The Three Tenths Of A Pound Rule

My mother suffered from severe Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder.
The day I was born, I weighed an exact three-tenths of a pound more than my twin sister, Lydia. So she put me on a scale.
She gave me only minimal water each day, starving me until my weight matched Lydiasdown to the decimal point.
I screamed, my infant cries echoing with hunger, but Mom just refrigerated the formula and breast milk Lydia didn't finish.
She would feed Lydia eight times a day.
Eventually, my sister and I both ended up in the hospital. I was there for severe malnutrition. Lydia, surprisingly, was there for being fed spoiled, refrigerated milk.
But even that wasn't enough.
As we grew older, our weights naturally diverged again. She fed Lydia until she was dangerously overweight, yet she couldn't stand my natural lean frame. She eventually forced me to eat rich, fatty meatthe one thing she knew I was severely allergic to.
Thats how I diedsuffocated.
The next time I opened my eyes, I was back inside my mother's womb
1
I was dead. The plate of fatty meat she forced down my throat had triggered a massive allergic reaction, swelling my esophagus until I couldn't pull in a single breath.
Yet, after death, I was enveloped in the warm, cushioning comfort of amniotic fluid once more.
That sensationthat safe, warm, all-encompassing spacewas the only true motherly love I had ever known.
Then, a sharp voice cut through the muffled quiet. Doctor, is there any way my two children can be born at the exact same time?
Ms. Harrington, that is physically impossible. The cervix is only so large, you cannot possibly deliver two babies simultaneously.
The familiar words sliced through the fog. A jolt, like a tiny spark of lightning, shot through my nascent brain.
Sure enough, the next line came, exactly as I remembered it. I dont care. You will make sure my children come out together.
Or Ill have your license revoked for gross negligence and emotional distress. Ill make sure you never practice medicine in this state again.
It was Moms voice. As her dialogue overlapped perfectly with my memory, the horrifying truth settled in: I had been reborn.
I was back inside her womb, and she was on the delivery table.
In the last life, she had hired an astrologer to calculate a Golden Hour for a lucky baby. But with two of us inside, it was impossible to hit the same moment.
Iin my mothers cold, cruel wordswas too ambitious, too eager to be first. The moment I showed my face, I was branded the unlucky one.
Lydia was luckier, born a few minutes later, perfectly within the calculated window.
So when the doctor informed Mom I was three-tenths of a pound heavier, she didn't even look at me. With a wrinkled brow, she issued my Weight Loss Order.
I didn't get a single taste of breast milk, forced onto a drastic regimen immediately.
It left me malnourished from the start, permanently affecting my ability to absorb nutrients, keeping me fragile and lean.
Meanwhile, Mom had an oversupply of milk. She would scoop Lydias leftovers into a bowl and refrigerate it.
Lydia was fed eight times a day.
It landed us both in the pediatric ward: me for failing to thrive, and my sister for chronic food poisoning from the spoiled milk.
2
This time, the attending physician was furious at my mothers brazen threat, but seeing her on the verge of delivery, he had no choice but to push through his anger and continue.
But this time, I fought back. I dug in, refusing to be the first one out.
Difficult delivery!
Weve got a complication!
Family, our recommendation is an emergency C-section. Please sign the consent forms immediately.
No! C-sections produce slow, damaged children! You will not cut her, she has to deliver naturally!
That sharp, strident voice belonged to my maternal grandmother, Eleanor. If my mother was the executioner, Eleanor was the one who handed her the knife. Together, they ran roughshod over my father, Marcus, who was too intimidated to speak up.
So, Mom insisted on a natural birth, risking massive hemorrhaging to deliver both of us.
Naturally, she was too exhausted to continue threatening the doctor with a fabricated harassment suit.
This time, neither of us was the lucky baby. We started life on the exact same footing.
Except I was still three-tenths of a pound heavier than Lydia.
Marcus, go buy ten more scales! I dont believe it. They are twinshow can their weight be different? Mom raked her fingers through her hair, looking frantic after weighing us eight times.
