The Truth About Raising Twins

There are a lot of things people like to tell you about having twins.

That the next 18 years will be a chaotic blur.

That you'll always have your hands full.

That you'll never have time to yourself again and you can kiss who you were goodbye.

And for some reason, there's always someone who will delight in telling a twin-mom-to-be about her high school friend who had to be on hospital bed rest for the last 6 months of her twin pregnancy, of her sister's neighbor who gained 100 lbs. while pregnant with twins, or her cousin's friend's sorority sister's twins who were such terrors that their bedrooms were stripped down to nothing but bare mattresses on the floor because of the wanton destruction that would ensue every time the boys were left alone together. These kinds of people also like to add statements like, "Wow, I could never be a mom of twins," or, "Better you than me."

I've heard all this and more in the year since I first found out I was pregnant with twins, and I'll likely keep hearing it for the rest of my days as a Mom of Multiples.

But here's the thing: This isn't the truth. Not really. And that's why I feel the need to tell you, right here and now, the real truth about raising twins:

It's not that bad.

Really.

All you skeptics, hear me out. I'm not glossing over the details to give false hope, or to make any mother feel bad because her twins aren't perfect angelic beings. And I'm not saying that having multiples isn't difficult. It is. But it's not the great curse some people seem to think it is. There are reasons to back up my claim — solid reasons, ones you may not be expecting, so stay with me on this.

First, let me tell you about reason #1...

I first found out I was expecting twins when I was 10 weeks along. I was shocked. And delighted. And horrified. And bewildered. And terrified. All that and then some. I'm ever the optimist, but I had heard a million horror stories about life with twins. I just didn't know what to think.

So I did what I always do when confronted with a problem I don't know how to solve: I turned to books.

I went to the library and checked out all the books they had on twin pregnancy and raising twins. Some of them were great, like "Twin Sense: A Sanity-Saving Guide for Raising Twins — From Pregnancy Through the First Year." Some of them were interesting but not super helpful in the practical sense, like "Twins: Pregnancy, Birth, and the First Year of Life."

And then there was "Double Time: How I Survived — And Mostly Thrived — Through the First Three Years of Mothering Twins" by Jane Roper. It was just what I had been looking for: a glimpse at the future, a look at what day-to-day life might be like once my girls were finally here.

It was nicely written, and at first I could really identify with Jane. She was (is) a writer, and like me she was quite shocked about being pregnant with twins. And, she struggled with depression both before and after her babies were born. As the book went on, it taught me something very important — something the author didn't intend at all, but something far more meaningful to me than any message she had hoped to convey.

The epiphany came during one chapter in particular about the insanity of having two newly-walking toddlers seeking to destroy anything they can get their pudgy little hands on. The tale was harrowing but silly, really, though it did stress me out to read about one little girl darting toward a vase on the coffee table while the other dove into the dog dish, and then the next thing you know they're both going to blows over a toy piano before wailing at the top of their lungs until being plied with more fishy crackers.

Then there was the anecdote about taking the girls to the park alone for the first time. They were about 16 months, and the experience was no less harrowing: One daughter began stuffing wood chips into her mouth as the other was about to dive off the side of a 5-foot high play structure, and later the first child tumbled head first off the slide while her sister made a break for it and started running out of the park.

Reading this reminded me of the day I first took my son to the park when he was around the same age. And though there was just one of him, the story was much the same — misadventure and frustration at every turn, until I finally packed it in and headed home. We didn't go back to the park for several months, not until he was old enough to not go blindly walking off the jungle gym or get seriously hurt by a little tumble down the slide.

So as I read all this and remembered my own similar tale of woe I caught myself thinking, "Well, that's what you get for taking a child that age to the park."

And that's when it hit me: These problems aren't twin problems. They're just mom problems — and first-time mom problems, at that. I had been through this before, and now I know to have the house baby-proofed long before my girls are walking. I know not to leave anything out that would do any harm if digested, or anything that would take more than 2 minutes to clean up after my children have crashed their way through it. I know that answering screams with crackers only begets more screams when the crackers are gone, and I certainly know now not to take my kids to the park by myself until they're old enough to handle it if I can't be there to catch them.

Suddenly I realized that having twins wasn't going to be that hard. (At least, not as hard as I had first feared.) A lot of it had to do with the fact that I'm not a first-timer anymore, but mostly, my big realization was this: Having two (or more) children doesn't automatically make it harder than having one.

No matter how many children you have, you will still have to learn these lessons by trial and error, just like every mother who has ever gone before you. It's not the number of children that makes parenting difficult. Being a parent just IS difficult. Period. But we all get through it and come out wiser in the end.

That was the moment I stopped being afraid. After all, I had survived my son's baby and toddler years, and billions of other mothers before me have, as well. Not only that, I learned from all the drama and woe and became a much stronger person and a wiser, more patient mother. Whatever my twins could throw at me, I could handle. If not at first, eventually. And we would all be that much better for it.

Now, reason #2 takes us back to the beginning, about all those awful twin stories that keep circling around. If I led you to believe that those little anecdotes I shared weren't true, I'm sorry ... because they are. The woman on hospital bed rest for 6 months, the mom who gained 100 lbs., and the holy terror twins with nothing but mattresses and light bulbs in their room are all real people that I know. What I mean to say is, even these real-life events aren't the whole truth about life with twins.

Each of these things, though dramatic and unpleasant, represent just a moment in time. They are preceded by highs and perhaps followed by more lows, but they are not constant and they don't last forever. Those brave women went on to have healthy babies and get their bodies back. I'm sorry to say that those rambunctious boys are still in that phase today, but they weren't always like this, and they won't be forever. The destructive phase will end and they will turn their energy to other things, like taking apart appliances to see how they work — maybe only slightly less frustrating, but perhaps the beginning of a brilliant engineering career. And after surviving this, I have no doubt that there's nothing their parents can't handle. Take it from me, whose first child screamed like a banshee the whole first year of his life. Now, almost 3 years later, I'm like a zen master when it comes to screaming. It barely even fazes me.

Please don't misunderstand me: I don't mean that being a mom of twins isn't hard. It is. And then some, boy howdy. But I don't need pity just because I'm a mom of multiples. It's certainly not the hardest thing I've ever been through; not by a long shot. But that's just life. Sometimes my twins are accidentally beating the daylights out of each other, sometimes screaming like a bag of alleycats while my son is stomping and whining for more TV and more crackers.

But then other times (more often than not), they're smiling and just happy to be with each other and with me.

The point I'm trying to make is, I'm not cursed because I have twins, and my life isn't infinitely harder because I was given two babies at once. I am infinitely blessed because I was given three children, and I get to be their mother.

