Ho hum.

I’m having longer and longer spans between posts, aren’t I? In spite of that I’m not mulling over whether or not to continue blogging like so many post-infertiles do. It’s pure indulgence for me, so it stays, boring or sparse as it may be. My writing has changed over the years in response to what I’m sure must be a few readers that know me in real life, so this blog isn’t quite as cathartic as it once was, but that’s okay. I was always holding something back anyways, if only to protect B. and my family. Funny, since I don’t consider myself a private person at all. Loyal, though. I guess that’s it.

Bambinos are fine. Stir crazy, but fine. We’re in the midst of transitioning down to one nap, which has its advantages as well as its drawbacks. Little Girl is still not walking and neither of them are talking intelligible words yet. I am fairly certain that we’re officially behind in some developmental areas, and also somewhat certain that it’s less to do with any failing on the babies’ part, more to do with my inability to work with them as I should. At fourteen months of age they aren’t doing a bunch of things I think they should be doing, like waving consistently, knowing any of their body parts, simple puzzles, or as I mentioned before, speaking a word or two. Language delay aside (‘cause god knows I talk to them constantly) I think they don’t know how to do those things because I haven’t taught them how. I’m alone most of the time these days, and it’s all I can do to keep them fed and entertained. Still, since I’ve made colossal errors of judgement before (re: misshapen heads and the necessity of cranial remolding helmets) I’m going to mention my concerns to our pediatrician at our next appointment in October. Maybe they’ll have caught up a bit by then.

Hope so, anyway.

Me? I’ve been depressed and tired. The repetitive days make it oh-so-hard to get out of bed in the morning. Knowing almost exactly what each day is going to hold doesn’t make it much fun to actually live through the day, if that makes any sense. It’s this phase with the twins, the being housebound, the difficulties in entertaining them, the everlasting monotony. I feel like I’m stuck in my own personal Groundhog Day. Not the first time a mother has made that comparison, I know, but it fits.

The mood will pass, I’m sure. I’m still able to count my blessings, so that’s a good sign.

A dry summer, over.

For the first time in all my 38 years a summer has passed that did not include a trip, many trips, to a swimming pool. I was born mid-summer and my parents took me to watch my big brother and sister in a swim meet within weeks of my birth. I’m told I could swim before I could walk. I quite literally grew up at swimming pools, from every day all summer long recreation as a young child to lifeguarding as a teenager. Even during the four years I lived in Manhattan I would spend several hours a week sunning and swimming at the Carmine Street pool near my apartment.

I’ve not been to my local pool once this summer. Here it is Labor Day and I’m all of sudden frantic at the thought. A whole summer without swimming! How can this be? Simply put, I am unable to take the twins to a pool by myself. I know other twin moms have done it, maybe do it regularly, but I can’t figure out how. Even if I was able to manage it I doubt there’d be much pleasure in it.

B. is not much help. He’s got both arms completely tattooed and is overly sensitive about showing them in a military environment. Since the swimming pool we’d go to is on base, that pretty much means he’s not open to joining us.

Wow. A whole summer without swimming. I’m truly depressed at the thought. The babies are more than worth the trade off, but I can’t help but be a bit nostalgic for my life prior to their arrival. Or wish to feel a little less trapped and restricted at times.