The More You Know

Back in the day, there were these little blips on Friday night TV after the good shows called The More You Know. There would be someone famous giving a public service announcement, just for the purpose of educating the masses. Most of them were obvious: don’t do drugs, get help if you’re struggling with addiction, exercise more. I am here today to resurrect The More You Know on a subject which should be equally obvious, but has proven otherwise in my life at least 4.7 million times. Today’s PSA will be titled, “Are They Twins?”

Our first set of twins are identical boys. They were born at 37 weeks and weighed nearly 6 & 7 pounds. It took me about a month after their birth to work up the courage to leave the house and another month to actually shower, rent the Uhaul and make my way out with 5 year-old Bean, two teensie babies and enough gear to survive a nuclear winter. They were adorable. They were perfect. And, I soon discovered, they were a complete paparazzi-fest everywhere we went.

I couldn’t take more than three steps without a complete stranger saying with a smile, “Are they twins?”. The first ten or twenty times it happened, I was thrilled. I was so stinking proud of my babies that of course I wanted to show them off. But conversations didn’t stop there. Once their twin-ness was established, it was then onto gender, age, names, birth weights and sleeping habits. About a quarter of these people had a cousin or a friend or a niece’s swim coach’s brother with twins. Another quarter had twins themselves who were now grown, wanting to offer themselves as proof that I would, in fact, survive. The rest were just well-intentioned passers-by that felt entitled to the life story of my children. What was endearing at first quickly became an exercise in consciously practicing kindness to strangers.

This came to a head one day in our local Winco. I had both babies, now maybe 3 months old, in a Moby wrap and Bean in the cart. As I was standing in the produce section selecting mangoes, a woman sidled up to me with the now-familiar half smile and gestured at my baby-laden chest.

“Are they twins?” she said. I swallowed my inner sigh and replied with a smile, “Yes ma’am, they are.” I knew what was coming.

“How old are they?” (13 weeks)

“Boys or girls?” (Both boys)

“Identical or fraternal?” (Identical)

“How far apart are they?” (57 minutes)

“Oh wow. You didn’t have a c-section?” (No.)

“Did you have an episiotomy?”

Wait a second. WHOA. What did you just say?

“I’m sorry… what?” I stammered, because surely I’d misheard her.

“An episiotomy,” she repeated. “Did you have one?”

Now, I’m normally a pretty open and polite person. But at this point, I was still postpartum enough to cry at moderately emotional long distance commercials. So it didn’t take much for all my be-kind-to-strangers training to jump right out the window. Because daaaaaang, lady. I DO NOT KNOW YOU. I just survived creating and pushing not just one but two human beings out of my body and you wanna talk about what?? I put the mango back in the bin and turned to face her fully.

“What’s your favorite brand of tampon?” I said. Her smile faded. “Wh… what?” she said. My eyes might have blazed a bit as I replied, “WELLLLLL… I guess I figured since we’re BFF’s now sharing details about our lady bits, it’s only fair that I get to ask about yours, right? Don’tcha think that’s fair?”

At this point, I think she realized that she had made a poor life choice in asking about the vagina of a complete stranger. She left… Quickly. Around the same moment I realized that I could still be a wee bit too hormonal for public interaction. Shrug.

I was more prepared for this when Pook and Boogie arrived on the scene, but I’ll admit that I did not expect the shock and awe factor of taking all of my kids out together. Yes, the babies are twins. Yes, the boys are twins, too. Yes, I have two sets of twins. Yes, twins run in my family. Yes, my long-suffering eldest is a great helper. No, I promise you, no one actually intends to have two sets of twins. Can I please get my mangoes now?

So here’s your PSA. It’s a list of 7 key things to remember in public. If you don’t have twins, memorize this list. If you do have twins, gimme an AMEN, MAMA! And, if you have two sets of twins…. For heaven’s sake, call me and we’ll trade babysitting.

1. Unless you’re offering to carry something, there’s really no need to comment on how full my hands are.

2. Asking a mother if twins run in her family is really a not-so-subtle way of asking if she had fertility treatments. Can you just… not?

3. Don’t ask how far apart the kids are. All birth SUCKS. C-sections suck. Vaginal labor sucks. There’s no hierarchy of pain and we all just need to celebrate that we lived through it. My twins are 57 minutes and 7 minutes apart, so the second set should have been easier, but in fact they almost killed me. It’s complicated. Just don’t ask the question.

4. Do not, under any circumstances, share your own story of traumatic labor/premature babies/sick infants. It doesn’t matter if it happened to you, your cousin or your niece’s swim coach’s brother. Do not do it.

5. Oh, you always wanted twins? Cool. Come on over tonight and pick one out.

6. Gosh, I didn’t realize that your 15 month-apart kids were way harder than my twins. Tell me more.

7. I’m gonna say this in caps because it’s a biggie. Are you ready? BOY/GIRL TWINS CANNOT BE IDENTICAL. IT’S NOT POSSIBLE. If I need to explain why, you should probably call your mom.

The moral of the story is JUST. STOP. TALKING. Smile at a twin mama, or better yet offer to come fold her laundry and let her take a nap. But, otherwise, stop talking.

I love people, really I do. And I love to talk about my kids more than just about any other subject. So let’s share stories of their antics or all the ways they make us crazy. Let’s laugh at all the things we never imagined we’d say or cry together if the day is a tough one. I’m in for all of that. And if you need to chat, I’m usually found around the mango section at Winco. We’ll visit. I’ll probably hug you. But let’s not talk about our lady bits, mmmkay?

Noodle & Roo, just a few hours old

Pook & Boogie on the day Pook was FINALLY released from the NICU