← Return to The Mother I Thought I’d Be Series
Sometimes motherhood isn’t measured in years. Sometimes it’s found in bottles, bath time, lullabies, and the ordinary moments you never knew would become memories.
When I think about the twins, it’s easy for my mind to go straight to the day they left.
The tears.
The empty house.
The double stroller that suddenly had no one to carry.
But I don’t want their story in my life to be remembered only by how it ended.
Because before the heartbreak, there was joy.
So much joy.
For a little over five months, there were two tiny boys in my home who needed me.
And for those five months, I got to experience something I had spent years longing for.
I got to mother them.
Maybe you’ve had a season like that too—a time in your life that was much too short but changed you forever.
If you have, I hope you’ll think about that person or that season as you read this.
Not only how it ended, but how beautiful it was while it was yours.
Two Tiny Boys Came Home
The twins came to us after being discharged from the NICU.
They were so little.
Suddenly, my days revolved around bottles, diapers, naps, laundry, baths, and figuring out how to meet the needs of two babies who didn’t particularly care that there was only one of me.
There were two babies to feed. Two babies to change. Two babies who could cry at exactly the same time.
And somehow, they both seemed to know precisely when I thought I might sit down.
Life became busy very quickly.
It was exhausting.
It was messy.
And I loved it.
After spending so many years imagining what it would be like to care for a baby, there I was caring for two.
Sometimes I’d look at them and almost couldn’t believe they were really there.
Learning to Mother Two Babies at Once
Twins taught me very quickly that sometimes you simply figure things out.
I learned how to hold one baby while feeding the other.
I learned how to comfort two little boys who sometimes needed me at exactly the same moment.
And at night, I rocked them and sang to them as they drifted off to sleep.
Those are some of the memories I hold closest now.
Two sleepy babies.
Heavy little eyelids.
Tiny bodies relaxing as the house grew quiet.
I don’t know whether they’ll ever remember the songs I sang.
They probably won’t.
But I remember.
I remember looking down at their faces.
I remember holding them close.
And I remember knowing that, at least in that moment, they felt safe enough to fall asleep in my arms.
There’s something beautiful about being someone’s safe place.
Even when you don’t know how long you’ll get to stay.
The Little Things I Miss
They loved bath time.
Watching those two little boys splash in the water could make an ordinary evening feel special.
There was baby shampoo, warm towels, little wet feet, and all the maneuvering that comes with trying to bathe two babies.
Then there were their vibrating bouncy seats.
They loved those things.
It’s funny what your heart decides to remember.
Before they left, I probably never imagined I’d someday miss seeing two bouncy seats sitting in my house.
But that’s the thing about ordinary life.
You don’t always realize you’re living a memory while it’s happening.
A freshly bathed baby wrapped in a towel.
Bottles lined up for the next feeding.
Tiny clothes waiting to be folded.
Two little seats bouncing away.
At the time, it was simply Tuesday.
Now I’d give almost anything to have one of those ordinary Tuesdays back.
That Double Stroller
And then there was the double stroller.
I loved taking them places.
Getting two babies ready to leave the house wasn’t exactly a quick process, but once everybody was settled, off we’d go.
We went to stores.
We took walks.
Sometimes we got out simply because I wanted to take my boys somewhere.
They weren’t even six months old yet, but I wanted to show them the world.
People noticed twins.
They’d stop us and peek into the stroller.
They’d smile.
They’d tell me how precious the boys were.
And I’d smile proudly.
For those moments, I wasn’t thinking about foster care.
I wasn’t thinking about caseworkers or what might happen next.
I wasn’t thinking about infertility or all the years I’d spent wondering whether I’d ever experience motherhood.
I was simply pushing two little boys through the world.
And I was happy.
Really happy.
The Ordinary Life I’d Wanted
For years, I thought motherhood would begin with pregnancy.
I imagined two lines on a pregnancy test.
A growing belly.
A hospital room.
Bringing my baby home.
But motherhood didn’t find me that way.
Instead, it arrived unexpectedly through two little boys who needed somewhere safe to land.
And suddenly, I had pieces of the ordinary life I’d dreamed about.
Someone needed me in the middle of the night.
Someone needed a bottle.
Someone needed clean pajamas.
