The nurses always asked if I would rather hold them one at a time or maybe shift one to the other arm to make it easier.
I would snuggle them in a bit more, remembering how long they were together and how quickly they were apart. Willing the bond of multiples to work its magic, I used the hope I had left to wish for them to thrive. Like the rambling mom I will forever be, I filled them with stories of a big kid life full of playing dress up and pot-and-pan bands.
They asked to be wrapped up, burrito style, after their third wedding (they marry each other, their brother, their friend, Buzz Lightyear or Strawberry Shortcake). I rolled them up, one at a time in blankets, leaving one to giggle on the floor and one to wiggle on the couch.
Can you put me next to Parker, Mommy? Is this how we looked when we were babies? Did I always smile at Parker?
You couldn’t smile yet because you were too little.
But he just knowed I was happy?
I think he did.
Because we already loved-ed each other?
Yes Baby, you did.
I’m at Still Standing today talking about the journey through grief and how much it changes over time, would love for you to visit.
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