My twin sister and I are like any other set of twins; we understand each other on a supernatural level, we know what the other is thinking, and how some really good friends can finish the other’s sentence, we can finish each other’s paragraphs. However, our birth is the unusual thing. Whereas normal twins are minuets apart, we are hours. Six hours in fact. We also share two different birthdays. September 25 and September 26.

I was born at six o’ clock in the evening of September 25 in an apartment in Arlington, Texas by a veteran midwife, her assistant, and two other new midwives. Ours was supposed to be a normal birth for twins; in, out, on with your life sort of thing. After I was brought into this glorious world my sister decided she liked all of the new found freedom in my mother’s womb and she didn’t want to leave it. My mother’s labor stopped and my sister went footling, the wrong way for a normal birth. When her labor stopped the midwives saw that it was out of their control and decided it was time to call the doctor and take my mother to the hospital. When the doctor answered the midwives got and unwanted answer, the doctor was at a hospital in a totally different town.

There was no time to waste. My mother said she felt fine and walked herself to the car but there was no telling when she would go back into labor. My Dad, very wisely, called the hospital in advance to tell them the situation and that they were on the way. When my parents got to the hospital in Bedford, about 30 minuets away, they went into the emergency room and were waiting for the wheelchair that the nurse on the phone said would be waiting for them. That special wheelchair was asking every pregnant woman in the hospital if she was the “special case” that called in. It wasn’t until my Dad saw this and said, “I think it’s us y’all are looking for.” Six hours, the next day, and a c-section later my twin sister was born. As if being a twin wasn’t special enough, we had to add a little more color.