Yes, having twins comes with its own unique challenges that parents of singletons will never experience. Like I said, sometimes it is just plain crazy. But the challenges we face aren't insurmountable obstacles. And let's not forget this truth: Having one child isn't automatically easier than having two. Take it from me, whose sweet baby girls are 10 times easier together than my wily, determined son ever was, and is. (Seriously, I hit the new-baby jackpot with these girls.) But we get through it, and my son has made me the mom I am. Together the three of them will keep testing my patience and increasing my compassion, forever changing my heart and making me far better than anyone I could hope to be on my own.

So Mothers of Multiples, MoMs-to-be, and parents everywhere take heart. Things aren't always as bad as they seem. Who knows; they could be better than you ever thought possible. So smile, grit your teeth if you have to, and cherish this remarkable opportunity to become the mother you never knew you could be.

A day in the life

At a doctor's appointment the other day a nurse asked how life was with twins and if I was enjoying them. I confidently and truthfully answered that, actually, the girls are a piece of cake and, yes, I am really enjoying them.

Her eyes practically popped out of her head.

"Really?" she asked, incredulously. "I have never heard anyone say that before about twins."

And she's known a lot of parents.

Nobody could have been more shocked than I that this would be our reality, just four weeks after Beth and Sadie were born. I spent months preparing for the worst, and now here we are with every best-case scenario coming to be.

But maybe that's partially why things are so good. I was completely prepared (well, as much as you can be) for life with twins. I had read books, blogs and articles covering every aspect of newborn twin parenthood I could think of. I've polled twin mom message boards and sought informed opinions and advice every step of my pregnancy. And when it came to sleep — that thing we got none of for the first nine-plus months after Evan was born — I was more than prepared. I had a game plan, as well as Plans B and C. So although I embarked hesitantly on this journey, I had done my due diligence, and I was ready.

When you're a first-time parent, you get home with the baby and think, "Now what?" Even though I expected the first few months to a year with these girls to be complete and total anarchy, at least I knew the "what." The house was ready, and not just the nursery. Our living room, kitchen, and family room are stocked with baby swings, Boppy pillows, high chairs, and baskets with diapers, wipes, burp cloths, binkies, and blankets. The swaddle blankets and white noise are at the ready, and the kitchen is stocked with bottles and all associated feeding necessities. Plans A, B, and C were waiting...

But with these calm and mellow babies, we only ever needed Plan A.

In response to my ease with having twins the nurse said, "You must have them on a really good schedule." Yep, I do. They eat every 3-4 hours, after which I try to keep them awake for another half hour to an hour, then they get put back to bed for a few hours before starting all over again. And that's it: The easiest newborn schedule you'll ever find, and also the best for babies (according to my extensive research, that is).

So, for all other twin moms or moms-to-be like me looking for an idea of what life is like with newborn twins (and a rambunctious older sibling), here's how it goes, a very detailed, step-by-step account; a day in the life:

Morning

The babies wake up between 6:30 and 7:30. If they're up early enough, Aaron helps with the first feeding before heading to work. But usually, he keeps his morning routine: Getting ready and starting the day with Evan, who gleefully informs us he gets to "wake up early with Daddy and eat a snack and watch TV." I try to finish the feeding before Evan's movie is over, then I put the girls back down to bed for a few hours. This allows me to spend the first of the day one-on-one with Evan so he's not starting out feeling neglected from the get-go. We eat breakfast and play a bit, and if he hasn't watched too much TV yet I put something else on while I go take a shower and get ready.

(The cutest couch potato)

The girls wake up again around 10 or 11, ready for a bottle. If one wakes up before the other, I try to trick the still-sleeping baby into thinking her sister is still snoozing in the crib with her, coaxing another 15 minutes of sleep so I can finish feeding the first.

(Yes, this normal-sized stuffed animal is larger than my itty bitty Beth.)

If that doesn't work, or if they're both starving at the same time, I put them in their bouncer seats and prop them with a bottle. (I find this works better than holding one and propping the other, because I'll need both hands free since they'll both at some point drop the bottle or cough or spit up or need to be burped.)

(Post-bottle chill time)

At this point I consider this their official "morning," so I open the curtains, turn on the lights, change their clothes, and talk and interact to get them awake. I find that a diaper change after a feeding is best, because it gets them really awake so they don't fall asleep again right after they eat. They'll stay awake from anywhere between a half hour to an hour-and-a-half. Unfortunately, it takes me about this long to feed and diaper both. Then they're ready to be swaddled and tucked back in bed, curtains closed and white noise on, for their first nap.

This is the time of day I struggle with Evan. He has never been good at playing by himself, and any progress we've gained went out the windows when the twins were born. So I put together a huge box full of "busy bags," little games and activities he can do while I'm busy with the babies.

(Matching letters to cards with our names on them) 

Turns out these bags only keep his attention for about 2 minutes before he's in the nursery with us, so I try to engage him while feeding and diapering two babies — which, as it seems, is not easy. Sometimes he sits by me and we read, sometimes I give him my phone to play with, sometimes I turn on music and he wanders in and out with toys. Mostly he comes barreling in demanding I put on a movie, then wails and stomps when I tell him no because he already had a movie, or he's crashing his Transformers or trucks into their crib and bouncers and I become a broken record telling him that if he can't play softly in the babies' room he has to leave. But despite his antics, he usually gives the girls soft kisses while they eat and occasionally helps me burp and wipe their faces. This sweetness is worth the weeping and wailing, I assure you. Then again, once feeding and diapering and a little chill time is over, it's time to put the girls back to sleep for another nap.

(A little face time in the crib.)

Afternoon

Next Evan and I have lunch together, then play before he goes down for a nap. Oh yes, my 3-year-old still takes naps, and yes, I am well aware of how lucky I am! He sleeps about 2 hours, and during that time the babies usually wake to eat again around 2. I love this time with just my girls and me, even though it takes Evan's entire nap to take care of them one at a time (which is why I usually race through the house tidying up after he's gone down but before they get up).

Admittedly, his post-nap time period is my least favorite part of the day. Evan and I used to break up the drudgery by going somewhere fun, or even just running an errand, but it's no small feat to get out with my three kids in tow. It's not awful, but it is exhausting. If I don't need to leave the house, we don't. So for now, we are shut-ins. If Evan is particularly needy or I haven't slept well the night before, I usually cave and put on another movie, then we snuggle or I snooze on the couch while he watches (and climbs and jumps all over the couch while I'm on it).

Between 5 and 6 the babies are hungry again, and this time I bring them down to the family room for their feeding. I prop them on either side of me on the couch in their Boppy pillows with a bottle and feed them while Evan plays nearby.

("Hey, Mom, you're doing all right." *wink*)

I used to want Aaron to help with the feeding when he got home, but instead I like that he and Evan keep their routine of playing together and wrestling before dinner. It's especially good for Evan, but to be honest it's still helpful to me so that he is occupied and isn't demanding my attention while I'm feeding the girls.

