It’s early morning and I have been given a special treat. You both have chosen to sleep in. I have almost forgotten what it was like to wake up on my own. I stir awake and glance at the clock. It’s not quite 6:00 a.m. I lie there, thinking of you when I hear one of you start to stir.

I get up and glide down the hall towards your room. The sun is still minutes away from rising in the east and it’s dark. I head into your room to see which one of you is awake. We still have about 10 minutes before it’s time to get up and my hope is I can scoop up whoever’s awake and spend some one-on-one time before we have to all get up and get ready for our day.

Today, it’s JT who’s decided to wake up. You have turned over, as you have been doing most nights for the past few weeks, and you are on your belly. You don’t see me coming and, before you know it, I’ve scooped you up and we make our way out of the room. We settle into the chaise lounge in the loft and I pull a blanket up around us. I lie on my back and place you on my belly. You look up at me, binky still in your mouth, and we make eye contact in the early morning darkness. You smile as you recognize it’s me you’re with. I smile back and sneak a quick kiss on your chubby cheek. You snuggle your head into my face and we embrace for a few seconds. You lie still with only your fingers lightly scraping my forearm as you play with the hair on my arms. Soon enough, you lift your head and we look at each other again.

“Good morning, Chunky Monk,” I say. As the silence is broken, you smile again and make a low gutteral sound as you reach out with your hand to touch my face. Your little hands dance across my cheeks, nose and into my mouth. I playfully bite your finger. I then suck your finger into my mouth as you giggle at the sensation. I then roll you onto your side and we continue to look at each other. I am struck by how different you look today. Older? Yes. But it’s something else too and I can’t quite put my finger on it. I don’t dwell on it, however. Instead I continue to gaze at you as you again explore my face with your little fingers.

Again, I steal another kiss. I hold you close and I can smell your skin. I inhale deeply as I realize these days will come to an end. I try not to think about the day you won’t want to snuggle with your Daddy. It’s coming, I know. But it’s not today and we both seem content to just lie in the warmth of the blanket and talk to each other. “I love you my little man.” I tell you. By now your binky has dropped from your mouth. At times, this would cause great distress but you don’t seem to care right now. Instead, you lean forward once again. I’m not sure what you’re doing until I see your open mouth approach my face. I turn slightly, giving you access to my cheek. Sure enough, you plant a big, wet kiss on my cheek. As you pull away, we make eye contact and we both smile. You seem proud of your newfound ability to kiss. My chest feels like it will burst with love, joy, and pride all mixed into one.

As I look at you I cannot believe that I’m your father and that you are my son. Words cannot describe the love I feel for you at this moment as I watch you play on my belly. I kiss the top of your head as you rest it on my chest and I close my eyes and cherish the moment. I try really hard to burn this memory into my brain. I never want to forget what it feels like to hold you close, on a cold winter’s morning, just the two of us. In the darkness I am reminded of how powerful love between a parent and child can be.

Suddenly, we both hear your sister stirring in her crib. It’s time to get up and start our day. I carry you into the bedroom and we say good morning to Bri as she looks up at us from her crib. Her bright smile fills the room and I am reminded, once again, how truly lucky I am. I sigh a contented sigh and begin the routine of getting you both ready.

It’s going to be a great day.

JT now knows how to kiss.

And it’s not just any kiss. It’s a Hoover-like vacuum kiss that does not bode well for some teenage girl in, oh, 2020 or so.

There is plenty of blame to go around. I plant my fair share of kisses on his chubby cheeks. So does his mother. However, whenever Grandmother visits, his cheeks are chafed for weeks afterwards! So, I’m blaming her.

JT and I have been talking. We decide it’s time for a guys day out. The question is, where do we go? It’s too cold for anything outdoors. JT doesn’t have the patience for Starbucks. And the mall doesn’t appeal to either of us.

Then, JT tells me of a place he’s heard from the guys at daycare. It’s crawling with really cute girls, he tells me. And, best of all, it’s not a meat market. “So, what is this place?” I ask. “Babies-R-Us.” He tells me. I tell him I’m not too sure but that I do have some items I need to pick up there. He assures me that this is the place to be. I tell him, “But only women and babies will be there!” He replies, “Uh-huh. What’s your point?”

