There's two to wash,
there's two to dry,
there's two who argue,
there's two who cry.
One's in the mud having a ball,
the other holds a crayon,
another marked the wall.
Some days seem endless,
my patience grows thin.
Why was I chosen to be a mother of twins?
The answer comes clear at the end of the day,
as I tuck them in bed and to myself I say,
There's two to kiss,
there's two to hug,
and best of all, there's two to love.