Once upon a time in a land far, far away (it was North Carolina actually) there lived a husband and wife with their perfect American family of one boy and one girl. They lived in a palace (not really, it was a log cabin with bad chinking) and thought that a third child might be nice, instead God gave them twins. The wife mistrusted Doctors (the difference between God and a doctor? God doesn't think he's a doctor) and the Doctors said she was a difficult patient and non-compliant to boot, so she decided to have the twins at home. With a midwife who had never delivered twins before.
Aleks holding Micah and Katie holding Levi, 3 days old
The woman had lots of confidence in herself and her body (which she has sadly lost) and was sure that things would turn out well. She ate lots of protein so that the babies wouldn't be premature and she made it to her due date. And a week after her due date when there was absolutely no sign of an impending birth she told the midwife that enough was enough already, let's get this show on the road. The midwife said that she could try castor oil but didn't know how much to recommend so the woman drank 5. stinking. ounces. of castor oil. Well, let me tell you, that'll clean the sand out of your wicket! So after hours and hours of diarrhea the woman feels so incredibly cruddy that she heads to bed, she gets up an hour later and her water breaks. She calls the midwife and wails, "I can't do labor now, I'm so sick!"
Micah ahead and Levi behind, 14 months old
Levi and Micah at 3
It has been a whole different experience to have 2 at every age. Easier in some ways and tougher in others. They can't imagine life without each other. They do chores together, sleep in the same bed, beat on each other, shoot their guns together, and like the same things. I think it seems just perfect. I think they do too.