This Week in Twin Momma Land

Monkey

Monkey, all of a sudden, won't wear a shirt with a tag in it, because "it hurts."

When asked this evening how she got those scratches on the back of her thigh, she said "Bailey did it." Bailey is her classmate at preschool. "How did she do it?" asked Twin Daddy. "With her bellybutton," said Monkey. Of course.

Monkey developed a "boo-boo on my nose" in response to Turtle's eye injury. She does have a chapped nose from her recent cold and so we indulge her, putting Aquafor ointment on her nose as well as Turtle's rapidly healing scars. Turtle had a follow-up appointment this week to confirm her healing is going well (it is), and as the nurse was finishing up with us Monkey said, "Momma." "Yes, honey?" I said. She said something so softly that I put my head next to hers and said, "What is it, honey?" "My nose," she whispered again, so very softly that I only know she said it because I saw her lips move and felt her breath on my face. I looked at her looking at me with so much faith, took a deep breath and said, "Um, excuse me nurse?" "Yes?" asked the nurse. "Monkey has a boo-boo on her nose, and we were hoping you could check it out for her." The nurse looked at me for a second and I kind of raised my eyebrows, and then she said, "Oh of course!" and made a big production about getting the little scope with a light that they use to check ears and eyes. After she thoroughly checked Monkey's nose, she said, "It looks good, just keep it clean and it will be all better soon. Ok?" "Ok," said Monkey, completely validated. The nurse became a star on my "A" list.

Turtle

Turtle's eye is so healed that when people who know about her accident see her for the first time, they say, "Which eye?" She tells people, "I have a boo-boo on my eye." When they say, "I know, I'm sorry," she continues, very importantly, "The family dog bit me."

She has taken to licking Monkey in the face during bath time. This causes a great deal of giggling from everyone.

Tonight she said, "I'm so big" and stretched herself as tall as she could and did something with her arms. I finally realized that she was flexing her muscles for us.

Every time she offers me food now, she says, "Pretend bite Momma, pretend. Don't take a real bite." And then she launches into this story: On Valentine's Day, I got her and Monkey each a heart-shaped chocolate lollipop. They ate them in Turtle's hospital room. Monkey offered me a bite of hers, and I took one. Then Turtle offered me a bite. I took one. She cried. And cried. And cried. She put her head on Twin Daddy's shoulder and cried, "Mommy took a real bite of my lollipop Daddy, a real bite." This went on for infinity. After I had apologized 8 million times and promised to never take a real bite again, she calmed down. But she hasn't forgotten. Oh no. Every chance she gets, she says, "Mommy, you took a real bite of my lollipop. And I cried." Like I could ever forget about the time I took candy from my hospitalized baby.