T h e r e w a s a t i m e where I was so pregnant, that I couldn’t lie on either side without my big belly pulling on my rib cage; thus, I had to “sleep” sitting straight up. I “slept” at a 90 degree angle, on my couch, in the living room, for about 3-4 weeks. I remember being so stir crazy, nesting like a maniac, getting everything ready for these babies. I would binge watch entire seasons on Netflix, to the point where I’d thought I’d literally watched every show they offered. It felt like I had literally eaten everything you could think of. I counted down the days, minutes, seconds until it was time to hop in the car and head to the hospital. Those last few weeks seemed like an utmost eternity.
T h e r e w a s a t i m e where I closed my eyes, squeezed my husband’s hand and suddenly heard my doctor say, “Hi beautiful”, and then heard the most beautiful sound my ears had ever known – the first cry of our very first baby. And then – the very first cry of our second baby. I remember my heart melting deep into my soul, as my babies were placed into my arms for the first time. They wriggled around, opening their eyes to peek up at me – probably saying in their little heads, “hi Mama, sorry about your ribs and your bladder”. I could’ve stayed lost in that moment forever; the moment I met the two little souls that would change my universe forever.
T h e r e w a s a t i m e where I was so incredibly worn down, sitting at the kitchen table, tears running down my face; feeling so defeated as I had just attempted to nurse for the 546th time, but they couldn’t latch. I remember having to use shields, that were actually more painful than nursing itself. But they worked – so that’s what we did for the next 4 weeks until we miraculously latched. But man, those 4 weeks felt like 4, long, agonizing years. I remember the immense pain all over my body, as I attempted to walk up the stairs again for the first time since delivery. I remember the high waisted undies, the robe that became part of my permanent attire, the countless bowls of oatmeal to boost my supply, and the million times of staring at the clock at 10pm, 2am, 4am, as I turned my pump on and began pumping – after I had already nursed and gotten both babies to sleep. I had to choose wisely what to do with the next hour and half that I had before the babies would be up again – sleep, eat or shower?
T h e r e w a s a t i m e where it seemed as though the synchronized crying would never end. With a husband with a tough work schedule, I had to learn to do it all alone a lot of the time; after 2pm, it was all on me. I remember changing baby after baby after baby. Picking up each baby and swaying, and rocking, and swaying, and rocking. I remember trying so desperately to get inside their minds to try to figure out what I could do to soothe them. I remember that blissful moment of silence as I tip-toed out of their room as they began to finally sleep silently and soundly – and that overwhelming feeling that made me want to tip-toe right back in just to watch them sleep so sweetly.
T h e r e w a s a t i m e where I held both of my sweet babies on my chest, skin to skin, as they fell asleep. I kissed their little heads, over and over. Their skin felt like rose petals, and smelt like angels breath. I held each of their little hands, as they wrapped their tiny fingers around mine. I remember telling myself over and over again, “They will not fit on your chest together, forever. These moments are gold.” I remember closing my eyes and breathing them in; thanking God for blessing me with these precious babies. I remember my heart being so full in these moments, that tears would run down my cheeks as I wondered how I could have ever gotten so lucky; I tried so hard to make these moments last..
T h e r e w a s a t i m e where my babies became toddlers, as I watched them start walking, sounding out words, reading books and using forks and spoons on their own. I remember the very first time they hugged each other. I remember those moments as my little girls used all their might to take their first steps toward me, and tumble into my arms. I remember the first time they looked at me and said, “Mama”, and then “Mommy” which was bittersweetly become “Mom”. I remember every new food we’d ever experimented with. The ones they loved, they ones they tossed on the floor. There was a time where they turned around and looked at me, and suddenly they didn’t look like babies anymore.
T h e r e w a s a t i m e where I brought my freshly bathed littles into their room, all wrapped up in their teddy bear towels. My husband and I would read their favorite books with them. We’d rub their little silky feet and put their soft jammies on. I’d always make sure their sheets were fresh, after they’d had a bath. They’d run around their little room, picking up the toys they’d just thrown everywhere. My husband and I would lie on the plush rug (that took up most of the room), as the girls toppled over us and used us as jungle gyms. We’d listen to music and ask each other over and over again if we could even believe that we had two babies. I’d remind him time and time again to soak up every single second, because these golden moments don’t last forever. I’d look up and admire the painting of, “The Cow Jumped Over The Moon” that my Father had painted for my sisters when they were little. If he only knew that this beautiful painting was now hanging up in his Granddaughters room – the first thing they see when the sun rises. We’d spend hours in this room, the room they’ve spent time in since they were born; hours that seemed like they’d last forever. Hours that we hoped and prayed, would last forever.
Now, I’m standing in the same doorway, looking into an empty room. The beautiful wooden cribs are gone from each corner. The plush rug is gone, leaving a lifeless dusty carpet. The pink sheers no longer hang in front of the windows. The beautiful floral letters that I spent hours making while I was 9 months pregnant, anxiously awaiting their arrival, that hung above their cribs since they were born, now leave behind bare, ordinary walls. My Father’s painting no longer hangs on the main wall. No more toys, no more books, no more teddy bear towels. It’s silent in here, in the absence of the sweet sound of the music we used to play before bed. I close my eyes and hear the echo of their tiny laughter, remembering all the tickles and giggles.
I stand here, playing back all of these beautiful moments and memories we made in this room. Remembering the first time we walked through that doorway with them in our arms, as they were just days old. They’ve now walked out of that doorway for the last time.
As we pack up the last of our things and prepare to start our next journey in our new home, this is the room I’ll miss the most; the room I thought we’d be making memories in forever. I stand here, rubbing my belly as we anxiously await the arrival of our third sweet baby. There’ll be many rooms in our new home that will bring us a lifetime of memories, but I’ll never forget this room; the room where being a Mama made me the happiest.
T h e r e w a s a t i m e when someone told me, “Don’t blink”. Now, more than ever, I truly understand what they meant.
Choose . Happy 