Liz Rasley

One and Two

One will delay bedtime until midnight; fight the good fight with water requests, more stories demands and compliments aplenty meant to lure parents back into One’s bedroom.

Two will yawn and say “I’m tired” at 6:30p, ask to read, and then summons which parent shall put Two to bed.

One will eat all the pizza the two hollow legs and the apparent drum of One’s body can handle while wanting for candy.

Two will eat three minuscule bites of pizza, declare “I’m done” and proceed to request grapes, and eschews chocolate if tummy is too full.

One didn’t want to brush teeth today because One didn’t see the purpose; a helpful reminder that only dragons, not friends, appreciate morning breath finally changed One’s mood, with a mild sulk involved.

Two asked when we could brush teeth.

One still clings to nighttime rhythms; wants to be comforted and coddled; Two looks at me, asks for a kiss and says “time to go.”

Two children. One family. Same parents. Same womb.

Night and Day.