The nocturnal is in the house.

Yoohoo! Over here. Miss me? I miss you. You and a truckload of sleep.

This is what I’ll try to do to keep both you and me happy. I will at least try to slap up a photo for you each day. Some cute and fuzzy pics, some not so much. You’ll get an internet’s photo eye view of my adventurous foray into parenting fresh, hot off the press twins, a rambunctious toddler who thanks me daily for the “Baby Two” gift I brought home for her, and the ‘growing up too fast and proving what a kicka$$ loving, attentive father he’ll be someday’ 12-year old gentleman. Damn, am I insane in the membrane? Going insane, got no brain. I like a good challenge, and I think I’ve created the perfect one, don’t you agree?

As the sun is out and Gab’s banging on drums and xylophones, the twins are sleeping soundly in the living room amidst the chaos. I had heard of this unpleasant phenomenon wherein a baby may be born with their days and nights reversed. ::scratching head, me confused, me no understand role of sun and moon:: Hooboy, the twins are living la vida loca throughout the night and resting peacefully from their all night partying throughout the day. The louder and sunnier it is, the better they snooze. So, yeh, days and nights…all in a clusterf*ck. Hey, and know what that means? My Brain? And, its good buddy, Energy? They’ve taken sabbatical from my body. I have no idea even what area of the world to begin searching for their sorry a$$es.

Naturally, with it being daylight and all, I’m able to sit down and say howdy hello to you guys. I think I’ve mentioned how the twins, Ethan and Alani, are completely opposite in appearance. COMPLETELY. It boggles my brain how random the genetic roulette wheel can be. Here, take a gander. See how big and brawny Ethan is there on the left. And, Alani to the right is all things tiny. Actually, she is the size she should be for her age, keeping in mind that were they singletons, they would each still be swimming in mom juices for another 2 weeks (they would be 38 week lil fetuses).

The boy, I’m not sure if he stumbled upon a steroid factory in there or what. But, he’s got a big ole head (15 inches in circumference on hoohaa departure…umm yeh baby, take that…are you squirming, gals?…god bless the epidural is all i have to say), basketball palming hands, a rather large Mr. Magoo nose (the ultrasounds, they do not lie), broad neck and shoulders that will have him shopping at the Baby Boy’s Big and Tall Shop.

The girl, she is teensy tiny in all features. Wee little facial features, tiny little head (that, yes, almost fell out on the floor after the Big Boy stretch…I could have birthed a full dozen of Alani gals…yeah, more than you ever wanted to know about my crotch…you thought i had run out of crotch related material…no ma’am, no sir, i have only just begun…i still have the whole birth story to share…stay tuned for what is sure to involve multiple mentions of my hoohaa and hoohaa related sundries). Actually, we’re thinking she may be the female version of E. Which I find totally hilarious and life giving him a big wallop across the cheek. After meeting my dad for the first time, E couldn’t even bear to look at me much less approach me in any sort of physical way as he claimed I am the carbon female copy of my dad. Put a suit on me and have me tell some really bad jokes over and over, and you’ve got my dad. Well, I guess a haircut would be in order, but you get the picture. Anyway, E goes on and on about how freaky the similarity between the two of us is. And, now, he may have his little female carbon copy. It will be interesting to see how she develops over the next few years.

Oh, and notice what I do? I still find myself referring to the twins as The Boy and The Girl instead of Ethan and Alani. (I actually went back and corrected myself in those previous paragraphs changing out some ‘boy’s and ‘girl’s for Ethan and Alani.) I know, it’s a horrible thing but so convenient as they are, indeed, a boy and a girl. If they were the same sex, I’m sure I’d be more apt to use their names. Or, maybe it was the late agreement upon a name…maybe the names haven’t yet stuck with me? I’m not sure. But, if you catch me doing it, just smack me and go on. Smack.

Here is a poor quality photo from this morning. I would like to point out several issues in this photo. First, notice the wildly maniacal smile on Gab’s face in the background. Guess what she likes to do? You are so smart and exactly correct…she likes to reach through the slats of the port-a-crib and pat their head, rub their head, and sometimes smack their head. Oh, and identifying facial features on babies is a stimulating pastime for Gab. I cringe when I admit that she has slipped in a few eye pokes on the babes thus far…”EYE!!!” poke. Cheek, forehead, eyebrow (yes, she correctly identifies foreheads and eyebrows thanks to Gav’s most excellent facial feature teaching skills), ear, hair. Those, I can tolerate, but the eye! The eye! It’s a baby Hitchcock film in the making. (oh, Ethan somewhat resembles Alfred Hitchcock…I’ll get up some better photos and tell me what you think…I can see Mr. Magoo with a healthy heap of Hitchcock…whose kid is this???)

Also, notice the hot blankets from the hospital. Are we supposed to steal those? Because I do. Anything in, on, or around the baby cart on leaving day is fair game to me.

I don’t position the twins in the crib like this normally. Her all piled up on the suffocating hazard and pissing off her brother with her slight body weight, the blankets piled and thrown about the entire area. No, I had been holding them both and just plopped them there momentarily for repositioning. And, then thought, “Picture time.”

Notice Alani is going for some sweet booby juice from big brother. And, he’s not having it. As I try to raise my kids to not be prejudice and to never judge a person by their skin color, accent, religious affiliation, socioeconomic status, I may have to at least have them exercise some discrepancy over whose breast they seek out for milking. Nursing from your own brother? Alani, come on.

Lastly, you can vaguely make out a hobo’s bed in the background. That would be where poor, pitiful me spends my up-and-down nights. Our house was designed to hear a mouse’s fart from one end of the house to the other. So as not to disturb Gav and Gab’s nights, I’ve positioned the twins and myself in the living room, thinking they would sleep most of the night in their crib and I would continue to call the couch home. Yeh, whatever. But, that’s my general location through the night. I have a recliner in an adjacent room where I’ll sometimes rock them to sleep, but then I lose all sensation in every limb of mine as I have achieved Twister gold level status in making myself the most comfortable for twin’s sleep. Masochist, I am.

Okay. Break over.