By Liz Mannegren 
Every once in a while, Heidi Hamm’s beautiful post, Mama, You Were Meant For Twins pops up in my newsfeed.
The title draws me in, catching my heart and pulling close. And so I click it. Every time.
And every time, I ache a little at her last line.
Because I was meant for twins, too.
I just didn’t get to keep both of mine.
We lost my firstborn at birth. It was a healthy twin pregnancy turned worst-case scenario in the blink of an eye. I held my son, my arms full but still so-empty, and whispered my good-byes. My heart expanded to hold love enough for both of them but we still had to return the double stroller; we still had to box up the extra crib and giveaway the duplicate onesies.
The phrase “I was meant to have two” is no less true for me, it just takes on a different meaning.
When I walk around the grocery store with my son in tow, you see one when there are two.
When there are meltdowns and tears because he’s too tired to walk home from the library, and you give me a knowing, supportive smile, you see one when there are two.
When my son starts kindergarten in the fall, racing across the field with his little penguin backpack strapped on tight, you see one when there are two.
I watch my son spinning circles in the living room, dancing and laughing to the music, and for a brief flash, I see his brother there. A trick of the light, a glimmer of imagination, and I see them both side-by-side.
Because I was meant for two, too.
Throughout my pregnancy, I heard the whispered stories of what I was in for; the tales of chaos and sleep-deprivation. But oh, what I would give to experience the fullness of life with twins—to watch both my sons grow up.
My house is tidier than I dreamed—tidier than my neat-freak heart wanted. I want more handprints tattooing the mirrors and more Cheerios rolling around under the couch. I want to hear the 6 a.m. pitter-patter of two sets of jammie-covered toes. I dream of a wall splattered with spaghetti sauce and noodles flung from the fists of two giggling toddlers. Yes, raising one was exhausting, but there’s nothing I wouldn’t have given to be just that much more exhausted with two.
Because I was chosen, too.
I am a twin mom, too.
Regardless of the outcome, they were meant for me. BOTH of them. Whether you see them or not, they are mine.
So mama, whether you hold two in your arms or not, whether you got your double happy ending or not, you will always be a twin mom.
Two grew in your womb and two will ALWAYS be carried in your heart.
You were meant for twins, too.
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