In honor of the twins turning one, the story nobody asked for…
Before we got married GAL and I both wanted to have three kids. We were incredibly lucky and had three beautiful boys. Around the time our third born was 15 months old we started to question if we were “done.” Like most parents, GAL and I were madly in love with our kids and figured in the chaos of three young boys what was one more? We loved the idea of giving the boys another brother (because we just assumed if we had one more it would be a boy). I love babies, and minus a few weeks of crippling postpartum anxiety with my firstborn, I always felt confident and content with a newborn. We hemmed and hawed (I talked about it to anyone that would listen) and then we decided to “just see what happens.”
And then I was pregnant. I remember running downstairs to the basement where GAL was playing with the kids and flashing the positive test at him. We felt all the things. Excited, terrified, and everything in between. Shortly after the positive test I started to feel pregnant, but not like my previous pregnancies. I was unbearably tired and queasy, and something just felt different. I scheduled my first ultrasound and told GAL he didn’t have to come with. “You’re busy with work and all they’re going to do is listen for a heartbeat, wait for the next one when we can actually see the baby.”
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