How We Became Parents of Twins

To introduce the story, I’m going to quote one of my favourite Star Trek characters: Garak, “I believe in coincidences. Coincidences happen every day. I don’t trust coincidences.”

After the hectic weeks surrounding the arrival of our twin boys, my wife and I finally got home with the whole family together and started to catch our collective breaths. She spent a week in St. Justine's Hospital in Montreal after an emergency C-section. I had spent that week at home, nearly an hour away with our oldest son, who was not yet two years old, traveling back and forth to see her and the twins as much as possible. Leading up to that event, we received advice and information from countless sources. Some of it was solicited, and some of it was foisted on us. 

Somewhere in all this, we got a packet of information from POMBA, the Parents of Multiple Births Association. Feeling a little inadequate in the moment, I read all the information booklets and brochures in the package. I glanced at the back of the booklet and froze. The address for their offices was Highway 7, Richmond Hill, Ontario. I had traveled through there before, only once in my entire life that I know of. A chill ran up my spine as I understood what had happened.

It was the first leg of a bicycle trip. I was traveling from an address in Brampton, Ontario, to another one in Peterborough, Ontario. I was going to cover just over a hundred miles (160 km), but I had a problem. Fully loaded with touring gear, that was a tough day. On top of that, I had to get there early, mid-afternoon at the latest. To squeeze it in, I started before sunup at four o’clock in the morning. The plan was to clear the greater Toronto area before daylight. For most of the ride, I would be following Highway 7. A splash of light from my headlight on unchanging pavement in the dark with no traffic. The feeling is unbelievable. It feels like you’re going at an incredible speed, but at the same time, not moving at all.

I pedaled my way past this address on a bicycle, completely exposed to the elements and whatever some evil POMBA agent had left there for me. I don’t think they should be allowed to do that. It isn’t just that I happened to cycle there. This trip would take me to Sherbrooke, Quebec, where I would meet my wife for the first time.

It’s okay. I love my boys, but I don’t trust coincidences.