Despite having three little boys, I am not particularly maternally inclined. But now that Jack, Dan, and Lady Gaga have arrived, I've definitely tapped my oxytocin center. Each night, after tucking in my own kids, I stealth downstairs to the chick box and sing our peeps to sleep. Yep, the same lullaby I sang for own kids, "Go to Sleep, Little Baby," and one by one, our fluffers drift into sandman land. The best part, they don't even request a last drink of water or a midnight band aid -- and I don't have to wipe their butts (unless, of course, crusty butt hits, at which point my ramped up mama mushiness may even inspire me to hand knit hemp chick diapers).