Birthdays, Blooms and Beginnings

The September morning our twins were born dawned rainy and gray. Sun peaked out from behind billowing clouds, almost as if to assure me that after a storm comes promise and light. The birth of these girls was long awaited despite a truncated pregnancy. Born only 31 weeks into a difficult and tenuous pregnancy, my husband and I approached this day with trepidation and hope. Our girls suffered from a rare condition affecting identical twins called Twin-to-Twin Transfusion Syndrome. You can read a bit more about it here http://www.tttsfoundation.org . It is not a good thing to have to deal with. The odds were certainly stacked against us, and I had plenty of time to contemplate these things as I lay on bed rest in the hospital for three months awaiting a safe time to deliver them into the world. We learned that multiple pregnancies are a precarious business. We hovered around that "viability" zone with a sheer determination to get as far along as possible. Then, finally, it was determined that the world outside could offer our babies a better chance at survival than my body could provide. The girls didn't cry at birth, rather, they mewled like kittens. It was music to our ears as we had been prepared for their silent arrival. Our delivery room looked more like the hospital waiting room than anything else. Two of every kind of physician, multiple nurses, respiratory specialists, and neonatologists just to name a few. Our new little family spent several months in the NICU surrounded by individuals and machines that would ultimately be responsible for keeping our sweet girls alive. Tiny. So impossibly tiny. Translucent skin, dusted with deep purple veins splayed across their bodies like road maps to our unknown destination. We couldn't hold them, so I remember following the trails of their veins from head to toe in between every conceivable piece of medical equipment that covered their miniature bodies. It was as if I was willing that blood to flow through them and make them whole. To help them grow strong and healthy, and all the while dreaming of bringing them home to share in "normal" things like long walks and snuggles. And it worked! Time passed. Our babies grew. And time passed. Quickly.

Every summer I have planted morning glories in my garden. They take so long to establish themselves and bloom. When they do, the results are spectacular. They stay that way for only a portion of every morning, and only for a few weeks. Soon, they become top heavy and their leaden blooms trail and drape, leaving the base bereft of any beauty at all. The day after the girls were born, two solitary morning glories bloomed in my garden. Only two. Standing up proud as if to say, "Despite the odds, here we are!" Symbolism at its finest. And time passed. Quickly.

So many morning glories in our garden : )

This week our girls began their high school careers. They are so ready for this new chapter; mature, responsible and earnest. They are so excited! And so are we! My heart swells with pride and I can't help but daydream about all the wonderful things that are to come. But a bit of sadness creeps in. Uninvited, unannounced and unbidden. It wraps itself around my joyful heart and squeezes just a little bit. It reminds me that my babies are on a precipice. As their parents we are having to let go. In fact, this whole journey has been a gradual process of letting go. The mama bear in me begins to roar - you will face peer pressure! You might have your heart broken! You will have to make so many decisions! And just for a short time I allow myself to dwell in this land of fear. But then I remember those morning glories, and I know that our girls will be alright because their roots are strong and they are capable. And time will pass quickly, oh, so quickly.

Double beauties!