This. is. brutal.

My four year old's portrait of me

I’m rounding the corner on week 32. For the past few weeks, the hamster wheel of my brain keeps asking, “How much longer? How much longer? How much longer?”

Weeks do not go by quickly when counted every time one sits down to pee.

On an unusually cheerful morning this week, I decided I needed a project. The kind of thing I could start doing and look up five hours later. (Other than stalking other twin moms on Facebook groups and pinning motivational posters on Pinterest.) Something I could do in a semi-reclined position that didn’t involve client expectations should I, I don’t know, fall asleep or something. Something that would give me a sense of satisfaction when completed, but that didn’t feel like busy work (like allll those photos that really should be uploaded and backed up….).

So you’re looking at it — my new blog design!

Unfortunately it only took me two days. But there are plenty of little tweaks to keep me busy. Being able to drop in snippets of CSS, hit “refresh”, and see the results right there on the screen bring me joy like no other. It’s so empowering! I can copy and paste CSS! Hear me roar!


Meanwhile, people keep asking, “Is a twin pregnancy really that different from a ‘normal’ one?”

I think I’ve handled those questions with dignity.

But part of me just wants to yell, “Have you taken a look at me??? I can’t sit with my legs put together! Have I not told you about the knife in my ribcage? Did we not talk about my ruptured eardrum from all the acid reflux coughing? Would you like to know how many times I’ve been to the triage room at Labor & Delivery thanks to extreme cramping?”


The truth is, most nights end in tears.

My stomach feels like it is bruised from the inside and on fire from the outside. Rolling over in bed is excruciating thanks to my upper ribs, which feel like they are being pried open with a metal instrument. Because of them, I can no longer do simple things like lift a chicken out of the oven. I’m pretty sure I shouldn’t go to Target or Whole Foods alone anymore.

The motto around here seems to be, “Mommy doesn’t feel well.”

Which just makes me feel so much worse. My boys are keeping busy thanks to their amazing babysitter, but I can’t help feeling guilty that we’re not spending these last pre-twin weeks going on fun adventures, doing cool projects, and soaking up our time together as a family of four.

At 30 weeks I weighed the same as I did the mornings I gave birth to my two sons (which makes sense I have about 7 pounds of baby in me). And the ultrasound tech informed me that from here on out, the twins should gain about 1/2 a pound a week. Each.

I’ve stopped weighing myself.

My body seems to be stronger than my mind.

The doctors’ only job is to make sure the twins are healthy, which means they have no interest in my long list of complaints. “Everything looks great!” they say, and I hobble home.

I know this is temporary. I know this is a blessing, even though I never in a million years imagined myself as a mother of four.

I know that soon, I’ll look at singleton babies and wonder where the other one is.

So I’ll carry on, and try to stop complaining.

I’ll snuggle my two boys as much as I can, and hope that that’s enough for now.

three bellies

I’ll try to look past the piles of dirty laundry, the crushed crackers on the kitchen floor. And I’ll try to stop counting.