Twice as many boy games.
Twice the peanut-butter consumed.
Double doses of,
"Mommy, please wead 'Where da Wild Tings Are' Adin!"
Twice as many carnivorous grins.
Twice the concern for his safety.
Double the sister tormenting.
Twice the dirt.
Twice the noise.
Twice the obsession with tiny toys.
Twice the action.
Twice the little boy ill-logical logic.
I worried before he was born that I was carrying twins.
I found out I was expecting him on Bee's first birthday and went through that day thinking,
"But I already have a baby!"
A week later, I was less shell-shocked and more excited. Then I had a revelation.
"It could be twins and I'd have three babies!"
But there was, and is, only one T-boy.
The one to hug me goodnight the tightest.
The one to run the fastest to my arms when I've been gone.
The one to eat more of my food off my plate than I get to.
The one to remind me most often of his daddy.
The one to sneak into our bed the soonest for cuddles.
And one is just right.
I guess someone knew the world just couldn't handle any more of those dimples.