My twins are four years old now. On their birthday it hit me that they aren’t babies anymore and there were some tears: happy ones, stunned ones, relieved ones, wistful ones.
I’m joyful and proud, the way any mom might be. I made it through a twin pregnancy, bed rest, and caring for twin babies. What the?!? Who put that in my life script? But I did it. We did it.
I am no longer a mom of two babies. I realize that means I have completely lost all my cred with the new moms, the ones in the trenches up all night trying to figure out how to feed twin babies, hearing nothing but crying ringing in their ears and feeling overwhelmed. I’m usually not overwhelmed anymore. I’m just seriously grateful. So I’m ok to pass the torch to the new twin moms with a cliché “it goes by so fast” – because it does.
I’ve been thinking about how much I’ve grown to love my twins. It really is growing in love for me. On the day they were born and into their first year I loved them, but not like I do now. It isn’t more or less, it’s just different.
Now they’re four years old and I love them for the years we’ve had together. I love them for forgiving me, for adoring me, and for hanging on and being small, happy, and hilarious. I love them for the little disappointments in their lives already, and for all of us dealing with the sick times and weird questions that have crossed our paths. I love them for the 1,000 scribbles and art projects I wish I’d saved. And I love them for that wide open future that is my only hope and wish for them.
I’m still falling in love with my twins.
So I have some things to do to get ready for another upcoming birthday party for my twins: stuffing goodie bags and getting juice boxes and all that. But on their actual birthday I just didn’t do much except be with them. We made a silly birthday cake and we were all proud of our effort. It was a good day in spite of the tears which are maybe part of the deal with being a mom, even when your twins aren’t babies anymore.
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