I can’t say that when I first brought these twin babies home from the hospital all wrinkled and grunty that I could picture this day when I would drop them off at preschool for the first time. Honestly, I expected I’d be dead by then. I was pretty sure if I didn’t bleed out from the C-section that I would die of sleep deprivation by the third week, so four years later Kent’s hot new wife would have to take them to preschool and get all teary thinking what big boys they have become. But here we are four years later and Kent is still stuck with me. Whaddyagonnado?
So I handed over my most prized possessions to their new science teacher this morning at 9am. After I dried my eyes–because I had something in contacts, I swear, what are you looking at?–I worked out, and printed some new spice labels for an Etsy customer who needed Cardamom and Oregano and a few others to round out the set she already bought (and you can, too. “Domo OREGANO, Mr. Roboto.”), and mailed an audition form, and bought an oscillating micro saw at Home Depot to notch my baseboards, and blamo, time was up. I’m pretty sure three hours used to be a lot longer than this.
When I picked them up, Peppers declared immediately, “I missed you so much, Mommy! Did you miss me?” He’s been repeating that throughout the day. I missed my guys, yes, but “so much” might be an overstatement. I missed them an adequate amount. I felt the requisite emptiness and longing, but in a perfectly bearable quantity. I wonder if I should have missed them more and spent my three hours drenching their babyclothes with my tears as I poured over old pictures and grieved their fleeting childhood. I bet Kent’s hot new wife would have had a total breakdown. But honestly, twinfancy was so difficult and busy, I barely had a moment to enjoy it, however, I absolutely love this age. Four is fantastic. I am loving every minute of it. Even the 180 minutes of it that I get to spend getting crap done and missing them, tolerably, each weekday.