We’re getting better and better at getting the girls out of the house on the weekends. No longer content to just take them to Target with its wide-open aisles and plenty of room for a double stroller, tucked neatly between naps and feedings. Nope, now we do things like take them to insanely packed furniture consignment stores with barely enough room for a normal-sized adult to navigate, let alone with a baby strapped to his or her chest. And then another consignment store. And then to lunch. In public. I always feel a little bit bad for the hostess when she asks us how many, and I utter the dreaded words, “two highchairs.” But we’ve been super lucky so far; no meltdowns, and apparently the girls love quesadillas! And licking menus, but I try not to think about how nasty that is.
Anyway, outside of consignment store #1 on Saturday, we were loading the girls out of the truck and into our Ergos when a grandpa-aged gentleman driving a giant pickup truck and wearing an official looking shirt (animal control? parks and rec?) stopped right behind us and let out with an, “Excuse me!”
As parents of twins, we’re used to the public comments by now. “How old are they? Are they twins? Why don’t they look alike? Why does one have all the hair? Are you sure one of them’s not a boy?” So, I plastered on the smile I use for such occasions and turned to look at him.
“I don’t normally do this, but those are, well, those are unusually cute babies! Really! In fact, I think Gerber should get a new Gerber Baby. That’s how cute your babies are!”
How insanely nice! Of course we think our kids are cute, we’re supposed to. Even with black eyes, boogery noses, lumpy heads (quit running into things!), and sticky-outtie hair, we always think our girls are beautiful. But to have a perfect stranger stop a two-ton vehicle to tell us so? Well, let’s just say it made our whole day.
Because while physical beauty certainly isn’t everything in this world, everyone likes to hear they made a pretty baby. Or two.