Loving the Gemini

They are both Gemini's. They both love life. Everyone they meet is a friend. They find the person looking back at themselves in the mirror delightful. They are Gemini's, I realized with a startle, because they each have a duality. The living, breathing child that is warm to the touch, and a delight to see. And then there is their other. The child who almost was not. And so, when I see them, hold them, feed them, scold them, pick up and put down for bed/time outs/car seat adjustments/high chairs, I remember this. I often wonder if I'm simply morbid, or a grief monger. But preparing them (me?) for the future, the unknown, the likely disappointments, grief, loss and pain to come requires arming them with joy, compassion and love today. That means giving them structure, assuring they have enough sleep, trying to acclimate their palates to good/whole foods. Because one day, when their twin looms, or mine, or that of someone they love, I want them to be prepared. I want to be prepared. On the one hand, US culture and society wants us/me to pretend and strive for eternal youth. But my child is young, and has a much higher probability of death than most of us. On the other hand, Bo is fairly stable, and I certainly don't want to point out the shadow of his twin, looming over my head. And that is my reality. It is real. Death. His. Very real. More real than mine. And then, there's Life. Very much alive. Tantrum-ing. Reading. Hamming it up for the baby's giggles. While every day may be one day closer to the twin. I also know that every day is a victory. Every day is a gift.