Hallelujah, the strike is o'er, and other news.

Clio's feeding shennaningans seem to be over, for the most part. Though she still frequently cries when I first try to nurse her, I can now get her to calm down and eat eventually. Often, this requires the old pacifier switcheroo -- I let her suck on the pacifier, then, once she's calm, take it out of her mouth and slide her swiftly onto the boob before she can tell the difference. It usually works. She also does well with a side-lying nursing position, wherein I lounge like a golden retriever and she does her thing.

While I'm on the topic of breasts (which is common these days) I must ask: at what point will mine not be so huge? I thought that once your body adjusts to your milk production needs, your hooters go back down to a more normal size. Maybe this doesn't apply when you're breastfeeding twins. I've still got total porn-star tits. Not that this is entirely a bad thing. But it has meant that while I can now fit into my old jeans and pants, almost none of my sweaters or tops fit anymore; they're either too tight around the bust, or too short, or both. Or, they simply reveal cleavage. And as a lifelong B-cupper, I'm just not used to having cleavage. I caught a glimpse of myself in the reflection of a conference room door at work the other day, and I looked like freakin' Erin Brokovich.

The upside of all this is that it's an excuse to go shopping. I spent a couple of hours at the mall last week on the way home from work, scouring the sale racks, and came away with a couple of good finds. I also splurged on a very cute jacket from...I can't believe this..Benetton. (My faithful readers will remember that I am still traumatized over not having been allowed to get a green and white Benetton rugby shirt in 6th grade like all the cool girls.) Anyway, here's hoping it will still fit fabulously a year from now when I'm no longer breastfeeding and my boobs have shrunk to mere shadows of their former, pre-pregnancy selves, which I hear is common. Bummer.

Elsewhere in the self-improvement category, a couple of weeks ago I got my hair highlighted for the first time in my life. My stylist was, naturally, aghast to hear that at my age (33 as of last week) I'd never had my hair professionally colored. Guess I'm just generally a low-maintenance gal. But I will admit that there's something about becoming a mother that has made me want to put more effort into looking good. Maybe it's all those episodes of "What Not To Wear" that I've been watching while my ass is parked on the couch nursing two babies, witnessing the horror of mom jeans, sweatshirts, and white sneakers.

What else? Last week, for a pair of brunches (one Passover, one Easter) we put the babies in dresses for the first time in their wee lives. They looked awfully cute, though Elsa definitely pulls off the girly thing better than Clio. It's fun now that they fit into some larger clothes to dress them in actual outfits instead of just sleepers all the time. A. still isn't entirely on board with me on this; he doesn't see the point, and would rather just keep them in sleepers, for easier diaper access. But cuteness, I tell him. Cuteness is the point!

Before I go, one last, more somber note: what the FUCK is wrong with our country that any head-case can get a semi-automatic 9mm handgun? Why is ANYONE, for that matter, allowed to get a semi-automatic 9mm handgun? Yesterday as I listened to the news about the shootings in Virginia, all I could do was look at my daughters' beautiful, innocent faces and think: my god, each one of those victims is some mother's baby.