Twin infants (or twinfants, as I like to call them) are evidently the closest thing most people will ever see to zoo animals in a grocery store or other public place.
There is simply no other explanation for what people say.
They stare as if they’ve never seen a baby before, much less two. And then the barrage of questions begins. For me, it usually started with,
“Are they twins?”
Despite temptation, I usually just nodded, and never did say what I really wanted to, which was something along the lines of, “No, I thought it would be fun to borrow a friend’s baby and put it in a car seat that matched my baby’s for a fun-filled morning trip to the Teeter.”
Sometimes they would skip the twin question and start with,
“Which one’s older?”
I’d say, “He’s a minute older.” Inevitably, there was a huge pause, and you could see the proverbial wheels turning. And then, “Oh, so they’re twins?”
I know. Hard to believe, but true.
After the initial scrutiny comes the inquisition.
“How old are they?”
“Were they born early?”
And then it starts to get kinda personal.
“Did you have a vaginal birth?”
I’m not exactly shy, but asking a stranger about the state of her “parts” is a bit intrusive. I have no room to talk, though, since during the last part of my pregnancy I was discussing the length of my cervix with anybody who would listen. While we’re on the subject of personal stuff and anatomy, the next one was often,
“Are you breastfeeding?”
I gave the babies a combo of formula and breast milk for 4 ½ months before switching exclusively to formula, so I usually answered this question with, “Yes.” I tried not to mention their formula consumption to strangers, because many breastfeeding activists feel compelled to berate new moms about the evils of formula. But that’s a separate post.
“Wow, do you nurse them both at once? How do you do that?”
If it were one of my close girlfriends asking, I’d have no problem with this. But randoms? Did they really think I was going to give them a demo of the double football hold?
“Did you take fertility drugs?”
Yes, you read that last one correctly. I have been interrogated many times by total strangers in the produce section as to whether I took Clomid (no), did IUI (no), or maybe IVF (no).
“Really? No fertility drugs? Then twins must run in your family.”
Sigh. What do you say to such logic? I usually said no, that twins do not run in our family (which I thought was true until my father’s funeral, when a distant relative mentioned that someone way back on my mother’s side had a pair of fraternal twins).
“If they don’t run in your family, how did you end up having twins?”
Again, I’ve never given the answer which is sooooo tempting, “Oh, we must have had sex twice that day.” So tempting, but I just can’t do it. My mama raised me right.
We’ve only touched the tip of the iceberg here as far as things not to say, though. Some others that have infuriated and amazed me:
“Are you sure you didn’t take any fertility drugs?” Positive, thanks. And if I had, don’t you think that might be a touchy, emotional kind of subject?
“Which side of your family do twins run on?” This question comes when someone isn’t comfortable asking directly whether you were on fertility drugs. It’s the backdoor question, if you will. I suppose it’s never occurred to any of these questioners that there has to be a first person in a family to have twins.
“Are they natural?” No, we’re not referencing the potato chips in my cart, but my babies. I was always tempted to snap, “No, they’re androids.” But we all know I have admirable restraint, so I didn’t. But I know what question these people were trying to ask, which is whether the babies were the result of fertility treatments or whether they were conceived spontaneously. That’s the key (and correct) word here, people. Spontaneous. All babies are natural.
For this next question, keep in mind that I have boy/girl twins. They also look nothing alike. My son is blonde with blue eyes and built like a nose tackle. My daughter is a brunette with brown eyes and the body of a ballerina. He’s as pale as Casper, and she has a gorgeous natural tan. Got the mental picture? Good. Oh, and I never dressed them in gender-ambiguous clothing.
“Are they identical?”
No, I’m not kidding. This is the question I get the most often. The response I wish I could give is, “Did you skip biology class in high school?”
Instead, I usually say, “No, he’s a boy and she’s a girl.” Which, amazingly enough, does not clear things up for at least 50% of the people asking questions. Sometimes you’ll see a light bulb go off in their heads and they’ll say something like, “Oh, then they must be paternal.”
I’ve tried to gently set them straight by saying, “They’re fraternal.” But I stopped correcting people after one lady said, “Oh, I was gonna say fraternal, I don’t know what I was thinking, maybe about fraternities or something. Of course, it’s paternal.”
At the risk of sounding like Dave Barry, I am not making this up.
One time, a saleslady peered over the counter at Ulta, scrutinizing the kids in their double stroller. “They sure do look alike,” she mused. “Are you sure they’re not identical?”
“Yes, I’m sure,” I said. “Because it’s impossible for boy/girl twins to be identical.”
“Oh, well, I’ve known lots of boy/girl twins who were identical.”
What, dear reader, do you say to that? I thought about explaining the mechanics of eggs splitting to form identical twins versus two eggs producing fraternal twins, but decided it was hopeless and left. And you know what’s sad? I’ll bet that woman votes.
“Oh, you sure do have your hands full.” (I usually got this while pushing the kids in the stroller and pulling a grocery cart behind me.) Thanks. I hadn’t noticed.
“I wouldn’t want to be you!”
It’s really hard not to yell back, “Hey, I wouldn’t want to be you, either!”
And then there are the things that people say when you’re pregnant and they find out you’re having twins. In addition to being quizzed about how I got myself into my condition (see questions pertaining to fertility treatments above), I was confronted with the following:
“You’re having twins? Ohmigod, my condolences. I’m so sorry.”
I was so shocked by that one that I was, for once, speechless. It’s not like I was an unwed teen with an unwanted baby. I was a happily married woman who was excited to be having any baby at all, and thrilled to be having two!
“You’re having twins? Oh, wow, I’m glad that’s you and not me.” Yep, me, too.
“You’re having twins? That’s so cool! Two for the price of one!”
Let me tell you about two for the price of one. Ain’t no thing. Twins means two cribs, two pack-n-plays, five billion diapers, four potties at last count, two baptismal gowns, six car seats (two infant, two regular for my car, two regular for my husband’s car), two high chairs, two booster seats, two swings, two bouncy seats, two exersaucers, ad nauseum. Then there’s the stuff to come: in a few years they’ll need booster seats for the car, so at least two of those. Plus twin beds. And then college for two at the same time. Not exactly a blue-light special.
“You’re on bed rest? That must be so awesome, to get to just lay there all day and do nothing.”
Every time someone said that to me, they should have been thankful I wasn’t allowed to get up. Though it’s highly unlikely I could have delivered the beating I would have liked without also delivering two babies.
Oh, yeah, bed rest is fun. Those anti-contraction drugs that make your resting heart rate go over 120 beats per minute? Better than a roller coaster! Those other anti-contraction drugs you have to self-administer via a pump in your leg? Way cool. I mean, how often do you get to stick yourself with a needle and walk around with tubing hanging out of your body?
There’s a lot more to that can of worms, but I sense a separate post later, so I’ll shut up for now.
And so I’ll leave you with my number one, yes this actually happened to me, don’t you dare say it to anyone you know with multiples:
“They sure do look different. Are you sure they have the same father?”