(Tools on the floor and enjoying a good, old-fashioned beat-down. Boys will be boys.)

Evening

Next up is dinner. We have been so blessed to have many meals brought to us, but now it's time to get back to the grind. For now we are having super simple meals, and that includes things that have been pre-packaged and frozen. The girls get swaddled and put back to bed while I get things ready, and the rest of us eat together at the table. Afterward we clean up and then have a little family time, sans Beth and Sadie for now, where we play together or get some chores done. Around 8 we start Evan's bedtime routine of teeth brushing, hand washing, room cleaning, jammie changing, book reading, prayer giving, lullaby singing, and sleeping.

Usually right on cue, but occasionally before, the babies are awake and crying to be fed at this point. Aaron and I take them to the family room with us and watch a movie while we feed and change the girls. This is my other favorite time of the day with them, where we get to just hold and snuggle the girls for a few hours. This is another reason we keep the babies up late: so we get to relax and just spend time with them while they're little. And another big bonus: We feed them before we go to bed around 11, delaying their first night feeding for a few hours.

Night

Here's been the biggest shock about having these babies: They sleep — a lot, and well — at night. They usually wake up between 2:30 a.m. and 3:30 a.m. to eat ... and that's it. Asleep until morning, around 7 a.m. What's more, we can put them back in their crib nearly fully awake and they'll fall back asleep on their own. This is where I know we've been especially blessed, because our first child was just the opposite. While my Plan A really helps keep these girls to this schedule, they are really just that accommodating. As I've said before, we've hit the baby jackpot! So when one of the girls cries to eat, Aaron and I both get up and we each take a baby for a diaper change and a bottle. The whole ordeal takes about 40 minutes, occasionally an hour, and then it's back to bed for everyone.

And yes, they really do sleep like this:

(Heart melting. I dare you to find something cuter.)

After reading all of this, you're probably thinking, "Wow. That's a lot of work." And it is. Oh yes, it really is. On top of it, I haven't yet dropped my tidy-house standards and I refuse to do so. Mind you, this isn't deep cleaning we're talking about; I'll admit, the bathrooms are seldom scrubbed, vacuuming only happens if there's something large and noticeable to vacuum up, and who knows when I'll next get to dusting and all that. But a cluttery, messy house makes me feel chaotic and like I'm drowning in to-do's, so tidying and keeping up with the laundry are still at the top of my list. And as if that wasn't enough, I'm even working in some editing so we can afford to keep my girls in diapers.

So yes, it is a lot of work, and at some point I'll probably need to let more things slide. But for now, this is our life. And considering the alternative — chaos and crying babies and an angry 3-year-old and me curled up on the couch weeping and wishing I were anywhere else in the world — this work is so worth the effort. I am tired, but fueled by the adrenaline of keeping life going and everything and everyone on task and taken care of. And truly, it does feel great to take care of my home and family. It really is so much more rewarding than any professional career I could hope to have.

And I keep telling myself, this phase won't last forever. My babies won't be babies for long, and since we are now officially retired from the baby-making business I want to enjoy this time in our lives while it's here. I can't do that if I know I haven't been putting all my effort into it. So when I'm getting stressed or overwhelmed or just plain tired, I tell myself to put on my game face and get to work. My children need me, and truth be told, I need this. If I'm going to reap all the miraculous benefits of being a mother and putting my family first, I need to do just that: put my family first and fully immerse myself in motherhood.

So if you need me for the next 18-plus years, that's where I'll be.

Life after twin pregnancy: The first two weeks

It has been nearly two weeks since Beth and Sadie were born, and nothing is as I expected it to be.

It is so much better.

The night before

After what felt like the world's longest pregnancy capped off by a short but depressing hospital stay where I was put on bed rest for high blood pressure, the C-section date was bumped up one week. I thought I would be totally ready to get those babies out of there, but the night before their birth — and especially the morning of — I was seized with fear.

What if I couldn't do this — manage twin newborns and a 3-year-old? What if the babies were colicky or fussy or sick or wouldn't sleep at night? What if the worst in Evan came out at once and our world was ruled by three screaming children? What if I got postpartum depression again and spent my days and nights in tears? What if I couldn't love my children enough?

I tried to keep these thoughts at bay, but I still hardly slept a wink the night before my scheduled C-section. Couple that with the fact that the babies were going nuts the night before, kicking and wrestling and rolling, and it was a restless night. So when the nurse came in at 5:30 a.m., I was practically already out the door. Aaron joined us shortly thereafter while they monitored the babies and prepped me for surgery. Neither of us said much, partly because of the early hour but more likely because we both had the same anxieties. Nevertheless, it was time to go.

The surgery

I waddled on down to the operating room (quite a victory for an about-to-burst mother of twins), where we were joined by our large medical team: the anesthesiologist, my OBGYN, several nurses, a surgical assistant, two pediatricians, and NICU staff. Ready or not, the time had come.

When I had my C-section for Evan, I was so ready. I had been in labor for 36 hours and he was stuck every which way, so we were overjoyed to be finally done and get him born. This time, I had way too much time to think about the surgery beforehand. I was pretty nervous, which may or may not have contributed to the unpleasant experience of throwing up while strapped to the operating table — not once, not twice, but four times. And twice more in recovery. Not a pleasant start to the proceedings. But once the surgery was actually underway, things got much better.

Up first was Baby A, Beth. My doctor told us she was about to be born but stopped with a laugh, saying Beth was helping deliver herself: Apparently she had reached out and grabbed onto one of the surgical tools and was pulling quite fiercely. At 7:07 a.m. weighing 4 lbs. 10 oz., Elizabeth Lindsay was born. Next up was Baby B, Sadie, who had turned during the night (again) and came out feet first. At 7:08 a.m. weighting 4 lbs. 14 oz., Sadie May was born.

Most moms of multiples say it takes weeks if not months for twins to realize there's another baby there and to acknowledge their sibling, but Beth and Sadie found each other right away.

And they have been like that since. While they're too young to understand anything that's actually going on, when lying side by side they always find each other.

We often find them in their cribs just like this, heads turned toward one another, foreheads and even cheeks touching.

The babies

This is how sweet our girls have been since day one, and now almost 2 weeks later, not much has changed.

Nothing bothers them, other than being hungry or naked and cold. And even then, they calm down right away. They need no help falling asleep or staying asleep, and they're incredibly mellow pretty much 24/7. My theory is that they have been kicked, shoved, and pushed around in the womb for their entire existence, so they're just used to being harassed. Couple this with the fact that they always have another little body nearby to comfort them, and they never get so carried away that a little cuddle doesn't calm them down in a snap.

Probably the best thing of all is that they sleep at night. Aaron and I have been keeping them up with us after Evan goes to bed, giving them awake time and a feeding just before we go to bed around 11. Other than the first night home, where they fussed from about 2 a.m. to 5 a.m., they have only woken up to eat once in the night. Yes, once. So they eat around 11 p.m., 3 or 4 a.m., and 8 or 9 a.m. Oh yeah, we've hit the new baby jackpot.

