From the beginning, I just knew it wasn't going to be easy to get pregnant. Everyone -- and I mean every single human being -- that knew it was off to a rough start told me, just relax, it will be OK.
Da! knows that the last thing anyone should ever say to me is relax (or take a deep breath or chill or anything of that nature) when I'm stewing over something.
Thinking that you can't get pregnant and have a baby is the worst feeling in the world. Much more worse than slaving over the hot stove for an hour just to have that food chewed and spit out of their little mouths.
After a couple months of Big Fat Negatives, I did begin to worry. We had already bought this house, a lovely 4 bedroom, 2 bath Colonial with a dingy white picket fence and a fabulous backyard for said children to run in.
A year later, I was a mess. It's never going to happen, I told him. He consoled. He said all the right things.
One treatment led to another treatment and as our bank account savings dwindled, so did our hopes.
One last try, we said.
Then the waiting from hell begins. Two weeks. Fourteen stinking days of wondering, waiting.
But, I just knew. About a week in, I started feeling different. Something was VERY different.
"I have this feeling I am," I told Da! over the best chips and salsa we know. "I can't explain it, but I just feel something."
"You're pregnant," she said on that quintessential 14th day.
The room was cold, and I was nervous. I didn't want sextuplets. I didn't even want triplets. I wanted one healthy baby, but we discussed it and we would gladly accept no more than three.
"How do you feel about two?" she said.
Staring at images of two kidney beans, I cried for the first time since I learned that I was going to become a Mama.
"You wanted this," I remember my mom telling me over the phone as I cried to her about how hard it was for me as a new mother.
"You should be happy," she said.
I never felt more guilt in all my life. I vowed to never complain about it again.
Because she was right.
Why wasn't I more happy? Why wasn't I good at this mothering thing? Why couldn't I just smile? Why couldn't I get them to stop crying?
I should be happy.
I'm grateful for having twins. I would have been a different mother to just one.
I would still be working and juggling and watching the time pass all too quickly.
I would watch a lot of television instead of sitting on the floor, as I do often, managing the fights, the squabbles, and the toys that seem innocent, but can easily be used as weapons.
I would stay on the computer more as the child played instead of limiting that time to before they wake and while they are asleep.
I would spend more money because getting to the car, and driving to stores and navigating the mall with a single stroller would be easy. I'd never be home, actually.
I would assume that the picky eater is just picky because of the food I made instead of knowing that it's not that at all.
I would think that the child who throws temper tantrums every other minute is frustrated with me instead of realizing that is just her nature. She was born that way.
I would think that the quiet, more reserved child was ruined for life by me, an overwhelmed Mama -- because I didn't get her out of the house enough when really she was just born that way.
I wouldn't hear the sweet babbles of two babies saying, "Mama. Mama. Mama."
I could go on, but I won't.
I'm grateful to know that in a minute they will wake and we will have a great day.
I just know we will.
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