Having that group chat where you can post a question and everyone validates you, answers with kindness, and then checks in again to make sure it all worked out. It means the world.

And we all stumbled into each other’s lives earlier this year. Yet it feels like I’ve known them forever.

Like we were meant to cross paths.

It was Easter weekend. The twins were seven weeks old. My daughter was having a hard time with the transition of having two new babies at home, and we were in the depths of newborn sleep deprivation.

Lots of emotions and tears from everyone, at all times… including me.

My daughter asked if we could go to the park.

It was a beautiful, sunny day. I had one twin in the carrier and the other was sleeping on my husband.

So I said yes. I’d take her and bring the baby too.

We started walking to the park, just a block away from our house. When we turned the corner, I saw a woman walking down the street with a baby in a carrier.

I smiled, thinking to myself, aw I wonder how old her baby is.

My daughter and I kept walking at the glacial pace toddlers usually do, checking out rocks and flowers along the way.

Then I heard someone walking behind us.

“How old is your baby?” she asked.

The woman with the baby in the carrier.

We started chatting. She complimented my daughter’s dress, which made her day.

And we realized our babies were born 13 days apart.

She was my neighbour, and she was also new to the neighbourhood.

We commiserated about having newborns, talked about how much we were loving the warmer weather and being able to get out for walks, and discovered plenty of other connections.

It was so nice to chat with another mom who got it.

We exchanged numbers and agreed to meet up again for a walk. She mentioned she had met another mom in the neighbourhood with a baby girl around the same age and said she would invite her too.

I was excited!

About a week later, we were sitting on our front porch. The babies were in the bassinet while my daughter played with chalk on our front sidewalk.

A family walked by on the other side of the street. They had a little girl and a baby with them.

The woman saw my daughter and called out from across the street.

“How old is she?”

“She’s three!” I said.

“So is she!” she said, pointing to her daughter.

“Can we come over across the street?”

“Of course!” I said, knowing full well my anti-social husband was cringing at the thought of having to talk to someone.

They came across the street and we all started chatting.

Our older daughters were born very close in age, only a few months apart. And her baby was eight months old.

Another mom in the neighbourhood!

The girls got along right away and started playing together while we chatted.

Then she realized we had two babies in the bassinet.

“You have twins?? Are you okay??” she genuinely asked, as if she was concerned.

I laughed.

I wasn’t offended by the question at all. I actually thought it was funny.

Two babies is pretty shocking… haha.

They lived just around the corner from us. She was so sweet, giving me her number and insisting I text her if I ever needed anything, since she was home with their baby too.

Eventually, these two moms connected on their own, and we all made the connection that we had somehow met each other separately.

One of them said she used to be part of a mom group in Toronto that met on Wednesdays. Everyone took turns hosting each week, and it was a show up as you are, no pressure kind of hangout.

Just something to get you out of the house midweek and allow you to meet other moms.

So we decided to do our own mom group thing and go for a walk.

I remember being so nervous because, at almost nine weeks postpartum, I had only gone on short walks around the neighbourhood.

But I knew I was ready for more.

I wanted to really test myself and see how I was feeling.

So we started our walk. Babies in strollers or carriers or in my case, one of each.

And we had such a great time.

We ended up walking for a couple of hours around the neighbourhood. Just chatting, getting to know each other, telling stories.

Truly building a connection.

And we’ve continued this over the last few months.

Every Wednesday, we make an effort to meet up.

Now there are eight of us in the group.

Continuing to add other moms from the neighbourhood as we meet them. Sometimes we bring friends or family along. Sometimes we bring our big kids too.

We’ve done walks, casual coffee dates and trips to wineries. Park hangouts and porch drop ins.

And somewhere along the way, this little Wednesday walking group became a village.

Not a perfect village.

Not a village where everyone is available every time or has all the answers.

But a village that shows up.

A village that shares information.

A village that checks in.

A village that says, I’ve been there too.

