Sometimes, I think this journey is so mixed up in joy and sorrow, in early surprises and long delays, in personal sacrifices and favors given and received that I don't know what to make of it. I know I'm supposed to write. I know I'm supposed to share my story. I know if nothing else I owe it to my babies to document their journey. But, how? How do you sum up the experiences in a few stories? How do you recreate the feeling of impending doom as you await the birth of a tiny baby or the joy of peeling out of the hospital with the baby in tow after a 91-day NICU stay?
I am trying. I am trying to find the time and the energy to dig into my memories, my heart, and my soul to share what has been the most enriching, fulfilling, not-to-mention craziest experience of my life. But, I still feel incapable of really doing the whole experience justice.
I am praying for guidance as I attempt in my little human way to make sense of this journey, to find the purpose in it. As much as I know my children are miracles and gifts from God, I also believe there is more to the plan. Because, really, what healthy, young woman has not one but two 2.5-pound babies out of the blue? It's like I got struck by lightning the first time, I ignored the lesson, and I got struck again.
So, I'll just keep plodding along and hoping I find my way. Because, clearly, I cannot be left alone in a thunderstorm.