Ding Ding! Get in your corners! Ding Ding! Round Three!

I wonder if all little boys are terribly aggressive, or have my twins picked it up from me? Here’s a frinstance. For instance, I’ll be doing something, like cooking dinner or folding laundry or tatting a lace tablecloth, and the babies will be playing happily, and running from room to room. They like to babble as they play and each baby tends to carry something around with him, like a spoon, a baby doll or a cat toy or something. All will be well. Then, suddenly, it begins - the screeching and shoving and biting and yelling - my little babies going nine rounds over who gets the keychain/plastic measuring cup/gnawed on cat toy/whatever is most fascinating at the moment. Can you picture it? Two sweet pumpkins, a-wrasslin' on the floor, teeth a-snapping, as mad as they can be. I should just get a recording saying "No hitting, no biting, no pushing," to save the strain on the vocal cords. If these babies were professional fighters, they would have been disqualified by now.

But what else can I do? I think they understand when they are being bad, but are a bit young to practice self-control. So, I generally simply break up the fight, try to determine who had the toy first, and let that baby have it. Or, if I am unsure as to who had proprietary rights, I will give the toys to the one who is howling the loudest. At least, I used to, until someone pointed out that might not be a good idea. Well, yeah, duh, MOT. Teach them to be pushy and greedy young, good idea...

My DH will let them duke it out, to a point, and he says they will sometimes have resolved matters between themselves. Maybe it’s me, or maybe all mothers are the same, but when I hear yelps and crashes and thuds, I generally rush in to see what’s what. And when I see one boy holding the other boy down and the one on the bottom sinking his fangs into the other boy’s calf, I will break it up.

Ding Ding! Neutral corners! Neutral corners! One more rabbit punch and you’re outta here!

The other day I was rubbing moisturizer into Baby B’s skin after his bath. He was sitting on my lap, dressed in his diaper and tipping his head from side to side, as he does. I felt like a chief second, in my miniature fighter’s corner, rubbing his shoulders between bouts.

“Next time he comes at cha wit da teeth, you gotta sucker punch him in da ribs, you get me?”