Children

6:30 A.M., push down the black plastic ball on the French press, pour, honey, cream, taste, it’s perfect. House is dark, babies still sleeping. Time to write. “What did Jack do that was so cute last night?” Alan asks me. He heard me on the monitor while the babies and I were doing our night time routine. Jack put his hat on, a straw hat that Maureen picked out, it reminded her of Mikey Hynes. Mikey always wore a hat. Alan said he would sit in the last row at church so when he took off his hat no one would be sitting behind him to see his bald head, he was in good company too, the row was filled with these men. Mikey would have loved Jack, he would say something like, “He’s a good strong lad.” At night in the nursery when the babies are side by side in their diapers I can really see the width of Jacks back compared to Fiona. His leg muscles are strong, he would be able to work hard on the farm back in Ireland. Sometimes the thought runs through my head, what if he’s giant? What if he develops a love for football and gets used and destroyed way before his time. Right now he’s cuddly, sweet, his cheek always a little damp and cold because of teething. He giggles when I say, “I’m gonna get you.” He’s so fucken cute. The schedules are off by an hour this week, so when I got back the other night from putting Zappa down I was secretly hoping the babies were still awake. I heard them talking in their cribs, I went into the nursery and picked each baby up. I took off their sleep sacks. I needed cuddles from Jack and Fiona. We had missed our routine that night because I wasn’t home at bedtime, Ramona put them down for me. They made me feel better, all their love. Yesterday we mourned Zappa together. We started off going to breakfast. It was our first time. I put Fiona in the front carrier and held Jack, we walked in the door of Le Croissant. I ask if they have high chairs and my waiter sets me up in the way back corner, which is perfect. Jack and Fiona are having a blast, looking at the menu, the ceiling fans, people in the mirrors. I order cinnamon French toast, a jack and avocado omelet, chicken apple sausage, and a cup of milk. For a greasy little diner the food is awesome and a huge hit with the babies. Jack keeps watching one of the waitresses, she comes over a couple times and says, “He’s flirting with me.” One time she asks me how old they are, I tell her one. She then says, “Doesn’t the boy go vroom vroom vroom with trucks already and the girl doesn’t? It’s genetic, the girls don’t do it but the boys do.” I tell her I haven’t noticed that yet and she tells me, “You watch.” We then took Billy on a walk. I let the babies out of their stroller for a while to investigate. Billy was really good, she wasn’t agitated by them at all. But the entire time I was saying, “Jack don’t put that in your mouth. Fiona NO take that out of your mouth.” Little pebbles and wood chips. “Do you want me to make you some toast?” I ask the babies. They are awake now, making funny noises in their high chairs, eating cheerios, pointing to things and squawking. I take out the cinnamon raisin toast too early. It’s kind of soggy but they seem to be enjoying it. I love them so much.

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