Happy birthday, my babies

Nine years ago today, I was lying in a hospital bed after having been there for 2 weeks on bedrest and IVs. I was pre-eclamptic, 22 years old, swollen, and scared. I thought I knew a lot about life, but, in truth, I knew nothing.

Then, at 11:03 and 11:04 a.m., two people entered my life. These small guys were beautiful and perfect, but I had no idea how much they would change my outlook and existence. I became a different person, no less scared than before, perhaps even more so. I felt as if my heart would break with all of the love that grew there in the blink of an eye as the two neonatologists held them up so that I could see them. Little did I know that day what paths my life would take as these little fellas became my driving force.

This morning, these two tiny babies, who weighed 4 pounds 3 oz and 3 pounds 14 oz, got themselves up by the alarm clocks they insist on having. Mine had gone off 5 minutes earlier, but I stayed in the living room listening as their feet hit the floor, allowing them to feel like big boys. One at a time they went to the bathroom they share, bathing themselves and putting on the clothes they had picked out for themselves. I inspected their carefully-combed hair and meticulously washed ears before handing them lunch and snack money. Then, out the door they went in their leather jackets with their backpacks slung over their shoulders to face another day of third grade.

Those tiny babies have become very tall gentlemen. Time really does go by so fast.

Happy birthday, K & B.