It might be a twin thing, but my children have no sense of personal space. Maybe because they had to share my womb, they just assume that no one else minds when they invade their breathing space.
When the twins were little they were constantly touching each other. They got separate bedrooms when they started kindergarten. It was not a setup that John enjoyed. For about six months after the split I would wake up to him snuggled in his Batman comforter against her bedroom door. It was adorable, until they decided they hated each other.
Now they almost never touch each other unless I force them to hug. I go days without touching them. It makes me a little sad, but they smell pretty gross at this age so I get over it.
Yesterday I watched 5 minutes of My Sister’s Keeper while the twinkies were awake. I’m a blubbery mess of emotion at all times – so I started crying. Reese was very intrigued with my tears. I am sure that he was not at all concerned about me being sad. His interest was purely scientific. I know this because he inspected each tear as it rolled down my cheek.
He was exactly 1/8 of an inch from my eyeball.
Probably the only thing worse than crying over a stupid movie is crying over a stupid movie with peanut butter and jelly breath on your face.
I had to switch back to SpongeBob just to get him off me.
The twinkies also want to snuggle. Constantly. Most often when I am doing something else like making dinner or going pee.
Or writing this stupid blog.
Or checking the status updates of people I haven’t seen since 1986.
You know, important stuff.
It’s not that I don’t like hugs and kisses. Just not every second. And not when I am busy. Or when they are dirty. Or smelly. Or sticky. That’s the worst, when the hug me with their sticky hands and I wind up with a gross hand print on my shirt.
I love them. Even when they are stinky. (Which for both the twins and the twinkies is about 99% of the time.) I just wish they would stop touching me all the time.