I think that’s the thing about having a village that we don’t talk about enough.

You don’t just find a village.

You create one by being a villager.

Build up the women around you.

Check in on them.

Invite them for the walk.

Send the text.

Drop something off at their door.

Bring them into the group.

Make space for another mom.

Because motherhood can be incredibly isolating, especially when you’re in the thick of it.

And sometimes, the smallest gestures can make the biggest difference.

I love that I’ve found this incredible group of moms.

I’m so grateful for them. For the information sharing, the laughs, the conversations, and the tangible support that has made a difference in my motherhood journey.

Even while we are in the thick of it, we find ways to show up for each other every week.

And I think that’s really beautiful.

To me, that’s what a village really is.

Not something you stumble upon.

But something you build, one connection at a time.

Read more

The alone time to talk with each other, uninterrupted. Sharing a meal, seated across from each other at a table. Drinking out of glassware instead of my Yeti.

Sure, we talked about our kids. We missed them.

But we also talked about our days, how we were feeling about things going on in our lives, and what we were thinking about for the future.

Nothing groundbreaking. Just the realization that we want to do this more.

Carve out a few hours every month or two that are just for us.

Because reconnecting and remembering why we chose each other feels so important. I want us to always be friends and partners first - not just parents or roommates. I don’t want the chaos of life to slowly create distance between us. I want us to keep focusing on our genuine connection and love. To remember why we started this amazing adventure together in the first place.

So we’re going to try to do this more often.

Logistically, it’s not easy. But it’s absolutely worth it.

And it’s not because we need a break from our kids.

We truly love our chaotic evenings of eating dinner on the playmat while we entertain the babies and watch our toddler flip around on the couch, only sitting still long enough to lick a piece of broccoli or quickly eat some cucumber.

We know this is just a season. We love this season.

But we still want time to focus on us.

And tonight, over an incredible meal at Les Incompetents, we did just that.

We focused on us. On each other.

We reminded ourselves how incredibly strong we are as a team and why we fell in love in the first place.

Because almost exactly eight years after our first date, I still love dating him.

I still love laughing at his jokes.

I still love having him hold my hand while we walk.

And I can’t wait to do it more often.

If my parents agree to babysit and do bedtime again (pretty please, Mom! I know you are reading this).

It started three and a half years ago when my daughter was born. She was born at almost 42 weeks. She came out ready to breastfeed, and it was actually easy.

I had heard so many people talk about the difficulties of breastfeeding: the cracked nipples, tender breasts, blocked ducts, engorgement, trying to get the baby to latch, tongue ties, etc. But we didn’t have any of those issues.

Now I realize we were so lucky.

I went on to breastfeed her for 25 months until I made the decision to wean her. Honestly, I would have loved to continue breastfeeding her but we had been trying to get pregnant for some time, and I had hoped stopping would help. But I had always loved the idea of being able to do extended breastfeeding and tandem feed my babies.

Little did I know, I’d still get the chance to do that!

Before the twins were born, I knew I wanted to breastfeed them, or at least try. My goal was to exclusively breastfeed them.

So many people thought I was crazy. But I knew I could do it. I was determined I would.

I was also realistic, knowing a lot of breastfeeding was out of my control.

Will they latch?

Will my supply be enough to sustain them?

I told myself it would be okay if we had to supplement with formula.

I really tried to stay positive and keep an open mind. After all, I had always supported my friends who gave their babies formula and felt proud of them for making the decisions they needed to for them and their babies.  Why would I feel any different about myself?

Even after they were born, every nurse, OB, paediatrician and even the lactation consultant at the hospital tried to talk me out of it.

They won’t gain enough weight.

Your milk isn’t in yet.

You can’t produce enough milk for two babies.

When we left the hospital, they sent us home with a case of ready-to-use formula “just in case.”

I felt so discouraged.

How could no one else see that I could do this?

I truly felt prepared.

I had collected colostrum in syringes for a week before the birth.