Some of you may be saying, "Yeah, they're mellow because they're newborns, and sleeping is all they do." Not so, my friends. Our first newborn did NOT sleep. He didn't do anything but scream since the day he was born, so we know what a drastic difference this is. In fact, the most surprising thing of all is the fact that these two newborns are 50 times easier than Evan not just as a baby, but still now as a 3-year-old. Other than the time it takes to feed and change two babies, they are a piece of cake. I am actually enjoying this stage that I've spent years dreading!

It doesn't hurt that the twins are as healthy as they come; poor little Evan had a rough start. It took us months until we figured out that he had acid reflux, a dairy intolerance, and a kinked neck and spine from a traumatic labor, so I don't blame him for being pissed at the start.

But despite being born at just 36 weeks gestation, the girls are remarkably healthy. The NICU staff was standing by, but everyone was shocked that the twins didn't need a single thing at birth. They had no breathing problems, no feeding issues, no jaundice, nothing. Other than being tiny, you would never know they were born an entire month earlier than most single babies.

In this picture, Beth is one week old. Had I still been pregnant they'd be at 37 weeks gestation. This shows you just how tiny they really are, chicken legs and all!

But other than being skinny minnies, they are absolutely perfect. What a rare and immense blessing!

In the end, I think this mellowness really just has to do with temperament. Evan has always been an all-or-nothing kid. When he's happy, he is HaPpY!!!!! When he's not, look out. So far, it seems like these girls don't go to the same extremes — not even close. Time will tell, as they grow out of the newborn phase and start to be their own people. But my hope is that right now while they are so easy, we'll get them on a good schedule and teach them good habits so that by the time the newborn spell wears off they'll be trained, for lack of a better word, and happy.

The recovery

Turns out I didn't need to be nervous for the surgery at all. It was no walk in the park, but the aftermath wasn't nearly as bad as after my first C-section, which was preceded by 36 hours of labor. I have been reading a bunch of blogs about recovery after a twin birth, trying to prepare myself for whatever madness may lie ahead. But once again, I got the best-case scenarios and seemed to recover in a flash.

Well, it's not like I was dancing around the hospital room. I had a lot of pain and I could only walk slowly, inch by inch, but I was up the next day. The funny thing is, recovering from a C-section pretty much felt exactly like being extremely pregnant with twins, so I was already used to that. The main difference: Every day got better, not worse.

This is me just one or two days after delivery. Not too shabby, eh?

Other than pain from the incision, the worst side effect was the swelling, which was partially from pregnancy and partially from IV fluid. Luckily, while on bed rest I got rid of most of it and probably the rest by the time I got home.

Remember this?

Down to this a week after delivery:

Also, I don't think the incision pain would have been so bad on its own, but I got a terrible cough while in the hospital. Every time I had to cough, it felt like my incision was being torn open again. That sucked, but even then the pain was manageable. By the time we left the hospital three days later I didn't need pain pills. I could walk almost at a normal speed, though in short distances only. A week after the birth we even made a little family trip to the mall. I couldn't go far, but it's a far cry from post-surgery with Evan, where I could still barely hobble a month later. 

The other amazing thing — that thing which all mothers-to-be are so anxious about — is that just 2 weeks after delivery, my belly is miraculously almost back to normal size and I am only about 10 lbs. above my pre-baby weight.

Remember this, just a week before delivery?

Bam, three weeks later.

Whenever someone tells me I look good I've been joking that all I had to do was have major surgery to remove two humans from my body. Easy peasy! 

Of course it wasn't so easy, but it is astounding to me how long ago my pregnancy feels. I never thought I'd say this in a million years, never ever ever, but ... I almost miss it. Almost. Yes, it sucked, but it was also miraculous. What an incredible thing, to grow not just one baby but two! To have them here now, so healthy and strong, makes me feel pretty amazing. I can't believe I did that! All on my own, I not only survived but I kicked twin pregnancy's butt! 

And to bounce back so quickly almost makes me feel even more amazing, but strangely it feels sad that reminders of such a long and arduous task would vanish just like that. It must be how Olympians feel after the Olympics are suddenly over. This also must be why Mother Nature is letting me keep a stomach full of stretch marks. She couldn't let me feel too hot to trot or forget that monumental accomplishment so soon.

All in all, this quick return to normalcy has done wonders for my moods, which I was very concerned about beforehand. I got terrible postpartum depression with Evan, almost immediately and for many months. I was prepared for that, but again I was pleasantly surprised at the reality.

When we got home I was suddenly overwhelmed by how much I had missed being there with my family. I was only gone a week, but that feels like a month when you have a small child. I missed the daily routine with Evan, and I know he really missed me. When I stopped to think about that I really got depressed. I felt cheated out of not only the week, but by the fact that our routine was forever changed from that day on. I was lucky to have bonded with the girls already and I loved them dearly, but depression knows no logic. I was dreading the months ahead of trying to give enough attention to all three children, fumbling my way through each day and robbing my son of the happy, content life we had thus far led. It hit me hard.

But then I had an epiphany. I thought back to each time I had a meltdown over big changes, when life charged ahead and I felt cheated of the past and unprepared for the future. At those times I felt safe and loved the place I was at, but looking back, I would never, EVER want to revisit them. My life has just gotten better and better exponentially, rocky roads notwithstanding. And though I knew a rough road may lie ahead, I also knew that whatever was beyond it would be wonderfully, gloriously fulfilling.

Since then I've had a small handful of brief weepy moments, but blessedly I've been completely content — even blissfully happy at times. These children, all three of them, are just so incredible. It is hard for me to be so in demand and so crazy busy, but the amount of love here is also truly amazing. They need me, and while that feels so draining at times, I keep telling myself that this is why I was put here on this earth: to give when I am needed, even beyond what I think I have to offer. I'm going to have to remind myself of this over and over and over throughout the years, I know. But it's worth remembering. 

Introducing Beth and Sadie

On January 7, 2014, just after 7:00 a.m., once again our world changed forever.

At 7:07 a.m., weighing 4 lbs. 10 oz., Elizabeth Lindsay was born. 

At 7:08 a.m., weighing 4 lbs. 14 oz., Sadie May joined her sister.

And it was all worth it. Everything. 

We are in love with our Beth and Sadie.

Much more to come...

The calm before the storm

It is the night of Monday, January 6, 2014. In approximately 9 hours, my baby girls will be born. What a journey it has been.

In a lot of ways, I have grown so much. In many others, I am just as overwhelmed as I was that July afternoon when I learned that I was carrying not one, but two babies. I wish there was some easy way to sum it all up, but there's no simple way to do it justice.

