They turned 10 over the weekend.
And at the risk of this turning in to a sentimental, bittersweet post about how my heart hurts a little bit, I should stop right here.
But you knew I wouldn’t.
They made me a mom of twins. And there, at 22 years old, I had no idea what a blessing they would be, how they would teach me and challenge me, and make me grow up pretty quickly.
There’s been a lot of water under a lot of bridges over the past ten years, and they’ve been through a fair share of sunshine and rain during their lifetime. In short, this I so strongly believe: God knew we needed them.
Through ups and downs, they are a gift. They are so different and so good together, such partners in life. They couldn’t be more right for each other, or for our family. We just wish time would slow down a bit. Because a decade escapes you in ways you never prepare for, and all of a sudden, you’re 32 and have a 13 year old and two 10 year old children. And it makes you hurt a little bit, this evaporating of time, the vengeful passing of your days. And you can’t help but have a big dose of fear that the next decade will slip by as quickly, and you look ahead with trepidation at what the outcome will be.
Sometimes at work, my patients ask if I have children. And when I open my mouth to answer, I tell them yes, that we have 3 children. I always hold my breath for a tiny second, with hope that they won’t ask how old they are. (Don’t ask. Don’t ask. Pleeease don’t ask.) But they always, always do. And I cringe inwardly, because I really kind of hate validating their ages by vocalizing them. As if speaking them aloud gives it greater truth. I don’t like the sound of it. I don’t want to believe it. There’s a part of me that’s still in my early twenties with two tiny babies in my arms, and a 3 year old bringing me a nuki to help out. Which is probably not all that healthy of a way to feel, but it’s there nevertheless. I really didn’t think I’d be that mom, you know, the one who looks at her children and sees the little tiny babies they used to be. But I am. And I know it. And no matter how much I want to change that about myself, I’m stuck here, loving them and reminiscing and feeling a little bit of an ache in my heart every time I admit it.
It’s simple, really.
I just love them. That’s all.
*Wanna make a child’s day? Hang streamers at their doors the night before their birthday while they sleep. They wake up in the morning, walk through them and come downstairs all sleepy-eyed smiles, thinking you hung the moon. Works every time. (Even when you think they’re getting too old to really care.)