People expected me to have a holy perspective about our children’s conditions from the beginning

The bus pulls up. I call to my children, who are distracted by the passing cars, then herd them onto the bus. Akiva and Efrat look around for seats and settle down on their own. I walk with Tali and lift her onto my lap.

My little girl is often a step behind her siblings. She has some developmental delays. Unlike her brother, who’s finished with all his therapies, she has a long road ahead of her.

I look down at Tali on my lap and at Efrat, who’s sitting on the seat next to us. The two girls wear matching pink coats, but I doubt any passerby would realize that they’re twins. Efrat is one size bigger than her twin, and her dark curls are a contrast to Tali’s blonde ones. It’s easy to miss the slight scar on Tali’s lip — it’s nearly faded from sight by now — but there’s no doubt that it’s had a large impact on her life.

Tali and Efrat are at such different places that there’s no risk of ever comparing them to each other.

“What do you want to do when we get home?” I ask my kids.

“Look at pictures!” Akiva says. It’s one of his favorite pastimes — schlepping the heavy photo albums from the shelf and flipping through the photos of him as a baby.