The twins have reached that delightful age where they have turned our living room into the newest version of the Ultimate Fighting Championship fight ring. If one has a toy, a cup, or just looks at the other the wrong way, a slew of hitting, kicking, punching, yelling, screaming, biting, eye-gouging, and various below-the-(diaper)-belt tactics ensue. I can try to separate them, but they will just find each other and go back at it until the issue has been resolved. As a parent who never wants to see her offspring in pain, I have to judge how far to let this go (Yelling in the face? Fine. A knuckle up the other's nostril? Cause for a time-out). Part of me wants to stop them from causing the other any pain at all, part of me wants them to learn to work things out on their own. Since I was not around when Mr. Cool was this little, I have to assume this is normal boy or twin behavior. Still, it's a little unnerving to watch my little angels undergoing their struggles for independence, both from me and from one another. Our days are suddenly full of battles- whether for toys or attention, over transgressions real or imagined- it makes for crazy days. Luckily, at the end of the day all of the boo-boos have been kissed, all of the fights have been forgotten, and my two little boys fall asleep contentedly within arm's reach of one another, dreaming sweet dreams.
Monk and I fall exhaustedly into bed at the end of each day too, a little more battle worn, a little smarter (remote controls placed up high one night, knowledge that the "orange cup" is the favorite and causes all-out brawls no matter the contents the next).
And so it goes. Until the next morning...
