I have known I’ve wanted children from the time I was a child myself. I remember coming up with potential names for my two hypothetical girls and discussing them with my cousins and my sister. As I kept growing up and having a stronger picture of what I wanted my life to look like, kids were always in the picture. People laugh when I tell them this, but a couple of weeks into dating my husband, we were sitting at the bar at Brew Detroit, and I told him that marriage and children were important to me.
“I am having a lot of fun with you and I really like spending time with you, but these things are non-negotiables for me. I don’t need them right now, but if you don’t also want that in your future, it might be best for us to cool it.”
Is that a direct quote? Absolutely not. This was several dark beers deep and also nearly 10 years ago, but this was the gist. And well, I already told you he was my husband, so you can see how that ended up.
When I told this to some of my friends, they laughed and told me things like, “Oh my gosh, you are too much!” I’ve heard this kind of expression my entire life. I am too much. Intense. High octane. A lot. Sometimes, people said it with big smiles on their faces. Other times, people said it with judgment and overt irritation. Either way, it’s true. I have a “big personality.”
An important thing to know about me: I am a type-A control queen. I have a vision for my life, and I do everything I can to make that vision a reality, whether that’s in my personal or professional life. When my husband and I decided it was time to start the parenthood journey, I had a whole plan. I made budget spreadsheets to see what was feasible. I took ovulation tests. I had a fancy bracelet that I wore at night that gave me stats on the best time to conceive. I planned it out strategically, but despite that preparation, it took us longer than we had envisioned to get pregnant with our daughter. Whew, this was emotional. Everyone who has been there is nodding along with me on this. It is crushing. Longest story short, we were lucky enough to finally welcome our sweet girl in 2020. We fell in love with her immediately and have marveled at her every single day since.
A few years later, when we felt we had kinda-sorta figured out this whole parenting thing and could maybe handle having another baby, the budget spreadsheets and ovulation tests came back out. The second time around, it definitely didn’t take as long. The speed actually surprised us, but we were thrilled. From the very beginning, my second pregnancy was noticeably different. I was exhausted and nauseous much earlier, and I was showing at like, 8 weeks. I thought this was odd but chalked it up to it being a second pregnancy and no longer being able to rest as much as I could when I wasn’t also taking care of a toddler. It made sense to me that it would be a bit different.
At our first ultrasound, everything suddenly made sense. “So, here’s baby A…”
Baby A?
“And this might be a surprise, but here’s baby B!”
Oh my gosh. Twins. My sister has an older daughter and twin boys. I had seen firsthand the wild ride that is adding twins to a family.
“We need to buy a bigger house,” was the first thing I said. The ultrasound tech laughed and said, “Pretty much everyone says that!” It was my first moment of camaraderie with other twin parents, but I didn’t realize it then. I was too gobsmacked.
We walked out of the doctor’s office and sat in my car to continue digesting this world-rocking news. We were excited but also completely terrified. All of those spreadsheets were basically pointless at this point, and we had a mountain of things to figure out. We hadn’t taken the day off because we weren’t expecting to have this sort of intense news at 8:30 AM. As I drove into work, I called my mom to tell her the news. She thought I was playing a joke on her, but I promised her I wasn’t. It was just truly so unbelievable. We brought my sister into the call and I spent the entire commute talking to them, laughing about the insanity of the situation, and staving off a panic attack. After I made it through the big, important meeting I was running, I booked a conference room on a different floor of my building and basically hyperventilated. I called a few of my closest friends and shared the news. I was admittedly not the most productive this day. I was rethinking everything about my home and the way my life would look moving forward. I thought of the upcoming Christmas. I thought of Christmas 30 years from now. I thought about money, our 3-bedroom house, our vehicles. My mind was absolutely reeling.
Fast forward to today. My twins will be one year old next month. It’s been so magical and these kids are all-caps CUTE. It’s absolutely fascinating to see them developing in different ways and at different paces. They make me laugh and smile and become overwhelmed with love every single day.
They have also been chronically sick after contracting RSV when they were three months old. They were born with premature lungs and required a stay in the NICU when they were first born. To see them all covered in tubes and wires and sensors again just a few months later was traumatic. My baby boy had to be intubated and sedated. My baby girl didn’t require intubation, but her condition was also dire enough to land both of them in the PICU at Children’s Hospital. We barely made it home in time for Christmas. What I had envisioned as our first Christmas didn’t quite play out, but it was still an absolutely perfect day. I’ve never been so happy to be comfy at home with my family.
Since I returned to work in January, these sweet little babies have been sick enough to have to stay home from daycare approximately 3-4 times per month. When the routine gets interrupted, we have to shift everything around. And then it happens again, and we have to shift again. And again. And again. We are so stressed. We are exhausted. There are so many childcare-related tasks that the home-maintenance tasks and self-care tasks fall to the wayside with great regularity. Despite the stress, I find so much comfort in holding them in my arms or watching them play together. I give these kids of mine about 1,000 kisses each per day and I’m so happy to have them.
Even so, this past year or so has been the hardest, most trying of my life. I wouldn’t give any of it up because it gave me my beautiful babies and created the sweetest big sister in our daughter. It strengthened my connection with my husband. Despite the great things it has brought my way, it has also been incredibly difficult. I am sure that there isn’t a single human being who looks at my family right now and says, “Wow, they make it look easy!” I actually joke that we’ve become a cautionary tale for our friends because everyone can identify that we’re living inside a bit of a perpetual tornado. I am struggling to find my footing. I never envisioned having three kids, let alone chronically sick kids. My brain and my heart go in a trillion directions every day. That picture I was painting of my life is now a bit unrecognizable to me. I can get through it, I am getting through it, and I will get through it, but this has been an enormous transformation in our lives.
Another important thing about me: I’m optimistic by nature and tend to skew positive. It’s why I know I’ll get through this phase and my husband and I will look back and congratulate each other on enduring and prevailing. But you know how people used to call me too much? Intense? A lot?
Right now, I feel very small. Not enough. Coming up short. Empty because I’m pouring every last drop into keeping these kids healthy, safe, and happy. I am wrung out, y’all.
I’ve always felt called to help others—to be a source of support and strength for those around me. Going through this whirlwind of working motherhood, with all its challenges and surprises, has been tough, but I know it’s also shaping me into someone who can offer even deeper empathy and insight. Experiencing this myself is going to make me a stronger asset for others in the future. I’ll be able to say, “I’ve been there. I get it.” That connection is priceless.
I’m learning (over and over again) that life doesn’t always adhere to our carefully crafted plans, and that’s okay. As much as it feels like I’m juggling on a unicycle, I’m beginning to understand that it’s less about perfect balance and more about resilience. I’m still that type-A, big personality woman with dreams and goals, but I’m also someone who’s slowly coming to grips with the fact that I’m not actually in control. Shocking, I know. Instead, I’m trying to remind myself to embrace the mess, roll with the punches, and find grace in the unexpected, even if it means occasionally falling flat on my face or crying so much in one day that I give myself a three-day migraine. (True story.)
This season of my life is teaching me that even when the picture you were painting takes on new colors, shapes, or textures you never imagined, it can still be beautiful—or at the very least, interesting. The love, the joy, and yes, even the chaos, are all part of my life that is rich, real, and deeply meaningful. Each time I get to watch my kids playing together or my husband and I lock eyes after our toddler says something hilarious, I realize that this uncharted path we’re on is the greatest adventure of all.
While I may not always know what’s coming next, I do know this: I’m surrounded by love, I’m stronger than I think, and even in the midst of this whirlwind, I’m exactly where I’m meant to be.
Plus, if nothing else, hey – it gives me plenty of material for therapy.
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