all the birds of a feather.

so, Jacky spent the day at my moms yesterday.  trying to broaden his horizons and give me a mental and physical break. last night we did same old routine, we cuddled for a bit longer in the rocking chair because he seemed to need to.  by that I mean, everytime I tried to move him he’d hang on tighter and tighter to my shirt.  so I sat there cuddling until he lightened his grip.

he woke up at 12:45ish.  I went and patted and turned on twilight turtle.  left.  he went berserk.  I heard poor Lincoln wake up and try to soothe him, “it’s OK Jack!  It’s ok!”  in a tired moaning voice.  around 1am he was still fussing and Jack usually ‘crys it out’ within 6-9 min so I went back in and brought him juice.  that appeared to anger him.  but I was worried that he might actually be hungry and if so then it would help him.  he wasn’t.  I picked him up and cuddled in the chair again similar to the previous evening.  no nursing though!  laid him back down after a bit with the juice and left.  didn’t hear a peep til 4:30, at which point I brought him to bed to nurse.  otherwise, left to his own, he and Lincoln would be up at that time and the day would be LONG.

I love mornings.  love them.  always loved the silence of them (note, loved).  love the birds waking up.  the fog lifting.  the sun creeping over the world.  I have always been an early riser.  my boys got my genes.  they rise with the birds.  before the birds even.  I wouldn’t mind, I like it when I notice little parts of me in them.  however, gone is that mystical foggy time.  that magical moment when dark meets light.  when silence meets noise.  now, dark crashes into light.  silence is slammed away by feet pounding thru the house, shrieks erupt during diaper changes, toys are thrown, babies are crying, crying, CRYING.  shouts of

“LOOK AT ME!” “watch me!”  “more munk!”  “where’s my cup?  I wost it! I wost my munk!”  “I need more munk!”  “LOOK AT ME!”

yelling from the sister.  cries from the brother.  music from the daddy.  stella singing Rio.  toaster popping.  to say it’s loud is the understatement of the year.  the poor birds.  I bet they’ve moved.  my coffee is cold before I can drink it, fetching all those damn milk requests.  how can they seriously drink SO much?!  they have to be hiding a camel.

there is a beauty in the madness however.  some mornings it may be hard to discover.  a choreographed life being danced.  little people being built, cup by cup, song by song, hug by hug.

my silent sunrise has been replaced by wiggling chorus.  stella quietly mouthing the words to a song.  her blue eyes shining (clutching a cup of milk).  the fog lifting has been replaced with brothers hugging and kissing good morning.  the early morning chirps of the birds have been replaced with squawks and squeals of babies.

I will end with a verse from the current number one song at our house (Rio!)

“never alone for this is our home.”  sometimes silence is overrated.

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2 thoughts on “all the birds of a feather.

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