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.