Sit, Ian, Sit. Good Boy.

We’ve had a lot of children falling down in our house recently. That can only mean one thing: The twins are starting to sit up unassisted. I suppose it could also mean that Abbie has an inner ear infection, but for now those ears are a healthy shade of fluid-flowing pink. She has, however, found her own way to get repeatedly knocked onto the ground. The boys are my primary focus because Abbie can handle herself, or at least is a lot closer to being able to do so than the boys.

Ian rolled to a sitting position unassisted for the first time about a week ago. It’s only been in the last couple of days that he’s started sitting at every opportunity. Like a Cub pitcher developing an arm injury, once he gets the hang of it, he does it every opportunity. It seems like every time I turn around from taking something from Abbie’s hands or wiping something off the floor, Ian is sitting up. He’s usually just sitting with an expression saying “now what?” so apparently learning to do something while sitting takes time.

Tory is still learning about the joys of sitting. I’ve seen him roll into a sitting position a few times, but not many. He can sit unassisted for minutes at a time if I put him in that position, he just needs proper motivation to stay there like an interesting toy or a dog willing to stand in front of him for an extended period. Otherwise he’s happy on his tummy, scooting to whatever interests him.

It’s just as well that Tory doesn’t sit much because I have my hands full with Ian. Just because he can successfully sit unassisted doesn’t mean he can stay sitting or roll back to a horizontal position with 100% accuracy. His success rate is closer to the Cubs’ winning percentage, except he’s the one that cries when he falls. I think I counted a dozen instances yesterday when I had to rush to comfort him after he tipped over from a sitting position. Usually he falls backward onto his head, and nothing ticks him off more than smacking the back of his head on the ground, except for maybe a plugged nipple. A couple times he even fell forward, once onto his nose hard enough to draw a little blood.

I don’t think Abbie had to suffer through this much pain while learning to sit. That’s probably because I could afford to sit with her, propping her sides up with my legs so she can enjoy sitting toy with the utmost security. The twins generally don’t get the luxury of physical contact beyond the occasional instance when I remember to change their diapers, so they get ignored until their whining hits about three-quarter intensity. I have other important things to do, like comforting Abbie after she hits the ground.

Abbie insists on chasing our dog. I’ve warned her on several occasions to stop, but she listens to me with the attention span of a two-year-old and keeps chasing her anyway. Honestly, I usually don’t mind if she chases the dog; they both seem to enjoy the experience, it’s often the most exercise either gets all day, and it keeps her busy while I change that poopy diaper that I’m pretty sure I last checked sometime within the last hour.

A problem arises when Abbie corners the dog. That’s not hard to do in our style of home that can be best described as “postage stamp.” The dog, not realizing that Abbie won the chasing game or perhaps just desperate to avoid the otherwise-inevitable fur-pulling, will bound forward regardless of if Abbie is in the way. Often she’ll knock her flat on the ground on her way past. Abbie crumples into a wailing mess when she hits the ground, though I’m not sure if it’s because of the physical pain from the impact or the emotional pain of being knocked over by her friend the dog. Either way, I have to drop what I’m doing, not literally though if I’m caring for a baby, and rush to comfort her. I can’t stay very long because Ian is already looking a little tipsy.