Belly Buttons

Recently, H noticed M’s belly button.  Usually when I’m giving them a bath, H will poke her little finger into M’s belly button and they’ll both giggle.  She never remembers her own belly button until I remind her.  The whole thing is ridiculously cute.

Sometimes I explain to them why they have belly buttons: that’s how I fed them while they were in my tummy (an oversimplification, I know, but they can’t even say “belly button” so….).  I go on to tell them that I have a belly button because that’s where I was attached to GaGa (that’s what they call my mom).  It got me thinking how crazy/awesome belly buttons are.  I have probably thought about my belly button (or anyone else’s) for a grand total of a minute in my whole life.  But then I had the twins and now I’m fascinated.

I worried a lot (A LOT) when I was pregnant.  Eventually, I had one realization that eased my anxiety the most: my babies would never be safer than when they were in my belly.  Floating around in there, sleeping, growing, and physically attached to me by a leash.  I accepted that there were plenty of things that could go wrong in utero, but there were more things that could go right.

I am always amazed at how the twins are their own people with their own personalities.  They never let me forget that they make their own decisions and that I have very little control over them.  Their little belly buttons are a reminder that I once did have some sort of control (they ate more Pop-Tarts during that time than I would ever allow now that they’re on the outside).  I don’t know why, but for some reason it’s incredible to me that we were once attached to each other.

Moral of the story is, you wouldn’t be alive if you didn’t have a belly button.  Thanks, Mom, for my belly button.

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