The Skinny

The triplet is no more. Apparently breast feeding two babies gives you the metabolism of a hummingbird on meth, and Amy is now three weeks out and only a single pound heavier than she was on our wedding day. If it weren't for screaming kids, it would almost be like none of this ever happened. Oh, but it has.

We have identified the evil twin in our pair. The fact that one twin is inevitably evil is as old and as reliable as soap opera plots themselves. Our evil twin is Ripley. As evil geniuses go, she is mild thus far. Mostly she likes to allow 3/4 of what you're feeding her to dribble down her face and wake up out of a sound sleep with a full blown series of SCREAMS. She sleeps when you want her awake and is awake when you desperately want her to sleep. And she will pee on you. Also, she's learning to tent her fingers like Mr. Burns and practicing her first word: MWAAHAAHAA!

Nixon, despite the name, is an angel. Who will also pee on you.

We had a doula in this week to lighten the load and untie the nooses Amy and I had strung up in various parts of the house. A doula is like a mother-in-law that you pay. They make you food, change diapers, and tell you you're doing everything wrong. And there's lots of nudity involved. Most of the first day centered on the need for everyone to be topless at all times. Me, Amy, the babies, we had all made the classic rookie parenting mistake: clothes. Get topless, and our problems would disappear. We were naked before she finished talking. You go three weeks with little sleep and we'll see how hard it is to get your top off. Amy and the babies sat Indian style for several hours and had some good skin to skin time. I took my mom out for pancakes, but the restaurant insisted we put our shirts on, no matter what we told them about bonding and electromagnetism.

Hence, the doula experiment has now ended.

I have finally, belatedly, handed in my last draft of the script that began with Amy's pregnancy. It has passed agent and manager muster. They don't want any changes. At all. They're fine with it. Even if that means that I no longer have any excuse for escaping the house. Ever. We think it's great! You're done! Now you can hang out with those babies, full time! ... Why are you sobbing?

Did I mention that one of them is evil?