Plumplings

My little plumplings are now ten and a half and eleven pounds.
They have shot up from the first percentile to around the sixteenth percentile.
They have round chubby bitable cheeks, and squeezable fat little thighs.
They look like real babies. Not premature babies, not tiny weeny babies, but real babies who are approaching three months old.
Not only that, on June 15th, Twin One got up and started, just like that, to babble.
She coos. She goes 'agoo'. She smiles. She coos and smiles so it sounds like a laugh.
Twin Two smiles too, if given proper attention, and comes out with the occasional, smaller sound.
When they smile madly, over and over again, it makes my heart swell in my chest, like a big balloon.
I thought that I couldn't love them more than the way I loved them when they were born. But I love them now, even more if it is possible.
A few days ago, I rang up my best friend and said, 'having these babies is like being in love. I feel dizzy and happy with love for them.'
And she said, ruefully - because her teenage daughters are causing her a bit of friction as they have reached the age of going out in short dresses and answering back and stomping upstairs and slamming doors- 'I still feel like that even now'.
And I was walking down the road thinking how incredibly lucky it is that I have this source of love in my life, here, every day. These delightful, gorgeous plumplings.