My boys are not twins. Well they are but we almost never call them “the twins” it’s always the kids, the boys, tyrants. The wife and I decided before they were born we would treat them as individuals. To me the moniker twins clumps them together. That’s just personal opinion. Since they were born they have worn matching outfits sparingly. Usually it’s grandma that matches them. They had bear snowsuits but only because we were given them and they were adorable. I tend to stay away from ever referring to them as a single entity.
Now I’m not parent bashing or even judging how households with multiples decide to dress or raise or nickname their children. Those are your kids, do what you want. I’m talking my household. I have always felt an objection to labeling of any form.
Going to the grocery store is tough. Everyone stops us. EVERYONE. It takes us an hour to get milk.
“Are they twins?!”
“Oh my god, twins?!”
” Did you know my sisters’ boss had a cousin who was a twin?”
I know this will never change. When I see parents of twins we always give the same understanding look. We don’t stop each other to marvel in awe at the amazement of twins. There is no “oh my god we both have twins, seriously I thought I had the only ones!” It just has never happened. An acknowledgment? Maybe a head nod then it’s back to trying to wade through the masses who feel the need to abruptly stop us.
I’m not a social butterfly. Sure get a couple drinks in me and I’ll sing Counting Crows at karaoke. Besides that though I have always had a feeling of anxiety and anger in public. People jostle you, get in your way, have obnoxiously loud conversations in public. Diana knows this about me. Taking me anywhere usually involves an argument or promises of future sexual favors.
Maybe that’s why I was blessed with twins. To live out the purgatory of public. It could very well be why I hate the term twins. As someone who has always been against the grain, against conformity, the moniker brings aggravation and forced smiles. No, they are two regular boys who happened to be born two minutes a part.
Killian is a sweetheart. He loves to laugh, loves to cuddle and absolutely loves to smile. The boy was born with an extra serving of good nature and I love him for it. I know he will grow up to be a lover and the friend you go to who makes you feel better.
Nicolas is fierce. The boy is a warrior and smart, much smarter than he should be. He sees any sort of obstacles in the way of his goals then deftly maneuvers past them. The boy is me. I see it, he isn’t friendly and social, prefers to stare at a person and size them up.
I love both my children equally. The moniker twins is a disservice to their individuality. It combines them as a single unit while simultaneously separating them from peers. Anywhere we go, everywhere we go it’s about the twins. It’s not how is Killian? What about Nicolas? How are the twins? They look so much alike!
What will happen when our “singleton” enters the picture? I can only assume people will stop us and say “Woah is that twins?” Then take no notice of their little brother.
The thought unsettles and nauseates me. We live in an age where information is instantly transmitted around the world. It’s at your fingertips! Twins are so astounding, Google pictures of them, but please don’t show them to me. I had the same picture shown to me thirteen goddamn times in the past two days. It was a cute picture but the thought process now is “Briton has twins!! He needs to see this!!” I am a parent of boys, tyrants kids! Not different than anyone else. It makes me feel special being thought of but not when it’s under the classification of being a parent of twins. Send me dad of the year photos!
I usually don’t do this but I’ve seen it on some great blogs and in order to be great you should fake it till you make it or steal from the greats. Do you have twins? Do you feel they get clumped together? Do you not have twins? Have I offended you? Is anyone still reading this?