On Fates Divine
Some thoughts on mothering these two souls
Please be aware that this issue of Sweeter Than Fiction discusses miscarriage and pregnancy. If those topics are too painful, take whatever space you need to protect your heart. I’ll see you in the next one.
I am not a religious person, nor do I consider myself a particularly spiritual person. I don’t believe in crystals or astrology or a predetermined path of any kind. The closest I get to believing in a higher power is the moments when the world really seems like it is trying to have its beauty noticed. Those moments can come from a sunrise, a full moon so bright it bathes the world in bright silver light, or the first birdsong of spring.
Then I had two miscarriages. The first one was earlier, before 8 weeks. The second one I had two ultrasounds that showed a heartbeat, the second one coming at 8 weeks. But two weeks later, that heartbeat had stopped. The pregnancy had lasted long enough for us to find out the gender through a blood test, and then that baby was just…gone.
I started going to counseling after the second miscarriage, as I began to navigate months of negative tests, followed by two chemical pregnancies. As a result of that, I worked with a fertility clinic to figure out why I was having so much trouble staying pregnant. As part of the plan before we moved onto IVF, I was put on clomid. Clomid does increase the odds of twins, and I remember having to sign a document to that effect. I was certain that would not happen. I even remember joking with my husband, What are the odds?
Well, we did one round of clomid in May 2023 and on June 15, 2023, we found out we were having twins. What are the odds?
Fast forward to later that summer, as I finally crawled my way out of a very fatigued first trimester that had crawled by at a snail’s pace. We found out the genders of our twins, a boy and a girl. The story of our road to parenthood started to take shape:
We had two miscarriages and then two chemical pregnancies. We worked with a fertility clinic and immediately got pregnant with twins, a boy and a girl. The end!
I remember sitting in my counselor’s office as the AC blasted me with blessedly cold air during a swelteringly hot August. I told her that part of me hated that was how our story was going to end, because it made it sound like everything had happened for a reason. Without the miscarriages and the chemical pregnancies, I would never have tried clomid, and then one of my twins would never have existed.
The mere thought of those losses being for a reason filled me with the kind of rage that is terrifying in its size, as if your body isn’t big enough to contain it. I could not bear to have anyone think that those first babies had passed solely to insure the twins’ existence. But of course the truth is that if any of those other babies had made it earth side, I would not have my twins. And truthfully, I cannot conceive of a world where my twins do not exist.
I described it once to a friend of mine as a Gordian knot of grief and loss and joy and healing. There is no untangling one from the other. But these days, I no longer feel the rage I did when still pregnant. I have found my way to accepting that the story of my road to motherhood was paved with grief and anxiety, but it still led to joy.
Now, my twins are toddlers. Wildflower is, well, wild and rambunctious and loud and quietly sweet. She wants to go. She has looked like me, she has looked like my husband, and now she looks like herself. Sunshine is serious, determined to figure things out, patient, happy, and oh so sensitive. He is my husband, from his serious nature to his wide, toothy smile.
It was always The Plan to have two kids and in my heart of hearts I wanted one of each. So when I imagined my future, I always saw two kids. I imagined both a son and a daughter.
I am not someone who has ever believed in the deep soul connection that some mothers express feeling toward their unborn babies. I never dreamt of their faces or heard their voices while meditating. Part of me envies those who have those experiences, because to feel that connection bears a kind of beauty I have not found elsewhere. In the immediate aftermath of their birth, I was fueled by adrenaline that I had actually given birth to two whole humans. They were 6 pounds and 6 pounds 1 ounce: tiny babies, but big by twin standards.
Holding my daughter sometime in those few weeks after they were born, I was struck by the sense that I had always known her, even though she was brand new. The feeling was fleeting, but returned regularly. When I looked at my son, I felt like I was transported back in time to watching my husband as a baby, but knowing the man he grew up to be.
I know you, a voice whispered.
Months passed. They grew out of little, sleepy potatoes to babies that cooed and kicked, then sat up on their own, crawled, and then walked.
Watching Sunshine become a little boy is a kind of joy I have never before encountered. Every morning when I get him out of his crib, I let him fully stretch before I lift him out. Some mornings he greets me already on his feet, tiny hands gripping the crib railing, smiling so hard he almost manages to erase his eyes entirely. Every morning, I silently find myself saying thank you for letting him be my son. I don’t know who I’m thanking. But I do, every morning.
Before I even started trying to have kids, I always wanted a daughter. I love my mom and my relationship with her made me want to share something similar with my daughter. I thought that I wanted it so badly I had given it the power to feel like part of my fate, which I staunchly don’t believe in. Yet these days, I find myself watching Wildflower in wonder. I almost don’t know where she came from. Maybe she is the version of me I was before I learned to worry about getting in trouble or disappointing others. Maybe she got more of the wildness that for me only shows in my creativity, in my writing. But then I see tiny pieces of myself shine through. She wakes up so quickly and happily, just like me. She is unapologetic about voicing her opinion in babbles. She gets frustrated easily and gives up when she can’t get something on the first try. I find myself feeling like she was always meant to be my daughter, as if she’s been by my side for far longer than she’s been earth-side.
And again, I don’t believe in fate. I just don’t. Still, I find myself grateful beyond belief to all the twists and turns in my life, even the hard ones, that led me here, to them.
When my son was around 3-4 months old and really started using his facial expressions, he'd give me this look when I was rocking him, almost like we shared a secret. Super mischievous but joyful, like he might crack up any moment thinking about our secret. I realized our secret was that we'd always known each other, even though the outside world assumed we'd only just met.