So, after his early afternoon feeding, we do a quick diaper change (because dirty diapers are soooo uncool) and head out the door. We’re feeling good so we take the new Pathfinder. I open the sun roof and we let the jams play. JT tells me I need to hurry up and burn some of his songs on a CD so we can jam to the Hoppity Song by John Ondrasnik (his favorite). Today, however, we only have the radio to keep us company. I find an R&B station and pump the bass as we cruise to Babies-R-Us.

Despite JT’s assurances, I’m a bit nervous about this being a cool place for us guys to go. We pull into the parking lot and, sure enough, there are mothers and babies galore. I pull him out, still buckled into his infant carrier and I, not seeing any carts nearby, carry him towards the front of the store. As we make our way through the parking lot, I notice a small two-seat convertible sports car approach us, looking for a parking space. I make eye contact with the driver. He glances to the infant carrier in my hand. I glance to his passenger seat to see a similar-looking baby carrier strapped into the front seat. We make eye contact again. We have something in common. We’re dads going solo to Babies-R-Us. We do the “What’s Up?” nod as he drives by. It’s a brief bonding moment between fellow dads.

Huh. What do you know? JT was right. Babies-R-Us is the cool place to be for us guys. We head inside. I find a cart and perch him on top facing me. We stroll the aisles as he looks around. I’m amazed at the kid’s confidence. “What’s up, ladies?” he seems to say as everyone we pass glances his way. Yes, my kid exudes cool. His coy smile partially hidden by the blue binky in his mouth. I play the sensitive dad part and tickle his feet and lean over to blow raspberries on his cheeks. He only smiles - as if to say, “Yeah Daddy, this is a lot of fun when we’re at home in private.” I don’t care. I’m having too much fun. However, before long we’re done shopping and we head up to the front.

I pay and as I’m leaving I glance over and see the father from the sports car. It’s apparent the child he’s carrying is a girl. And, yes, she’s pretty cute. We nod again. And then we get in the car and head home, silently bopping to Beyonce, lost in our thoughts of our guys day out.

It’s 5:15 in the frickin’ morning. Everyone in the house wants to sleep. I’m curled up in my covers. Andrea is doing the same. Bri, now that she can once again breathe, is sound asleep. Nutmeg the cat? Of course, asleep. Everyone is asleep - except JT. I can hear him loud and clear over the monitor. He is making his monkey noises and having a grand old time doing it.

I groan to myself and silently curse the kid as I try to sleep. “AaaaaAAAAaaaaah” He says.

I start thinking of ways I can torture him as a teenager. I promise myself to show his girlfriend naked pictures of him as a kid. “OoooooheeeeeeeeOoooooo” He continues.

I start to wonder if maybe a hit of Children’s Tylenol wouldn’t put the kid out for another hour.

Then, he starts in on consonants. “BaBaBaBaMaBa” He says. “MaBaMaBaMaBa” He shouts.

Ooh, that kid. Please, just shut up. Please, I’m begging -”DaDaDaDaDaDa” I hear as he interrupts my thoughts. What was that? Could it be? After a million times of saying DaDa to the kid, is this my reward?! “DaDaDaDaDaDaDa” he repeats.

Yes! That’s my boy! Keep talking JT. I mean, I’m a lazy guy who should be up making myself useful anyway. I mean, it’s 5:15 a.m. Who needs sleep when your kid wants to say “DaDaDaDaDa”? Not me. Nope. “DaDaDaDaDaDaDa” See?

As I mentioned in my Family Traditions post, one of the traditions Andrea and I have nurtured is the presenting of a Christmas ornament each year that symbolizes the year behind us. This year, of course, was all about the twins. Since it was their first Christmas, I decided to go all out on the first Christmas ornament. I ordered each their very own pewter baby cup with their name and birthdate engraved on the front. I also ordered one for Andrea that had both the twins’ name and birthdate on it, as well. A couple of weeks ago the ornaments arrived in the mail. I eagerly opened them. Brianna’s looked great. Andrea’s was great too. Jonathan’s? Well, let’s just say they made a little mistake.

