Every month, when it comes time to take their pictures, write a few words on all that's changed, I marvel that anything actually does. These days go by so slowly but somehow, the months seem to fly. Four months are faster than four days. I don't even remember what it felt like to hold them in the hospital, to dress them in the white newborn onesies long retired. In the beginning I fed Revi through a tube in her nose. Poured the bottle into a a syringe and let it drain down her throat into her belly. Two ounces on a good day. Now she drinks six. They both drink six in the tall bottles. No more preemie flow nipples for these girls.
Boheme: Transparent blue eyes flashing from the Ergo when she wakes to make sure I'm still there...
"I'm here, Bo. I'm here." Her hair is still light, blonde eyebrows. She is yesterday's Atlas, carrying upon her shoulders the weight of another world. The kids call her Bobo and I call her Bobolini and when she hears her siblings cry she does, too. She is sensitive and soft and in need of affirmation, touch, love. Her eyes tell stories. And in her sleep she paws my chest, my skin beneath nails I'm too nervous to clip.
She is strong for her age and big for her age and can almost sit up on her own.
She's mostly serious. Intense and serious. But when she smiles everything illuminates. Everything.
Reverie: Eyes as big as teacups, black hair that sticks straight up, olive skin and grey eyes...
...she is light to carry and light in name and light. We call her Revi Coconut for short for no reason other than that's the name that suits her. She's our coconut. Our smily face. She laughs in her sleep. Sometimes so loud she wakes herself up. (You would never know it from these pictures, but it's true.)
Aha! Got one:
She just started rolling over, crashing on her back with a smile, and when she meets a new face she makes noises that sound like, "Hi!" "Hiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeeeoooooo."
When we go on walks she stares at the trees and kicks her legs and faces out in the Bjorn. (Bo hates to face out. Revi hates to face in. Of course.)
"chill sis, I got this."
Happy four months, growing girls.
(Our cup runneth over.)