The babies are six months old now.
I can hardly believe it’s already been six months. I can hardly believe it’s only been six months.
They’re sleeping better at night. They’re more interactive during the day – smiling, laughing, reaching for my hair and holding onto it for dear life. They’ve started solid food (and boy do they have the poops to prove it. Pee-yew.).
They’ve begun acknowledging each other’s existence, which is a relief. For awhile there, I wondered if they were even aware that there were two of them. Last night, they were holding hands while I breastfed them. It was pretty darn sweet, sort of made up for the fact that I had two babies lying on my chest sucking the life out of me.
Last week I met a dad of twins (and two singletons, just like us) at a birthday party. He appeared normal and healthy. He smiled. He laughed. I watched him and thought, that is my future. I talked to him and he said having four children was a blast. And, like so many other parents of twins, he told me the first six months are the hardest. Glory be! We’re through the worst of it.
Of course, he also said the second six months are the next hardest. So maybe we’re not through the worst quite yet.
Still, I try to console myself that we’re halfway through the hardest year. I try to believe that it will only get better from here.
I try to remember that I now have whole hours in the course of a given day when I think that maybe I haven’t ruined my life after all. Maybe that dad was right and having four children will be a blast. Maybe I’ll figure out how to get dinner on the table at a reasonable hour. Maybe that will even happen before Jack leaves for college.
There are other hours in the day, though, and those aren’t always quite so upbeat, hours in which I wonder if the best years of my life are behind me, or if this is as good as it gets, or if there is meaning to life. Luckily, those hours pass, and then I am more or less okay again.
Of course, okay is a relative term. My margins still feel really thin, like the least little thing could set me over the edge into not-okay.
Today, for instance, I cried two different times, for reasons I can no longer remember. My mom is here, visiting for two weeks, and all I could think was, How have I done this without her? How will I do this without her?
But I have, somehow. And I will again.
After all, I’ve made it through the hardest months. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.