Look for yourself:

I’m really not sure who Titus Keegan Blagg is. A google search showed nothing. On the other side is a crest that says “Joint Chief of Staffs”. I called the company and they apologized and rush ordered a new one. The lady was at a loss of what to do with the Blagg cup. She said she’d get back to me on that one. I still haven’t heard back. So, if your name happens to be Titus Keegan Blagg, I have a cup to sell you.

It’s a new kind of scary when you look into your 6-month-old son’s crib in the morning to find him lying on his stomach for the first time. And it wasn’t a comfortable, “I’m just sleeping”, lying on the stomach. No, it looked like a body found on the streets of one of the many television crime shows on nowadays.

Needless to say I quickly checked for vitals. However that was unecessary when JT turned to look at me. His look said, “What? Can’t you see I’m sleeping here?”

A few snapshots of the past couple of weeks…

Andrea is holding Bri and I notice she is looking at Bri’s forehead. I comment, “Hey did you notice she has one hair that is longer than the others? It’s so much longer it extends down her forehead.”

“Yeah, I see that.” Andrea replied.

“You want me to get some scissors to cut it?” I ask.

“No, we can’t cut her bang!” Says Andrea.

Like any father that is married to a pediatric physical therapist, I have been making sure the babies get plenty of tummy time. I usually play with them, shoving their favorite toys in front of their face and then get them to try and reach for them. As the weeks have gone on, I have become more confident and I’ve been working with both JT and Bri at the same time. I’ll usually get one going with some toys in front of them and then go to the other to play. Eventually, I’ll switch to the other baby.

Recently, JT has figured out how to lay comfortably on his belly, with his head to the side so he can breathe. So now, whenever I leave him to start playing with Bri, after a short while I’ll look over and JT will look like he’s passed out after too much to drink. He’ll lie there comfortably with his thumb in his mouth, off in his own little world. I’ll jolt him back to reality by going over and attempting to re-engage him. Often times he looks up at me with a look that says, “Hey, lifting this big noggin is hard work! I need to rest!”

You know you’re getting older when…

After lying next to the bouncy chair and gently rocking your baby to sleep, they startle awake when all of your joints start cracking as you get off the floor.

Hey Little Man,

Now in the past I have written, what some would call, mushy stuff about you. This post will not be of that nature. Why? Well, because not only are you a sweet little boy, you also have a side to you that does not lend itself to mush.

For example, what is up with the “I can’t possibly take a crap for a few days” stuff? Huh? I mean, one day you’re as regular as can be and the next thing we know we haven’t seen a poopy diaper from you in a long while. I see that you are uncomfortable. Believe me, anyone can see that. And the gas? Boy you could keep the national economy going with the amount of gas you’re producing. Now, there is no “How-to-be-a-father handbook” (I think it was lost with the user manual in the Greatest American Hero, lying forever on a tiny pebble in L.A.) but if there was one, I’m sure it would mention that us dads have to do some things that we wouldn’t dream of doing at any time in our lives. Rubbing a Q-Tip coated with vasoline around your anus is something I never thought I’d be doing, but none-the-less, here we are. So far? No poop. Grunting? Yes, plenty of that. Step two is the Prune Juice and that will be coming shortly. After that, you don’t even want to know what Step 3 is Boy. Trust me on that.

And did I mention that you’re five months old today? Yep. Five months and youand your sister are still alive. More amazingly, your mommy and I are still alive too. You two can be a handful! You’d think in that five months that I would have settled on a cool nickname for you. In fact, I had dreams of calling you and your sister some cute Internet nickname here on the blog. It hasn’t happened. Why? Because the only nicknames that seem to come out of my mouth for you are “Chunky Monkey” (sometimes shortened to Chunky Monk, or Chunk, or Monk) and the less than imaginative, “Boy.” I don’t call your sister “Girl” but Boy seems to be a fitting nickname for you. Because, you are most certainly a boy. And someday I imagine you won’t be so chunky and then where would we be with the nickname?

