Home

A soft warm breeze flows into the room as I sit here. This sunroom in our home is a favorite spot to be as it allows you to enjoy the light and nature of the outdoors while still sitting on a cozy couch. The first time I was able to have the house to myself a few days after we were home from the hospital I remember turning off the A/C and flinging the windows wide open. Though it was July 3rd and warm, it didn't matter. I wanted to feel that same breeze that I feel today. I wanted to experience the sensations of the outdoors though I was stuck inside caring for preemie newborn twins. But more than anything it felt like freedom compared to living inside of Ronan's NICU room that Addison had nicknamed "the dark, windowless room that beeps."

Here in my home I could finally be the mom who has control over her domain. The nesting instinct had heightened when I had my boys there with me. Yes, I had done all the prep work I knew how to do and plan for before their arrival, but for me it was another thing to be in that same space with two more little people to share.

During that time I finally experienced the full sense of the word "homemaker." I wanted my home to be as warm, loving, and cozy as possible. Every nook of the house was fair game. The hutch in the kitchen, the piano with all its little vases and photographs, the breezeway that I determined would someday become my "she shed." All of it was seen with new eyes. The hospital stay had deprived me of many of the comforts of home and the time was ripe for me to take it back.

I felt so incredibly happy that day. I was living and loving the intensity of those moments at home. I thought, "this is my home, the place where I can be me." I had my own little newborn photo session with Phineas and Ronan. Look at how little they were!

For music fans out there, the song "This is Home" by Switchfoot became one of the songs on my playlist dubbed "The Soundtrack of my Life." Listen to it if you'd like. I had always liked the song beforehand, but the words had new meaning for me then.

Pink and Gray

Pink clouds. Well, gray clouds with pink light reflected onto them. That's what I saw when I let the news sink in that this birth was not going to be the way that I'd planned. I'd read the book Mothering Multiples in which they give the statistic that 50% of twin births are cesarean, but being the optimist, I was hopeful I wouldn't be that 1 in 2.

Tears came welling up, but these clouds were the sign from God that though there were dusky clouds in the sky, that wasn't the only thing to see. Though this medical intervention was necessary and my natural birth was no longer a viable option, the rose-colored light was visible and beaming with warmth.

In that moment I was alone in the room taking in this jilting news that was already foreshadowed in triage. Addison had left to get dinner as this was his chance to eat before "go time." These fluffy clouds of dark and light were reassuring me that there was a chance to find hope in hardship.