First Birthdays

This morning at 7:48 and 7:49, my two little boys turned one year old. In the weeks leading up to their birth, we’d been seeing specialists and having many ultrasounds because they were worried about twin-to-twin transfusion, a condition in which twins are sharing all the fluids that keep them alive but sharing them unequally. We were worried about Baby A not having enough fluids and Baby B having too much. The more fluid Baby B had, the less predictable his position was. He flipped three times that I recall, once at the 35 week mark while I was teaching a class. I wondered if my students were watching my belly as he maneuvered sideways inside me, making my long pointy belly wide and round. In a few moments, I was breathless with his head restricting my lung capacity and my ability to explain run-on sentences and comma splices. That’s when I turned in my notice of leave.

Since I had no idea where he’d choose to be on the day of delivery, I prayerfully chose a Cesarean Section to avoid the stress of flipping a breech baby after already delivering one baby and to avoid the possibility of recovering from both vaginal and cesarean births while caring for two infant. Something being more difficult than caring for two infants after a cesarean is hard to imagine, but I would bet delivering both ways in a day would be one harder thing. (So would caring for three or going it alone. Kudos to you ladies who have done those things.)

As they rolled me back to the OR, the staff seemed a little confused. Then they saw my belly before they saw my face, and a nurse said, “Oh! Twins! That’s why they scheduled so many of us!” Though about a dozen people were in the room, the only person I cared to see was G. B. I had known for so long that he’d be a great dad. My most vivid memory of this day was holding his hand and seeing tears in his eyes as we heard Baby A’s first cry.

I don’t know why we had two healthy children. I tried to eat healthily and exercise. I prayed for my babies and myself and petitioned prayers from friends and family. I believe in all of those things. Still, I’ve seen it go so differently for others who were also healthy and prayerful. I am floored—that I carried two babies for 38 weeks, that they weighed 6.4 and 7.6 pounds, that they were healthy, and that what we have gone through, we’ve survived. I am floored by the past wild year. And so grateful. Thank you, everyone, for pitching in wherever and however you did. May you be blessed so greatly in return.



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