So how are you so much a “boy”, you ask? Well, for one, you have a mischevious sense of humor Boy. As I struggle to get you and your sister to nap and your sister is having one her “I’m tired but there’s no way I’m going to sleep that easily” coniption fits, I look over at you and you’re smiling at me behind that big blue binky. This smile, I’m certain, says “Dad, you’re so frickin’ screwed.” And then to prove your point, as soon as I get your sister to sleep, you start your own little fit. Thanks. Thanks for that. You also like to rough house. You like to be “tossed” into the air and you like to tumble around on the bed. You laugh alot when we do this. And your laugh? Such a boy laugh. It’s a grunt-like laugh that is almost like Beavis (or is it Butthead?) but much cuter. And finally, remember the gas emissions that I mentioned before? Well, you seem to think it’s pretty funny whenever you lay a big one. You get a big grin. I swear I did not teach you this (at least I swear to your mother that I did not teach you this). Yes, you are certainly a boy.

You’ve had some more milestones recently too. You’re still not rolling over regularly but when you do, you pull your knees together and your butt raises up almost like you’re about to shoot out of the starting blocks. It seems once you build up some upper body strength, you’ll be crawling around, chasing the kitty and showing daddy all the places he hadn’t thought to baby-proof.

If you’ve been paying attention, you’ll notice that I’m the one staying with you and your sister the past couple of weeks during the day. A couple of days ago I couldn’t stand it any longer and packed you and your sister up and away we went. We went to a place where any father who hasn’t seen the light of day in two weeks would go - to Target. Hey, stop your laughing. Target is where you will go shopping for the next 18 years of your life. Any more laughing out of you on the subject and we’re buying your entire senior year wardrobe at Walmart.

Anyway, I was talking about going out. Whenever we go out, you don’t like to sleep. There’s too much to see and this trip was no different. While your sister dozed you kept looking all around. After Target, Daddy felt pretty darn confident and off we went to Starbucks. But here’s where things got difficult. I had just ordered my first Egg Nog Latte of the holiday season (OMG, soooo good) when you went ballistic. It was a terrified cry that I had never heard before. Well, now everyone in that shopping center has heard it because you wouldn’t stop. Not for your binky, not for your stuffed monkey, not for the $20 I tried to hand you. NOTHING - until I unstrapped you and picked you up. Then, you clung to me like a little monkey, burying your head into my neck. While you looked extremely upset, this little maneuver made me look pretty darn good. So keep doing that - making me look like the sensitive father. Nice going dude.

Did I mention that you’re already showing the signs of being a pretty cool “big” brother? You are. Over the past month you and your sister have grown more and more interested in each other. You like to reach out and touch her whenever she is near. Occasionally that “touch” turns into a pinch so we’ll have to watch that. But, it looks like your sister is going to be pretty darn good-looking as she gets older and we’ll have to beat off the suitors with a stick (Note to self: Get a really big stick) so you’ll really need to step up the “big brother” thing then. I’m counting on you.

Overall, you’re pretty cool to be around. I do have one request, however. This 4:00 a.m. waking up thing? Yeah, stop that please. At first it was your nose and I was sympathetic because my genetic pool was most likely responsible for that. Now it appears to be gas that is trapped way up inside you. I come in to find you writhing in pain, unable to expel said gas (and it must be said that this does not come from MY genetic pool. I have no problem expelling gas). Let me just tell you this - at no other time in your life will farting seem cute. Take advantage of this! You’re missing a golden opportunity because you’re only a baby for so long. Trust me on this.

So, that’s you in a nutshell. I’m pretty glad I get to be your daddy. You’re everything in a son a guy could ask for (except that 4:00 a.m. waking thing). And, before I get too mushy on this post, let me just say… I love you, dude.

JT and Daddy

JT’s lookin’ cute in his lion costume.

While we had a great first day at the ol’ Childs Play household, JT and Bri still wanted to voice their opinions on the latest events that have transpired. What can I say? They miss their Mommy.

The Middle Finger - JT

The Middle Finger - Bri