The numbers tell the story : The Slow-Cooked Sentence

Many years ago, I sat in an obstetrician’s office and feared I was miscarrying. My husband stood near me as we waited for the ultrasound’s results.”Everything looks good,” the doctor said.

I cried.

“In fact, I probably should be congratulating you. There are two embryos; you’re having twins.”

I cried harder.

“That’s good news, isn’t it?” the doctor asked.

I laughed and cried at the same time.

“I don’t know,” I admitted.

Months later, I walked into the hospital 38 weeks pregnant, dilated to 10. My husband was again at my side as we waited for an ultrasound to tell us whether our breached babies had shifted. But before I could get the news, my water broke, a tiny foot was felt and an emergency cesarean performed.

Seconds before I slipped under the anesthesia, I asked that pictures be taken. While unconscious, my first son, Samuel, was born. One minute later, my second son, Max, arrived. An hour or so passed and I woke.

“Bring me my babies,” I demanded.

As I held them in my arms, I smiled through my tears.

This past week, we celebrated their ninth birthdays.

1
exhausted mother

2
birthday cakes baked
3
legged races
4
burlap bags used for sack races

Max leaps.

5
pounds of chicken wings
6
Lego sets
7
minutes of ABBA danced around musical chairs

Sam shares a chair.

8
whacks at the pinata
9
years on this earth
10
p.m. and the kitchen was clean again
11
year-old girls are great helpers
12
deviled eggs
13
bottles of bubbles
14
children celebrate with us.