"Who the @#$% are you?"

I cut off Tory’s hospital identification bracelet. I noticed the bracelet was growing a little tight around his ankle. It’s amazing what you’ll find to concentrate on when the clock says 3am, and you’re desperately finding a reason to stay awake. I had to slip the scissors through a tight gap between the bracelet and the skin, and must have pushed the backside of the scissors hard into his leg. He screamed horribly, not that I hurt him, and boy did I check him several times just to be sure.

Without that bracelet, we have one less way to tell them apart. We haven’t had them home for a week, but I still can’t tell them apart. Hand me a naked baby, and I’ll correctly identify him 50% of the time. Then I’ll quickly hand him back because I know how dangerous it is to hold a naked baby, especially boys because of their range.

We have a few tricks to tell them apart, though. First, Ian is on the left, Tory is on the right. The NICU started this one for us, and we’ve made sure to always place the proper baby in the proper spot. This should work until they start rolling over, or until Abbie starts carrying them around.

Second, we remember which baby has which outfit. I imagine that as the sleep deprivation worsens, and they’re already losing their newborn narcolepsy, this trick will be less effective.

Third, and most definitively, Tory is bigger by about half a pound. Set them next to each other, and I can tell which one is bigger. As long as Tory eats more and exercises less for his whole life, this trick should always work.

If all else fails, we can just look for the identification bracelet. Ian still has his around his wrist, and with plenty of slack left, we’re not cutting that one off for a while, hopefully not until one of them can tell us his name.