Two things I have done in the last several days:

1.  Gotten a tattoo

2.  Attended a George Michael concert (and not just attended, but rather DANCED MY ASS OFF for two straight hours.  And as a new Mom, I rarely do anything for two hours.)

To answer your questions:

1.  Yes, it hurt.

2.  And no, I don't know when I became a gay man.

And while we're playing twenty questions, riddle me this Batman:  why is it that I cannot for the life of me remember what I had to eat for lunch today, the name of the dog (that usually comes out Jacks-ah-Park-errr-WHATEVER THE FRICK YOUR NAME IS!!!) or the correct word for various things I am trying to say at the office, such as CONTRACT, BUDGET or SNACK and yet (YET!) for some reason I could recall every single word to Everything She Wants?

My trip to LA was fun, and I enjoyed two glorious nights of uninterrupted sleep, which I haven't experienced in probably nine or ten months, easy, since the last trimester of my pregnancy was plagued by heartburn, frequent peeing and the kind of hugeness that usually renders a human incapable of turning over in bed by him or herself without the use of a large crane and a camera crew from The Insider waiting in the driveway.

My sister and a friend and I (all Moms) went to an Orange County tattoo place and can I say how out of place we looked?  Three desperate housewives, traipsing into the White Lotus Tattoo Parlor, with our fetching  summery handbags and kicky little ballet flats, surrounded by skateboarders sporting full sleeves of work, plus neck tattoos galore, accented by various types of facial piercings.

I got two, teeny little stars on my inner arm to forever remind me of my little babies. 

I mean, it's not like I forget about them, just to be clear. 

I forget everything else, all day long, and joke that soon I'll be like that guy in that movie, the one about the thingamajig, the you-know…the one who has memory loss and tattoos everything he needs to remember on his arm–Oh! MEMENTO!!  Yes, I joke that soon I'll be like THAT guy, tattooing every detail of my own life on my arm so I can remember them, but really I'm just being an ass. 

I have terrible problems with my memory but I do remember my own kids. Most days.

So, um, yeah. 

The return from LA was somewhat tricky as I had some issues with my mother-in-law, who came from PA to help BeBop and ensure that he would not leave Bosco (whose childcare license has been revoked for excessive ball-licking) in charge of the babies while he runs out to get Chinese food.

I've now had 'issues' with my sister-, father- and mother-in-law (I'm on the outs with the in-laws, you might say!) and although I am the common denominator in all of these instances, I do feel that conflicts of these sorts are always a two-way street.  And again, I am somewhat hesitant to discuss these issues in detail because what if, God forbid, my FIL was reading this blog? (Although if that old post about my pregnancy-induced anal fissure didn't get him I guess he can take anything I might dish out.)

The short version of the story is that we are sleep training Jax and giving him a chance, when he wakes early from a nap, to hang out awhile in his crib in the hopes that he can go back to sleep and my MIL would, at the first hint of a peep out of him, race into the nursery and pluck him from his bed faster than you can say "sucktastic Mommy."  And when I would ask her, repeatedly, to not do this, she would promise to cease and desist but this would last only until the next nap.

And then if I wasn't sitting outside his room, guarding the door with a sharpened Swiffer handle, she would sneak back in and begin playing the Dangle The Noisy Bracelets game with him, inevitably waking him fully and rousing Parker.  And when I would ask her nicely to step out of the room, hoping that Jackson would relax and get another 30 minutes of sleep, he would begin screaming bloody murder as if to say, "where is my super fun Grandma why did you make her leave and furthermore, why aren't you picking me up you stupid heifer?" or something like that.

So we went 'round and 'round about this issue of respecting our ground rules in our home when it comes to our babies, and yes, it was as much fun as it sounds. Sigh. 

But in the end we patched things up and I think the next visit will be smoother.  I told her how having kids just changes the dynamic of a family.  (At least in our dysfunctional families.) And how we all have to adjust to these new roles we are in: I am a Mom, BeBop is a Dad and our parents have to adjust to the idea of being grandparents.  This is now their primary function.  And this creates some confusion at times, as we all get used to this new situation. 