I would like to say that on the eve of this life-changing event, I am ready and eager for what awaits. But truthfully, I just don't know. I am certainly ready to be DONE being pregnant, but as for being eager to be a mom of multiples, I'm not so certain.

In fact, if I'm being completely honest, I'm not sure I'm even ready to have one new baby. Much of this has to do with the fact that babies have always made me nervous, even my own — and with good right, as we did not have an easy road with Evan.

But I think that's what makes this transition even more difficult. We have worked so hard to be good parents and work through the difficult phases, and I feel like we've made it through the worst of it (teenage years not withstanding). We are in such a good place right now. I am so proud of my sweet little boy. He is imaginative, playful, thoughtful, considerate, hilarious, rambunctious, and oh so smart. He is a delight to be around, and even though he has his moments (as all of us do), I am so impressed with how he handles his emotions — not just for a 3-year-old, but for anyone at any age. What an honor it is to be his mother and guide him through life.

It's hard to leave this phase behind and essentially uproot everything. The three of us are in a groove, and life is good. It's always sad to leave something great to embark into the unknown.

I'm probably thinking about this more than I should, because the reality is rarely as bad as the fear. But I've had nothing to do but think for the last few days: I've been on hospital bed rest since Saturday, alone in these four white walls to think and think and think. Under any other circumstances I'd probably enjoy the respite and down time. Now, it's almost been a recipe for disaster. But again, my wonderful family and friends have come to my aid and I haven't had too long to be left to my thoughts.

Cuddles with Mommy before leaving for the night

I can't let it go unsaid that I am extremely grateful. Despite the difficulties of these past few weeks, I have been blessed with incredible health. To go this far in pregnancy and be put on bed rest at nearly 36 weeks is amazing. To have near-perfect check ups each and every time is almost unheard-of. Our babies have been absolutely perfect in every way, and though I am hurting and my blood pressure keeps climbing, I have made it so far and have been so much stronger than I ever thought I could be. I know the thoughts and prayers of many have been with me, and I can feel them all.

And ready or not, it's time to move on. Time to meet these two little spirits who have been entrusted to us. Time to put my needs aside and focus on them and make our family work as one. Time to walk away from fear and go forward with faith that I have what it takes. Time to welcome the joy that is sure to accompany these babies in the years to come.

So on Tuesday, January 7, 2014, just after 6:30 a.m. our two little girls, Beth and Sadie, will be welcomed into the world.

Let the new journey begin.

Twin pregnancy: Week 35

Not gonna lie, this has been a rough week.

Belly at 34 weeks, 6 days. Still growing...

I have no words.

Last night I sat down to blog about it, but everything that came out was terribly negative and depressing. It was all the unembellished truth, nothing dramatized or exaggerated (like I said, it's been a really tough couple of days). But instead of feeling like I got everything off my chest, I felt buried even deeper in frustration and hopelessness.

Not a great start to the New Year.

So instead of hitting 'Publish,' I abandoned ship. Rather than wallowing in my own misery, I did something I don't normally do: I asked my friends for help lifting my spirits.

Facebook gets a lot of flak these days for making people feel worse about their lives. I don't know what kind of friends other people have, but mine are pretty awesome. Admittedly I'm a bit of a hermit in real life, pregnant or not, but I still have an incredible circle of friends and family who are willing to lend a hand when I can drop my pride long enough to reach out. I'm very glad I did, and I thank each one of you for your responses and support.

Did that make my troubles disappear? Nope; I'm not out of the woods yet. But instead of feeling my own fear, anxiety, and weariness, I began to feel lifted up and filled with strength I couldn't have mustered on my own. People who don't believe in prayer really should stop to reconsider the next time they suddenly feel stronger or more at ease in the face of adversity.

So while I still have the constant contractions, a stinging stomach rash, a bruised belly button, and elephant cankles, once the migraine I went to bed with last night subsided this afternoon I was finally able to feel something other than my own sorrow: Peace.

I came home from my doctor's appointment (after just learning that the daily contractions are, yes, to be expected at this stage, and we won't know if they're the real deal until they result in a baby or two, so yes, keep going into the hospital like you did on New Year's Eve if they get to be regular, even if that's every single day until you deliver) and had some time to myself before Aaron and Evan got home. I turned on the fireplace, sat on the couch, and got to finish my book in solitude. Then I looked around me and thought, "What a wonderful home to bring children into."

And it's not just the cozy fire, although that helps on a day like this. We do have a lovely house, big enough for our soon-to-be family of five, in a lovely neighborhood with more than lovely neighbors and friends around us. We have family nearby, like parents who say yes without question when you call at 6 a.m. saying I am too sick to take care of my son today, will you please take him? Or who bring over dinner even when their day hasn't been the best either, or who come over just to scrub bathrooms, or who call just to check in, or are constantly reminding you that they're going to be there to help when the babies finally arrive.

But more importantly than what surrounds our house is what's inside. Forgive me for getting all Hallmark Channel on you, but in the warmth of that cozy fire as I happily looked forward to seeing my husband and son after a long, pain-filled day, I realized that there is just so much love in our home. It astounds me sometimes when I really stop to think about it, because we're not overly lovey-dovey and we express our affection in silly, obnoxious ways that make people think we must secretly hate each other. It makes me ache when I remember that this isn't the norm, either — that far too many children are born into horrible situations where the lack of love is the least of their problems.

And that's when I realized that, yes, I am ready for these babies. In fact, we are perfect for this job. It's going to be chaotic and tough and really put us through the ringer in ways we probably can't even anticipate for all our worrying. But we have been chosen to be the parents of these two little girls and our son, and we do not take that responsibility lightly.

So, in honor of my 2014 New Year's Resolution: Twin parenthood, show me what you got. I am ready and we will RISE TO THE OCCASION.

Twin pregnancy: Week 32

It's been another crazy roller coaster week, but today I'm happy to be on the upswing.

Things improved since last week's visit to labor and delivery, thank the heavens above. But it still hasn't been a cake walk. It's been just over a week and I've only left the house a handful of times. While that normally would make me nuts, this time it's been awesome. I really need to be hunkered down. I'm getting to the point where moving around is difficult not because I'm so big, but because I have contractions pretty much all day every day. Thankfully they're not too intense (yet), but the pure fact that they haven't stopped in 9 days and will not stop until I deliver these babies has just made the situation really ridiculous. Frankly, I'm now kind of pissed off about it. It's just exhausting and so pointless. Nothing else is changing physically, the babies are not on their way yet (at least so far). So hey, body, let's just settle down now, huh?

