Five Months.

Doot and Bing my dearests,

Can it be? I don’t know how it happened, but according to my calendar you’ve been out five months now. Five months! Why, that’s nearly half a year, isn’t it? The nice thing about this year is that, unlike most years when it gets to be June and I say, ”Wow, I’ve really pissed this year away,” I know exactly why time is flying. This year I can say, yes, I’ve actually done something productive. And that productive thing would be keeping the two of you in fresh diapers and food around the clock.

Speaking of diapers and food, you’re both now eating solids! Seriously, those Sweet Potatoes are fairly rad, as evidenced not only by our tasting them but by Doot’s squealing during a meal, or Bing’s earnest grunting as he hurls his adorable little face onto the spoon as it’s headed towards his mouth.  

From what I can tell, rice cereal is alright too, but we’re a little concerned it may be the culprit behind our latest baby adventure: terds.  I was all cool with the baby terds until Bing went and launched a couple in the bath tub. I wasn’t expecting such a quick disintegration, but then it’s all a learning experience.

Your father, however, is not so cool with baby terds and is insisting we start prunes next week to help keep things, shall we say, loose. I really dunno about that, but I suppose we’ll see what the reaction is and let history judge. Oh, the stories we’ll tell at your 13th birthday party!

Now there has been more to this past month than eating and pooping, not that the formation of solid stools isn’t enough on its own. You guys have also been working so hard at doing stuff. For example, each of you can roll over half way. Doot can roll from belly to back, and Bing from back to belly. (Um, seems you two need to share some information there.) But that’s not all you know how to do now. Here, observe Bing at his desk:

Someday, my boy, I am certain there will be an iPhone app that can identify and taste all of those plush objects for you.  But until then, keep up the good work.

Not to be outdone, here’s Doot in his command chair:

Doot, right about here you are wondering why I’m holding a camera, and not a bowl of Sweet Potatoes.  Right after this was taken, no doubt a memo of protest was drafted and landed in my inbox, but it’s all fuzzy now because this is my fifth month straight of pulling triple shifts with my colleague in this Doot and Bing Raising enterprise, your father.

Darlings, that’s to say I love you with all that I am but I’m not thinking particularly straight these days. This may explain the near miss in exchanging the Neosporin with the A&D butt ointment.

You got to go back to the farm in Virginia this month and visit with Granny and Grandpa and all of your extended Italian relatives! Not once were you stained with tomato sauce, and nor were you the loudest people in the room, not even when you were screaming! Which did happen, by the way. Here’s a photo of us. Some details have been changed to protect the innocent:

We would be the details. You would be the innocent.

Something wonderful has begun to happen in the last few weeks. You’re going to bed at 6:30pm! Gone now are the evenings of your discontent, replaced by evenings where your father and I can Twitter side by side, muttering to each other about #iranelection and taking turns playing Stone Loops on my iPod. I know it doesn’t sound sexy, but kids, the meteor showers are NOT to be missed!

Hmmm. I wonder if by the time you’re in high school terms like iPod and Twitter and hashtag will still mean anything.

Last night Doot, you slept an entire 12 hours. I wept with joy. Bing, I won’t dance around the issue, son, you’ve GOT to start sleeping for more than two hours a shot, okay pal? I think you may be having a growth spurt, or rather, I PRAY TO GOD you’re having a growth spurt and this isn’t some sort of “accidental parenting™” or “night waking habit™.” I want you to know that I read and read and read about how to help you sleep at night, and it seems I’m going to have to let you “cry it out™ ” which some folks who adhere fervently to “attachment parenting™” would think might make you a serial killer some day.

Bing, a mother can go a little nuts trying to sort out all of the expert opinions out there. It seems like expert opinions on child rearing are like assholes. Or maybe, experts with opinions on child rearing are just assholes. I’m not sure anymore.

All I can say is this. Whoever you are, whatever you do, I am your mother and I will always love you. That said, sleeping more than two hours at a stretch overnight will only improve upon the matter.

In any case, my sons, let me end the matter this way. If one day you’re looking back and there’s still an internet and you can still read a blog post that was written when you were five months old, know that those were very good days indeed. Because they were days when you and your mom and your dad and your dog Mason and your two cats and your entire extended family all lived, sometimes happily and sometimes not, but we were all here and all of us in our own way marvelled at the joy you brought to our corner of the world.

So thanks for that, kids. For that, we’ll forget the sleep deprivation AND the terds in the bathtub.