No Time To Waste

Seven years ago today, I was sitting in a hospital bed, wondering when I'd get my Pitocin so I could finally get a glimpse of two little pods who had completely overtaken my body and turned it into a house.

All along in my pregnancy I was assured that twins typically deliver early and that the labors for second pregnancies move along faster.

Whatever!

I was induced at 37 1/2 weeks, which was considered full term. I was induced to avoid going into labor and hitting Nascar race traffic and delivering in a car instead of a hospital. And, seriously, I think my doctor decided to induce me partly because it pained her to see my bloated used-to-be ankles for even just one more visit.

Spencer and Allison arrived in the evening, just like their singleton-birthed brother. Only an hour quicker than my first delivery. Fourteen minutes separated their respective entrances. Spencer weighed 6 pounds and 14 ounces; Allison weighed 7 pounds and 6 ounces.

I've written down the birth stories for all our children. (Clay's is a bit more detailed though - I had more time during that pregnancy!) I just read over Spencer and Allison's, and I'm going to read it to them when they get home from school this afternoon.

How has seven years passed? Some things I remember very well.

I remember often thinking "God, what are you doing giving us two babies at once? Can't you see I'm clearly not twin-mommy material?".

Clearly, I was wrong. (I'm grateful God loves me even when I second guess Him... and in spite of my vocally expressing it.)

I remember laughing through my horror when Clay announced that my post-twin-pregnancy belly was "hilly". He suggested I iron it. And as much as I hate ironing, I'd have done it in a heartbeat if I thought it would have worked.

I remember feeling like a Jersey cow during the two weeks I nursed those babies, under the stupid notion that both had to be fed simultaneously. I remember crying, telling Bruce, "You are so supportive of my wanting to nurse these babies... will you be supportive when I tell you I have to stop, because I am not connecting to these babies like I did their brother and I feel horribly guilty about it and I think it's all hormonal."

I remember sitting on the floor in our den, happily feeding Spencer and Allison formula through bottles while they were strapped into their bouncy seats, thankful to God that I did develop all those warm, gushy Momma feelings for them both.

I remember not sleeping more than two hours at a stretch for the first two months Spencer and Allison were alive. I also remember how our microwave was broken during one very tired mini fit, thrown during an early-morning feeding (Bruce did it, not me.). I remember my mother-in-law coming to my house after she completed a full day of work at her job to play with Clay and watch Spencer and Allison while I climbed back into bed for a nap.

I remember being grateful that both babies learned to sleep through the night a full month earlier than their brother did. And that they each walked just a little bit later than Clay did, because chasing two was vastly different than chasing one.

And then I remember a first birthday. And a second. And after the third birthday, it didn't even feel so much like we were a family with twins. We became simply a family with three children.

But I don't remember how all that happened. How we got from having babies to having elementary school aged kids.

Despite the inevitable bumps that have come along the way, I've always thought, "This is my favorite stage. This is the best age."

And I still think that.

Aside from Jesus and Bruce, these three children, who vigorously push every button I have, sometimes several times a day... they are my greatest treasure, my most prized blessing, my hand-picked gifts from God.