Once more, with feeling

We just tucked our one-year-old twins into bed for the very last time. When the sun comes up, they'll be two-year-old twins.

Why do I feel so verklempt about this? It was understood, after all, that to keep them going from one birthday to the next was a mark of success. We survived another year, against the typical odds, and for that I'm extraordinarily grateful.

But my babies... well, they're not babies anymore. I knew this; I'm the one who banished the term "the babies" exactly one year ago. I even overheard Carter correcting someone who said it the other day. (What he actually said, with a bit of a four-year-old condescending sniff, was, "They're not twins; they're toddlers." Allrighty then.)

They still sleep in cribs in a pastel-hued nursery, and they still wear diapers. They still drink whole milk from brightly colored sippy cups. They're still home with me every day.

But in just one year, they've gone from crawling to walking to running at full throttle. Katie had not one tooth at her first birthday party; now she has a half-mouthful of sparkling chompers. They've graduated from baby food to miniscule mushy flecks of "real" food to... well, mostly crackers and cheese and ketchup, although they're offered everything we eat, and more.

They don't have any memories of how I nursed them to sleep every night for seventeen months; now, they climb squealing into that same rocking chair to read a bedtime story before being plunked into bed with a wide assortment of fuzzy friends who keep them company after the lights are turned off.

One year ago, a trek to the Fort Worth Zoo was deemed a logistical impossibility. Now, we look back at our Christmas road trip and think, well, that wasn't so bad. One year ago, we were navigating the difficult transition from having a full-time nanny to making do with only one day a week of help. Now, it's been six months since we've had anyone in our regular employ.

When they turned one, they didn't have anything to say about anything. Now, they have strong (and frequently opposing) opinions about absolutely everything. If they lack the words to express themselves properly, which is happening less and less, they still manage to get their points across. And they surprise and delight us daily with their growing voices.

To wit: after dinner tonight, they were allowed to unwrap one birthday present apiece. (Sorry, Opa and YaYa: Carter saw the package arrive and was unwavering in his insistence that we dig out the contents.) Inside the brightly colored boxes were a book and a toy for each thrilled tot.

Katie immediately sat down to ponder her book, page by page, carefully and thoughtfully naming the objects she recognized. "Mommy doggie. Spoon! Star ball." Spencer flipped through his book in five seconds flat, pronouncing "End," as he slammed it shut.

Then my strong and silent boy pointed to the cover and confidently said, "H." What's that, Spence? "H," he said again, pointing to an H in the book's title.

Wow! Lucky guess, I thought, but said, "Yes, Spencer! H." He stubbed his finger toward the next letter. "Oh," he said. Then "Dubba," "Em," "You," "See," and "H." Well, shut my mouth.

This is the kid who couldn't (or wouldn't) say horse last week, who regularly has me scurrying to the Internet for reassurance or horror when I research developmental delays. But now he's two.

What a difference a year makes. What will the next one hold for us?


P.S. It's snowing here and we all got to play outside for a little while today. Lesson for the day: some snow tastes yummy and some tastes yucky....