seven on the seventh

Seven years ago today, I was in the hospital for a scheduled C-section to fiiiiiiinally get twin babies out of my body. Twin A was breech, twin B was transverse, and I was a couple of days away from 36 weeks along, so they were measuring much too big to have any room to move, much more – flip completely around.

Knowing what I know of twin A now, my tiny, red-headed, spitfire of a daughter, it doesn’t surprise me in the least that she was able to flip and just wanted to wait until the very last second to get ready. Kinda like this morning (and every morning, ever) when she waited until we were walking out the door before she turned around, yelling something about needing to find her shoes.

Between all three of my kids, I’ve got a thinker, a feeler, and a doer. She’s the doer. The boss. The enforcer. She’s the one who will tell the neighbor kids to scram if they’re being mean to anyone and who will put signs on the doors for rules that must be followed in those particular rooms. She’ll probably run a company some day and live in a giant house with a spiral staircase because those are her plans and she’s not one to follow through on any plan other than her own.

Twin B is my thinker, my little existentialist. He had to be coaxed and pulled feet-first into this world, but probably because he was comfortable in there – head in the proverbial clouds, thinking “why is going through the birth canal even a thing that we have to do?” Much like this morning’s drive home when he asked me why listening to the radio in the car is a thing, why the radio itself is a thing, why money is a thing, and not for a lesson on where money comes from because he already knows, but like, “why was it even thought of?”

He’s my fellow introvert. My kindred spirit with his love of outer space and solitude and going all-out with decorations on the holidays.

And tomorrow, they’re both seven. SEVEN. It’s an extra special, super exciting b-day because it’s golden, but I’m also over here all “ugh, seven” because that’s motherhood for ya – weird.

Happy (almost) Golden Birthday, babies.

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One thought on “seven on the seventh

  1. Ugh. How could you even write that without crying?! I’m crying and they’re not even my babies. Hahhaa HBD J & G. xoxo

    Liked by 1 person

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