I always thought it was weird that parents talked about their babies’/toddlers’ ages in terms of months for so long. Seventeen months? Um, can’t you just call it 1 and a half? Close enough. But I get it now. Yeah, babies change a lot from month to month, and there is a big difference between a 15 month old and an 18 month old, but honestly, I think I speak for all parents when I say that the age-in-months thing is more to emphasize how many months you’ve been able to keep a baby (or babies) alive. “Eighteen months” sounds a lot longer than “a year and a half.” EIGHTEEN MONTHS. Eighteen! That’s a lot of months.
But poor BW3…
And here we are. N + B are a year and a half, eighteen months..whichever one sounds more badass to you–go with that one. Granted, I started writing this post when they were 18 mos…we are now 4 days away from 19 months. Such is life.
We’ll start with the stats.
At their 18 month check up, the ped couldn’t have been happier with their development. Bryn dropped off the growth curve for weight a little after her little stint with RSV, which was to be expected, so the current gap between her and her sister is now almost 4lbs! So I guess technically she only weighs 80% of what her sister does–crazy. She’s currently hanging out at the 1st percentile for weight, but little peanut is back to shoveling in the grub like a linebacker, so we expect that she’ll make a comeback here any day now.
Also, both girls are overachievers in the head circumference category. Nora was in the 75th percentile. Whoa, nelly.
Doctor visits are getting more interesting now that the girls are mobile and INTO EVERYTHING, and trying to keep them corralled onto one small exam table for an hour+ is literally like herding cats. I gotta give it to these peds offices though–they keep it pretty bare in there–no clinical supplies laying around, everything’s pretty much nailed down, and there isn’t even a blood pressure cuff or ear scope thing hooked to the wall. Smart people. But never underestimate the creativity of toddlers in a prison cell. Between the nurse leaving and the doc coming in (and pretty much continuing throughout the doc’s exam–they are not shy), our little cats were licking bacteria-laden walls, pulling all the tissues out of the box, tearing the tissue paper on the exam table to shreds, throwing snacks all over the floor… Either nothing surprises our doc anymore, or she did a great job feigning non-judgement, because she barely batted an eye when she walked into our little 8×10′ disaster cell. She just crunched right over all the puffs and did her thing.
On the eating front, the girls continue to be pretty much game for anything, following in their father’s footsteps. Thank goodness they don’t eat like her mother when she was a baby (which Grama and Grampa never stop reminding us about). But in an expected twist of karma, they only eat well for mom on occasion, but double-fist food into their pie-hole whenever dad or the nanny feeds them. Well played, ladies.
To our delight, the girls have been pretty portable when it comes to eating out lately. In our last 5 restaurant experiences with the girls in tow, only once did we have to ask the waitress to box up everything before we even started eating so we could make a quick escape with our miniature terrorists. We’re gonna call that a win. Here are some shots from our more successful outings.
Speaking of dancing, have we told you about the girls’ obsession with music? They take it VERY seriously, and whenever a song comes on, they drop everything, and (usually with very straight faces) dutifully start rocking out, which for Bryn means busting out her signature move–The Chicken Wing. (Note: lots of bonus Nick footage in the next 2 videos–sweaty Nick, Nick in tube socks, huge-hole-in-my-boxer-pants Nick… eat your hearts out!)
It’s gotten so extreme, that waiting between songs on the radio has at times resulted in mini tantrums.
If you’re reading this from anywhere in the continental United States, we probably don’t have to tell you that this winter has SUCKED. Yeah, we’ve been pretty much quarantined anyway because of the flu season+preemie combo, but in our general anger toward winter 2014, we feel a responsibility to place at least some of the blame on this sh*tty weather. So the few times we’ve taken the girls out into the GDP (great dirty public), we’ve felt a little extra rebellious, like we’re giving old man winter the bird (while we frantically clorox wipe anything the girls might touch…our apologies if we clorox-wiped your kids).
Last month, this lucky mama got to go on a girls’ spa weekend trip with her BFFs in New York. It was nothing short of ahhhmaaazing, and while I would have liked to think that things were falling apart without me at home, rather the opposite was true, and the girls were well fed, bathed, and entertained by Super Dad Nick. Grandma and Grandpa W even came up to witness the single-dad magic (and get some twin time).
Here are some other randoms from the last [insert amount of time since last post here]:
PS–Little update on BW3: Little babe is doing everything he/she is supposed to be doing, including constant backflips and karate chops, and so far hasn’t thrown us any curves! Tomorrow is our 24 week ultrasound and check up, and our doc has told us she’s cutting us off from ultrasounds after this one. Say what?! This is super weird for us, considering we got used to almost weekly ultrasounds with the girls. Oh well. No more paparazzi for you, b-dubs. We’ll see you on the outside! (Preferably on or around June 23rd–thanks).