Nine Months. Introduce Choking Hazards Now.

9 months.
9 crazy, ridiculous, insane months.
It's been 9 months (well, 9.5 months) since the meatloaves were born.
In that time, I've seen heaven and met the devil himself (mostly in the form of explosive diarrhea).
I've been spit up on more times than the camel caretaker at the Philadelphia zoo, and I've spent more money on formula than I care to discuss.

In other words, it's been wild.

The boys had their 9 month check-up this past week. Thankfully, they're healthy, happy, and growing reasonably.
They're 16.5 and 17 lbs, which totally surprised me, because I figured, based on how tired my arms are at the end of the day, that they weighed about a metric ton each, give or take a few pounds. Isaac is still taller than Simon, and Simon still wins in the BMI department, mostly because he lays around like a lazy starfish while Ike bounces in his bouncer until he develops callouses on his toes (no joke, that kid is a crackhead).

At 9 months, suddenly, I'm supposed to give them food. Not baby food. Like, people food.

Awww, they think they're people!!

The pediatrician was rattling off all these foods to give them, and I'm all like, woah, wait a minute, I'm supposed to just stick that crap in their mouth? They don't even have TEEFS!! and the Pediatrician was like, it's fine, they always figure it out. They'll just gum stuff until it dissolves and they can swallow it. And I was all, what if they DON'T figure it out and she was like, its fine. Don't worry.
And I just kind of looked at her in awe and wondered about her malpractice insurance. Because up until this point, I'm pretty sure that anything that could fit in their mouth was considered a choaking hazard, but now suddenly it's just considered nutrition??

When the F* did that happen??

(yes, I said F* instead of the real deal, because I'm trying my hardest to curb the cursing now that the meatloaves are absorbing language. But rest assured, a small part of me dies every time I can't drop the F bomb. Being a parent is all about sacrifices, I guess)

So I went home and broke out this thing of toddler puffs that someone had given me, and I put one in each of their mouths...and then I hovered, waiting to sweep in and begin child CPR the minute they showed the least sign of distress.

But instead, they gave me a weird look, and worked the thing around in their toothless mouths, and then suddenly it was swallowed and they were smiling at me and grabbing for more.

WHAT?!?

The little dudes are becoming more like toddlers and less like babies every day. And while I'm supremely excited that they're on the verge of feeding themselves, a little part of me is sad, I guess, that they're growing up.
...not sad enough, though, to keep me from doing a victory dance that I will soon be able to slap a plate of food down in front of them and then go watch an episode of Ghost Hunters while they eat lunch.

Awesome-sauce.

So, while 9 months ago, my life exploded into a chaotic malestrom of vomit and diapers, today, I'm piecing it back together again. But now it's way better than it was before. Sure, there's still vomit and diapers. But there's also baby talk and curly hair and jack-o-lantern smiles that melt my heart. There's communication and a little bit of independence on all accounts. And sleep. I cannot stress enough how a full night's sleep has helped me reclaim my life.

So I guess this post wasn't very funny.
But that's okay, because being a parent often isn't very funny.
There are days when I'm too proud, too thankful, and too blessed to crack a joke. Because these little miracles of mine are not only surviving, but thriving.
And sure, I could try to make that funny.
But sometimes, I'd rather just be grateful.

So let's end it on that note.