My daughters, who turn twenty today

Please let me talk about something personal today.
Though, it is always personal when I say it's personal.

Today, my twin daughters turn twenty.
They have grown up so well.
Please let me talk about that.

The two of them were born weighing less than 1500 grams.
Roughly half the weight of a baby born in good health.
That is about 1.5 bags of sugar.

Having had a cesarean section, I went to the pediatric ward (not the neonatal room) in a wheelchair.

My daughters were huddled in their incubators, their limbs as thin as twigs.
The hospital-grade SSS-sized diapers were far too big for them.
They had tubes in their noses because they lacked the suction power to drink breast milk, so they were fed nutrients through their noses.
The first milk they drank was 7cc through a tube, and even then, the doctor in charge praised them, saying they had done their best.

The cords on the soles of their feet were connected to vital sign monitors, keeping watch over their lives.

Can they survive being this small?

Everyone must have thought that, but no one said it out loud.

I suppose all mothers feel this way, but when a child is not born healthy, you tend to think it is your own fault.

I am petite, so I was not suited for carrying twins.
My uterus reached up to my solar plexus, pushing my stomach down and compressing it, causing me to vomit repeatedly for months. It was easier not to eat.

I would wake up in the middle of the night gasping for air, so I was hospitalized, bringing along several oxygen tanks used for mountain climbing.
The nurse said, 'It's tough, isn't it? Your one heart is pumping blood for two babies.'

Because of that hospital life, when the date for my cesarean section was set, I felt relieved, thinking it would finally be easier.

However, unexpectedly, my water broke two weeks before the scheduled surgery, and it became an emergency procedure.
My husband, who was in Shanghai, could not make it in time, nor could my parents, who were in Tokyo.
I had to sign all the necessary surgery documents myself.
Among them was a document stating that I would not complain even if I died during anesthesia.

I felt a mix of overwhelming love for the two babies in the incubators, who were cuter than anything in the world, and a crushing sense of guilt.

I said goodbye to my daughters in the pediatric ward, my husband returned to his post in Shanghai, and I was discharged from the maternity clinic to live alone.
For five weeks, I froze the breast milk I had pumped and visited the pediatric ward every day.
My daughters reached 2400 grams and were discharged, leaving behind only the diagnosis of anemia.
'Mothers of twins go crazy at least once, but hang in there,' they said as they sent us off with iron supplements (to be put in their baby bottles).

And so began what we now call 'one-person parenting'.

But I was completely fine with it.
I enjoyed raising them so much that I couldn't get enough of it.

If one baby is cute, having two means they are naturally twice as cute.

Newborns need to be fed about eight times a day.
For two, that's sixteen times.
After they finished drinking, I'd hold them and pat their backs, and they would throw up every single time.
Apparently, the muscles at the entrance of their stomachs (the cardia) were weak.
Feeding, laundry, diapers, feeding, laundry, diapers.
The washing machine was running constantly.

A friend who saw a photo of me holding them in my left and right arms said, 'Popo, your arm muscles are huge.'

My daughters grew steadily, albeit slower than others, and in return, I withered away to the point where I was told I had 'malnutrition' during a health checkup.
I had no time to cook or eat, my husband wasn't there, the babies only drank milk, and it was too much trouble to make something just for myself.

But my heart was always happy.
As long as they were alive, that was enough.

Perhaps it was around this time that my body became able to function without sleep or food (one of the seven mysteries of the Note Shakabutsu Club has been solved).

While looking at New Year's cards from friends saying they traveled here last year or wanted to go there this year, I was just wishing I could go to the bathroom by myself.

At their one-year checkup, they weren't even crawling yet, even though they should have been walking, so I was told to go to a developmental support center and was given a referral letter.

At the developmental support center, I was told they might have developmental disabilities, or they might have paralysis in both legs, but for now, it was unclear.

In any case, we started going to the developmental support center.

At another hospital, they were diagnosed with asthma, and I rented a nebulizer.
After that, it was a festival of allergies: atopic dermatitis, rhinitis, otitis media, and conjunctivitis.

Even so, my heart was happy.
As long as they were alive, that was enough.

At the kindergarten entrance interview when they were three, because they were attending the developmental support center, we were called into a separate room.
When asked, 'What is your name?', they replied, 'Shanshai' (three years old).
I am grateful to the principal who let them enroll anyway.
For the next three years, they graduated without saying a single word.

But at home, they would cry, laugh, run around, and break everything.
If one toddler is noisy, having two means they are naturally twice as noisy.

When they were entering elementary school, a speech therapist at the developmental support center suggested that we consider a special needs class, but I enrolled them in a regular class within our school district.

Feeling apologetic and worried that my daughters might be causing trouble, I did everything I could from kindergarten through elementary school, including serving on committees, volunteering, and standing on traffic safety duty.

Perhaps because of that, or maybe not, I was blessed with good teachers. The elementary school principal reportedly came to the classroom during recess and took photos of the two, saying he wanted to study their differences.

During a parent-teacher conference, I was told, "[Daughter's Name] is laid-back, but you are also laid-back, aren't you? I was a little worried, but if you're like that, then it's fine." I, too, was told when I was in elementary school that "Popo-chan starts things when everyone else is already finished."

From around the upper grades of elementary school, their delays became less noticeable, and they went from catching colds and missing school once or twice a month to receiving perfect attendance awards. However, around this time, my husband developed depression, returned from Shanghai, and took a leave of absence. With our income cut off, I decided to open an art class at home. Since the art class alone wasn't enough to make a living, I sold illustration goods on Yahoo! Shopping and delivered flyers at dawn. Meanwhile, I made milkshakes for my husband every day, which caused him to gain weight.

Even so, my daughters grew up healthy. They didn't study at all, but I almost never told them to study. They didn't improve at piano at all, but I almost never told them to practice.

The two who I wasn't sure would even survive are alive, and that was enough for me.

On the other hand, I felt that I absolutely must not die until my daughters reached adulthood. It wasn't out of an expectation to see them in wedding dresses or to hold grandchildren, but because I believed it was a parent's duty to see them to adulthood. I thought I would live with my life on the line until they were adults. I had lived my life aimlessly, thinking it wouldn't matter if I died at any time, so the thought that I absolutely must not die was quite a pressure. I live as if it's natural, thinking I probably won't die, but when I think I absolutely must not die, I have the mindset of not even crossing at a green light if it starts to blink.

However, when my daughters were in their second year of high school, I developed a potentially fatal illness. I hid the diagnosis, was hospitalized, and had surgery. If it recurs, let it be in three years! That way, my daughters will be twenty.

Now, the two of them attend the same university and are studying to become nurses.

When they received their first paychecks from their part-time jobs, I felt truly relieved, knowing that even if something happened to me, these girls could earn their own living.

When I ask, "Shall I buy you some clothes?" they say, "It's okay, Ma-tan (that's me), use your money for yourself."

My husband has returned to work, and although he lost his title and his salary decreased, he dotes on the children.

I have set down my burden, so it's fine if I die anytime now. I'm glad I finally made it this far. That is how I feel at twenty.

It ended up being over 3,000 characters. Thank you for staying with me until the end.

Konishi Kinoko-san, thank you as always.

Itsuki-san, thank you as always.