Family / Kids / Parenting


woman and baby sleeping

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My spouse and I have been together since 1997. Back then, we had the same hair cut, long enough to tuck behind our ears but not so long as to be misidentified as straight. Even though she is middle eastern and I am as white as they come, people asked us if we were sisters all the time.

After a couple of years, it became really important to me that we have really different hair and styles of dressing. I started to buy smaller clothes. She went a little business casual. I grew my hair. She kept her’s short. People stopped asking us if we were sisters. I liked it that way.

Over the years, we have switched hair. If I cut mine, it was only when her hair was long enough to be different and vice versa. This has helped me maintain a sense of identity outside of the partnership as an individual and not just one of the two.

We (mostly) don’t share clothes and have different size feet. This has all been purposeful. So, imagine my surprise when I looked in the mirror last night and realized we have the same hair…again. Not only that, we have matching dark circles under our eyes. The same middle age paunch under our chins (another product of sleep deprivation, I have convinced myself). Just like you start to look like your dog, after nearly 20 years we are starting to look like each other.

I blame the twins. At eight months, they are just getting teeth. The fussing and crying has sapped what little energy I had for maintaining individualism. Inadvertently, I have melted into my spouse and her me. The exhaustion of this first year has somehow turned us into each other. We argue (like I do). We are messy (like she is). We share shirts and pants (well, just one pair of pants). We have one sock basket.

When I came out of the bathroom and revealed my realization of our twinship, we both agreed to grow our hair out, which doesn’t solve the problem. I guess what really needs to happen is to let it go. I don’t have much space leftover at the end of the day to plan my outfits. One day, I will. One day, when I have slept more than two hours in a row, I will create my own sock basket. Then, I will know I am back. Until then, I will grab whatever is closest and cleanest and hope she does grab the same shirt.

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