I'm fully convinced that my twins have different personalities. Barf Week confirmed this.
"I fro up!" Jorie proclaimed after every incident. I think she wanted a trophy or something. She was very matter-of-fact about it. One time, after barfing in her crib, she simply removed herself to the opposite side and waited patiently until I walked in to clean her up.
"Go to da tub?" she would ask, helpfully. "Wash a hanns?"
Jorie knew her protocol. And she proceeded methodically: 1.barf 2. wait 3. inform Mama of barf 4. go to bath-tub.
Not so with Jossy. We don't call her "Little Diva" for nothing.
"NO! NO! I OK! I OK!" she would yell one second before spewing projectile vomit all over me.
"NO GO IN A TUB! NO YIKE IT! NO YIKE IT!" she shrieked when I tried to clean her up. She would stretch up her little arms and demand repeatedly: "HODE YOU ME! HODE YOU ME!"
All Jossy wanted was to be held. Non-stop. For hours. I was willing to do this but once Jorai got sick, too, things got tricky. At first, Jossy kept trying to push Jorie off my lap. NO, DISS MY MAMA!
To repay, Jorie would bop Jossy on the head. Tears all around.
Finally, I parked my butt on the couch, propped up pillows and towels around us and held both feverish, barfing babies. We stayed there for three days.
Jossy started feeling better first. I could tell because she slid off my lap and toddled around, singing little songs to cheer up her twin: "I yuv Jor-aaaaai. I yuv Jor–a-elle!"
This did not cheer up Jorie. She barfed again.
Jossy became very intrigued with Jorie's barf.
"Ohhhh, das sicky fro up," she would comment, squatting down to poke at the steaming mass on the floor.
"I FRO UP!" Jorie would announce. Again. "Go wash a hanns? Go wash a bankie?"
"Jossy, don't touch that throw up," I would say.
"Ohhh, my," Jossy would intone, staring intently at the No Touch Barf Pile. "Das no-no. Das sicky, sicky."
Our big excursions for the week were trips to and from the washing machine. They especially yiked it when their blankies emerged all fresh and fluffy from the dryer.
They would bury their faces in the blankies, I would lift them up and together we would sniff it.
"Das nice bankie," Jossy remarked time and again.
And Jorie, rubbing her cheeks against her blankie would remark, "Das my bankie!"
Yes, little sweethearts. It's true.
I yike you.
