At least if its a boy I don’t have to call it Ian or Roger

If it wasn’t bad enough being pregnant at the same time as Mary-who-does-know-wrong-and-looks-stunning-ALL-THE-TIME, she’s now beaten me at the push and grunt. Although I can’t imagine more than a delicate line of sweat beading on her top lip being the crown of her crowning. Still, at least I don’t have to call the kid Ian or Roger…thank heavens for small mercies.

Another aside – I used to get asked if the boys were twins all.the.time., as Oscar is small for his age and Felix is a beast. Felix also has his father’s body shape which involves legs resembling tree stumps and the longest body in the known world. This is the child for whom a Bond’s Wondersuit is nothing more than a torture outfit as the body and feet were never big enough unless he was contorted into a remarkably uncomfortable state. Which I’d do because I just coulndn’t put a 4 month old in a size 1. I couldn’t! Anyway, this body shape meant that when they were in a stroller or sitting down (rare) they look the same height – although there’s only ever been about 1-3cm between them anyway.

But as they got older and Oscar does now look older, well I think he does, the twin remarks have dwindled. Until the latest clothing purchases, at which I bought them some outfits the same (because I knew they’d both like army shorts and there was no way I was enduring morning fights about who got to wear them) not thinking they would want to wear them at the same time. Not only do they wear the same outfit at the same time, they do so willingly. So today, we walked around Chatswood with the twins that aren’t and the pregnant woman who is so.ready.to.drop.