I had a prenatal appointment with a lactation consultant.

I was so successful with my daughter. How could I not be this time around?

Boy, was I wrong.

When they were born, I was able to latch them right away. One twin had a harder time at first, but he was also smaller by a full pound. They were born at 6 lb 13 oz / 3,081 g and 5 lb 14 oz / 2,688 g.

But I kept latching them, syringe-feeding colostrum and then pumping. Like clockwork.

One of the hardest parts was how much pain I was in after the birth. Caesarean birth recovery, my uterus trying to shrink back down, post-surgical gas pain, lack of sleep. The pain was made so much worse by nursing and pumping. The pain medication I was prescribed felt like it didn’t even touch the pain.

So by day 3, we were heading home. We had gone through all the colostrum, my milk wasn’t fully in, and I was screaming in pain after climbing the stairs up to our bedroom.

The babies were crying.

I was crying.

And in that moment, I knew I needed to take care of myself first before I could continue to show up for the babies the way I wanted to.

Our postpartum doula held my hand. Validated my feelings. And softly suggested we give the babies a bit of the pre-mixed formula.

I knew this was what I wanted to do. What I needed to do.

Somehow, I still felt like I was failing.

How could I prove everyone wrong when I’m giving in so quickly?

And yet, I was so relieved.

Formula was giving me the option to take care of myself for a moment and also nourish my babies.

It saved me.

I was able to rest, get some sleep and then try pumping again after the overwhelming pain had slightly subsided.

And it was better.

From that moment, I knew it would be okay to give the babies formula, while also working on my supply.

Did I still mentally struggle with this? Yes.

Have I spent multiple sessions in therapy talking about feeding the babies? Absolutely.

Can I look back now and see how hard I was on myself? Also yes.

I wish I could remember who told me this - if it was you, please remind me.

A baby doesn’t need to be getting 100% breastmilk to get 100% of the benefits of breastmilk.

Let that sink in.

That statement changed my brain chemistry.

I finally felt like I could let go. I know formula is an amazing option and I’m truly so grateful it is available to parents. It’s so important that we recognize feeding our babies, no matter how we do it, is a privilege.

And not just saying “fed is best,” because yes, that’s true but it still feels kind of icky? Like obviously we are going to feed the babies! But that still feels like it’s giving a negative connotation to formula and parents who choose formula.

I truly believe every parent makes the best decisions for themselves and their family. And formula is an essential part of life. Just like breastmilk.

It’s absolutely beautiful that there are options for families, and parents can choose what is best for them and their kids.

So after we made the decision to give the babies formula, feeding overall felt lighter.

Feeding was still exhausting, though.

I was latching the babies, then pumping and bottle-feeding them. Otherwise known as triple feeding.

My husband and I were feeding the babies all day, every day.

And then our lactation consultant, Karla, came over and saved us.

Honestly.

She gave me perspective on our situation. Validated my feelings and gave me options to make things easier.

“You are feeding TWO babies,” she said. “That is a lot!”

She was reassuring and gentle with her words. She suggested we focus on pumping and bottle feeding.

From her assessment, the babies weren’t transferring well at the breast, and it was taking us way too long to feed. Being in the twin newborn trenches, we needed efficiency in order to allow us to get some sleep.

So that’s what we did.

For the next 12 weeks, I would pump every 3 hours. I rented the Spectra S1, and we got into a rhythm of bottle feeding the babies.

They ate all the milk I produced each day, and if there was nothing left, we gave them formula.

No stress. No overthinking it.

It just became our routine.

Some days they needed the top-up. Other days they didn’t.

I was still focused on my goal to exclusively breastfeed. Not because I didn’t want to give them formula, but because I loved that experience with my daughter and I wanted to have that again with the twins.

And I didn’t give up.

I drank electrolytes. I focused on recovery and nourishing my body. I did chiropractic treatment, traditional Chinese acupuncture and pelvic floor physiotherapy. I tried to sleep and actually rest.

