It was a year ago our twins came home. They seemed so tiny and fragile. Meeting them for the first time, we stared awestruck at our daughter and son, one arm around each other, choking our hellos as we each grasped one of their tiny hands. I’m laughing at myself for the tears rolling down my face as I write this.
When we got The Call, we didn’t have so much as a bottle in the house. Our “two week pregnancy” was surreal. We shopped, redecorated the nursery, shopped some more, finished up projects at work to prepare for family leave, did some more shopping, spent countless hours on the phone with the adoption agency, our attorney, our pediatrician, signed, notarized, faxed and FedExed more documents than I’d seen at our mortgage closing. Amazingly, by the time placement day arrived, we had everything in place.
Everything happened so fast, we never had a moment to let it all soak in. Suddenly it was here. We were Daddies. Right here, right now. It was one of the most incredible days of my life. It took a long time for me to stop waking up every day feeling completely shocked, saying, “Oh my god. We’re fathers. We have babies. We have TWO babies. We have twins! Oh my god!” I still do that sometimes, but not as often.
Our twins were born severely premature. Other than being born at an extremely low birth weight, they’ve not experienced any complications or developmental delays outside their adjusted birth date. We realize prematurity is a long road of watch and see, but we are thankful every day for their health.
Now they’re both well over 20 pounds, growing out of all their clothes, laughing, loving, fighting like brother and sister and eating us out of house and home. When Preston shrieks breathlessly from laughter, or Ava bolts across the room to throw her arms around my neck, it’s difficult to picture those tiny babies with Preemie diapers up to their armpits who ate two ounces of formula every 2 hours.