Walking with a twin pram opens you up to a barrage of idiotic questions.
One day someone is going to catch me when I’ve had little-to-no sleep and feeling back to my normal rude sarcastic self.
Are they twins? No, they’re three years apart but one stopped growing.
Were they planned? Do you really want to know?
Did you plan for twins? How can you plan for twins?
Were they IVF? Why should that even matter to you, Ms Waitrose Cashier? (Note: I have nothing against people who use IVF, it’s just a deeply personal question)
Are they both boys? No, girls can have blue blankets too. You’d think the pink snowsuits would give it away.
Are you breastfeeding? Why should that even be a question?
Are they identical? For this one, I just answer yes because it’s easier than explaining to a stranger that we don’t actually know. (There is a one in three possibility they are, but even though they may look different, it doesn’t mean they are fraternal.)
How do you tell them apart? I am their mother, of course I can tell them apart. Also, they look different.
Is it really hard? No, it’s an absolute breeze.