I decided to work from home today because I am writing a proposal for an RFP that is due early next week. It’s Friday. It’s raining. Good day to work from home, I say. I’ve recently gone back to work, starting a new job with my business partner of many years. We’ve gone in-house at an advertising agency running their design firm. It’s my dream job. Working with people I like and respect, working on meaningful projects, and making a contribution that matters. I couldn’t be happier — both on the work-front and on the home-front.

I’m sitting in front of my computer waiting for the words to spill out of my brain and onto the virtual page. My fingers are poised and at the ready. But the cutest little voices in the whole world are pulling my attention away. I know my little people are cute. They are smart and funny and sweet and bossy and so much more. But today I feel an ache in my heart at the sound of Willow’s voice. She’s in the playroom looking out the window trying to communicate with a neighbourhood doggie on the sidewalk down below. “Woof, woof”, she says in her little voice. And her brother, ever the maniac when surrounded by objects that have the potential to be air-born if he so chooses, is standing on the chair beside her taken it all in. At 18 months old they are on the cusp of communicating with real words.

I fell in love with the idea of these two little people the moment Sara and I knew we were expecting twins. Their names came to us quite quickly and easily. From early on Willow and Theo became a part of our family, even before Willow made her first Pterodactyl-like yelp and Theo gave us his first sweet smile.

The ache in my heart today makes me happy. I can feel my eyes water when I glance over at them, running around with their little pop pop pop push toys. One blue, one pink. Sharing doesn’t come until the age of 3 we’ve been told.

Love sick on a warm rainy Friday in the first week of October. Not such a bad way to welcome the weekend.

The Sunnybrook NICU offered our twins the best care imaginable, care that far exceeded their needs since they were born perhaps small but otherwise completely healthy.  John Theodore weighed in at 6lbs and seemed enormous in the NICU where the staff work with newborns as small as 500g. Willow Alma was alarmingly little; she weighed a mere 4.5lbs.  Willow, however, was fastest to the breast; loudest in letting us know what she needed; and quickest to trap us with her gaze.  She simply needed to grow bigger.  Theo was born a cross between a sumo wrestler and a Buddha-baby.  He was extracted by c-section before he had a chance to expel the amniotic fluid from his lungs; at least a pound of his weight was simply birthing fluid.  Once he began to lose his puffiness, his eyes rounded out from slits to almonds, his neck emerged from the folds of his chin and shoulders, and his personality began to shine through the sluggishness of a difficult start.  He continues to remain calm, his legs sometimes resuming the comforting and familiar pose of his eight months in the womb — the lotus pose with ankles crossed over his belly.  A position very different from his sister who resists diaper changes by planking and straight-legging it.  The twins from the beginning showed their distinctive stripes.

At Sunnybrook we were given time and support to explore our children’s differing personalities.  We managed to finagle a private room.  The nursing staff created personalized mementos, which they hung around each child’s room.  Kate Robson, in charge of family care, hosted a series of events to bolster the community of anxious parents.  We sat with pharmacy students as they led us through a taste test of our children’s meds.  Tea and biscuits another afternoon.  Pizza night.  Manis and pedis.  If we nudge our imaginations only a little, we can exchange these workshops for resort activities, our hospital gowns for bathrobes, institutional food for cucumber water.  Our children had seemingly been checked into the Preemie Spa. The quality of care we received made our worries fade to the background while we enjoyed the beginnings of our family under the tutelage and warm care of a nursing team who can at once place an IV line in our tiny baby’s foot, congratulate me on a successful breastfeed (because, yes, Willow had licked and explored again) and draw our children certificates for their first “Kangaroo Cuddles.”  They celebrated with us in those first days when we would innocently appear in the NICU, cradling fervently a syringe with a tiny droplet of colostrum. They knew what we didn’t know; that in the shortest of times, droplets of real milk would be spraying our babies faces as they tried to latch on before the geyser opened fire.  But, for us, everything was fresh, and we were awe-struck.