This was only possible because of our village.

My husband was off work for 3 weeks. My parents spent most of the day with us. My in-laws came to stay with us for weeks at a time. My sister showed up consistently.

We had family and friends making us meals and showing up to help in so many different ways.

Even with newborn twins, I was able to focus on taking care of myself more than ever before.

And it paid off.

My milk supply increased.

I started producing 60 to 70 oz / 1,775 to 2,070 mL of milk each day. Sometimes more (!!!).

We didn’t need to supplement anymore. The babies were thriving with bottle feeding, and we were actually getting some sleep.

We were in such a great groove.

The freedom of bottle feeding in the newborn stage with a toddler made the transition so much better for our family.

I could do bedtime with my daughter and not stress that the babies would be unsettled. My daughter was begging to connect with me more than ever before. Pumping and bottle feeding gave me the option to still focus on her and meet her connection needs in a way I wouldn’t have been able to if I was directly breastfeeding the twins.

Overall, this is far from the full story.

Let’s call this Part 1.

There are a lot more things that got us to where we are today.

But I am absolutely thrilled to say, as of a couple of weeks ago, I have shifted to 100% directly breastfeeding the twins.

They are absolutely thriving, at 19 lb 12 oz / 8.96 kg (89th percentile) and 18 lb 13 oz / 8.53 kg (78th percentile).

And it gets easier every day. I am so grateful for our journey but it is far from over!

Karla Masse is an absolutely incredible International Board Certified Lactation Consultant (IBCLC) working in the Niagara Region. If you are looking for support, check her out at Be With Baby.

When I became a mom, I unknowingly set the bar impossibly high. As the classic eldest daughter stereotype, I’ve always taken care of myself and others. So asking for help, even in the toughest season of my life, felt like a failure. And honestly it still does sometimes.

But I’m working on that everyday.

I want to be present.

Patient.

Grateful.

I want healthy homemade meals, enriching activities, limited screen time, a tidy house and kids who wear matching outfits.

I also feel like I should answer every text, remember every birthday, keep up with the laundry, maintain friendships, exercise and somehow still feel like myself.

As a new mom, I wanted to maintain everything I had done before having kids while somehow adding motherhood on top of it.

Spoiler alert: it’s not possible! Not for me at least.

These days, I have three kids under four, including twin boys. My life is measured in snack requests, diaper changes and the number of times my toddler yells, “Mom!” before I even get out of bed.

I’ve realized something surprising.

The days I enjoy motherhood the most aren’t the days when everything goes according to plan or that I get everything done.

They’re the days when I quietly lower the bar.

Not the bar for loving my kids.

The bar for everything else.

For me that looks like outsourcing cleaning and using grocery delivery services.

Sometimes it’s that laundry sits in the machine until I wash it again because I forgot it was there.

A lot of the time, the babies nap in the stroller because that’s the only way everyone gets outside.

Maybe my daughter watches an episode of Bluey or Mickey Mouse while I feed her brothers.

A year ago, those things might have felt like failures.

Now they feel like survival.

And more importantly, they make room for me to relax a bit and actually enjoy the time with my family. These things allow me to show up with more patience, more presence and a lot less resentment.

I’ve noticed that my favourite moments rarely happen when I’m trying to create them.

It’s scream singing our favourite Taylor Swift songs in the kitchen while I let go of the expectation that every mushroom has to be chopped perfectly.

The stroller walks that take twice as long because my toddler wants to inspect every rock, stick and flower along the way.

It’s the twins smiling because their big sister is tickling them and making silly faces.

The bedtime conversations that start with one more book and somehow turn into ten minutes of talking about dinosaurs, rainbows or the worm she found in the playground at daycare.

None of those moments happen because I finally got caught up on my to do list.

In fact, it’s the complete opposite.

They happen because I decided the mess can wait. I’d rather focus on my kids in that moment and do the rest when I can.