And how CERTAIN new grandparents should appreciate the framed photo of his three grandkids that he received on Father's Day (which isn't really a gift-mandated holiday ANYWAY) instead of griping about how he didn't receive a gift card from Best Buy DAD.

And so on I go, stumbling through this new unchartered territory, with lists of what I need to buy this weekend because, if left to my own devices, I would stare blankly at the supermarket shelves, unable to ascertain what is needed at home (BABY FOOD!  DIAPERS!!), with a freshly-tattooed arm that brings a smile to my face and a new pink t-shirt that reads 'Faith' from last night's concert where I wasn't even close to being the oldest person there.

And really, what could be so bad about all of that?

Dear Babies,

Congratulations, we have all made it to the six-month mark! Yay us.

Granted, there were many times when the theme of the day was screaming, crying, whining, complaining and an overall sense that the world was about to come to a horrible, tragic end at ANY MOMENT.  And I'm talking about MYSELF, of course.

The fact that your Dad could go back east this last weekend and leave me all alone with the two of you is simply a testament to modern medicine and the miracles of pharmacology.

A couple of months ago I was fairly terrified to be alone with you, even for brief periods of time.  And this is not a reflection on you.  For the most part, you are both very good, happy babies.  You never suffered from colic or spitting up or any other major maladies…besides the hunger strike that a certain baby boy who-will-remain-nameless conducted the first couple weeks of his life, that is.  You really only cry when hungry or very tired, and in general are easy babies.

It was ME with the issues, clearly. 

This weekend your God-Mother came to help with what we in the Watson household call The Dinner Rush and asked me if I was feeling more confident.

"I'm feeling more competent," I answered.  "Wait, you realize I said CONFIDENT right?" she clarified. "Yes, I know that's what you said.  But confident is a ways off for me — I'm just happy to feel slightly competent at this point!" I said.

I know that might sound weird to other new twin Moms.  So many of them have been alone with their twins full time since they were born, taking care of two babies day in and day out for months, all by themselves.

To me, that is akin to sailing under the Golden Gate Bridge on a raft made from banana peels. Simply impossible!  At least it was impossible, thanks to meds and a great deal of therapy, I am now somewhat able to cope with the care and feeding of the two of you all by myself.  Just like a big girl!

Now you are eating rice cereal and veggies.  We started with the orange vegetables and then moved on to green.  Your current meal du jour is green beans.  I'm happy to report that you're both pretty good eaters. Parker, you open your mouth wide when you see that spoon coming, just like a little baby birdie.  And Jackson, you're getting more and more interested in food as times goes by.

Sometimes, at the start of The Dinner Rush when you're a little tired, hungry and cranky, we put you in your chairs.  They are bright blue with tons of colorful stripes and they sort of recline back a little. We call them your Palm Beach Retirement Chairs because you honestly look like you should be dipping your feet in the surf and enjoying a tasty beverage.  Preferably something fruity with an umbrella in it.  When we attempt to hoist you into the chairs and attach your bibs, you often start shrieking bloody murder – both of you!  The combination of being tired and hungry and then having us half-strangle you with these very unfashionable plastic bibs is just too much to bear, evidently.

When your Grandma comes over to help, she'll often look at me while witnessing this display and ask, "What is WRONG with them?? WHY ARE THEY CRYING?"

"How should I know??" I respond.  "I just met them six months ago!  I HARDLY KNOW THEM!"

This is endlessly frustrating for her.  And endlessly amusing for me.

On the sleeping front, thank the Good Lord in Heaven, Jax you are FINALLY starting to sleep through the night.  And just in time, little buddy, since Mommy was on the verge and the sleep deprivation was not helping.  We had to do some sleep training and I am hesitant to explain what that is.  For sure you will have plenty to speak to your therapist about one day and why would I add fuel to that fire?  Suffice it to say, for a couple of weeks it was HELL ON EARTH for all involved and now, finally, it's getting better.  You are learning how to what-they-call-in-the-sleep-books "self-soothe" and it's a blessing. Parker you get an A+ in the self-soothing department. We put you down at night in your little sleep sack and you flap your legs up and down a few times (looking just like a tiny little mermaid since both legs go up and down together because of the wearable blanket!) and you're out for a good 11-12 hours.

