Thankfully, the kind of love I feel these days does not need a Valentine's Day for its expression.

I am at a complete loss for words really. Over the last five days I have been experiencing emotions that I have not felt before and unlike Nancy who can use language as a real-time mirror to her soul, I am extremely inept at translating feelings into words.

Girl from Matunga (GFM) and boy from Matunga (BFM) both came into this world last Sunday. Four-weeks premature, they were forced to leave their protected, warm world inside WFM when her membranes ruptured and an emergency C-section had to be performed. This was so considerate of them; to choose a Sunday when everyone was at home and available.

I can look at them endlessly. Take them in my arms, cradle them or support them on my chest, rock them, swing them or just hold them. Who and what they eventually become is completely our responsibility. Two individuals in this world who at least for the first few years of their lives are completely dependent on us. It is both scary and exhilarating at the same time. And amazing to think that in a short time, they will grow, start talking, walking, expressing themselves and eventually become two independent individuals with their own thoughts and minds.

I look at them and try to see myself in them. One part of having children has to do with the need to leave something of ours behind in this world. This is probably the biggest ego kick that we can get, simply because the achievement is completely non-competitive and inherent to the very act of having children. Which is also why most of us want our kids to become somewhat like us, to mirror us physically and intellectually, so that somewhere in them we lay the seeds of our immortality.

God, I love my kids.

Both of them are so completely different. GFM is one minute younger and a little smaller in size than BFM. Her cheeks are puffier, and she sucks less, sleeps more and cries less. Yet, when she does cry, it sounds as if she has been hooked up to an amplifier, throwing out a voice that drowns out anything that BFM might come up with. BFM has a strong chin, a leaner face, is a little larger and sucks as if the next hour will see a milk shortage.

When they are awake, which is for about a total of 2-3 hours in a day, they frown more than they smile. Touch them, frown; pick them up, frown; talk to them, frown; their forehead lines bunching up together, the eyebrows raised, eyes closed, saying, "Let me be! Why are you hassling me." And when they are hungry or they have wetted or soiled themselves, the frown gives way to a cry, which says, "Hey! Why are you hanging around doing nothing, when I am hungry and dirty. Do your job. Quick!"

Each of their heads fits into the palm of my head. When I support their heads on my palm, their toes touch my elbow. That's how big, or rather small they are! It is scary sometimes and I keep reassuring myself that I am not doing anything wrong. Not that I do much except to pick them up when they are crying, help WFM change them and clean them and sometimes support one of them, when both of them are feeding simultaneously. Yet, when I hold them in my hands, a strange calm drapes over me, like a shroud, hiding whatever I may have been feeling just a minute ago, intermingled with feelings of joy, exultation and wonder that are difficult to describe fully.

WFM and I were very comfortable without children. Working, entertaining, having fun; the routine of our lives was set. And then one fine day, WFM just changed her mind and decided that she wanted a child. And now we have not just one, but two. And all our schedules are in complete disarray. Our working patterns, our television viewing, sleep patterns, my writing schedules are now all at the mercy of the infants. The funny part is that it does not feel like such a big deal having to change our lifestyles; it has happened and that's that! Though I do wish I could wash Xena, The Warrior Princess, regularly (kidding!).

And now just a week since their birth, I cannot believe that I wouldn't have wanted to go through this experience. It is a totally different kind of high. And as with all highs, worth all the trouble and pain that comes with it.

OK? Finished? Isn't it grand?

I was waiting all week to hear about the new little ones. Two of them, at the same time. Really unbelievable, and the most true embodiment of love. Love you can touch, hold, feel with your heart even though you are millions of miles, and several time zones away.

Beautiful little babies. I have raised two of my own, and helped to raise two who are only mine by the luck of marriage. I think I did a pretty good job. I particularly like babies. I like those baby art cards and books by Anne Geddes, who keeps her photography studio at a really warm cozy 85 degrees or so, just so the babies will get sleepy. Then, she wraps them in tulle and props them in flower pots and just about every picture makes me smile.

I really love babies. Let me emphasize that. Let me also repeat that I've raised four of my own. That's why an incident that happened today is so disturbing to me. I will explain. Did I mention that I was a mom for a really long time?

Well, we were, as usual, in Kinko's, the all-night all-around office where people on deadlines go to do final proofs and fancy printouts of their hard work. Often, you run into Kinko's when you are dead on your feet and you look it. Your hair might be messy, and you might still be wearing the sweatshirt you've been sleeping in for the last few days.

The lights are harsh and you won't be looking your best, but it's the job that counts and the job pays the bills, so you belly up to the counter and wait for your job order to be processed and you usually look around for the first time in days and rub your eyes and say something like: "Wow! Look at all these people."

Which is basically what I was doing as I was waiting for 800-plus pages to pffft pffft pffft out of the printer so I could race to FedEx and thus secure my fortune. I mean, I am a really normal person underneath the -- lack of grooming? And I am the soul of normalcy when it comes to kids. Expect for their little feet and toes -- I must kiss them and put their little wrinkled soles on my cheek -- oh. Right. Next in line.

Well, suddenly the lady beside me turned a slight bit and I realized through my blear that there was a wonderful pink-cheeked baby attached to her on a sort of backpack in the front. The baby had furze for hair and two big liquidy eyes and one little dribbling tooth and I started to smile at it and make small talk with its mother. As is my wont.

I mean, since all my kids are far away, I am somewhat baby deprived. And when I see a baby, my heart expands. It just does. I feel a peacefulness and a happiness and a joy and I reached out to touch the perfect rose-petal cheek --

-- when that woman whipped her baby away and raised a finger at me and said "No, no!" and I saw the look of shock on the baby's face and I can only imagine the look on my face because I felt an absolute wall come down between that baby and the rest of the world.

Now, to give the mother her due -- she did say "It's flu season." And we do live in a big city and there are a lot of weirdoes out and about. And I should have talked to the mother a whole lot longer and not presumed that I could just touch another person's child. But. But. But.

In the old days, in smaller towns, in another life, it wasn't verboten. Sometimes I forget that I'm not in a small town anymore and everybody doesn't know me from high school and trust me and love me and yes, let me bounce their little babies. Geeze.

But I was shocked at how swift and quick was the pain I felt. And I feel a little sorry for the baby, who didn't get stroked and played with, but instead was yanked and shielded as if the world were a harsh and dangerous place. And maybe it is. And I'm sure I wasn't so big on letting strangers paw all over my own precious ones when they were too little to run away. Yes, yes. I know.

So I guess I'd better stick to admiring them from afar and mooning over them in photo albums until I end up with some grandkids of my own. And I'll read about the Boy and the Girl from Matunga one more time, just for good measure.

Oh. And the next time I go to Kinko's, I'm definitely going to comb my hair.