I didn’t know I was pregnant but I should have. It was this past June, I was at my nieces’ church camp music performance. I sat at the end of the row watching as they sang solos, danced solos, did group numbers and sang familiar and unfamiliar songs. You know, the usual. I was a proud aunt but something came over me the entire program. As in, something utterly unexpected for a kids camp church performance. I wept. I did not tear up, I did not cry. I did not just need a single tissue to blot my eyes. I uncontrollably wept as I wiped snot and tears indiscreetly onto my sleeves. I was a mess.
I would find out a few days later I was pregnant.
Chris and I were excited to see our little champ. We went to an early sonogram at 6 weeks and saw our little heartbeat. We were asked to come back 2 weeks later for another sono to make sure the baby was growing since our dates were not matching up. 2 weeks later we went back to find baby was great…. and so was baby’s sibling. There were 2 babies, 2 heart beats. My husband laughed and gave the sono tech the chance to tell us she was joking. I knew she wasn’t joking, I think joking would have been illegal.
We then went to meet with our OB who walked in smiling. We all just laughed and smiled as we let the new news sink in. Twins. Twins, though, that had a little something we needed to keep an eye on. Our twins, explained our Dr., were sharing an amniotic sac. There was no dividing membrane which meant that there was nothing separating them from one another which put them in a precarious situation. Our Dr. calmly explained that this could mean bed rest towards the end of the pregnancy and a lot of monitoring. I quickly fought back tears and resolved to trust her words.
Then as any Mom would, went home and scoured the Internet for more information. What was going on with my babies? What did sharing an amniotic sac really mean? We found out we had MoMo twins. Monochorinic/Monoamniotic twins, sharing a sac and a placenta, our babies were like 1% of other twins out there. 1 percent. That’s not a lot of a percent. We were a rare case. I cried. And cried. And asked God why. And resolved that God always gives me a trial instead of just giving me something good. My head and heart were ugly towards God’s blessing. I was scared and mad. But God was still loving towards me even then. He used friends to remind me that he does want the best for me. He surrounded me with people who unwaveringly encouraged me that these babies were going to be fine. He used people to tell me that God “excels at the 1%” and he used scripture to remind me that every good and perfect gift is from Him. About 2 weeks in I started believing that our story was not going to end painfully. God did want what was best for us. And the provision of these two babies was a gift, no matter how many days I had with them. They were a gift.
My husband and I prayed. We prayed and prayed. We prayed that God would protect our babies from one another. That as cute as skin-to-skin sounded, that they would not choke each other with umbilical cords or steal nutrients from one another. Chris always gave them a good talking to, “Now you need to share in there,” he would say in his sternest voice (which from Chris still sounds like sweet love). We prayed. Our friends prayed. We walked carefully. I gave up strenuous exercise (I was ok with that ), we were diligent to think good things towards God and to stay away from articles on the Internet.
MoMo twins have an EXCELLENT chance of survival. “Back in the day” there was a 50% chance of survival and today it’s closer to 90/95% chance due to the close monitoring that doctors and nurses can do. What we were looking at was a strong possibility of me going into hospitalized bed rest at 24 weeks with monitors constantly attached and bathroom privileges only. I have a 2 year old, people. Manageable for sure, but a tough scenario nonetheless. This is where we thought our MoMo twin diagnosis was going to lead us.
Then 23 weeks came. After soliciting much prayer from friends, family, churches and anyone who would listen, we went to our high risk sonogram appointment. I waited with bated breath as I listed all the questions in my head I was going to ask him at the end of the sonogram. The specialist purposely walked through each and every body part of our babies which appeared to be perfectly healthy in every way. We were grateful. All we truly cared about were healthy babies. We had that. Thank God. At the end of his investigating he concluded with, “Well, you know what the best part is?” as we sighed with relief that they were perfectly healthy. To which he said, “here’s the membrane.” He had found the membrane. Our twins were no longer Momo twins. It was a miracle from God. We burst into tears.
Here we are now, almost 4 weeks away from meeting our little baby boys. We continue to praise God for the mercy He showed us when he revealed to us the much sought-after membrane. Whether it had always been there or He miraculously put it there to be seen at that appointment, I re-learned a life-giving and valuable truth about our Creator.
He said not to worry about tomorrow for tomorrow has enough worry of its own.
I’m still human. I still pray and ask for him to protect our sweet boys. But I also still pray and ask him to protect our daughter. I still look at her chest as she sleeps to make sure she is breathing. I am not God. I just have to entrust all these little lives to Him. These babies are His, from the moment they are formed and every moment following. These babies are His. I have the privilege of watching God (from the front row) unfold his beautiful blessings and miracles in their lives.
I am not exactly sure why we went through 23 weeks of thinking our babies were sharing a sac. I believe it’s because it renewed my faith and trust in Jesus even before we saw the membrane. I believe it’s because He wanted to bless us and all of those who were praying. I believe it’s because He loves His children and takes great pleasure in watching us depend on Him. I don’t know for sure and that’s OK.
Now I simply can’t wait to meet these boys. Soon and very soon!