Twins: Double the Fun, Half the Sleep

I think I realized just how hard raising twin babies would be about eight months into my wife's pregnancy, while in the checkout line at Target:

Checkout girl: Awwwwww! Are you having a boy or a girl?
My wife: Two boys.
Checkout girl: Oh, shit. Good luck with that.

End, scene. You see, checkout girl is the only truly honest person we've met before or since. The rest to this point is mostly a blur, but here are some highlights of the first three months:

Meconium is at least as diabolical as it sounds, if not more so. "But it doesn't smell." Yeah? Neither does cyanide gas.

I'm not sure I'm equipped to survive in a world where the food smells like poop, and the poop smells like one of those pretzel joints at the mall.

My nursery sounds like the campfire scene from Blazing Saddles. I knew they'd have gas, but I guess I wasn't ready for them to grow up so fast. Next thing I know, they'll be farting at college.

After two years, I finally got myself an XBox 360. Three days later, it finally made its way out of the box. Two days after that, I turned it on for the first time.

It's definitely a bit of a letdown when the FedEx guy shows up with a giant box from Amazon, and that giant box is filled with diapers.

As much as I enjoy the sun, I don't need or want to see it come up ever again.

Within about 12 minutes of my sons' births, I pretty much became Rickey Henderson: "This is Daddy calling on behalf of Daddy. Daddy wants to play baseball."

One of my sons cries every time he hears Coldplay, so, no matter what happens from this point on, I know I'll always be proud of him.