Blissful Torture: Baby Boot Camp

The prevailing wisdom(s) of family planning usually fall within a few predictable camps. There are those who adamantly declare that they will never have children—period. However, in the procreation category, many would advise you to have your children spaced out as far as nature will allow, so that you can nurture each child as an individual, lavishing them with personal attention. That leaves the predominant belief that you should have your kids as closely together as possible, to give them a playmate, as well as to get those sleep-deprived-diaper-changing-days out of the way as quickly as possible.

My husband and I ended up in this last category, but not by choice. It was thrust upon us.

When we realized that we would never have ‘enough’ money to justify having babies, and that years were flying by—stripping us of our youth and fertility—we submitted to the dastardly task of attempting to get pregnant. We quickly had success; even more quickly followed by failure. Two weeks after a devastating miscarriage, we bought our first home. (Don’t congratulate us yet…it was a total dump.) We spent six very long months renovating it ourselves. In March of 06’ we finally moved in. In April I peed on a stick—okay, three of them—and got double solid lines. I was knocked up. On May 24th, my doctor confirmed the pregnancy with an ultrasound. Times two. Two sacs. Two heartbeats. Two parents who needed smelling salts…because we were floored.

After about five minutes of raging heart palpitations, the reality of the situation sunk a bit deeper past the we-are-so screwed-financially stage, and morphed into the we-are-so-blessed-by-God stage. And we are. But I won’t lie; it has been hard. At night as we’d lie in bed, in the long moments of silence before sleep came, one of us would blurt out, “TWO BABIES!” The shell shock would creep up and blindside us at the strangest times. Honestly, the entire pregnancy was hard; mentally and physically.

And then they were born, proving that being pregnant with twins is a big fat cakewalk compared to nursing and caring for them around the clock. Those first few months were blissful torture—I have deemed those days as “baby boot camp”.

And we are still so incredibly, undeniably, overwhelmingly broke.

Despite the difficult terrain along the way, 22 months into parenthood, I am ridiculously happy. Content. Overproportionately blessed.

When I was pregnant, the number one question asked when it was discovered that I was bursting at the seams with twins, was: “How in the world are you going to do it?”
At first, this stressed me out beyond belief. Nothing freaks me out more than being asked questions that I don’t have the answers to. Not too far into the pregnancy, I found the perfect reply:

“God has not yet revealed that to me…but I am sure He will.”

And He has, at every trial. He has held us in His protective, loving hand; revealing Himself and the proper direction at every stumbling block. We know full well that if He were to remove that hand, our lives would implode. I am so thankful that we will never be plucked from it, especially with the days of blissful torture to come next.

Toddlerhood.

How in the world am I going to do it?