Matthew and Jonathan are competitive.
Very competitive.
For that reason, there is one question I dread more than any other.
One question that has not yet occurred to them.
One question that will, inevitably, come up.
Who was born first?
I have an answer, a clever one.
"It doesn't matter who was born first," I will say, "because you were conceived at precisely the same moment."
No doubt about it.
Jonathan and Matthew started life as one and then became two simultaneously.
They have existed for precisely the same amount of time.
So why should it matter who hung out in my uterus for an extra 20 minutes or so, doing the breath stroke, a little freestyle and maybe even the butterfly?
One got a little more experience with the outside world while the other experienced freedom in the womb, something his twin will never know.
Even Steven.
Logical, right?
I can see their reactions now.
Silence.
For a moment.
A placid look, one of contemplation.
The one time when they truly look identical.
Then their faces will scrunch up and the nature of that scrunch will change quickly, from cute to annoyed to angry, expressions greatly affected by the amount of padding in each twins' cheeks, the slightly narrower bone structure of one twin's face and the different ways in which they have trained their facial muscles over the years.
It will be one of those times when I truly wonder whether the DNA tests were right, whether they really are identical.
And when I see those expressions, I can think of only one way to react.
The only reasonable solution.
My salvation.
"Go ask dad," I'll say.
"Just go ask dad."
