Amazing what a steady diet of milk does in one month’s time.  Lucy on the left, Gabby on the right.

Today, the twins are one month old.

It’s a little hard to believe, really. First of all, it’s somehow now late August. School will be starting soon, and I’m pretty sad that this is the first fall in the past four years that I won’t be pulling onto the Hamline University campus in a breathless mess and already three minutes late for class.

As I’m forever telling my girls these days, “You’re just going to have to wait.”

It’s kind of funny though, that after all those long pregnant months of waiting, I’m still finding it necessary to remind myself and my little family members that waiting is now a part of our lives. The need to exercise patience didn’t just disappear the moment the girls were born. If anything, it became more necessary.

But somehow, I still haven’t learned my lesson. I stand in front of the mirror and glare at my stomach, which has taken on the characteristics of a half deflated football. Oh, right. A half deflated football with a herniated belly button.

I am chasing after Ellis, reminding her to wait to go potty until I’m in the bathroom with her, lest we have another “I do it mama” feet in the toilet bowl incident.

I push out the phrase “can you wait a moment” with great regularity when I’m on the telephone in order to shift the phone to the shoulder my newborn is not wailing on.

I am living my life by the clock, and every three hour segment is like a small battle that’s been fought (and not always won.) A schedule for twins is a necessity, but sticking to the schedule means that someone, something, or somewhere is always going to have to wait. Me included.

All this waiting isn’t necessarily a bad thing. They say that twins develop a very healthy sense of patience early on because of the continual waiting for one or the other. And Ellis, for the first time in her only child kingdom, is learning what it means to have younger, needier siblings. As for me, well, I’m learning that a little crying doesn’t hurt anyone. In fact, the Mayo Clinic says:

Crying it out

If you’ve tried everything and your baby is still upset, consider letting your baby cry it out. Crying won’t hurt your baby — and sometimes the only way to stop a crying spell is to let it run its course.

Of course, listening to your baby wail can be agonizing. If you need to distract yourself for a few minutes, you might take a shower, call a friend or make something to eat. 

For the record, there is one thing I don’t have to wait for anymore. Growth. These girls are growing at a pace that rivals the clover trying to overtake my entire front yard. Here are their pictures at one month, and a cute one of big sister now that she’s two.

Getting them all together in one picture may, however, have to wait another month or two. Compliance for a two year old and two newborns with little neck support will require a little more training.

For the beauty of the earth.

These are Minnesota’s perfect summer days. They are long enough to be savored, and yet seem always a few hours too short. Jason has just finished mowing the lawn, and the yard is welcoming and wide.

For the glory of the skies.

A couple of nights ago, I took the garbage out and realized it was the first time I had set foot outside the house all day. Sometimes, the house feels like a cocoon. It is safe. Everything is close. Nothing can harm us. But the problem is this:

I can’t see the way the stars arch overhead, or how Jupiter really, honestly, does look red against the black of the night sky. So I stop. Put my hands behind my aching back. Stare at the sky. Breathe.

For the love which from our birth, over and around us lies.

I have not had to cook this week. Okay, except breakfast. (A recipe for blueberry cornmeal pancakes was just screaming to be tried.) But other than that, friends have brought us dinners every night. And that might not seem like a big deal, but every time someone takes the effort to carry a box or a basket of food across my messy threshold, I feel surrounded by love and care.

You know why? Because not making dinner saves me about two hours of food prep, cooking, dishwasher loading, hand washing, and cleanup. That is two hours more time to hold my little ones, who are fast growing. It’s time that the rest of the household enjoys in various ways. It is a blessing – a hand over my hand, stilling my activity, bringing me calm.

And the best part? Seeing friends. Sharing the babies – the soft warmth of them nestled into welcoming arms. I love the way Ellis scrambles up from whatever she’s doing when she hears a knock on the door, or how she gets a little bit sad when everyone leaves, and asks when her friends will come back again.

Lord of all to thee we raise,

I haven’t had nearly enough chances to respond to all the encouraging comments I’ve received on my blog posts over the past few months. And nothing short of going back and thanking each of you personally would be socially acceptable. But right now, I really can’t do it. So please accept what I’m about to share.

The words I’m lifting up are for you.

There were days when I wasn’t sure how I was going to manage all this new adventure. And you made me laugh with your comments. There were days I wrote funny, goofy little posts. And your responses made me smile. There were serious times when I was totally freaked out about what was coming. And the stats page telling me how many people had read my last post made me realize I wasn’t doing this alone.

My friend Jules told me this week how she much she better understood the phrase “it takes a village to raise a child” now that she had two. I wholeheartedly agreed. Without the extra hands that are helping us in so many various ways, I would be a wreck. (Okay, sometimes I’m still a wreck, but that’s really my own fault.) But because of you, I am encouraged. Lightened.

Raised.

This is my hymn today. I’m humming it around the house, and I’m thinking of you, my friends, my family, with love. With thankfulness. With heart.

This our hymn of grateful praise.