Shall I have one more or two? I will stick to one, I told myself quite sensibly. I wasn’t thinking of another milk chocolate coated digestive biscuit. I was contemplating how many more children I should have. A bit overly enthusiastic, I must say. I already had two little munchkins; a six-month-old and an 18-month-old. I slowly pondered to myself, ‘hmmm, one more would be nice.’ Sipping my morning coffee, I watched my two tearaways throw a bucketful of lego bricks around the room.

Splosh! That’s the end of the coffee break for me. A big red shiny lego brick lands perfectly into the warm brown liquid with a dunk. It floats immediately to the top, moving slowly on the mug’s surface as a lilo on a calm blue sea.

Fast forward 3 weeks. I find out the good news. Pregnant for the third time. Reassuringly I told myself, it’s better to get it out of the way now. They will soon be grown up.

Another week later and a large social gathering. I grasp the opportunity to dress myself up to the eyeballs, having slouched around in casual attire for what seemed an eternity.

I met a refined and classy aunty after a long time. Standing next to her grown-up daughter, looking more like sisters than mother and daughter. They both elegantly ate a crispy fried samosa each, with a tangy mint yoghurt dip; appearing poised and carefree, she glanced over at me. ‘You’ve got your hands full!’ said the aunty, in a strangely sympathetic but smirky manner, perhaps feeling relieved her life was different to mine. She had her freedom now and could be seen enjoying it. I could see her beady eyes observing the forceful tugs at my brightly coloured sequinned outfit. The shiny sequins dropped off like cherries from a tree after a good shaking. Leaving me feeling less glamorous than a Christmas tree.

Worst still, I saw her watching my food fall off the plate and onto the shiny tiled floor as the little chubby hands reached out to grab some mere morsels of food as if they had not been fed all day. A passing pointy six-inch stiletto thrust itself into the midst of the triangular fried crispy pastry lying on the ground. ‘I’m expecting another one,’ I said, a bit sheepishly. ‘Are you sure? You look like you’re more than busy with those two,’ she said in a relatively firm and unsympathetic manner. I thought to myself, did I really want that chocolate biscuit after all?

I still remember the date, 1st August 2007. The 13-week scan. Lying on the uncomfortable bed in the dark, cold clinic room, with a squirt of cold jelly spread over my tummy. I was already worn out and tired from the 5am start to the day. Then, finally, the silent sonographer, who had not yet uttered a word, spoke, ‘Do you have twins in your family?’ I suddenly arose from my slumber and looked at her in utter surprise. ‘Yes, my mum is a twin’. I glanced at the screen and made out two blurry round black and white blobs. ‘Congratulations, you’re expecting twins’ she said with a big smile.

I could not believe the news. I still remember the first person I rang. My husband. His reaction resembled mine. Happy, surprised and slightly bewildered (not sure why the latter, it was hardly the immaculate conception) and so excited he wanted to shout it from the rooftops. By the end of the day, at least 50 people knew the good news from the text messages and calls I received. He just could not keep it to himself.

21st February 2008. The scheduled induction day, or in other words their planned birth date, just to avoid medical complications with twins, the hospital staff told me. A relief at least to know their arrival date. Identical twin boys. It felt a bit like going to work that day. I clocked in at 9am and clocked out by 5pm. They had arrived. Never have I seen so many people in a delivery room. Must say, I felt quite the celebrity.

After that, guests arrived daily. It literally went on for months. They wanted to catch a glimpse of the two little celebrity clones and ask me all those twinnie-type questions. ‘So, are you going to dress them identically?’ whilst handing me a gift bag containing two miniature identical romper suits with cute little animals dotted in the fabric print. Well, if I hadn’t thought of that idea, I had now, as every gift of clothing was identical, two of everything like the animals in Noah’s Ark!

Haris and Faris. Those were the chosen names. Short and simple and more than identical. Easy to shout out in one go, ‘Haris and Faris’. Little did I realise, they would start nursery and when asked ‘what is your name?’ They would both shout ‘HarisandFaris!’ Ooops, my fault, they had both thought that was their name for the past 3 years.

Not easy taking out a 2-year-old, a 1-year-old and twin babies on my own. So, for the first 4 years, it was either the two eldest ones or the twins. Even a 10 minute trip to the local supermarket took 1 hour. It would be a constant stop and start, like a car in a traffic jam. ‘Look, aren’t they gorgeous,’ ‘Are they twins’ ‘oooooh, just look at them’, the ladies drooled. Although I have to admit, I absolutely loved the attention. A bit like walking around with a winning trophy or two.

As they got older, it became much more interesting and funny too, with their little tricks. Once I recall, I didn’t have enough loose change to pay for a funfair ride for two of them, so I settled for one. The attendant said afterwards, ‘it’s ok, love, you’ve already paid for him and gently pushed the other one forward to take his seat. Not realising his brother identically clothed had already had his turn and gone.

They eventually got to an age, about 9 years old, when I heard those sad words. ‘I don’t want the same clothes’,’ I want to be different’,’ I don’t like being a twin’, ‘I just want to be normal!’ So I had to point out to them, ‘look boys, you are not normal, you are special, and you make me feel special too.’

Reminiscing 13 years later, would I have opted for one or two? Definitely two milk-chocolate coated biscuits, please!