One and done?

In the past I'd always believed that I would become a mother to multiple children. I grew up in a large family...the youngest of 5 girls in a blended family, so it seemed natural that I would birth my own gaggle of kiddos in due time.

After marrying my husband and his two kids from his previous marriage those plans changed somewhat. Not because I didn't want multiple kids or that he wasn't willing to father more kids per se - he definitely felt his "boys" were up to the task. But we would have three total if I birthed just one - three kids to finance, support, love, and hopefully/prayerfully usher into successful adulthood. Three is plenty. Three is a lot. Three is the reason that a lot of parents stop at two.

So the question of quality vs. quantity left us feeling pretty certain that we would adopt the "one and done" philosophy for my uterus. One pregnancy. One kid. No mas. And let's face it, after the first few weeks of morning sickness with my first pregnancy, I wasn't exactly eager to be a frequent flyer on that airline, thank you very much.

Even though I previously thought I'd be mom to many kiddos, never in my wildest dreams did I think that I would be a mom to multiples. So to learn in my first ultrasound that I was expecting twins was quite a shock - one I'm a bit ashamed to say I didn't take too well.

To my credit, I didn't have the benefit of warming up to the idea of pregnancy for several weeks before my first ultrasound. I was sent straight upstairs to the u/s techs immediately following the emergence of positive pregnancy lines on that first urine test. My doctor was trying to rule out an ectopic pregnancy based on symptoms I'd reported.

When you're happily married and of a responsible age (does 30 count?), the expectation is that the pink plus sign is the start of many momentous celebrations - dinners with baby peas and baby limas to announce your bundle to your spouse, bottles of champagne that you can't drink being popped by the grandparents-to-be, baby showers and paint-the-nursery parties. Rattles are supposed to shake and tears of joy are supposed to overflow.

But I had no tears of joy. Just tears. Overwhelming sobs with ragged breathing and snot running down my face might be a more accurate description.

I was devastated.

I had closed my brain off to the possibility of being a biological mom and to have that door flung wide open by not just one baby, but two completely overwhelmed me to the point of breakdown.

What was I going to do with two babies at once? Where would they sleep? Where would they go while I went to work? I can't afford daycare for two! That's another mortgage payment!!! How would I breastfeed them? Change them? Heck, how many diapers a month do TWO bums go through? Where do you put two babies in the grocery cart while you shop? Sleep? Ever? Yeah, right. Bye, bye one and done. And those were just my fears assuming that I was able to successfully carry two healthy babies and birth them. What about all the stuff that comes before?

It's enough pressure to worry about caring for one human inside you - eating right, exercising (when you can lift your head from the toilet), prenatal care, yada yada yada. But two of 'em?! The stakes were definitely higher, but they felt like more than just twice as high. Already a high risk pregnancy candidate, I just entered a new level of high risk...like going from national security threat level yellow to level orange. The risks of premature delivery, complications, fetal health issues are significantly higher with multiples. Add to that the fact that it appears that these two share a placenta - meaning they're eating off the same kitchen, but more than likely pushing and shoving at the refrigerator door. They're not necessarily getting an equal share of nutrients. It was all very daunting.

I felt defeated before I'd really broken from the start line and gotten started running.

And speaking of running, while laying there in stirrups with vaginal u/s in progress being told "Look! There's your baby! Ahhhh.....and here's baby B!", I had never wanted to run more. Talk about a bad time to be caught with your pants down. Literally. My brain knew I couldn't run, but my knees didn't know it - they shook so badly that my poor u/s tech had to steady them. Good thing she had a probe stuck in me and her hands on my knees, or I might have been a feature on the evening news for having run down 15th street naked from the waist down.

After handing me a bunch of kleenex, my nurse offered to call my husband to come pick me up. I declined. She offered to call and pay for a cab. I graciously declined. She jokingly offered me a shot of liquor. If it weren't Crown Royal (bleck!) I probably would accepted as I grabbed the bottle and ran. Instead I took only a follow up appointment card and stash of prenatal vitamins as I thanked the staff and headed home.

The weather outside was beautiful. Blue skies. Sunny with bits of clouds scattered here and there. It was a gorgeous fall day - my favorite days of the year. Nevertheless, I drove home in a fog.

What was I going to say to my husband? How would he react? How was I going to do any of this?

I prayed. And prayed some more. Someone - not me - drove that car home. Someone - not me - opened the car door. Someone - not me - put my feet on the ground and placed them one in front of the other until I landed at my door.

And someone - not me - blessed me with the most fantastic human to share my life with. He greeted me at the door with a smile. When he asked how the appointment went, I hesitated to respond, but eventually found the words:

"You, dear sir, need a drink. Make that a double - one shot for each baby we have on the way."

I bawled. And he laughed. And hugged me. And said he loved me. And said everything was going to be okay and that somehow we would figure it all out.

He gave me the courage to put on and wear these shoes that God has given me.

I'm not going to lie - they're tight and wearing some serious blisters on my feet. But I'm going to wear them with a smile on my face from now on. I know they'll get more comfortable with each day that I break them in.