Two in a Million: The twins at home

FARGO -- Abby Carlsen had her eye on her sister's fingers. The twins were sitting a few inches apart, perched on the laps of visiting relatives. While the grownups chatted, Abby leaned in and pulled Belle's left hand tantalizingly close to her mouth. She could almost taste it, when Belle jerked her hand away.

So close, and yet so far.

It was so much easier when they were conjoined.

The Carlsen twins, now 8 months old, are still adjusting to the way life has changed since they were separated at the Mayo Clinic in May. And so are their parents.

Now that they're finally back home, there are no more doctors and nurses underfoot, no more feeding tubes to worry about, no more life-and-death decisions to make.

But it's still not exactly the "normal life" that Amy and Jesse Carlsen once thought parenthood would be. Not yet.

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The Carlsens could have been mistaken for foreign dignitaries when they arrived at the Rochester airport for the flight home in early June. A small jet awaited them. Photographers snapped their pictures. Jesse placed the babies' car seats on the floor of the hangar and gazed around, a little awestruck.

The day before, the Mayo Clinic had tossed them a farewell to remember -- a balloon-studded celebration in the courtyard of St. Marys Hospital.

And now this, a private jet with two nurses to accompany them on the 51-minute flight to Fargo.

Jesse spotted a red mat at the foot of the stairway and laughed. A friend had jokingly told him: "Well, they better have a red carpet." And there it was.

Their extraordinary journey, from the birth of conjoined twins to the dramatic separation surgery in front of news cameras, had elevated the family to celebrity status. During their three months at Mayo, so many news organizations had chronicled their story that one reporter asked what it felt like being the parents of "the most famous babies in the world."

Jesse, amused, didn't miss a beat. "Didn't Tom Cruise just have a baby?" he replied.

As they stepped off the plane in Fargo, they could see Amy's parents and sister rushing toward them, surrounded by a cheering crowd of about 100 people with banners and cameras. On Interstate Hwy. 94, a billboard blared, "Welcome Home Carlsen Twins."

When Amy walked into her house for the first time in months, she breathed a sigh of relief. The front door closed on the crowd of photographers milling outside.

'Now be nice'

In late June, just seven weeks after their daylong surgery, the babies were babbling and rolling over and learning to crawl -- just like other babies their age. The vertical scars that mark where they were once connected, at the chest and abdomen, were hidden beneath their matching pink Onesies.

Amy marveled at how far they'd come. "If you had met them for the first time, you would never know," she mused. Belle was using her sister's foot as a teething ring as Abby struggled to inch away. "Now be nice to each other," their mother chided.

A few days after coming home, Amy had rushed Abby back to Mayo when a stitch came loose in a drainage tube. But now the girls were healing well, with the help of almost daily therapy.

Their pediatrician told Amy not to worry so much: They're pink, they have double chins, they're healthy, he said.

At home, there was a steady stream of visitors. Jesse's grandmother, Marilyn Helwig, and cousin Danielle arrived from New York. Jesse's mom, Patti Carlsen, drove in from Montana. There was no shortage of helping hands. But that day was fast approaching.

'Brats for Babies'

On June 30, Amy snapped the girls into their car seats for the short ride to Hornbacher's supermarket.

The temperature was pushing 90 degrees, and the babies' sun hats offered little protection. But people were expecting them.

A church group was hosting a fundraiser, selling brats, soda and chips under a tent. "Brats for Babies," said the sign. "Benefit for Abby & Belle." No last names needed.

The TV cameras sprang to life when the Carlsens arrived. "Aren't you precious!" said one of the volunteers.

Amy slipped into the store with Abby to escape the heat as photographers trailed them. Jesse followed with Belle. Shoppers and employees stopped to admire the babies. They took it in calmly, sometimes holding hands. They didn't fuss when a newswoman pinned microphones onto their "My Dad is a Superhero" T-shirts.

A boy approached Jesse. "Do the babies have superpowers?" he asked.

"Over their dad, they definitely have power," Jesse replied with a laugh. "They can get me to do anything they want."

Amy tried to keep the well-wishers at a healthy distance. "You can touch her feet, but not her hands," she told one admirer. "She's still healing, and you just can't get germs on her."

But Jesse happily passed Belle to strangers. "You can come and see them," he said, beckoning. "I'm not shy."

Darlene Mattingly glowed as she held Belle. "I've already told Jesse I'm taking this one home," said Mattingly, a volunteer from Faith United Methodist Church, which hosted the fundraiser. She keeps pictures of Abby and Belle on her refrigerator. "They've just gotten to be everybody's babies."

Moment of truth

On the morning of July 5, Jesse got dressed for work.

Amy had braced for this moment. Jesse, a state highway engineer, had taken six months off, thanks to coworkers who had donated vacation time. But today, that was over.

The in-laws were gone, too, back to Montana and New York. The publicity had died down. Today, Amy would be alone with the girls.

As Jesse got ready to leave, Amy felt a little panic-stricken. Stay, she thought. Don't go.

But she only half meant it. Nerve-wracking though it was, this was the moment she had dreamed of.

Through the weeks of intensive care after the babies first were born, through the months in Rochester and then nursing them through recovery, she'd had one goal: to be a normal mom with normal twins.

Around 7 a.m., Jesse headed out, a little heavy-hearted himself. The door clicked shut behind him.

Amy sipped her coffee. The house was quiet. It was nice to have a moment to herself. But a moment was all she got.

One of the girls began to stir.

Amy set down her coffee cup and headed for the nursery.

Maura Lerner • 612-673-7384