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“Any idea which one this is?” I ask her, looking down at my son.
“Not a fucking clue,” she responds, sounding exhausted as she feeds the other one.
“Huh. I’ll ask Ma when I see her.” For the life of us, the only way we know which twin is which, is when we can see the small birthmark on the older one’s thigh. Ma, however, can tell with a quick glance.
“She’s out of town for a couple more days,” Molly sighs.
“You’re sure I can’t put a zip tie around his ankle—” catching the look on my wife’s face, I know she still hasn’t warmed up to my idea.
“I love you so much,” she says as I sit on the ottoman. “Thank you for our sons.”
“I’ll never understand why you thank me. You’re the one who did all the work,” I say as we deftly trade the boys.
“Because you make each day perfect,” she smiles at me, in that special way she has.
I get choked up, staring at her beautiful face but still feeling guilty when I think of the man I saw today. God knows I don’t deserve Molly, but that thought makes me even more grateful for our love.And our sons, I think, looking down at the little monster who just filled his diaper.
