I'm in the park, dodging the kids on wheels that shoot at me from all directions. Scooters, bikes, wheelie trainers ('wheelies'?), trykes whizz past me like rockets, each one making me wince as I anticipate its impact. 'Bloody kids', I think, and then it hits me. These two gorgeous babies in the pushchair in front of me are going to grow into Children.
I struggle for breath, want to sit down, the dizziness washing over me. What have we done?! I can picture myself with babies, and maybe,at a stretch, toddlers, but with two Proper Children? Small people that talk, and run, and argue, and shriek? And don't even get me started on teenagers. Oh no, no, no, I want to get off this particular ride. Now, please. I want out!
The magnitude of having offspring struck me suddenly the other day (only about 17 months too late - I think the shock of discovering I was expecting twins distracted me from thinking about anything else), and the fear was overwhelming. Having two Proper Children, well that would make me old, right? Like an official grown-up? A parent. A probable source of embarrassment and uncoolness. Someone who lays down rules and administers punishments. Someone responsible and consistent. Every part of me screams, 'I'm not ready! I'm not ready!'
But then I picture Miss E, laughing with a group of her friends on the way home from school. Or Mr A taking a bow after his first school play, and I feel that rush of excitement that shot through me when I saw the unmistakable blue cross on the pregnancy test, the exhileration all tingly in my tummy.
And I know I'm in it for the long-haul.
And I know I'm in it for the long-haul.
