Fatherly Doodies

Update: The twins are a week old today and still stabled in the NICU, and will probably be there for the next two to three weeks. They're gaining weight and keeping healthy, which is all they need to do from this point on until we can go home.

They've also been moved from their own individual incubators to sharing on. Marlena & I are happy about this, since we finally get to see our children together in one place, as opposed to being in one room and plaintively looking across the hallway to see how the other is doing. The twins seem neutral on the matter. They'd better get used to it, because from this point forward they'll be sharing a living space for the next decade or so.

It's also kinda fun to watch the uncoordinated twin-fights. Adam will spasm and smack Adora, Adora will get the hiccups and rip off Adam's monitors. It's like the next step down from watching kittens wrestle off the edge of a couch.

FINISH HIM!

One thing I've learned as a new father is that I'm happy about things I *never *thought I'd be happy about.

Like poop.

Since they're in the NICU being catered to by the staff there, the best ways for me to help are by taking temperatures, cleaning pump bottles, waking up whenever my wife is awake so we can share in the sleep deprivation, and changing diapers.

Now, I'd never actually changed a diaper prior to having children. I understood them in theory, but not in practice. Hugs go on, poop comes out, Hugs keep poop from spilling onto daddy, which keeps daddy from immediately questioning the why he had kids in the first place. They were a nebulous bit of technology to me, and I liked it that way. The whole diaper conundrum has been a step I've been a bit wary of.

Turns out I'm not too bad. I prefer to think of it as baby origami with a potentially disastrous time limit. Since they're being taken care by nurses I haven't had to change many diapers, so it's been more of a privilege than a chore. Plus since they're preemies their digestive health is scrutinized, and the more regular the "exports" the better. Which means I find myself in the odd position of looking forward to their bowel movements.

For the moment the twins and I have been in tentative truce, and neither of them have aimed to shite the hand that changes them, but I can see it in their eyes. There's a glimmer there that tells me they're just biding their time, and that one day when my guard is down *bam!* poop-missile aimed at the fatherland.

I know it's coming, it's just a matter of time.