This past week has been a momentous occasion in our house, as our babies turned one. I have a bunch of friends with one baby and on their first birthdays, it was a time of celebration (who doesn’t like birthdays?) and a bit of sadness (they’re not really babies anymore). Those feelings were certainly present in my house last week, but there was also a feeling of survival. We did it. We made it through the first year of having twins…which is the hardest, right (anyone with older twins who might want to argue this point, please don’t!). We made it through months (and months) of sleepless nights, the first (and second and third) round of ear infections, colic (times one), the stomach flu (times four, plus my mom and the babysitter….sorry Mom!)….so many hard, hard days. I loved my kids when they were six pounds of snuggliness, but I enjoy them so much more now that they are 22 lbs of active, crawling, engaging little people.
So, on the eve of their birthday, Seth and I opened a bottle of champagne (after they were asleep, of course) and toasted to getting through the first year, to finally sleeping again and to our marriage (pretty much) having survived this stressful time unscathed. We thought back on our favorite memories of their first year and just sat a bit and remembered.
I don’t think we’re the only parents of twins to feel this way. Friends, who are parents of 21 month old twins, came to the babies’ birthday party on Sunday. The first words out of the dad’s mouth were, “Congratulations! You did it!” Yep. We did.
And, I can tell it is mostly behind us, because at school today (let’s not talk about how the dissertation proposal survived this first year. Sleep deprivation + dissertating doesn’t equal productive dissertations). Anyway, at school today, with pretty spring weather finally hitting Boston, I keep seeing pregnant women walking by (I think the winter coats have been hiding all those bellies). Anyway, as they walk by, I catch myself thinking wistfully of last spring, when I was pregnant too. Or, even scarier, that maybe someday I’ll do that again. With one. Maybe when my kids are six. Or eight.