It's official: Clio is crawling. She's been practicing for a few weeks now, but yesterday morning it was like the light went on, and it all came together. Now she's slap-slap-slapping across the floor, going after rubber ducks and stuffed animals and remote controls and trying to follow me into the bathroom in the morning when I'm getting ready for work.
An unexpectedly fun thing about this milestone is the fact that Elsa seems really excited about it. Finally, her l'il buddy can keep up with her, and they can go marauding on all fours together! She has someone to crawl into the clothes hamper with! Someone to pull bottles out of the wine rack with! Someone who can join her in her ongoing quest to eat the cat's food! Parrrr-ty! The sight of them crawling around side by side or one after another is priceless.
Over the past few months they've been interacting with each other steadily more and more. This mainly involves looking at each other and grinning and/or cracking each other up for no reason that I can discern. Sometimes they'll pass (i.e. steal) a toy back and forth, and other times they'll grab at each other's ears / eyes / mouths / noses / etc. They really seem to enjoy slapping each other on the head or grabbing handfuls of each other's hair. The victim (usually Clio) will often cry, the perpetrator (ahem, Elsa) will continue to giggle and smile with gleeful abandon, and Mommy (yours truly) will say useful things like "gentle! gentle!" and "you have to be nice to your sister!" I think they think that they are being nice, though. For them, to put someone in a headlock or attempt to gouge their eyes out with their index fingers is the highest form of affection.
But they show genuine concern for each other, too. When Elsa cries, Clio often will start looking upset or even cry (sort of fakely) herself. And if Clio is upset, Elsa will come over and investigate. The other day during one of her crawling attempts, Clio bumped her head on the floor and started crying, and Elsa cruised over from clear across the room to make sure everything was OK. And here's another incredibly cute thing: often, while they're sitting side by side in their high chairs, they'll reach over and hold hands -- a beautiful, sticky slimy tangle of fingers and thumbs and pureed vegetables and Gerber Mixed Grain cereal.
They have a relationship, these two. It is fascinating to watch. And at the same time, I'm a little jealous. Is that insane? I see the intimacy between them -- the secret laughter and unspoken understandings and budding mischief. And as cool as it is, there's a part of me that feels slightly left out. They will (I hope) always love me, but I'll never be a part of their sisterhood. There's a special bond between siblings -- I've always had it with my younger brother -- and I imagine it's that much stronger with twins. They may love me and Alastair to death, but ultimately their loyalties and sympathies will lie more squarely with each other. They will roll their eyes to each other about us. They will have their own inside jokes. They may not be the best of friends, but they will always have a deep, undeniable connection.
I don't begrudge them that closeness. And still, I found myself, the other day, holding the two of them, one under each arm, and saying with a certain desperation, wanting them to hear and understand: hey, remember when we were all together, the three of us? You guys were in my belly, and we were all one? We were a team? Us three girls, sharing the same air and food and blood? Remember?
