January, January, January. My birth month seems more like my birthing month this year. I cannot keep up. Both of my babies—”Time to Fly” and “Sing Me to Sleep”—require equal attention right now. They stay up late and disturb my sleep every night. When the sun rises they rub the dreams from their eyes, pout their rosy red lips and howl until I change and feed them. Needy little twins, they are, this CD cover, that picture book. They don’t care how much sleep I have, or lack.
But they are my children, and I love them.