I think a lot of us carry the pressure to make our lives seem perfect when in reality, a lot of parents are worried about the same things.

Did my kid eat enough vegetables today?

Did I lose my patience?

Did I spend enough time with each kid?

Did we read enough books?

Did I clean enough?

Did I do enough?

It’s exhausting.

And those questions never really have answers. Even on my most productive days, I could always think of something else I should have done. So I shifted and started to focus on different things.

Did we laugh today?

Do my kids feel loved?

Did I notice that special moment before rushing to the next thing?

Those answers matter so much more.

Lowering the bar hasn’t made me a less intentional mom.

If anything, it’s made me a happier one.

Because when I’m not trying to be the perfect mom, I have more energy to be their mom. The mom they need right now.

The one who says yes to a walk in the pouring rain even though it means wet shoes and a smelly dog.

The one who doesn’t mind that bedtime took a twenty extra minutes because we were busy sewing the strap back on a princess dress, that absolutely had to be worn to sleep.

The one who chooses connection over perfection, even if the dishes are still in the sink.

Motherhood is already asking so much of us. It’s so exhausting and it’s not easy to let go of the expectations. It’s taken a lot of practice and patience with myself.

But maybe enjoying it a little more starts with expecting a little less.

Not from our kids.

From ourselves.

I don’t think my kids will remember whether the laundry was folded.

They won’t remember how many vegetables I served with dinner.

Or if the sink was empty and the dishes were put away.

But I hope they’ll remember a mom who laughed with them. Who got down on the floor with them. Who stopped to admire the rocks and flowers. Who got excited about the worm they found on the playground. Who said yes to jumping in puddles.

Maybe that’s what lowering the bar really gives us.

More room for the moments they’ll actually remember.

About a year and a half into motherhood with my daughter, I really hit my stride. I was able to find time for hobbies, like starting a book club and weekly pottery classes. I got back into …

Read more

They expect me to immediately say, “Yes, I’m done.” But I really don’t know if I’ll ever feel truly “done.”

People assume I’m unsure because I love babies. The newborn phase is my favourite.

Or it’s because I love pregnancy. Even though I was soooo nauseous with the twins. I remember it fondly. Although maybe my husband would tell you differently.

That’s part of it.

But if I’m being honest, the biggest reason is something else entirely.

I haven’t had the birth I always envisioned and dreamed about when I planned to become a mother.

With my first, I dreamed of a beautiful home birth with our midwives and doula by my side. Twinkle lights strung up around the room, candles, and a soft Taylor Swift playlist playing in the background. I pictured birth affirmations. I wanted to labour in a birthing pool or the shower. I wanted to be at home, in the space I felt most comfortable.

I prepared for birth more than most people do. I took endless courses on labour prep, hypnobirthing and advocacy during birth. We invested in a doula. My husband attended birth preparation appointments alongside me to learn how to support me during labour. I felt so prepared.

And then, at 41 weeks and 3 days, my midwives said it wasn’t advised. My daughter had “looked small” on the biophysical ultrasound and they feared that if we went forward with a home birth, we would have to be rushed to the hospital due to low birth weight. An ambulance would take us to a hospital the midwives didn’t have birthing rights at and in turn, they couldn’t be there to support us.

I was devastated.

I had spent months preparing for a home birth and to change our plans so quickly in the final few days, it felt overwhelming.

I always knew it was a possibility, but this wasn’t what I had dreamed of.

We pivoted and planned for a hospital birth, protecting a lot of the same wishes and working with our doula to create a beautiful and calm environment at the hospital.

But nothing was happening, despite my best efforts.

I truly tried everything.

I had a sweep (or two), did the Miles Circuit multiple times a day, drank raspberry leaf tea, ate dates, curb walking, spicy food, sex, and even tried Midwives Brew (a few rounds).

With no change. I was so disappointed.

