𝑼𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑪𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒚 𝑩𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒔 - 𝒓. 𝒔𝒖𝒏𝒂

one

infant

"We should have timed things better." 

"I don't know what you were thinking, having another child after twins." 

The two women stand in the doorway of the living room, arms crossed, lips pressed into a thin line. They quietly analyze the situation before them. 

Toys are sprawled everywhere, covering every inch of the floor and piling high on the couch. The tv is flashing bright colors and patterns and upbeat music from some children's show. 

There obviously was an attempt to keep a toddler entertained in one spot, but despite the abundance of engaging items, two babies, just over the age of one, were preoccupied with each other. 

The identical twins, sit across from each other, babbling and cooing in a language only children under the age of two can understand. They poke and prod at each other's faces, legs and arms. Suddenly, one child grabs a nearby foam cube. He grasps it with his chubby hand, and puts a corner in his mouth, sucking on it. 

"Oh," The woman sighs, pushing herself off from the doorframe. She carefully tiptoes around the toys on the floor. "Osamu, don't eat that." 

The child looks up to the woman walking towards him, cube still in his mouth. The other twin has his body turned away, trying to reach for a small ball that was just out of reach. 

Osamu takes the cube out of his mouth, mouth forming a small 'o' as he watches his mom make her way towards him. Without breaking eye contact with his mom, he raises his arm above his head, and swiftly brings it back down. 

The woman stops in her tracks. The other, still standing in the doorway, takes a sharp inhale. 

Osamu's brother, who just took a foam cube to the head, slowly turns his body back around to face his mom. Fat tears are already gathering in his eyes, his lips quivering. 

"Atsumu, don't cry!" His mother quickly strides over, taking the boy into her arms. "Osamu didn't mean too! Don't cry!" She frantically strokes his head, simultaneously bouncing him on her hip, almost begging him not to make a sound. 

Baby Atsumu, as if understanding what his mother was saying, tilts his head back slightly, and lets out a loud wail. His tears are streaming down his face, his cries getting louder and louder. His mom groans, rubbing circles into his small back, trying to calm him down. 

Down the hall, another small cry is let out. Their mother lets out another groan, looking like she herself will breakdown at any moment. "I just put [Name] to sleep," 

Her friend, shakes her head with a smile on her face. "How in the world are you going to survive two toddlers, and an infant." She pushes herself out of the living room, heading down the hallway to tend to the crying infant. 

***

9 years // 8 years

"Volleyball." 

"Bolleyball." 

"Volleyball." 

"Bolleyball." 

Your head swivels from left to right to left to right, watching your older brothers bicker on the proper pronunciation of volleyball. Osamu stresses the V. Atsumu stresses the B. You stress the idea that they both share one brain cell.