Forgotten

I have almost forgotten there was a time (like, say, last week) when they couldn't talk. Now, they can both say and sign so many things. We have conversations, we follow directions, we dance with our dolls and feed the stuffed horses hay. We follow each other around and imitate each other like a household of parrots.

We say and sign when we are hungry and when we are thirsty, we make jokes (Carmen with a dolly in her arms: "Wa! Wa!" Me: "Carmen, is the dolly hungry?" Carmen drops the dolly on the floor and guffaws.). They ask for their shoes when they want to go outside or walk around when we are out, and they ask for a ride in the car when they are bored. They ask me to sing, and sing, and sing, and we move our hands together to the music. When we are singing along to the songs on the radio they clap at the end of the songs. When Carmen hears the One Fine Day soundtrack, she demands to dance with her crab puppet, while David dances with a penguin. After dinner she runs around with her hand in an oven mitt, calling it a duck. David runs around with the broom after our meals, reminding me that I should sweep the floor. We are not afraid of thunder. Well, not too afraid. Carmen can identify red, and sign most of the colors of the rainbow (and she can sign "waymbo," too) while she draws oblong "sow-kows" on the back of the diagrams from Matt's work. When he comes home, C&D run to the door saying "Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!" while Carmen will sometimes look at me and say in a small, clear voice, "Mahm-ee."

And yesterday David looked at me and tried to say and sign I Love You.

In the midst of all her growing and changing, Carmen's sleep has become even more fitful. Sometimes she gives up sleeping on her own altogether, like when at four in the morning two days ago I found her straddled across the small of my back, bouncing up and down. When I called her name she responded "diapuw" and after a quick potty and change, I rocked her to sleep while pretending to be interested in the early, early news shows. She craves the opportunity to rest her head in my elbow, my arm straining to hold her sprawling body toward me, as if at night she suddenly remembers she is small and young and afraid and needs the physical reassurance and comfort that she hadn't wanted all day. David, on the other hand, wakes from his naps early so that he can finish them in my lap while my arm goes numb and I stare out the window. So, in case I had forgotten what it was like, I feel like they are the restless sleepers of a year ago.

When babies are born, some things are forgotten. Excited relatives forget their manners, demanding "How are the babies?" on the telephone before a proper howdy-do. Parents forget when they have eaten or slept or showered, keeping track only of their babies' needs and habits. And when Matt's mother sent pictures of her visit to Houston to the family this week, she titled it, "Our Trip to Houston to Visit Twins Carmen and David." Matt and Joyce? Oh, yeah, they live there, too. But we all know the real purpose of the visit.

It is midnight and I have forgotten to go to bed. I probably should. Good night.