So at 41 weeks and 5 days, we started an induction in the hospital, which ultimately led to a cesarean birth.

It wasn’t an emergency. Everything felt mostly calm. However, after talking through my birth story in therapy, I’ve realized it was traumatic but more so because of the care from the midwives, not the actual birth. (A story for another time, as I still haven’t fully processed it myself.)

When we found out I was pregnant again, I really felt like this might be my chance to have the home birth I’d always wanted.

I knew more.

I would be more prepared.

I could advocate for myself better.

But in the back of my mind, I had a feeling that maybe it wouldn’t be the case. After all, I was hoping for twins.

Once it was confirmed, I knew I had to pivot again. But I was still hoping to have midwives for the birth. Unfortunately, all the midwifery groups in our area waitlisted me or turned me down. So I started looking for an obstetrician. Luckily, I found the best of the best.

Not only did she advocate for me but she wholeheartedly supported my decisions and validated me so strongly, as if I were her only patient. She made me feel so seen and honoured throughout my time with her.

Ultimately, I decided on a scheduled cesarean birth. Both babies were breech and with a toddler, having a planned date was reassuring, knowing she would be prepared as well and taken care of while we were in the hospital.

It truly was an incredible experience and I’m so grateful for how we brought our boys into the world.

But it still wasn’t the birth I had always hoped for.

I don’t think I realized until after the twins were born that I was grieving something.

Not because their birth was bad.

It wasn’t.

It was beautiful.

It was calm.

I felt respected.

I listened to Taylor Swift the whole time.

But it still wasn’t the birth I had spent years imagining.

Is that a reason to have another child? Absolutely not.

So maybe it’s not that I want another child but that I am still longing for the redemptive birth experience I’ve always dreamed of. Maybe I’m longing for closure on this chapter of my life. Would another birth give me that? Not necessarily. Nothing is guaranteed.

So for now, the answer is that I don’t know if we will have more kids.

I don’t think I’ll make my mind up anytime soon.

And I think that’s okay.

I’ll be out with the babies, when someone stops and asks:

“Are they twins?”

I smile.

“Twin boys!”

And I can see it coming…

“Better you than me.”

Apparently, having twins turns you into public property!

Everyone has advice.

Everyone has a comment.

Everyone knows someone whose sister’s best friend has twins.

Which I actually love to hear! Honestly, I love hearing those stories. I love when people tell me about the twins they grew up with, their cousins or neighbours, or that they are a twin. It feels like joining a club I never knew existed. They usually have positive memories or something sweet to say. Most of the time it’s well intended but occasionally it doesn’t feel like it.

The fear mongering, the unsolicited advice. I know singleton mothers experience this too (I did with my first). But with twins it seems a bit more intense. People really feel entitled to comment on you or your life.

Things people have actually said to me:

“Double trouble!” They’re 5 months old… what kind of crimes are they committing??

“You’ve got your hands full!” Well… there are two of them and I have two hands, so yeah.

“Two for the price of one!” Whoever started that rumour, obviously didn’t have twins. We had to buy so much stuff.

“You’re a better woman than I am!” Honestly, I’m still not sure what that means.

“Better you than me!” You’ve got that right!

“I would never want twins!” Okay… cool I wasn’t offering them to you?

And I find it hard to respond to these comments. Most of the time it’s a stranger and I don’t really owe them an explanation of my life.

It’s the same reason that when someone casually asks, “How are you?” I don’t launch into the fact that I was up six times through the night and haven’t had a chance to sit down all day.

So what do you say? I try to stay kind and answer positively. I don’t want my kids to ever think they are a burden or hear me say anything to plays into that narrative.

Most of the time, I respond to “you’ve got your hands full” with “this is what I hoped for!”

Because it’s true.

This is the life I’ve always dreamed of!

Are some days overwhelming? Absolutely.

Do I often wonder how I’m supposed to soothe two crying babies? Of course.

But none of that changes the fact that this is the family I dreamed about!!

