I lay on the ultrasound table prepared to hear the worst. While this pregnancy wasn’t totally expected, it was a miracle for me. I knew with the current stress in my life and the symptoms of a miscarriage, I may have to face another heartbreak to my series of heartbreaks over the last two years. I questioned what I did wrong to deserve it all. I prayed I had been stronger in my prior life: to have made better decisions. So I lay there, I held my breath, and I waited as the tech put the cold jelly over my stomach.

Prior to the appointment, I stopped at church to pray. I grabbed two rosaries. One for the baby I hoped was still growing with me, another for the one I’d never get to meet but still haunted me every day. I thought about all the grief that struck me and the fog that clouded my later decisions because of it.

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People certainly didn’t take an easy on me, but they didn’t know. People are quick to place blame when they don’t know the truth. We have to be careful not to let ourselves fall while in pain, especially as parents. We have to rise, heal, become better versions of ourselves, and still, somehow, be a parent. So despite it all, I always picked myself up. I grabbed two rosaries, and I drove myself to the ultrasound.

I bring myself back to the present. The wand searches for a sac, a heartbeat, a sign of life. The tech says without a tone of surprise in her voice, “We have two healthy sacs.” My eyes flood with tears. Two. She explains that twin pregnancies are more prone to implantation bleeding and sometimes mimic miscarriage symptoms. I exhale, not knowing how long I had been holding my breath. I feel like I’ve experienced my own miracle. Twins.

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Only God knows how many days I spent in tears asking for my baby, distracting myself with ways to numb the pain I felt since November 2021. Only He knew how broken I had become and how the grief utterly and nearly destroyed my relationship and myself along with it. I became a shell. And only He could help me, probably when I least deserved it. He gave me life when I didn’t much care for my own anymore.

After my appointment, I called some family to see if I could blame genetics on my side for conceiving twins. We had twins . . . six generations ago. 1919 was the last to conceive twins. So perhaps it is genetics. Perhaps it’s God. No matter how they were conceived, they are mine, and I am grateful.

Miss Lyra June
Miss Sophia Grace
Springtime showers and storms bring rainbows.