Besides the endlessly-traumatizing sleep training, other topics I will avoid in the post:

How the Australian psychic I saw asked if your father was 'autistic' and I almost answered, "Well, not so much autistic as maybe a little ADHD" before realizing she said ARTISTIC.

How your Daddy left you alone (sleeping) for five minutes to run across the street to pick up Chinese food while Mommy was at the first fricking movie she'd seen in MONTHS and how Mommy came THIS CLOSE to killing Daddy when she came home and found out.

These issues clearly do not reflect positively on either of us and could cause someone to summon C.P.S. and so for the good of all, I will not be discussing these matters.  Nothing to see here people, please move along.

So me and my meds will be heading to Los Angeles this weekend to celebrate your cousin's first birthday, and you will be staying home with Daddy and your other Grandma, who's traveling all the way from Pennsylvania to help take care of you.  And I'm already missing you desperately, but at the same time can't wait to get a few uninterrupted hours of sleep at night.  And maybe enjoy the nice sunny weather in Southern California.

But do not fear, I will not be sporting anything resembling swimming attire.  Because no one needs to witness THAT.

Two additional pieces of bidness:

1.  Dunn Family: Where are you?  I couldn't follow that link to your new blog, please e-mail me with your new deets!

2.  And finally, because fellow twin Mom Erin threatened me with bodily harm asked so nicely, here are some recent pix of les bebes:

Jax and Baby P all suited up for the frigid weather, braving the chilly seventy degree Northern California climate!

While my brother amuses himself with various colorful objects, I ask you: Where the hell is my frosty beverage??

                                                                                 

  
                                                                                                                                                   
                                                                                                                                                                                   

Really what more is there to say – don't these just say it all?

*So I started this post like a million years ago, but Typepad's new version is just sooooo SLLLOOOOOWWWWW, and it is literally driving me MAD.

And as we all know:  that is NOT a long trip.

Because I know you sweet, sweet dears are just sitting around wondering what in the H-E-double hockey sticks is happening around here (har har), here is a half-finished post that I will complete once this damn conversion has taken place and I can actually type more than 1 letter every three or four minutes!!

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

It easily could have gone either way.

Either I was going to start feeling better…

Or I was headed for a custom-fitted, kicky little (very TIGHT) strappy white jacket.  (If you know what I mean and Ithinkthatyoudo.)

Thankfully, I am feeling better.  P to the HEW.

I have a long way to go, but each day I notice I'm not quite as anxious and things don't seem as overwhelming and end-of-the-worldy.

Don't get me wrong, I'm still several Ritz short of a box of crackers, but I'm better.

It couldn't have come at a better time because since we started the babies on solid foods a couple of weeks ago their schedule has been in total flux, and the idea of any change was SO hard for me to tackle I literally would have had a major meltdown – or TWENTY - if we had started a new schedule a few weeks ago.

So needless to say, I heart Lexapro. I want to send it a note after gym class, asking if it wants to be my date for the upcoming Sadie Hawkins dance, THAT'S how much I love it.

In other news, I had a reading from a psychic last weekend. 

(Because that's what we do in California, THAT'S WHY.)

It was at the same woman's house as http://mydearwatson.typepad.com/my_dear_watson/2007/01/index.htm

[Dear Typepad:  In general I love you, but today you are creating such major SUCKITUDE it's not even funny.  For some reason links appear like this, see above full URL instead of some clever wording I'm sure I would have somehow come up with.  What is your damage Typepad, WHAT IS YOUR DAMAGE???]

She had a very strong Australian accent and it took me a few minutes to get the hang of it.

"I see your major problem is nuhves,"  she said after looking at my outstretched palm.

"Nuhves?" I asked.  Was that bad??  I wondered.  That's ALL I need, NUVHES!  So THIS was my prob — wait, WHAT did she say?

"Nuhves! N-E-R-V-E-S!" She added helpfully.

"Oh, yes!  That is my problem," I confirmed for her.

And even though nuhves continue to be one of my issues, I am doing better.  And we're off tomorrow night to the same party we went to this time last year:  A screening of the new Pix.ar movie followed by a black tie party in San Francisco.

Thankfully, I am somewhat smaller and a lot less furry this time around.

At least I got THAT goin' for me.