At 31 weeks

OK, so the attitude is not part of the upswing (although it does keep me from getting depressed, so maybe). Today I'm feeling good because I had another appointment and everything looks great. Plus, I have a possible explanation for all the pain and craziness this past week. Last Wednesday Baby A was head down/feet up and Baby B was feet down/head up — a little yin-yang position for the two. This morning, Baby A was still in the same position but Baby B is now on top and perpendicular, so they're making a "T" shape. That's 4 lbs. of baby, plus a placenta and amniotic fluid, jostling around and turning every which way — not to mention the other 4 lbs. of baby trying to stay put while all that goes on around her. With all this jockeying for position, no wonder my uterus is angry and not reacting kindly. That's a lot of action in such close quarters.

Speaking of close quarters, I am baffled at how so much is going on in such a small space. I am 32 weeks pregnant with two babies measuring right on track for their gestational age, so there's roughly 8 lbs. of baby with another 3-ish lbs. of placenta and fluid, and yet I'm only measuring 35 weeks. Even more confusing: At 29 weeks I was measuring 36. Some more numbers for ya: Despite eating like a linebacker the past month I have only gained 33 lbs. total, 3 of which happened since my last appointment. And, I am only 5'2" so there's really nowhere to go but out.

Ouch. Math makes my brain hurt — especially math that doesn't actually add up.

I'm guessing that the babies' new positions make my stomach seem ever-so-slightly smaller. Or maybe my organs have been pulverized by the weight and vigor of two very active babies and are not actually solid mass anymore. Or maybe my doc is just messing with me.

Mostly likely it's just what I've been saying all along: Growing a baby is HARD WORK. Growing two must be double that, because although I've been sitting or lying down for the better part of a week and stuffing my face indiscriminately, I still feel like I've run a marathon every day. So in a really weird way, getting pregnant with twins is the best diet I've ever been on. My body has never been so efficient at putting these calories to use, even when I don't put the best ones in. Almost makes up for the constant pain and agony and the likely permanent scars I'll bear at the end of all this.

Almost.

Twin pregnancy: Week 31

Yep, I hate this.

As a fellow mom of multiples put it, a twin pregnancy is the one crazy time when you've never wanted to simultaneously stay pregnant and be done being pregnant so badly in your life. 

I can handle the physical aspect of being big and slow (other than the daily contractions, but more on that later), but I hate how it's messing with my head. I'm not one to say "I can't," even when I should. I'm a pusher. It's what's gotten me through the awful times in my past, so it's an instinct I can't easily turn off. That's why it's so hard to suddenly feel useless and helpless--and even harder for me to ask for help or even take it when offered. I survived on grit alone for years, but now it's not healthy to do that. This is probably exactly why I've been given this challenge. I haven't learned these skills, but I literally cannot do all the things my brain tells me I can totally handle if I just suck it up. I need to stop, I need to lay down, I need to let others take over... But I can't shake that feeling of duty and responsibility that drives so much of my life. 

What I need to keep reminding myself is, my duty needs to be all about these babies. Even my son can wait, because I am literally the only person who can take care of my daughters right now. 

I was slapped with that reality today when I ended up in the hospital, again. I started having contractions around 10 p.m. last night (side note: Why must these things always happen after hours?). By 4:30 a.m. they were every 6 or 7 minutes, so I made my way into labor & delivery around 5 a.m. 

The good news is it didn't look like the babies themselves were coming, but my body couldn't care less about that fact. The twins are healthy and doing just fine, I was only dilated to a 1, and the fetal fibronectin test that predicts imminent labor came back negative--but still, the contractions got to be just a few minutes apart and weren't slowing down. 

My doctor put it this way: I may only be 31 weeks along, but with the size of my uterus and the weight of these babies, my body thinks it's 41 weeks along. It can't figure out why I'm still pregnant and is trying to do something about it. 

And yes, all of this is common and even expected with a twin pregnancy. So yes, this could be my life for the next few weeks. Cue sad, self-pitying tears. 

Around 7 a.m. I was given a steroid injection to help the babies' lungs mature, should they decide to come early anyway. I was also given a shot to relax the uterus and stop the contractions. It didn't work at first, but they couldn't give me another because it made my heart go crazy so I sat and waited for another hour. At long last, things settled down and the contractions, while still consistent, were down to 10 minutes apart. Finally, at 8:30 I got to go home. 

The other blessing in this is that I'm not on strict bed rest, which I really feared. Some women are in such dire straits they are relegated to the hospital for months on end. Even though I only have 6 weeks to go and even if I could have take my bed rest at home, I still think I would absolutely go mad. Thankfully, my doctor says that while it can help you relax, there's no concrete evidence that bed rest prevents or stops preterm labor--and in fact, new studies are saying it can do more harm than good. So I'm in bed today and probably tomorrow, but after that I just need to take it easy. Which is ironic, because if I take it too much easier I might as well be on bed rest anyway. 

I've already had to stop doing, well, pretty much everything I do around here on a daily basis. My husband has the house taken care of and Evan is pretty low-maintenance for a 3-year-old. But the biggest change is that I recently lost both of my jobs unexpectedly, for unrelated reasons that are beyond my control. This has been frustrating beyond compare and terrifying financially, especially right NOW just weeks before Christmas and before we become a family of 5. I don't have any clue how it's all going to come together, or if it really will, but I'm trying to just have faith and focus on the positive--mainly, the belief that this is God's way of telling me to let go. 

I have been pushing and struggling for months trying to find a better way, trying to give us more of a cushion post-birth since there's no telling when I'll be able to work again, if ever (at least while the kids are young). I have tried about everything I could possibly think of, and all to no avail. And now to have this door slammed in my face, I have no choice but to finally take it as a sign that I need to put it down, all of it. You have no idea how hard it is for me to essentially be told, "Your job right now is to do nothing." But that's the only guidance I'm getting. It is all completely out of my hands now, so I need to let it be. I don't know what the answer is, but I know it's not me. It is not my job to come up with or be the solution. If it was, then something would have materialized long ago. It's cold comfort at best, but just another one of those things you have to wade through before you finally find the lesson and see the light. And hey, there's still time for a Christmas Miracle!

So that's where I am now: metaphorically waiting in the dark while literally sitting on the couch or sprawling out in bed. Frustrating? You bet. But I can still find plenty of blessings, and that's what I'm holding onto. 

In the meantime, I'll just binge on Christmas movies and get all the Evan snuggles I can before two more tiny people need my complete attention. And I'll focus on the most important duty I have right now: to get these girls here safely. After all, no one else can do it but me. 

Twin pregnancy: Week 29

Just a quick update with some significant numbers:

Months pregnant: 7

Weeks pregnant: 29

Weeks belly is measuring: 36

Pounds gained: 30

Number of babies on board: 2 (I keep asking my docs to make sure no one else is hiding in there)

Minutes I can stand before the pain takes over: 15

Final eviction date: January 14

That's right: These babies will be here in 8 weeks or less!

Kinda freaking out right now...

Twin pregnancy: Week 28

Good news and bad news on the twin pregnancy front.

