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You are my twin guideposts, my stars, my lights.

D, today you flipped the lounge chairs over on the lawn and told me all the ways you were fixing Momny and Daddy’s cars.  You put in new oil, lights, checked the engines, and washed them.  I helped you climb into the hammock and then pushed and pulled until you were swinging high and fast. Then I ran up next to you and tickled you, making you sputter and giggle and scream with delight.  You and I drew rainbows and the most colorful version of Daddy’s truck with chalk on the patio.  You cried as though in pain when your bubble wand slipped between the deck boards and was lost.  You held hands with me willingly in the parking lot when I promised we could zoom fast.  You keep asking me to tell you, “I love you.”  I love you.


C, today you had your six-month checkup and you were a trooper after your vaccinations.  Of course you cried!  Shots hurt.  But not for long.  You let me cradle and sing to you and wipe your tears.  Later you laughed like it tickled later when I massaged the injection sites!  At dinner, you had giggle fits when D said over and over to you, “Are you a koala?” and “Are you a buckaroo?”  How could you not?  D loves to clown for you.  And tonight is the the fourth night of your waking shortly after bedtime for another extended nurse.  It’s no longer a surprise and I’m relaxing into the extra time together.  Maybe it’s the magic combination of dropping your latest nap and teeth on the horizon.  It’s no longer just because you wake yourself by rolling over.  You are squirmy and grabby. You also do a lot of whacking, books, toys, yourself.  Be kind to my little C.  I love you.

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