Someone needed to be rocked.
Someone needed comfort when he cried.
My days weren’t entirely mine anymore.
And after spending so many years longing to be needed in exactly that way, there was something incredibly precious about it.
Was I tired?
Of course.
Were there probably moments when I wondered whether I’d ever sleep properly again?
Absolutely.
But exhaustion isn’t what stayed with me.
Love did.
Have you ever noticed that about the seasons of life you miss most?
Sometimes the things that felt exhausting while we were living them become the very things we’d gladly experience one more time.
When “Maybe” Crept In
I knew what foster care was.
I knew reunification was the goal whenever it could happen safely.
My head understood that from the beginning.
My heart was apparently a little slower to get the message.
Because the longer the boys stayed, the more attached I became.
How could I not?
I knew their routines.
I knew how they liked to be held.
I was beginning to recognize their different cries.
I knew what comforted them.
I watched them grow.
And somewhere along the way, one little word began creeping into my thoughts.
Maybe.
Maybe they’d stay.
Maybe these two little boys who had unexpectedly entered my life would become part of our family forever.
Maybe this was how motherhood was supposed to find me after all.
I tried not to think too far ahead.
But love has a way of imagining tomorrow.
Mine certainly did.
Was I Their Mother?
I’ve thought about this question many times since they left.
Was I their mother?
Biologically, no.
Legally, no.
I was their foster mom.
And I would never want my love for them to erase or diminish the family they belonged to.
But I’ve also come to understand that motherhood isn’t only something we are.
Sometimes it’s something we do.
For a little over five months, I fed them.
I bathed them.
I changed them.
I comforted them.
I woke up with them.
I sang to them.
I rocked them to sleep.
I worried about them.
I celebrated them.
I planned my days around them.
And I loved them.
Completely.
So while I may not have been their mother forever, I mothered them during the time they were entrusted to me.
I’m learning that I don’t have to make that experience smaller simply because it didn’t last.
I Don’t Want the Goodbye to Erase the Hello
The ending hurt.
It still does.
There are moments when I miss those boys so much that the grief feels surprisingly fresh.
But I don’t want to remember only the goodbye.
I want to remember the hello, too.
I want to remember the first bottles.
The baths.
The bouncy seats.
The stroller rides.
The songs sung in the dark.
The sleepy babies in my arms.
The strangers who stopped to admire them.
The ordinary days when my house was full of all the things I’d once dreamed about.
There was exhaustion.
There was uncertainty.
There was hope.
There was laughter.
And there was love.
So much love.
The goodbye doesn’t get to erase any of that.
Those Five Months Still Belong to Me
I don’t know what the boys will remember about those first months of their lives.
They were so little that they may never consciously remember any of it.
But sometimes I wonder if love leaves a memory deeper than the kind we can put into words.
I hope somewhere inside them remains the feeling of being held when they cried.
Of being warm after a bath.
Of being safe enough to sleep.
Of hearing a familiar voice singing in the darkness.
Most of all, I hope some small part of them remembers what it felt like to be loved completely.
Because they were.
For a little over five months, two tiny boys called my house home.
It wasn’t forever.
It wasn’t the ending I wanted.
But it happened.
They were here.
I loved them.
They changed me.
I’m beginning to understand that something doesn’t have to last forever to matter.
Some of the most meaningful chapters of our lives are painfully short.
Their length doesn’t determine their worth.
For a little over five months, I got to experience bottles and baths, sleepless nights and stroller rides, lullabies and little wet feet.
I got to be needed.
I got to love them.
I got to mother them.
And no goodbye can take those months away from me.
I’d Love to Hear About the Love, Too
So often when we talk about loss, we talk about the ending.
Today I’d rather ask you about what came before it.
Who—or what season of your life—do you still remember with love, even though you couldn’t keep it forever?
If you’ve fostered a child you still carry in your heart, experienced a brief season of motherhood, or loved someone you eventually had to let go, I’d love to hear about them.
Tell me one happy memory.
Tell me the funny thing they did.
Tell me what you miss.
Tell me what you’re grateful you got to experience.
You can share in the comments below, or reach out through my contact page if your story feels too tender to share publicly.
Maybe remembering the love—not only the loss—is part of healing, too.
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