The bad news is, despite really watching my diet, I now have gestational diabetes. 

Apparently the "experts" don't actually know what makes someone develop diabetes when pregnant exactly, aside from making an educated guess based on risk factors. And I do have a few: I'm over 30, I have a family history of diabetes, and I have more than one baby on board. Seems that the placenta is most likely what affects insulin use, and having two placentas put me at a much higher risk for developing gestational diabetes. So now I have to take a class on it and test my blood sugar four times a day for the next week and hope that a more controlled diet will take care of business. Keep your fingers crossed for me, because I really don't think I can handle going off carbs completely. My depression would not take to that kindly.

The good news is, I have just 10 weeks left to go!

I am now 28 weeks pregnant, which translates into 7 months. When I see that written out, wow, I can't believe how much time has already passed. It seems crazy how this pregnancy, with all its ups and downs (OK, mostly mopey downs), has just flown by. What's even more nuts is that "10 weeks left" business. It's not "10 weeks give or take" — it's "10 weeks maximum." Twins are full-term at 37 weeks  but often come even earlier. My doc won't let me go past 38 weeks, so if the babies aren't here by then, she'll make it so. 

That's right, folks: I will officially be a mom of three and a Mother of Multiples no later than January 25!!!

This is incredibly exciting and terribly daunting. For the last few months I've been going back and forth between, "How on earth am I going to manage all the craziness that comes with having twins???" and, "Hey, I got this. Yeah, it's going to be tough, but I can do tough. I AM tough." 

Today, like most days, I have experienced just about all of that and everything in between. This morning when Evan nearly had a meltdown because I attempted to put gel in his hair, I had one of those "Why is being a mom so full of this kind of crap?" moments where I can't believe these are the things that make up my life. But an hour later, when he was off at preschool and I was alone in the peaceful quiet of an empty house, I put all the baby clothes into their dresser and closet. Pulling out each little onesie and pair of footie jammers put a little flutter in this mommy's heart, mostly because my hormones are working on overdrive but also because OH MY GOSH BABY GIRL CLOTHES ARE SO CUTE!! And even though the nursery isn't even close to being finished (though it is remarkably cleaner), stocking it up with supplies gives me the illusion that I am prepared (or will be in time) and this is really happening and it's going to be great.

In the meantime, I am just trying to survive physically. After my last post things unfortunately got much worse and I ended up in L&D again, but then they also got better for a while. I'm somewhere in between now. I realized that I am going to be in terrible pain by about 3 p.m. no matter what I do, so I may as well try for a little productivity in the morning if only for the sake of boosting my mood and making me feel like I am still participating in life. Admittedly I'm still really limited and can't do much; putting the aforementioned clothes in the room was about all I could handle this morning, and a quick afternoon jaunt to the store (read: a slow and painful hobble to and from the pharmacy) had me doubled over in pain when I got home. But at least I can still walk! I may not be able to say the same in a few weeks, so I'm trying to make the most of it while I can.

On a related note, I'm thinking my progress pics just aren't doing my belly justice. I thought the camera was supposed to add 10 lbs., but in these it seems it's whittling me down. I swear to you I am so much bigger in real life ... or maybe that's just because I feel enormous and heavy beyond belief.

At any rate, here I am at 28 weeks. And yes, even though I felt ridiculous, I smiled.

I may seem small for having two babies in there, but kindly compare this to my pregnancy with Evan at 35 weeks:

So, yeah... That pretty much speaks for itself.

But you know what's really making this phase of my life more enjoyable? My awesome little family. If I haven't mentioned yet how amazing my husband is, I'm going to do it now. He's taken over the housework with no complaint — and not only that, he's the one who forbade me from doing it anymore. He's helped me with all my projects and things I can't physically do anymore, AND it seems we might actually be meeting in the middle on some baby names (finally!!). Throughout all of Evan's life, Aaron has absolutely been an equal parenting partner, and I know that when the twins get here we'll be an awesome team. It takes so much stress out of this situation knowing that I will be supported by this guy 100 percent.

And even though he may put up a fuss like nobody's business, my little Mr. The Dude is pretty awesome. Evan turned 3 last month, and it's like he turned a corner that day. He has been so much more content, happy, and silly, not to mention more independent and loving. Yes, he has his share of tantrums, but what child doesn't? Besides, they are dwindling and he's happier to get with the program and live up to his "Big Boy" status now. Evan is absolutely one of a kind and has me cracking up with the things he says and does. Being stranded at home most days is actually pretty entertaining with this knucklehead putting on a one-man-show.

This is still to say nothing of the truly wonderful friends and family who have also stepped up to help out. I can't say enough about my parents and in-laws taking care of Evan when we need it — especially my dad, who will drop whatever he's doing and take Evan for the entire day if I need it. I know Evan really loves his days with Papa, and it's a bond that will last a lifetime. The offers of help from friends and neighbors keep coming in, and rest assured I will take every single one of you up on those offers when these babies finally make their arrival! I feel really blessed to be surrounded by such a wonderful community. 

Until then, don't be shy to come for a visit. I don't get out as much as I used to, and I fear the days will get pretty bleak without some more social interaction. So drop me a line and stop on by. I may be slightly unkempt and plopped on the sofa, but I'm always up for a little chat.

Twin pregnancy: Week 26

I've worked really hard on being upbeat about this pregnancy, but the time has come to just say it:

Being pregnant with twins sucks.

It's a good thing I got this silly, goofy belly pic out of the way at week 24, because from here on out, you probably won't see such happiness from me for a while.

Granted, I was being sarcastically happy here. I keep getting flak from friends and family about having such cranky, mug shot-looking belly pics, like so:

I'm not trying to look grumpy, and I don't even feel grumpy in these shots; I just really dislike my profile and don't relish having pictures taken of it.

Now, however, I'm feeling the grumpy.

Actually, what I'm really feeling is pain. Before, I'd get the occasional twinges and stretching sensations — uncomfortable and unpleasant, but bearable. Now it seems that about every four or five weeks the babies (and, subsequently, my belly) go through a growth spurt. The first round of this at about 17 weeks wasn't great, but it wasn't so bad either. Week 21 was pretty painful, with Braxton Hicks contractions starting in earnest, but still bearable. Now, at week 26, I'm dying. I'm ready to just curl up on the couch and stay there until this whole experience is over.

It's not just the pain itself that has me wanting to throw in the towel; much of the agony is due to the sheer repetition of it. Just when I start to feel a bit better, in a few short hours it starts all over again. I am now on day 5 of this growth spurt with no end in sight — and my doctor tells me this is likely to be the norm from here on out. Which makes sense, considering the babies are about 2 pounds each but only have 12 more weeks to grow about 4 additional pounds apiece.

