In May, 2002, we had a real "Circle of Life" experience in our family when, just four days after my mother died, and on my father's 83rd birthday, my first cousin became a grandmother when her son and his wife had twins. They were about 8 weeks premature, each weighing between three and four pounds. I've mentioned them before, but last week when I was in Colorado, I finally met them. And here they are:
As you can see, they are happy and healthy and yes, of course, adorable. She on the left wears a serious expression, but if you can get her to smile, she lights up a room. She is an extremely beautiful child. He on the right is Hoss, all chunky and friendly and happy.
They are generally regarded as a miracle, both for the circumstances of their birth and their current good health, as well as for the difficulty in conceiving them that came first. I tend to believe that all babies are miracles, but these two seem to have some added cachet of specialness.
To an almost eerie degree.
Yes, I get it, their conception, their birth, their health. And they are damned cute. All babies are.
They are The Stepford Babies, with Stepford Parents. You know, like The Stepford Wives, all too perfect to be real. Oh wait, they were robots, they weren't real after all. These babies and their folks aren't robots, not really, but they exude a peculiar air of perfection that was juuuuust a little strange.
I rarely heard the babies cry, maybe one of them once for a minute or two, nor did they ever seem overtired or grumpy or cranky. This was after an eight or nine hour drive to get to where we were. More amazing, their parents weren't overtired or grumpy or cranky. Rather, they cooed and played and fed and smiled as if their babies were the only babies who had ever lived, and isn't that a miracle? Yeah, I get it, miracle.
Truly, I never saw anything like it. I wish I could convey the tone in everyone's voice when speaking to these babies. You know, we all do that sweet-talking-to-a-baby thing: "Oh, look! A blue ball!" You know. But this was constant, neverending. How do they do that? How long can they keep it up?
Not for a moment did either parent seem exasperated or worn out. I know I was when I had babies that age, and my sister got by with twins only with a pretty steady stream of other grownups on hand, and she was still pretty frazzled. Crawling around twins are a handful. These folks just don't seem to think so.
Hey, that's great for them; it's just odd, that's all. I was describing them to someone the other day, someone who's about to visit family in Israel, toting along four kids, including three-year-old twins. She says it's a nine-hour flight. She did not look happy at the prospect. She thought the idea of having a pair of Stepford Twins sounded just great. I can see why she would.
I probably won't see these twins again for a couple of years, not until my niece's wedding. I hope by then they have food in their hair and at least one of them whines from time to time. I'll feel better about the whole thing.
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I'm watching Queer Eye for the Straight Guy
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