When my boys arrived, they were healthy, hefty, and, thankfully, they napped like champs (at least in the beginning). Just a day after my C-section, with the incision still singing, we threw a Finding Nemo birthday bash for my son, Max, at my sister’s place. His world was about to shift dramatically with the introduction of two more little ones vying for attention. I refused to let his special day get overshadowed by the twins’ arrival.
Three days later, we packed up and moved. For the first two months, we had a squad of helpers—my amazing in-laws, my mom, and my sister, Sarah—who made this wild ride a little easier. When the last pair of hands departed, I almost went full dramatic and clung to their pant legs, pleading for them to stay. Nothing could have prepared us for the enormous responsibility of managing two newborns solo.
My husband, Mike, always eager to pitch in, shared the nighttime wake-ups with me since the twins were bottle-fed. Back then, we called them “the babies,” and they howled if they weren’t being held. So, we resorted to carrying them in Baby Bjorns as much as possible. I splurged on dual baby carriers designed for one in front and one in back, and tried slinging them on each hip. But that setup lasted about 10 minutes before my back started feeling like it belonged to an ancient tortoise.
Dinner became an acrobatic feat, with us donning Baby Bjorns as we ate, employing dishcloths as makeshift bibs to shield the twins from spaghetti sauce.
On particularly tough days, when both boys clamored for my attention and my arms were at their limit, I would lie down on the floor and let them crawl all over me. I couldn’t bear to choose one to comfort over the other. In those moments, I dreamed of sneaking out. I’d gaze wistfully out the window, picturing myself leaping out like a cat and making a run for it. Of course, I’d probably end up in the hospital instead—traction sounded like a dream vacation back then!
By the time they turned two, the twins started needing me less—and more importantly, they craved adventure. They dashed in opposite directions, proving that not all twins follow the same path. I quickly shed the baby weight that year.
The magic of three and four hit when they began to stay still for more than 30 seconds. Toys caught their fancy, and so did TV shows. (Shoutout to Wonder Pets for saving my sanity while rescuing those animals—my babysitting fee? Just a stalk of celery, please!) I still had to keep an eagle eye on them, and potty training was a nightmare of its own. I still wake up in a cold sweat recalling the trail of little accidents they left behind, like Hansel and Gretel with their Thomas the Train undies.
Now that they’re six, the worst is behind us. They can semi-manage their own hygiene and even tidy up their messes. Plus, they genuinely enjoy each other’s company. Whether it’s Legos, Pokémon cards, or the infamous Blue Bear Game (which involves tossing Blue Bear around until he runs away), they keep each other entertained.
Max is my sweet, athletic, rule-abiding boy who looks up to his big brother, Jake, and their dad. Jake, on the other hand, is my quirky little comedian with a knack for one-liners that keep our family laughing, not to mention his dance moves that put me to shame.
While they still need me, their dependence has evolved—now they rely on friends, family, and teachers too. I’ll always be their mom and will forever be needed, just in ways I can’t yet imagine. But I can’t help but feel a twinge of nostalgia for those days of raw, instinctual need.
This journey has been a whirlwind, and as I reflect, I realize I’ll miss all that need.
For those interested in more about pregnancy and home insemination, you might want to check out this excellent resource at the NHS. If you’re exploring options for home insemination, consider this guide to help you on your journey.