How am I?

I had the twins and then held my breath.

The last 9 months had been the hardest I’ve faced. I stared ahead at the light at the end of the tunnel as if my life depended on it. 

Towards the end, my mantra was “The next part may be hard, but at least I’ll be able to move,”.

I had confidence in my ability to handle the babies. They eat, sleep, shit, repeat.

I worried for my bigs. Would they get enough? They had already, unknowingly, been cheated a chunk of their childhood while I hardly survived the pregnancy. It’s not their fault they have baby twin sisters. Their life and enjoyment shouldn’t halt because of them. Could I handle the babies and the bigs? Can I keep my house afloat? Can we, my husband and I, do it all together without becoming resentful?

Those who know, know- all the spirals and mental health crises I suffered through the last year, to say I was nervous would be an understatement.

However, the magic of the baby hitting a mother’s chest did it for me again. But this time it was different. With Thea, I’d say the emotion would best be described as consumed. With Lincoln, complete. The twins, relief.

I was so indescribably happy to have it be over. I hardly cared about what would come next. I was just so grateful to have survived the pregnancy. The labor and delivery were more than I ever allowed myself to imagine. I was calm, in control, and powerful.

I joked and binged Love Island up until my body was convulsing with readiness to push them out. It was like the stars aligned and knew if they made this hard for me too, it could be the straw that broke the camel’s back. They both entered the world with a single push each. Their cries, were immediate and in sync with my own. I remember looking up at my husband and reading the mirrored expression of relief in his eyes. This has been hard on all of us. What a beautiful ending to such a difficult journey.

The first few days home are a false start. Family coming and going. Food being delivered. All the calls and messages checking in. It’s not reality, yet.

But color the sky blue and call me shocked, the world kept turning. We were all okay. Dare I even say, good?

I remembered how sick with worry and guilt I felt bringing Lincoln home and changing Thea’s life forever, then how things just worked. We slipped into routine and it was like things were never different before. I don’t know why it surprised me to have the same happen again.

During the pregnancy, I had built up the challenge of twins to be a gigantic, insurmountable mountain. I was prepared to never sleep again, lose my hearing to their cries, and crumble under the weight of everyone’s needs. 

So there we were 2 fresh babies, 2 rambunctious toddlers, 2 dogs, 2 cats, a home to keep up, and bills to pay. Now we make it all happen. 

4 kids 4 and under sounds insane, but it’s our life. There’s nothing to it but to do it. All the cliches. One foot in front of the other. One fire at a time. 

We all found our footing. Naturally, the bigs (as they are now called) started to default to daddy. Matt gave them the more they needed as I slipped in when I could, usually with at least one baby attached. 

We were maintaining for a while, but it became apparent that the status quo was really all parties banging their head against a brick wall as everything was in flames around us.

Our loads are both so damn heavy. The burden we carry is the same and different. He is our sole financial provider. If he’s not working, we aren’t making money. If we aren’t making money, things go unpaid. He’s home full time, so he is around to help, but any help he provides is time away from being able to pay our bills.

Matt was drowning in financial stress. Always needing to work, to find more work, and when he wasn’t working, he still thinking about work. Even though he was here, he wasn’t. I couldn’t blame him, those worries and needs are valid. We need a roof over our head, lights and electricity, internet, and food in our bellies. Those things don’t happen if the man can’t work.

However, my worries and needs are valid too. Alone with all 4 kids, not even 6 weeks postpartum yet. My situation was hard, too. I felt like I was doing it all alone. If I needed and asked for help, I felt like a bother. I was paralyzed on the couch juggling babies from one boob to the other while still trying to keep the bigs entertained and breaking up fights.

Hours would go by and I’d still be sitting on the couch desperate for my water cup across the room, a chance to brush the rat’s nest out of my hair from my week-old bun, and yearning for a snack. My basic needs were in question, let alone doing anything for myself to enjoy. 

I found myself raging because I never seemed to be able to do anything. Everything was going to shit around me. Mad because I couldn’t wash dishes. Mad because I couldn’t fold the clothes. Mad because I couldn’t read or write or think or breathe. 

I know I was a nag to my husband and angry in the eyes of my kids. I only seem wonderful to the babies because I’m the one with the milk. Hell, I didn’t even like me most of the time. 

Things needed to change. I refused for any of us to keep living like this. My husband and I had a come to Jesus meeting. I’m miserable. He’s miserable. The kids aren’t getting our best. We’re two ships passing in the night. What do you need? What do I need? What are we able to give each other to get there?

The answers to these questions were super obvious, but when you’re acting on impulse and dying just trying to keep up, it’s easy to miss what’s right there. 

Being able to have that conversation without anger, blame, or defensiveness and leaving it with realignment and a plan to move forward, reminded me I am a badass bitch who can handle anything and I married the best man there is. 

But that was just a single piece of the puzzle. Nothing changes unless I do. I believe in dual truths. Things can be hard and worth doing. I can submit to how I’m needed and I can put myself first. 

Victim me says “I am a prisoner to the couch and I can’t get anything done,”. My reframing says “Nursing the babies is important work. If it’s the only thing I do today, I have still had a busy day,”. The hero within me asks “What can you do from the couch and still feel productive?”. The answer: read and write. 

It is so important to me to have an identity outside of being a mom. Yes, mom is my most important and best role, but there has to be more to me. I was a whole person before my kids and even more of a person now. The full picture of me is complex and multifaceted. I have to honor all the bits or I will never be satisfied. I want my kids to remember, “Mom took such good care of me AND she took great care of herself.” 

So, I’ve been finding ways to do just that. I can’t fall victim to the voice in my head that notices all the bad and is an expert at finding reasons not to try. If I want something, I have to make it happen. 

I’m filling my social bucket, no more hermitting away. The kids are signed up for fall sports and I’m making plans with my mom friends. I have to start living again. This is the new normal, I will never adjust to it if I don’t try. I am even going back to book club (twins in tow). I am a social person. I want this for me and my kids. Staying home would be so much simpler and easier, but is my sanity a good cost? It will be hard, but worth it. 

I was reading recently about identity. A person has to chose the identity they want and keep making choices that confirm it. To take on whatever that identity is (reader, writer, yogi, runner, dancer) you had to do it and to increase the likelihood for success, surround yourself with people who also confirm that identity. This seems obvious, but often I get stuck in the idea stage. When planning becomes procrastination, there’s a problem. I believe I’m a writer but to be one, I have to write. 

I loved the in-person writer’s group I joined before the pregnancy. I got so much out of it. I got better through osmosis being around other writers and it encouraged me to write more and more. During this time, I quietly worked on a novel. I wrote around 14k words before my head space became a wildfire and I never picked it up again. 

In this manic episode of “Things Have to Get Better”, I decided I am going to find what I need in a writing community and if it didn’t exist, I was going to make it. I put myself out there on different internet spaces sharing what I was looking for, asking if anyone had a lead or if they were interested in joining me. I got many responses which led me to creating my own online writers group and as that was taking off, I got invited to an already established group as well. They both are serving my writing aspirations in different ways. I have renewed energy and ideas flying from left and right. 

I’ve written over 6k words in the last week, I haven’t done that in such a long time. It feels so good. It’s giving me self-worth. It may also sound like I am now just sitting around feeding babies and writing, which a lot of the time… I am. But this growth and attention to who I want to be, for me, has made me show up lighter and kinder everywhere else. 

So how am I doing after having the babies? That was the long version. 

The short of it- surprisingly well, thanks for asking.