It’s a couple. It’s the absence of alone and the beginning of a crowd. It’s the sign of peace, and the number of poo.

It’s the number of my children and the age Bronson will be in a few.

It’s the age of words and tantrums and time outs. It’s the age of bare toes and sweet cuddles and a counter constantly covered in goo.

It’s a half-circle joined to a straight line. It’s the preface to the things on my list of what I must do.

It has more spellings than its worth, sometimes as many letters as the name Sue.

Twins personify it. Grammar students abhor it. It’s a word used all the time by you.

It’s two.

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