Double the fun? Please.

Logan and Cyrus, otherwise known as the blonde babies, are awesome.

In recent weeks, Logan has demonstrated some WWE tendencies. He will wait for Cyrus to be distracted, pounce on his back, flip him over and then gnaw on his calf. It is alternately hysterical and distressing to watch.

Despite the infinite cuteness of the bubbas, one indisputable, lingering fact remains: raising twins is HARD. I am tired. Scratch that. I am beyond tired. I feel like I am perpetually under anesthesia. I exist in a small, hermetically sealed cocoon of drool, diapers, interrupted REM sleep, short naps, no naps, hair pulling, biting, yelling, crying, shrieking and the occasional baby belly laugh. (The latter is freaking awesome, btw.)

People without twins often make the following comments:

1.  "Two babies. Double the fun!"
2.  "I always wanted twins. It seems so exhausting, but you get to dress them alike."
3.  "I started out in the womb as a twin. Unfortunately, I absorbed my fraternal brother. If you look closely at my back, you can see his shape through my primordial tail."

There has so far been only one accurate quote to describe the journey that is caring for two bubbas. Which was stated by a fellow mother of twins. As she relayed to me: "It is not double the fun until they are about four years old."

Okay, people? So stop being so smug with your comments, which we both know betray thinly veiled pity, and pass the wine.