Brooke and Claire had their first eye exams today. It was Brooke’s first trip out of the house since coming home last weekend, and Claire’s second because she already had her first pediatrician appointment earlier in the week. It was our first time going anywhere with the twin stroller, and even though the only action it saw was a short trip from the parking lot to the waiting room, that was enough to have the first couple of run-throughs for a script I’m sure we’ll repeat over and over and over again:

“Are they twins?”
“Yes.”
“Boys or girls?”
“Two girls.”
“Identical?”
“No.”
“How do you tell them apart?”
“They look different.”
“They’re going to be double the trouble.” [Nudge nudge, wink wink.]
“Yes, children suck, don’t they?”

Okay, that last part didn’t really happen, but that sort of comment minus the snarky comeback is pretty standard. Even though we’ve barely encountered it yet ourselves, that’s only because we’ve barely left the house with them, but we know other parents with twins and the cliched questions and comments about them are inevitable.

Before the girls were examined by the ophthalmologist, a nurse came into the waiting room to give them eye drops to dilate their eyes. I encouraged the girls to politely open their eyes and leave them open for the drops like the nurse wanted, but they weren’t on board with that plan. Instead, I pulled on upper lids while the nurse pulled down on lower lids to create a little slit for the drops to go into, and then held them open as best we could for the recommended 15 seconds. Let me tell you, the girls absolutely loved that. I couldn’t tell if those were just the drops dripping down their face while Daddy and a strange lady kept their eyes pried open, or tears of joy. The nurse said she’d be back in about ten minutes for Round 2 of the drops, but by then their pupils had dilated enough not to need another round. What a disappointment.

We were taken to the exam room, which had an adult-sized exam chair and a few feet in front of it, a typical eye chart with letters of the alphabet in lines getting smaller from top to bottom. The nurse reclined the exam chair, but without straps and head cushions, I had a hard time seeing how the babies would be able to sit in it. No only that, but they’re barely a third of the way through learning their ABCs, so they were going to be severely handicapped when it came to the eye chart. It turns out, the babies only had to lie on a little sheet laid out on the top of the chair, while Daddy got to help hold them down so the doctor could shine a bright light into their dilated eyes. Since they again declined to keep their eyes open on their own, they got to use a device straight out of A Clockwork Orange. Let me tell you, the girls absolutely loved that. I had so much fun holding them down for it that I wouldn’t even let Kate have a turn, so she missed out and only got to do the boring part after, when she held them and told them how great they did.

The good news is that the ophthalmologist did not see any signs of “retinopathy of prematurity”, a condition that preemies are at increased risk for, where blood vessels in the retina grow all screwy. He said their eyes are still immature and they’ll keep getting checked, but so far, so good.