It's all just getting a little too crazy now. Luka, the younger of my twin sons, we believe was a child of passion and it shows.
Yes, we had been trying to get pregnant (and trying to stay pregnant) and so there were charts, and temperature taking, and little x's to show just when... well, you know. And after I became pregnant with the twins, we decided it was very likely that they were conceived on completely different days!
This is based on very odd pregnancy test results, measurements of embryos, a conception date that just did not fit in with my "like clockwork" rhythms, and the fact that, given the kids measurements which made one look five days older, and going back and looking at the charts and the days... and those x's five days apart...
Well, lets just say we believe one twin was conceived by procreation and the other by... recreation! One was planned, and the other, thanks to a second egg that perhaps wiggled free, was a love child!
He did, after all, hang out in the womb for more than an hour, happy to enjoy all that room after he kicked out his bigger brother. He also was the baby who always measured five days smaller.
And passionate he is. He lives life on the edge.
The edge of the table, the edge of the back of the couch, the edge of the stairs on the wrong side of the banister. And because he likes to live life like a daredevil, he has already been to the emergency room twice with head wounds, once that required stitches, the other: close observation of his mental state. Ha!
Well, life just got a little crazier in the last 3 days.
It started when he was protesting a nap and fell out of his crib. He was shocked to find himself on the floor of his room with nothing penning him in. The light bulb went on and suddenly he is out of his crib whenever he sees fit. And the baby gate that once kept him from freely roaming the upstairs? Yeah, it looks a lot like a crib rail and is easier to dismount from.
So now, he has the run of the house and has taken to fleeing up the stairs and pelting those down below with hard toys and books from Noah's bedroom thrown off the balcony above our living room. And he has good aim, let me tell you!
His passion manifests in other ways, too. He has discovered the joys of saying, "NO!" and follows that up with a punch to the face. If you say, "Luka, no hitting!" he will instantly kick you in the shin. Five times. If you say, "No kicking!" he will then blow raspberries in your face and run away.
And time-outs in his crib? Yeah, not workin'
The saddest victim of his new found aggression is poor mild-mannered Ethan. When I hear Ethan crying I must now come running as fast as possible because I often find him sitting on the floor with Luka standing behind him hitting him over and over again on the head with the stick from some toy. God forbid Ethan learn how to move away.
"Luka! We don't hit our brother! You need to be gentle! You hurt Ethan.
Look at him crying. Can you say, Sorry Brother?"
He has also taken to biting Ethan when he won't hand over a coveted toy. I kind of miss the days when he used to grab Ethan by the hair and drag him down to the floor to steal his toys.
When folks ask me if the boys are twins, and I say they are, it is often followed by a question like, "So, do they have a special bond, a unique relationship with each other?"
Yeah, lady. Unique. That's one way to put it.