As is always the case, I had no ever-loving idea what I was getting myself in to. Two kids, two years apart. Diapers, in two sizes (except not any more, wa hoo!), two cribs, two high chairs, two in the bathtub, two sets of car seats in two different cars, two sets of socks that look maddeningly similar, two hours a week at Kindermusik, two seats in the stroller, two birthdays – in the same week, two toothbrushes, two to dress in coats and hats and boots and mittens, two special plates of food prepared in two different ways, two thousand sipper cups.
And two kids, unbelievably attached to each other. Two kids that dissolve into fits of giggles together over silly noises. Two kids that hug and kiss and snuggle together. Two kids that chase each other around the house, screeching and laughing. Two kids that don’t want to be separated, for anything.
This is a golden time in my life, I know. This time of having my children at home, knowing where they are and what they are doing every minute of the day. This time when their days are centered around when I leave for work, and when I come home for lunch, and when I come home for the day, and when I put them to bed. I understand, in my mind if not in my heart, that I’ll lose a little bit of them each day, each year, as they grow up and grow away from me. And so, today, I’ll give them extra hugs and kisses, and appreciate who they are, right now.