Separated @ Birth: A True Love Story of Twin Sisters Reunited by Anais Bordier, Samantha Futerman Page A
Authors: Anais Bordier, Samantha Futerman
Ads: Link
nursery yet. All her friends came forward to help her find a crib, clothing, diapers, formula, toys, blankets, and everything elsethat the new baby would need. My crib, which was shipped to the house, arrived in fifteen complicated pieces, so there was another scramble to find someone to help my father build it. Thanks to their friends, everything was done in five short days.
On March 5, 1988, I made my grand arrival. I was one of four children from Korea who were landing at Charles de Gaulle Airport that day. Two of us were infants, myself and another little girl the same age. The other two were older, a two-year-old girl and a seven-year-old boy. We were accompanied by one employee of the Holt Agency, who had been assigned to deliver us.
I was sleeping soundly when I was taken off the plane. My mum said that when she took me in her arms for the first time, she bonded with me immediately. In that second, she knew she was holding her own child, born from her own heart. According to Mum, I suddenly opened my eyes and looked at her, then smiled before closing them again. She said that I was sleeping so deeply during the car ride home, she had to pinch me to see if I was still breathing. As for my dad, he was nothing but really happy!
I love the story my mum tells about when we first arrived at the apartment as a family of three. We had a six-year-old apricot poodle named Twist, who wasn’t sure if he was thrilled to meet me or not. My parents didn’t want him to get too close to me, fearing germs. In fact, Mum and Dad were so nervous that I would contract some weird germ that they put white lab coats over their clothes to give me my first bottle. My mum’s covered her festive red turtleneck and stylish black-and-white slacks, and Dad’s hid his snappy casual blue button-down shirt, black sweater, and jeans. Every moment was captured in photos.
From the stories, I apparently opened my eyes with a little bit of panic. My mum said I had that worried
Where am I?
look. She tried to give me my bottle but when I didn’t drink, my dad took over. He was quite proud that he had been successful until I started crying, as the formula didn’t agree with me. My parents called a neighbor, who was a pediatrician, and he told them about a special milk that was available. I was about to grow up in France being lactose intolerant. Talk about a difficult road ahead.
My mum remembers every one of my “firsts.” I took my first steps on my first birthday. On my first Christmas, we had a white tree decorated with white bulbs, Santa ornaments, and a red bow tied to the top. I wore a red dress and a white blouse and received my first doll from Santa, a boy doll in a blue pajama. I named him Baby Gilles in honor of my uncle. Of all my dolls, he was my favorite, and I carried him in a backpack everywhere I went. He is still in my room today.
For the first three years of my life, my parents and I lived in Neuilly-sur-Seine, ranked as one of the wealthiest communities in France. Nicolas Sarkozy, the future president of France, was the mayor of Neuilly at the time of my arrival. He often had breakfast at the little Café du Parc bistro on Rue de Chézy right near my school. My mother would sometimes see him there when she stopped in for coffee after dropping me off in the mornings.
Partly because it was so beautiful, Neuilly was home to a lot of well-known people—actors, writers, athletes, politicians, and diplomats, all living there in relative privacy. The wide boulevards that Neuilly is known for were once part of the grounds of the Château de Neuilly, home to King Louis Phillip I. Neuilly also had the Bois de Boulogne, thesecond-largest park in Paris; the American Hospital of Paris, renowned as one of the best hospitals in France; and the headquarters of the
International Herald Tribune
, now the
International New York Times
. It was a fantastic place to live, because it was so close to the heart of Paris, yet far enough to be a refuge
On March 5, 1988, I made my grand arrival. I was one of four children from Korea who were landing at Charles de Gaulle Airport that day. Two of us were infants, myself and another little girl the same age. The other two were older, a two-year-old girl and a seven-year-old boy. We were accompanied by one employee of the Holt Agency, who had been assigned to deliver us.
I was sleeping soundly when I was taken off the plane. My mum said that when she took me in her arms for the first time, she bonded with me immediately. In that second, she knew she was holding her own child, born from her own heart. According to Mum, I suddenly opened my eyes and looked at her, then smiled before closing them again. She said that I was sleeping so deeply during the car ride home, she had to pinch me to see if I was still breathing. As for my dad, he was nothing but really happy!
I love the story my mum tells about when we first arrived at the apartment as a family of three. We had a six-year-old apricot poodle named Twist, who wasn’t sure if he was thrilled to meet me or not. My parents didn’t want him to get too close to me, fearing germs. In fact, Mum and Dad were so nervous that I would contract some weird germ that they put white lab coats over their clothes to give me my first bottle. My mum’s covered her festive red turtleneck and stylish black-and-white slacks, and Dad’s hid his snappy casual blue button-down shirt, black sweater, and jeans. Every moment was captured in photos.
From the stories, I apparently opened my eyes with a little bit of panic. My mum said I had that worried
Where am I?
look. She tried to give me my bottle but when I didn’t drink, my dad took over. He was quite proud that he had been successful until I started crying, as the formula didn’t agree with me. My parents called a neighbor, who was a pediatrician, and he told them about a special milk that was available. I was about to grow up in France being lactose intolerant. Talk about a difficult road ahead.
My mum remembers every one of my “firsts.” I took my first steps on my first birthday. On my first Christmas, we had a white tree decorated with white bulbs, Santa ornaments, and a red bow tied to the top. I wore a red dress and a white blouse and received my first doll from Santa, a boy doll in a blue pajama. I named him Baby Gilles in honor of my uncle. Of all my dolls, he was my favorite, and I carried him in a backpack everywhere I went. He is still in my room today.
For the first three years of my life, my parents and I lived in Neuilly-sur-Seine, ranked as one of the wealthiest communities in France. Nicolas Sarkozy, the future president of France, was the mayor of Neuilly at the time of my arrival. He often had breakfast at the little Café du Parc bistro on Rue de Chézy right near my school. My mother would sometimes see him there when she stopped in for coffee after dropping me off in the mornings.
Partly because it was so beautiful, Neuilly was home to a lot of well-known people—actors, writers, athletes, politicians, and diplomats, all living there in relative privacy. The wide boulevards that Neuilly is known for were once part of the grounds of the Château de Neuilly, home to King Louis Phillip I. Neuilly also had the Bois de Boulogne, thesecond-largest park in Paris; the American Hospital of Paris, renowned as one of the best hospitals in France; and the headquarters of the
International Herald Tribune
, now the
International New York Times
. It was a fantastic place to live, because it was so close to the heart of Paris, yet far enough to be a refuge
Similar Books
