Step by Step Parenting

A few days ago, my youngest daughter, Evelyn, fell asleep in my arms as I gently rocked her in the nursery. Her twin sister, Emersyn, was already asleep in her crib. Finally, I thought, now I can put her down and maybe get some stuff done, or just lay down myself.

There was a mountain of dishes waiting in the sink. I had so much homework I needed to do. I was feeling particularly sick and tired, and wanted to sleep. The dog probably needed to go outside. The list was endless.

But when I got up from the recliner with the intent to place Evelyn in her crib, all of the sudden I just… couldn’t.

Instead, I walked with her across the hall, carefully got in my bed with her, and snuggled her close to me under my favorite blanket, with my body wrapped around hers. She stirred slightly and let out a sigh, and I was worried I had woken her up, but she just readjusted and cuddled closer to my chest, still asleep.

I recalled how I used to nap with my first daughter like this all the time, and then, for what must be the thousandth time since having twins, a wave of guilt washed over me.

I had my first daughter when I was twenty years old, and instantly transitioned into being a stay-at-home mom. Since I was so young, none of my friends had kids, and since it was during a global pandemic, we rarely interacted with other people. It was just me and Eloisa against the world.

We napped together, drove around town together, went for walks together, and eventually, even co-slept. If she was hungry, I nursed her. If she cried, I held her. If she was tired, I rocked her.

This continued until she was two years old, when I gradually returned to full-time work and full-time school. I never regretted putting life on hold to spend those first couple of years with her.

Eventually, I met my husband, got accepted into law school, and got married. Between my husband and I, we had three kids, and we knew we wanted more. A few months after we got married, we found out that I was pregnant. I knew that I likely wouldn’t be able to completely stay at home like I had with Eloisa, but beyond that, I wasn’t too concerned.

Then, we found out it was twins. We were so excited! I joined some twin pregnancy and parenting Facebook groups, and was quickly shocked by what I read.

There were countless moms writing about how guilty they felt, how they sometimes mourned the what-could-have-beens had it been a singleton pregnancy, and how they always felt like they were failing one of the babies.

That’s a bit dramatic, I remember thinking, when you have two babies, that’s just the way it is! That’s not the mom’s fault.

I didn’t understand how a mother could feel “mom guilt” for taking care of twins . “Guilt” implies that someone has done something wrong, and there’s nothing wrong with being needed by two tiny humans simultaneously — that’s just the way it is.

But a few months later, after my twins were born, I finally understood what those moms meant.

The first few weeks after bring the girls home from the hospital were a blissful haze of help.

Extra hands to hold my babies. Hot meals on my doorstep. People cleaning my house, walking my dog, playing with my older kids.

Eventually, though, my husband had to return to work, check-ins became more infrequent, and I found myself home alone with the twins more and more often. It was then that I began to experience the every day grief of a twin mom.

Every time they cried, I had to pick which one to hold first. If they had dirty diapers, I had to pick one to change first. If they were both tired but struggling to fall asleep, I could only rock one at a time. It was a constant triage, always trying to make the judgment call of who needed me more.

There were a few moments where I was able to simultaneously provide both twins with what they needed, but those moments were few and far between. Gone were the days where I could toss a baby carrier in my car and conquer the world. No, with twins it took me nearly an hour just to get out the door every time, and then no matter where I went, I needed either the cumbersome double stroller or another adult. Despite swearing this would never be me while I was pregnant, I found myself mourning what could have been had there been just one baby, and feeling guilty that the twins get a burnt out version of me that my oldest daughter didn’t.

I so desperately wish that I could rock them each to sleep every single night.

I wish contact naps were a more frequent occurrence.

I wish I was able to feed them one-on-one more often, not constantly relying on a double pillow to help me prop them up at the same time.

I wish that I could, impossibly, give each of them my undivided attention, 100% of the time.

And yes, I know moms who have second, third, and fourth children struggle with similar feelings each time they bring home a subsequent baby, when there’s still older kids who need them.

But it’s just not the same as hearing two tiny newborn cries, both from tiny, helpless infants who both need you in a very specific way, as soon as possible. It can’t fully compare to the heartbreak that occurs every time you’re forced to pick between babies.

Even though there are daily doses of grief that come with having twins, there are daily joys, too.

I will never forget the night when, after starting their bath, I rounded the corner into their nursery and found them looking at each other, cooing back and forth, really noticing each other for the first time.

Now, even at only five months, their faces light up when they see each other in the morning, as if they’re thinking, “Hi, sissy, I haven’t seen you in so long!”

And when they laugh at the same time? Oh my gosh. I will make any crazy noises and faces necessary to induce that level of pure happiness.

Anytime I am able to hold them at the same time, it is absolute bliss.

So yes, honestly, there are lots of moments I am missing out on as a mom of twins. Our days do not look the same as they would if I had only had one baby. And that’s okay. I feel beyond blessed to be a twin mom, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.