping things up, I’ve got to sing praises to all of my meal-makers, my conversation-keepers, my coffee-deliverers. My neighbors, my family, my friends; my people.

When I’m about to pull out my hair — with fists, from the roots — I try to think about how undeniably joyful my life is. I think about how beautiful it all is, despite my always-sticky floors and full hampers and all the other things that don’t matter.

Hey look at that — we got through this post without a tenth interruption.

(Ten.)

Almost.

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Born.

Elizabeth Megan. 3:48 am. 5 lbs 1 oz. 17″.

Charlotte Avery. 4:46am. 6 lbs 7 oz. 18″.

I’m still holding the L&D details pretty close to my chest. The girls came Sunday the 22nd. We spent 5 days in NICU, mostly for monitoring on room air. I lost a lot of blood during a long delivery. Charlotte got to hang out for a day under the phototherapy lights. Elizabeth dipped down to 4 1/2 lbs. We all got sent home together on Friday, but Elizabeth bounced back into the peds ward Saturday after she showed some trouble breathing. It was a very long, scary week.

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Charlotte of Hollywood

We’ve been home now for three weeks, and it’s been love-bright and sleep-hazy. Having Jesse home on paternity leave has made every drop of difference when it comes to figuring out this new landscape, and I think it’s finally sinking in: we are a family of six.

Carter Patrick is the twins’ (The Twins!) biggest fan. He is the sweetest big brother, reading to them and always asking to hold them and singing them improvised Carter-tunes.

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Jack is curious and thinks the girls (The Girls!) are hilarious noise-makers. He points out their ears and hairs and noses and laughs whenever Char-lit and Bibbit squeak. He’s too fast for most pictures, what with being a bit of an (adorable) bulldozer, but we haven’t given up trying.

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2+2. We’re still working on our form.

I am overwhelmed with the support and love that has been showered on our no-longer-so-little family. Truly, we have the best people.

I am taken aback by just how very different the girls are, both in appearance and personality.

Guys, guys. Twins. Twin girls. I have them. They are here and they are gorgeous and they are perfect and is this real life?! Cheers to don’t-blink moments where your life reaches a mountain top and the sky splits wide-open in a smile and your heart explodes into dancing confetti. This is the stuff.

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Predictable, and Nice.

Not every thing, but some things, have settled into a temporary routine around here, a life-season, and it is so nice. I’m not always a proponent for slowing down or enjoying the status quo, but for right now? Right now is wonderful.

Here are some things that I’ve come to count on:

Jesse Michael is a hard worker who kicks ass and wins at life. Example #246: After a 12 hour shift, he came home and learned how to replace our broken, leaking garbage disposal. My husband is infinitely (even) more attractive because he is so handy. So man. Such brawn. He works to help me raise a hygienic kid with manners and brains. He has the best ideas, like driving out to see dinosaur bones at the museum and then getting Ted’s Hotdogs. His gardening skills are the real deal. He also acquiesced to my request that he wear short-shorts, shave his prized Irish facial hair, and attend a Halloween party under the alias of Paulie Bleeker. He stole the show.

Weekly coupon cutting and meal planning and grocery shopping. Organic food co-ops and “What do you do with watercress?”. Post-its in cook books, Pinterest fails, a lot of Google-ing simple kitchen tasks that a moron could figure out, oven burns and a near loss of a digit to the food processor. Subjecting my boys to some risky taste tests. Poor Carter. After quinoa and eggplant and fish tacos and cabbage rolls, he had a catharsis over lunchtime nachos. “Thank you, Mom. Thank you so much for making something with CHEESE.”

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My body weirding me out, mostly in a good way. (Morning Pep Talk: Pregnancy is awesome, Heather Lynne. Look at your body, being a BAMF, making a baby.) I feel guilty when I hear myself complaining. This is temporary, and really the most beautiful thing, and Baby J is going to be the best.  PS — It’s a boy for sure.

Babies. Babies everywhere. All the lady-friends joke/complain that their Facebook feeds are overflowing with pregnancy announcements. Yep. Welcome to our late 20’s. But I feel like my present experience is rather elevated. Currently, my list of knocked-up friends is at an all time high, yes. But Baby J will also be the last of four same-age cousins:

Miles: July 30
Genevieve: August 28
Jolie: October 6

There really aren’t words to describe what this phase of life feels like, with your family growing, growing and so many happy moments.

…And Carter Patrick and all that is CP right now. Home school in the morning. Big Block Sing Song. Extra long baths until he’s pruny. #StayWeirdCarter. Gymnastics and cousins and play dates and trying to keep up. “Hey, I love you” and “Hey, Babe”. Cuds and snugs and games and puzzles and backseat singing. So handsome and so smart and so kind and so loving and so three-almost-four. So excited to be a big brother. So much energy and then out like a snoring light. All blue eyes and impish smirks and belly laughs. The best part of every day.

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Not everything is predictable. Apparently my uterus is a disco; Baby J’s movements are erratic and fierce. Jesse Michael’s work schedule is haywire. He’s gone a lot, and we miss him, and we’re proud of him. One week’s schedule of work and school and sleep is never the same as the next. There are ankle-biters. There are ankle-biters everywhere, and they are the loudest kind of loud. I really, really miss my caffeine addiction. But this little phase of life, I’m going to remember it as one of the best.