And maybe he also doesn’t mind the hero worship.
“Can we have a snack?” Marco asks. He’s our bottomless pit. Always wanting a snack. Just like his Uncle Harry. He swipes his hair out of his eyes. Both boys are dark like me, but they have their mother’s blue eyes.Dios mío,they are the most beautiful babies I’ve ever seen.
If the next one is a baby girl with those eyes, I’ll be doomed. She’ll have me wrapped around her little finger.
“C’mon,” Emmett says, waving the twins over to the island. “I’ll make us peanut-butter-bananas.”
See what I mean? He’s really good with them.
“Thanks, Em,” I say, meaning it.
Some of my buddies have asked what it’s been like to start our marriage and raise our family in this full house. If we ever wished it was just us. Honestly? I can’t imagine it any other way. Having newborn twins isn’t for wimps. I never got to ask my in-laws about it, but I have a feeling Eloise and Hudson were probably super grateful Millie was ten years old when Harry and Mattie were born. I swear, there were times in the beginning when two felt like ten.
For weeks after we came home from the hospital, it was all hands on deck. In the beginning, when they were nursing Millie dry, they’d wake up crying at the same time like they’d planned it. No matter how many times Millie tried the football hold, she could never get them to latch on at the same time.
And it killed her to hear one of them crying while the other ate. She’d get so tense, her milk wouldn’t let down. So my job was to rub her shoulders to help her relax while one of the kids tried to soothe the fussy newborn.
By accident, we discovered that Mateo would stop crying if Mattie played Chopin’sFantasie-impromptu in C-Sharp Minor. So Harry would hold him, Mateo’s eyes wide open and blinking in wonder, as Harry paced around the living room while she played, stalling until Marco finished nursing. But Marco hated Chopin. Too busy. If it was Mateo’s turn to eat first, Marco would only settle into a whimper instead of a wail if she played Satie’sGymnopedie No. I.
Emmett, at his age, was the only one I could enlist for diaper duty. He wouldn’t actuallychangeany diapers, but he’d assist. Did you know infant boys will pee in their own faces if you don’t take measures when you change their diapers? We learned that the hard way our first night home from the hospital. And it took more than one lesson to realize it wasn’t a fluke.
I blame myself.Señor ten piedad.
Anyway, Emmett did a quick online search and learned that a dry washcloth draped over the quick draw was the answer. And so he became the Pee Goalie, a title that put him in danger of pissing his own pants every time he said it.
At two in the morning, when you’ve only slept a few hours to begin with, you have to laugh at shit like that.
So when friends have asked, I tell them truthfully I don’t know how we’d have managed that first year without Harry, Mattie, and Emmett.
Emmett is taking down the peanut butter, addressing the twins like we can’t hear him. “Maybe after our snack, we can figure out what the grown-ups are trying to hide.”
Both twins, who are in the middle of making their climbs onto the barstools, whip their heads around to look at us.
“What’d you hide, Mama?” Mateo asks.
“Is it a puppy?” Marco adds.
Beside me, Millie stifles a snort of laughter. I cut my eyes to my brother, unable to resist.“¿Es un cachorro, hermano?”
Marco and Mateo’s focus shoots to their uncle, who gives me a sour look. As planned, Mami, Papi, and Abuela keep our boys while Millie and I are at work. All Mami, Papi, and Abuela speak at home with them is Spanish. Neither one of the twins started talking before their second birthday, but when the words came, they came in both languages.
As it should be.
Millie’s Spanish improved rapidly after that, learning whatever they learned. Teaching her words in bed might have been a good start, but toddlers chatter about a lot more thanhoney, delicious, heaven,andlove.
Smiling at the thought of our Spanish lessons, I reach over and grab my wife.
“¿Es un cachorro, tío?”Mateo asks Alex.
Alex shoots me another dirty look, but Mattie, now composed, steps between us. “No,niños,it’s not a puppy. It’s a surprise. We’ll tell you after Uncle Harry gets home.”
Mateo frowns, clearly disappointed. “When’s that?”
“He’ll be here by suppertime, baby.”
My son looks offended.“I’mnot a baby. Marco’s the baby.”
My second born might be the introvert, but he has a clear sense of injustice. “I’mnota baby!”
