when i found out i was pregnant, i had no idea -- how could i? -- what would lie ahead for us. staggering through the first few months wincing in pain, overcome with nausea. feeling the world's disappointment in my weakness. and simpering through only the most necessary obligations. barely getting by. sick. and tired.
and, so, on my birthday, the ultrasound. while my mister laid in bed, paralyzed by a bout of flu, i sat in a waiting room. overhearing the appointment ahead of me and splinters of challenges they would face. and, suddenly but softly, a golden light pulsed through my veins, assuring me everything would be fine. thinking it for them when really it was meant for me.
climbing onto the table when my turn came. and dismissing the technician's comment about my burgeoning circumference. oh, how only a few weeks before i had been demoralized by my nurses for not weighing more. and as i reeled from the remark, the nurse quipped, "ah-ha. this makes sense." and, then, the announcement:
y o u a r e h a v i n g t w i n s .
i d e n t i c a l g i r l s.
c o n g r a t u l a t i o n s!
this stops a world in rotation. quickly.
stupefied by the unexpected news. relieved by the flood of immediate explanations. and aghast i was hearing it alone.
and, then, the search for the amniotic membrane. and the concern over a slight difference in amniotic fluid for each baby. a whispered mention of twin-to-twin transfusion syndrome. words quickly waved away like smoke from barely blown out birthday candles. clearing the air so i could see ahead.
being ushered into the physician's office. enveloped with joy. and feeling no worry. booking a rushed appointment with the specialists, assuming it a mere perk of a multiple pregnancy. having no idea what awaited us in 7 days.
the halcyon week between, i see now, was the gap. where love flooded in. so fear could visit, but never stay. and when the time came, we would know how to fight by surrendering.
there is so much more to the days and weeks following. each worthy of its own description as none of it ever fluid or routine. every pulse contained its own universe of worry, fear, love, and hope. and, so, we danced. as best we could. through our tears. around the disappointments. and always with the constancy of change.
then.
when the time was right. and it was. the world welcomed my lovelies. ebullient teams floating in with one purpose. to give them breath. and another. so these inhalations would pour into the lives they deserved.
anna riley and kate dylan. born on a wednesday at 1:07 p.m. and 1:09 p.m. annie staining the air with a scream as she emerged before being huddled away. and katie fighting the doctors, as a hardly 2-pound baby can. wiggling, recoiling, shrinking until one had a good grip to pull her forth. but no cry. no peek. and off she went. the next 45 minutes, we had no words. delirium set in. morphine was dripped. and panic bated decorum.
and finally. we could see them. oh, what fragile babies. helpless, broken birds with no wings to fly. instead. tubes. needles. masks. too small. tiny fists. and barely there feet. faces swollen. bellies puffy. and souls fighting. and, how they would have to fight. our hearts breaking into more pieces than we thought they had over why. and how.
but when the experience arrives, the seeds are already planted. and just like the buds who must be thirsty to bloom, we summon the urge to unfurl. and you are more awake, more alive, ever aware. present in the now. too worried to let yesterday or tomorrow matter. instead, investing it all right now. because it is all you hold. cautiously you move. and pay attention. and learn. ask. defend. demand. and expect more.
and then, two months later, the world released us from the experience. with wee 4-pound babies ready to feel sunlight for the first time.
we took the unarranged pieces. and put them in order. and, now, well. i handle the world. look it in the eye. and trust i will know how to move, dance, and breathe.
and so will you.
h a p p y b i r t h d a y , m y l o v e l i e s.
x o