Grandma Eleanor, a tyrant to everyone else, was a willing servant to Mom. She immediately rushed out to follow the order.
But to Moms dismay, our weights were different on every single scale.
She collapsed, pointing at me with a look of pure aversion.
Take her away! Shes always trying to get ahead! She must have stolen Lydias nutrition in the womb.
Starve her for a few days. Thatll teach her to be humble.
In my last life, my lifelong digestive problems started right here. Reborn, I would not allow that tragedy to repeat.
Crying in front of Mom was uselessit only made her dislike me more.
So I waited until four in the afternoon, when my dad, Marcus, got home, and I started screaming.
I let out the most desperate, pathetic cries I could muster. It terrified my father. He rushed inside without even changing his shoes, searching frantically for me.
My throat was raw when he finally found me.
He found me in the drum of the washing machine.
3
Yes. I had been put in the washing machine drum.
Mom had told Grandma Eleanor to starve me. But every time Eleanor turned her back, I would manage to crawl off in search of food. Exasperated, Eleanor just tossed me into the washer.
Out of sight, out of mind.
Tori, what in Gods name? Why would you put a baby in here? Dad was so shocked he didn't even yell at Eleanor first. He turned to Mom.
Mom, why did you put her in the drum?
Didnt you say she needed to slim down? Shaking her around in herethats a workout, isnt it? Eleanor said, utterly self-righteous.
My usually reserved father finally snapped. He faced Eleanor.
Mom, a washing machine tumbles clothes! What if she had been seriously hurt?
Hurt? Ive been on this earth decades longer than you! I know what Im doing! Eleanors face flushed red at his audacity. Dont you dare talk back to me!
But Dad was genuinely furious this time. He held his ground despite her yelling. It wasnt until Mom intervened that the shouting stopped.
Marcus, my mother is your elder. Dont disrespect her.
The baby is fine, isn't she? Why are you being so dramatic?
Dad had been poor when they first met. Mom had stayed by his side, helping him build his business. He owed her, and he always deferred to her.
Moms words stopped his outburst cold. He merely left the room, muttering, Itll be too late when something does happen, and carried me to his home office.
I tried to convey my hunger, gnawing on his hand for what felt like an hour. He finally understood, and with a fresh determination, he took me back to Mom for feeding.
But she looked at him with icy indifference and shut us both out.
Shes already three-tenths of a pound heavier than Lydia. Why would I feed her?
4
Ill never forget the raw shock and anger on my fathers face that day. He banged on the door and pleaded with her, but Mom remained unmoved.
Furious, he took me straight to his office, bought a case of high-quality formula, and began raising me himself.
In my past life, I hadn't been put in the washer. Dad had just said a quick goodbye and left on a business trip, which I always took as his silent approval of Moms cruelty.
But now, it was clear: he loved me.
He consulted online forums, called pediatric nurses, and dedicated himself to parenting. I was thriving. I was healthy, plump, and free of pain.
The change was evident the next time Mom decided, on a whim, to check on me.
It was this progress that made her completely lose control.
Marcus Harrington, I told you she wasnt supposed to eat! Why is she this fat?
Moms nails dug into my soft baby skin. I screamed. Dad immediately snatched me out of her grasp.
My weight was Dads proudest accomplishment. He showed me off to everyone, bragging that he was raising me himself. When Mom called me fat, he immediately got defensive.
Babies are supposed to be a little plump! Shes adorable! he said, beaming.
Mom, however, was on the brink of hysteria. She demanded he bring me home immediately.
I was put on those ten scales again.
This time, I was a full pound heavier than Lydia. We looked less like twins and more like sisters separated by a year.
Moms face visibly darkened, but Dad, emboldened by my health, continued to chatter happily.
Look how great Mia is doing. Lydia looks so frail, Tori. Why dont you let me take her, too? You can take a break.
His intentions were kind, but in Moms mind, he had not only ruined her plan but was now gloating about it.
5
Marcus, look at them! They don't look like twins anymore! Mia looks like youve turned her into a little pig!
They are twins, Tori. And now they look completely different.
Mom started to weep, the tears of pure frustration. Dad knew all about her OCD, but he tried to reason with her.
