Anya must not have gotten much sleep last night, because she was a grouch after her nap until her bedtime, which tonight was about a half hour earlier than Bree's. After she went down, Mia and Bree started playing a made-up game, where they would stand at the opposite end of the kitchen that Mom was on, say "Ready, set, go!" (Or in Bree's case, "Ehh, Sehhh, GAAOOOOO!") and then race to touch my leg before they ran back and started over. They were playing so well together, and as I observed them from aross the room, instead of the usual "group-o-kids," I saw two distinct heights and ages, two clearly different levels of maturity and intelletual capacity. I could make sense of it. For a split second I could clearly imagine what it must feel like to have two kids. And you know what? I know why I got twins. Because I would have felt pretty darn proud of myself raising two kids. I think Heavenly Father knew that to keep an over-confident someone like me humble, he needed to throw in an extra.
Good job, Heavenly Father.