I guess I thought the bond would be magical. They were wombmates after all.

But the boys so often seem to live parallel lives.

They can’t play games. Patrick has worked his way past Candy Land (thank God) and is into Uno and Sequence Dice; Arlo… is not to Candy Land yet.

They can’t agree on a TV show–garbage on YouTube for Patrick, Garfield (exclusively) for Arlo.

They like different toys. Patrick wanted a solar robot kit for his birthday. Arlo’s favorite toy is this…

(Sometimes he “vacuums” with it. Sometimes he watches its shadow. Sometimes he drags it behind him like a begrudging dog. He carries it from the moment he gets home from school to the moment he goes to bed.

“What is that thang?” asked Earl, the husband of Arlo’s longtime BAYADA nurse, who still visits several times a month.

“Well,” I said, “it used to be a stomp rocket launcher.”

“How much a new one cost?” he asked.

“Fifteen bucks,” I said, “but he doesn’t want a new one. He wants that one.”)

I guess I watched too many viral videos of a kid strumming a guitar and singing to their brother with Down syndrome, or holding hands with him and crossing the stage in cap and gown, or talking about how they’re best friends.

Meanwhile, Arlo and Patrick play separately. They watch TV separately. They shove and whack each other. They yell in each other’s face.

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!” yells one.

“Buddyyyyyyyyyy, staaaaaaaaaaahhhhhp!” yells the other.

Arlo qualified for free public pre-K at age 3 because of his disability, but I’ve been paying through the nose for Patrick’s childcare since I went back to work when the boys were 10 months old. I jumped through a million hoops trying to get Patrick admitted to Arlo’s preschool for this academic year. It wouldn’t be free (I make too much money–hahahahaha), but it’d be a hell of a lot cheaper than Bright Horizons. I knew the boys wouldn’t be in the same class–Arlo will remain in a self-contained special ed class at least until he’s potty-trained, and maybe forever–but I thought it was worth a shot.

When they finally called me to say Patrick got in, I agonized. Should I actually send him there? Historically, he’s been less than chill about transitions. He’s an anxious guy. (Don’t know where he gets it from.) Would he cry at drop-off for the first two months like he did at Bright Horizons? Would he make new friends? Would public preschool be as academically rigorous as private preschool?

But I went for it, and… it’s been weirdly great. Consolidating the drop-offs and pick-ups has made my days markedly easier, my bank account is breathing a sigh of relief, and Patrick has shed nary a tear. Not on Day 1 or any day after. He comes home talking about what he and his friends did, and what his job is (this week, line leader), and singing the same two lines of eleventy songs I can only sort of decipher. He listens to stories, plays in centers, and writes his name.

And sometimes his teacher sends me pictures of recess

• 

• 

• 

and it’s magical.

I guess there’s still time for guitars and graduation and becoming best friends.