Its normal for twins to look different, Tori. The world doesnt make two perfectly identical people. Especially with fraternal twins
He tried to be rational, but she wasnt listening. She slapped him across the face.
Marcus, I don't care about other people! My children must be the same!
Look at what you dress her in, her hair, her weight, everything!
To her, all the fault lay with me and Dad.
If I could speak, I would have asked her, Why cant it be you who is raising her wrong?
Why must I be forced to live according to Lydias image?
I was the older one, the sister who arrived first. Yet I still couldn't understand why, even in this second life, she still preferred Lydia, always making her the baseline for perfection.
The undeserved slap sent Dad over the edge. His pent-up frustration and rage exploded.
Tori Harrington, do you honestly think youre the only person in the world whos right? he roared.
It's wrong if I squeeze the toothpaste from the middle. It's wrong if I step into the house with my left foot first. Its wrong if I pair a black suit with a gray tie! Its wrong if I dont eat my dinner in the exact sequence youve laid out!
And now, a healthy child is wrong!
Tori, you are the sick one! I am done with this!
Dad stood tall and defiant, speaking the words Id held in my heart for years.
Mom was stunned into silence, reeling either from his words or his sudden, terrifying rebellion.
A heavy silence descended.
Then, the floodgates opened. She didnt speak, but her tears streamed down her face like a broken dam.
In the end, Dad compromised.
6
But he only apologized for shouting. He stood firm on the parenting issue. My health, the solid reality of my thriving body, was his best defense.
The somber tension was broken by Lydias sudden, wrenching convulsions. They immediately rushed both of us to the hospital.
Last time, we were admitted togetherI for malnutrition, Lydia for the spoiled milk.
This time was no different. The results came back, and the doctors frustration was palpable.
The children are too small to know better, but you, as the adults? How can you give a baby spoiled milk?
Moms first reaction was denial. Impossible. You have the wrong diagnosis.
Ignoring the doctors warning, she fled, dragging Lydia all over the city to consult every available clinic and hospital.
The result was always the same.
The frantic clinic-hopping, combined with her underlying illness, only made Lydia worse. She ended up in the ICU. Mom finally broke, crouching in the hospital hallway, screaming and deflecting blame.
This is your fault for never coming home! You dont care if your wife and kids live or die! Well, now Lydia is sick! Are you happy now?
Dad, already anxious about Lydias condition, was aghast. Tori, I know youre worried, but she is my daughter, too. Im just as concerned as you are.
How can you say that to me?
The crowd of onlookers grew. Mom was imperious, while Dad stood there holding me, the healthy baby. The public sympathy immediately tilted in Dads favor.
Feeling humiliated and losing face in front of strangers, Moms rage escalated.
7
She stormed over, her sharp fingernails digging into my cheek.
You pretend Lydia is your child?
From the moment they were born, your attention has been all on her! You dumped Lydia on me and walked away!
How dare you act like you care about her now!
Seeing me hurt, and driven to the edge by her sheer villainy, Dad decided he was finished protecting her reputation.
Enough! he roared.
You say I favor Mia? Why dont you tell everyone why I, a man running a company, have to bring a baby to work every day?
It was you! It was you who starved her for being three-tenths of a pound heavier! You stood by while your mother put her in a washing machine drum to slim her down!
You let your excess milk spoil instead of giving Mia one drop!
Lydia is in the hospital right now because you fed her that contaminated milk!
Dad spoke with furious conviction, clutching me tightly. The crowd instantly believed him, murmuring in shock. Even the doctors were appalled, their attitude toward Mom doing a complete one-eighty.
Exposed in front of everyone, Mom was blinded by fury. The word Divorce flew out of her mouth.
Dad, desperate to quell the public scene, simply agreed to placate her. But Mom lunged, trying to rip me from his arms.
I birthed them both! You wont take either of them!
Dad refused to let go. In the struggle, Mom raked her nails across his face, drawing blood that dripped onto me.
The feigned agreement became a sudden, cold reality.
It was Dad who wanted the divorce now.

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