I have begun to see our new life with the twins in chapters. We started out at at the Preemie Spa.  It wasn’t long before we were transferred to East General – Breastfeeding Boot Camp.  Later came the chapter of Firsts – first “big kid” crib after the isolette, first bath at the hospital and then at home, first doctor’s appointment, the first time I heard someone say, “Your daughter”.  Then there was the chapter where we entertained an endless stream of visitors – friends who wanted to welcome Willow and Theo into the world.  Leaving a wake of gifts and meals. And, soon after, the chapter when we wanted to keep the whole world at bay.  Wanted to forge family quiet time, wanted to get to know one another.  We learned that Willow needs to have someone in her sightline, and might scream like a pterodactyl if left on her own.  Theo could lay on the floor contentedly endlessly observing the swaying branches of our oak tree overhead.  We slept together for a few weeks in our big bed, and finally moved the kids to their shared cradle.  We developed a rolling rhythm of sleep, play, eat and rest.  And, finally, we found ourselves wanting to explore, to take the kids out, to show them the world and to show them off to the world.

It’s been 15 months since the twins came into our lives and yet, in many ways, I feel as though I experienced today one of the first moments of family-time for the Porter-Gardners.  I know that isn’t entirely true.  That we have been a family from the moment Willow and Theo emerged from my belly, ever since Suzanne cut their umbilical cords and they stopped being extensions of me.  I know that when we paddled through the rain dragging extra canoes ladened with our gear to get to the island on Joeperry Lake for our wedding, our first camping trip together, we were on our first familial adventure.  That our weekend on Georgian Bay with the Hatchers was our first family cottage weekend.  That our time in Spain is only the first of our family holidays on this side of the ocean.  I understand that we have been a family now since the evening of April 2, 2012. But, today there was something different over the lunch table as we sat down to eat.  Paella.

It’s been months of challenging Theo with new foods, which he accepts readily — even greedily.  And months of trying to get Willow to eat a satisfying variety of foods.  She likes to do it herself — cheerios work well for that, as does cheese…until she rules cheese out for some reason.  Toast is usually good unless feeding herself porridge seems like a better option, or rather spreading porridge all over her pyjamas and tray as she tries to forge the gap between spoon and mouth.  She is becoming more coordinated, definitely and quickly.  But, feeding these two is full-time work.  For two people. One has to keep pace with Theo. The other has to do sprints between the kitchen and table as she searches for what might entice Willow.  Today was different.  We sat together to eat paella — the four of us enjoying our meal at once.  Likely Theo ate twice as much as anyone else, but that’s okay.  Likely it’s how it will go.

I’m sure we could have done this sooner.  We’ve known it’s important to eat together, that there are the soft benefits of eating as a family that build foundations for quality time together and the concrete benefits of modelling good eating habits.  But, eating together would imply a level of preparation that has been elusive.  When the kids go down for their morning naps — yes, they still nap twice a day, phewf — lunch should be prepped so it’s ready upon their awakening.  Usually, however, Suzanne and I busy ourselves cleaning up from the morning breakfast, play session and perhaps finish laundry etc. after which point we collapse and decide to rest as well.  Nap when they nap.  Perhaps it’s the Spanish influence — promoting the siesta.  And, if we don’t nap, we enjoying doing other things — communicating with family and friends, reading, organizing photos, all those selfish passtimes that have somehow become luxuries.  Today, however, I decided to cook.

Paella is easy and is a one-shot deal.  One pan — one pan to clean.  One serving — scoop and eat.  From the pan to the mouth.  One meal time — finally the four of us around the table together.  After our paella out on the terrace this afternoon, I’m converted.  I like how it feels to be a family  around the table in our own home — not only the family on adventure, on tour, out visiting, on the camino — but a family that can sit still.

Too bad we’ll soon have to relinquish morning naps.  Uh oh.