In a discussion with one of my clients the other day, I came to a staggering reality. We discussed our children and their independence, hers long grown and my youngest starting to grow out of the total mom dependence thing. Then, I realize, in the first time in 22 years, I am running out of hands to hold. You see, for 22 years, I've been blessed by having these two around. Mom gave birth to the "squirrels" on May 1, 1984, when I was well past 12. It all started in Little Rock, AR. My sister, Joni, and my brother, B.A.G. (he's an F-18 pilot now and will henceforth be referred to this moniker, his call sign) informed my parents that we needed more siblings. I guess we were tired of looking at each other or something; it may have been the fact that the three of us shared a bedroom due to Dad's instructor pilot training and a very short stint in Arkansas, leaving us with limited living quarter options. They *listened* to us! Using a due date calculator (heh heh) I have deduced the fact that the new one was conceived on my parents' anniversary. :) I'll leave it at that. Next thing we know, Mom tells us she's with child and we went wild. So excited were we. A new life. A new tiger cub. A wonderful chance to mistreat yet another sibling...ahem. Did I say that??? Yes, I did. It happened one fall North Carolina morning. Mom reported to her OB doc, who informed her she looked awful large for being as far along as she claimed. Although she insisted that she usually got big quick, he sent her for an ultrasound. The ultrasonographer's name was Gaye. Ask me how I remember that after all these years and I cannot tell you. All I know is that Gaye walked Mom through the ultrasound. Starting on one side of Mom's belly, she said, "There's the baby! The baby's doing fine!" She rounded the hump. "Um...there's the other baby!" followed by a real quick "Mrs. Flying Tiger, are you okay?" *We* were. I'm not so sure how quickly she warmed up to the affair, but Dad just walked around with this grin as big as the flightline on which he bragged about the upcoming event. We bounced around our new schools, our mantra being "Twins are coming!" Mom's actual due date was May 13th (mother's day, how cool!) but her doc decided, with twins, it made more sense to schedule cesarean. In a way totally fitting for a family with a pilot for a father, the girls entered the world at 7:46 and 7:47 in room C5. Dad, ready with the camera, documented the event. We found those totally by accident...um...intent, snooping. :) Newborns are NOT pretty until properly cleaned. This explains cats licking their young, which, fortunately, humans do not do; they have people paid to do that. Atchawee turned blue, though. I remember standing by the bay window, rain hitting the panes, realizing the seriousness of the situation. At two days old, her pulmonary valve completely closed off and her blood flowed backward, back into her lungs. My dad went with her to Duke University, leaving Mom and Boo behind. Beauty manifested itself the moment Boo came through the door. Having her made bearing the gravity of Atchawee's situation much better. Poor Mom. My grandmother came down to help out, so it gave Mom the opportunity to see the other half of the pair kicking her guts for so long. In 1984, heart surgery was not as awesome as it is now. The simple solution was to insert a catheter into Atchawee's vessels, pushing the blockage open with a balloon. Such devices existed, but not with a balloon small enough to do such a thing. As a result, Atchawee had open-heart surgery at three days old. She came home at 15 days old. GO DUKE! From then on, it got easier. Atchawee continued to beat the odds, coming off medication completely eventually. That's all there is to tell. She's very proud of her scars, and we're proud of her. Without Amber in the bed next to her, though, I'm not sure her recovery would have been so dramatic. Mom still recalls them "squeaking" back and forth to each other--all night long. Twins operate in ways we cannot comprehend. Imagine sharing a womb as your neural pathways develop, very soon aware of the lack of privacy in such a warm place. They are fraternal, but the effects are very amazing. They are not allowed to be on the same team when playing ANY game. A lifted eyebrow, a smirk, a touch to the temple, a batting of eyelashes--you name it. They hold their little side conferences at times, and the rest of the table must wait until they rejoin the conversation. I tried to offer to help find Boo a summer job. The simple question took 10 minutes to ask! Every word seemed to be a trigger for some shared experience and, of course, they had to explore it further, interjecting words in each other's sentences. They are awesome to behold. And beautiful, too. Look at them:
They are truly wonderful and sweet, adored by their niece and three nephews (Joni has a cub, too).
I do not take date offers. If you do apply, you must be a celibate preacher, about 25 or so. You must thump your bible and be somewhat legalistic, but very "thou shalt not judge," too. I will not perform your interrogation. That task goes to B.A.G. and, believe me, he's quite thorough. If you make it through B.A.G.'s inquiry, then you must pass three other siblings' scrutiny. Ask B.A.G. how merciless we are. Try being stuck in the middle of four other children, two girls above and two more below.
Remember, tigers have fangs.
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