When I see moms out and about with their kids, living their lives, I want to encourage them! I like to tell them how great they are doing. I wish more people would speak positively toward mothers and children. We are doing our best. Let’s embrace that.

So instead of telling parents how hard their lives look, we should say things like:

“Your babies are beautiful.”

“You’re doing a great job.”

“You’ve got this.”

Because motherhood is hard enough without strangers reminding us of that. I’d much rather remind another mom how capable she already is.

What I didn’t know was that I was about to leave my ultrasound crying hysterically over the best surprise of my life.

The wild part? I had been asking for this. Begging the universe for twins.

One year ago, on our four year wedding anniversary, I had an ultrasound appointment. The first ultrasound of the pregnancy. Our lives were chaotic. We had just sold our house, were moving two hours away, hadn’t found a new home yet, and were temporarily living with my parents while everything sat in storage. It felt like every part of our lives was in transition.

So when I booked my ultrasound, I told my husband not take the time off work. After all, we had done this before and the baby looks like a blob at the early ultrasounds anyway. That’s what I told myself.

Well, that was obviously not the right decision! My dad and I had been out together so he dropped me off at my ultrasound appointment and went to Starbucks to wait for me. I went into the clinic alone and was feeling pretty nervous. I was anxious to see the baby and confirm the pregnancy. When the technician called me in, they explained that they were a student and asked if it would be okay for them to complete the ultrasound. I agreed and we began the process.

The student technician was quiet. Too quiet.

They whispered questions to the supervising tech, clicked through measurements, and kept looking back at the screen.

My stomach dropped. My nerves started to get worse.

I started thinking something must be wrong. I was praying the baby was okay and I closed my eyes and held back tears.

Then they asked the worst question:

“Is there anyone here to support you today?”

I was shocked, terrified and about to break down in tears. I told them no and they confirmed again that my partner wasn’t there. I’m sure they could sense the fear at that moment so they asked if I wanted to see the screen.

The tech turned the monitor toward me and said:

“Here’s your baby…”

I felt every muscle in my body relax. We both smiled.

“… and here’s the other baby!”

“WHAT!!!!” I screamed.

Taking in her words. Trying to process what was just said.

“Are you serious?”

I immediately started bawling. All the stress and nerves I had been unknowingly holding onto waiting to see my baby, were released as tears.

“I am so happy! I promise, I’m so happy!” I said again and again, crying hysterically. “This is what I wanted!”

Thinking back to the day I got a positive pregnancy test only a few weeks earlier when I had held my belly and hoped for twins. Repeatedly saying “please be twins, come on twins!” It had actually happened! It felt like every wish I’d whispered into the universe had somehow come true.

Now I had to tell my husband. The husband that when we had talked about how many kids we wanted to have, had said “let’s have two and see how we manage.”  Knowing full well that I always wanted three kids and would probably convince him of that eventually.

So I left the clinic and called my husband immediately.

“Hi, Are you in the office?”

“Yeah, why? Is everything okay?” He sounded worried.

“Everything is alright but you need to go outside.”

I paused.

“I need to tell you something. You’re going to wanna be outside”, I laughed.

“What’s going on? I’m outside now”, he said anxiously.

And then I told him.

“It’s TWINS!!!!”

He did even pause.

“Fuuuuuck!!!”

“Are you serious?” He asked.

“I’m dead serious. I can’t believe it!! I haven’t stopped crying, I’m so happy!!!

I told him I would send him a photo and we agreed to keep the secret between us for now. But he knew. He knew it was meant to be. After all, his mom’s psychic had told her years ago that she would have twin grandchildren. Before my husband and I had started dating, she was told it would happen. And it was happening!

Looking back now, it’s funny that I walked into that appointment terrified that something was wrong.

I walked out carrying the answer to a wish I’d been whispering for weeks.

Two babies.

Two heartbeats.

And absolutely no idea how much those two tiny blobs were about to change my life.