What's worse, there's not much to relieve the pain. That's because it's not a muscle pain or even a contraction that you can ease with a warm bath, Tylenol or massage. These babies are growing, fast, and while that's a wonderful thing, my poor belly just can't handle it. Every bit of tissue is being stretched, every muscle is being pulled apart, every organ is being smashed. And on top of it — literally — two hard, writhing, thrashing lumps of baby are bursting out every which way, apparently trying to make a break for it directly through my skin.

Oh, and have I mentioned the throat-boiling acid reflux and the return of the morning sickness? And the exhaustion that never left? And the shortness of breath that occasionally sends me into a panic attack because I can't get enough air? And the restless leg syndrome that keeps me awake all night — that and having to pee every two hours and the fact that we cannot agree on names for these baby girls for the life of us?

Yeah. Being pregnant with twins sucks.

This is why it always boggles my mind when people tell me they're jealous, that they've always wanted twins. I can kind of get this in theory; if you have terrible pregnancies and you really love babies, then sure, having two at once sounds like a dream come true. But this is no dream, my friends. This nightmare is my reality, and guess what? I have three months to go, and it's only going to get harder — to say nothing of the next 18 years ahead of us in which we must parent not one, but two children at the exact same stage (along with their older brother). So forgive me if I stare at you, incredulous, and ask, "Really? You really want twins??"

All right, that's enough out of me. I can't be all doom and gloom with no silver lining. When I look at the bigger picture, I actually have it pretty great. Yes, this feels pretty icky right now, but in the grand scheme of things I'm having an incredibly healthy pregnancy. Both babies are growing right on schedule and are as healthy as can be. And other than the pain and discomfort, there is nothing actually wrong with me — such a great blessing when you consider all the horrible things that could and often do go wrong in a twin pregnancy. In fact, I've actually had some really great things happen. For instance:

• I have zero stretch marks or varicose veins!
• My babies are perfectly formed and growing strong!
• My husband has taken over all the housework!
• My son has started kissing my belly and "giving loves to the babies"!
• I finally found some really cute and comfy maternity jeans!

And this is just some easy-to-find surface stuff. I probably could have devoted this entire post and then some to all the wonderful things in my life right now, just as easily as I did all this negative stuff. But sometimes, a girl just has to vent. And when that girl has twice the pregnancy hormones coursing through her veins, it becomes an imperative.

To keep myself focused on the positive, a few weeks ago I came up with my twin pregnancy mantra. I should probably plaster this all over my house to remind myself that yeah, this does suck, but I'm actually doing something pretty amazing, so it's worth it:

"Some people run marathons or climb Everest.

I grow two babies at once."

Thank you for indulging me in this rare but necessary pity party. I just want the reality to be known that this is no picnic. It is exhausting, physically demanding work — night and day, day and night, taxing my body from head to toe. Not that I want some pat on the back (though a massage of some sort would be awesome right about now); I just want the truth to be known, that growing babies — whether one, two, three or more — is incredibly, astoundingly difficult.

So the next time a pregnant woman in your life starts crying over "nothing" and will not be content until she has consumed an entire carton of ice cream, give her a hug and then go get her a refill. The lady has earned it.

Twin pregnancy: Week 21

One of the best things about the frequent doctor's appointments required for a twin pregnancy is the number of ultrasounds we get to have. Our latest set was last week, the big anatomy scan, otherwise known as the 20-week ultrasound where you're most likely to find out the gender of your baby.

For us, the prediction made by the tech at 14 weeks was confirmed: We are expecting two girls!

And by the looks of things, we are also expecting two kickboxers. It's no wonder Baby B likes to hide out on my right side — she was getting a foot-to-face beatdown from Baby A, whose feet were right in her face.

It was funny to watch and a little sad that in response, Baby B kept putting her arms and hands in front of her face to fend off the kicks.

But not to worry; Baby B could give as good as she got.

I guess it's to be expected when they're in such close quarters. Even though they are in separate amniotic sacs, the membrane is about as thin as cellophane (though thankfully much stronger). It's no wonder I feel these two kicking and moving all day long. They are not only jockeying for position and fighting for space, they're constantly throwing elbows and knees and then trying to get the heck out of the way. Must be rough being a twin in utero. I mean, can you even tell what's going on or who is who or what is what in these two pics?

While the ultrasounds are always fun, they've taken on a more serious tone of late. In the past I have always taken this milestone for granted. When I was pregnant with Evan (and even before), the 20-week ultrasound was just the chance to finally get a glimpse at your baby-to-be, find out the gender, and take home a cute little black and white photo of Junior. But now having three vastly different pregnancy experiences, I realize this is actually serious business. 

It's called an "anatomy scan" because that's what the doctor is doing: scanning the baby's anatomy from head to toe to be sure all the organs are in working order. I have known too many parents whose scans did not go well, and in the week before my own scan there were three other mothers on my Twins and Multiples message board who found out they lost one or both of their babies at such an appointment. After having lost a pregnancy myself and realizing that a twin pregnancy contains many perils, I now approach these appointments with equal parts excitement and trepidation. It's another reminder of how precious life is, and that the things we take for granted are not always given to everyone.

With that all going through my mind, it was with great relief and joy to hear that both babies are healthy and growing perfectly. There are no deformities or imperfections, and their growth is right where it should be. How blessed we are indeed to have such a healthy pregnancy.

And it's a good thing I was able to have that perspective, too, because this week has been particularly rough. I've started having Braxton Hicks contractions, which is normal at this stage of a twin pregnancy. But I was having them for more than 48 hours straight, followed by an intense shooting pain. I could still feel both babies moving, so I knew they were OK, but the doctor was concerned that too many contractions (mild as they were) could be preparing my body for labor already, so I had to check into the hospital to be sure everything was all right.

The only thing worse than going into the Labor & Delivery ward for pre-term labor is leaving without any answers. The nurses were able to determine that there has been no actual labor progression, thank the heavens above, but they don't know why I was having so many contractions or what that horrible pain is. It could be that the contractions were causing the pain, or the pain causing the contractions. It could be that the babies are just growing so fast that my body can't keep up. Whatever is going on, it hurts like the dickens and I am terrified that the next 16 or so weeks will be more of the same, or worse.

Subsequently, I've been on the couch or in bed for two days straight, and although it has helped with the pain, it's killing me to be incapacitated. I don't like feeling helpless, and even worse I don't like actually BEING helpless. Luckily I have one amazing husband who has been taking care of Evan and me and doing all of the housework (a girl can definitely get used to THAT!) and we have wonderful family who jump to help when asked.

So thank goodness for silver linings, or else I would probably be losing my mind right now. I'm choosing to focus on the thought that I am just so awesome at growing babies my body can't handle the two supergirls and their bodies of steel. I am hoping that it's just a growth spurt and in a few more days I'll be back on my feet, at least enough to feel like I'm participating in life.

In the meantime, if you need me I'll be catching up on my Netflix queue. Any suggestions?