No, They're NOT Twins!

You really need to come shopping with me one day--just one outing to the mall and you'd understand my utter frustration. When you're by yourself, you're invisible as you whisk in and out of stores, effortlessly squeeze between tightly packed racks of clothing, and glide noiselessly past the wad of people standing like sheep in the middle of your path. When you have one child, you're a little more clumsy as you maneuver your kid, your packages, and the oversized stroller along, and you sometimes get an "Oh aren't you handsome" from a little old lay or an "Aren't you a big man" from an older gentleman.

But when you have twins, all bets are off. There is no "invisible" anymore; there is no "effortless;" and there is definitely no squeezing anywhere. And you can forget going into Claire's for hair accessories--the stroller can't fit in the front door, much less between the racks. I love my double stroller, but I feel much like an enormous garbage truck in the middle of a ballroom full of graceful dancers, all of whom know the steps to this intricate dance that I used to know but can no longer dance, myself, because of three children attached to a leg, a hip, an arm. I am conspicuous and I know it. I try valiantly to see my goal and race towards it, going left, right, left again, bouncing off curbs, running over clothes racks, and hitting corners like a wayward ball in a pinball game. But then I see something I want to look at, and it is then that they descend upon me like ants upon a wounded caterpillar.

You have no idea how many people make my trips to the store take twice the time they should just because they want to talk to me about the twins. It's insane. I got through ONE store in the mall today before we had to leave. ONE!!! I suddenly am approachable, famous! In the past 2 weeks, I've had to help 2 women shop for their new grandchildren. I'm struggling to wheel my tank around a corner and not take out an entire rack of clothing, plug Amelia with a pacifier because she refuses to nap, try to fan the air a bit more before I go change Emerson's impromptu poopy diaper, and check prices all while being asked to vote "yes" or "no" to whatever the lady holds in the air for her grandchildren.

Last week, I had to play the "girl" or "not girl" game for a lady buying clothes for her 3 grandkids at the thrift store. This morning, we almost missed the elevator because some lady was too busy chatting up my babies while the door closed. And tonight at supper, another lady actually came over to see them and stayed around to talk, then left, went back to her table, and called someone on the cell phone to tell her there were twins there!!! And I can't just be rude and ignore them, but oh is it tempting!

"Oh! Are they twins? (Nope. Just stole one from our neighborhood's playground to fill up the front seat of the buggy so it'd be weighted properly.) Are they identical? They sure look identical. (Well, I guess you'd know better than I--their mother!) What are their names? Oh...Emerson? I've never heard that one before; where did you find that? (It was the name of the bouncer at the bar I got kicked out of one night while I was pregnant.) What's wrong with her? She sure is a fussy little thing. (She gets cranky when the buggy stops rolling so people can talk to her.) They sure are big babies for 5 months old (Are you calling my babies fat!? Well, starving babies isn't fashionable right now.)

Maybe I'll make business cards that have their names, ages, weights, personalities, and sleep patterns on them. When someone approached, I could just say, "Here you are" and keep moving. That would save so much time.