Navigating Life With Twins, Milestones, and the Unexpected

Parenting twins can be such a challenge. It’s the kind of challenge no amount of parenting books can truly prepare you for. Sure, you think you’re ready. You organize onesies by size, pre-wash all the baby socks, and put all the possible systems in place to feel organized for feedings and diaper changes, like a well-meaning overachiever. But then reality shows up, with two babies, two totally unique temperaments, and one exhausted version of yourself wondering if you’ve had caffeine today or just thought about it really hard. Honestly, if I had a punch card for every bottle I’ve washed or diaper I’ve changed, I’d have earned a week-long vacation in the tropics by now.

Each baby is their own little person. They hit milestones when they’re ready, on their timeline (not when your tracking app tells you they should be), and often with their own flair. One might roll over like a mini gymnast while the other stares at you like, “No, thank you, I’ll pass on the tummy time agenda today.” You finish a round of bottles, get everyone changed, and when you think you might get a moment to sit, one of them lets out that little pre-cry warning grunt. And we’re off again. Throw in a toddler on top of all of that, and you are constantly on your toes.

Honestly, at most points in the day, someone is crying. Sometimes both babies. Occasionally, their big brother. And once or twice, me, in the bathroom, with the door closed, pretending to “brush my teeth”.

But in between the bottles, blowouts, and back-to-back naps that don’t always sync up, there are these beautiful, grounding, soul-refreshing moments that stop me in my tracks. The first smiles that feel like sunshine. The little giggles that bubble up when they see each other. The way the twins hold hands while they drink their bottles, like they’re reminding each other, “We’re in this together.” The sweet way their big brother kisses their foreheads. These moments hit you right in the heart and remind you that even when you’re running on four hours of broken sleep and a diet primarily made of Goldfish crackers, this is the good stuff. This is the magic. These are the tiny miracles that carry us through the chaos.

When One Twin Falls Behind On Their Milestones

When you have twins, and one twin is falling behind on milestones, you notice it quickly. It’s not like you’re comparing your baby to a stranger’s child on Instagram; you’re comparing her to her twin, her crib-mate, her side-by-side partner in crime. And as much as you try always to see them as the individual humans that they are, learning and growing at their own pace, you can’t help but compare. You have a direct comparison of where both babies should be. And no matter how much you remind yourself that “every baby develops differently,” it hits you like a wave.

Our youngest twin has been falling behind. She has muscle stiffness, fluid retention, poor circulation, trouble regulating her body temperature, and other symptoms that make life a little more challenging for her. Her body works overtime to get her to each milestone, and it affects her ability to meet those milestones.

Our youngest

We’ve been working with physical and occupational therapists who are, frankly, miracle workers. They’ve taught us stretches to do with her that help build her strength and encourage movement. The stretches are helpful, but after a few hours, she’s stiff again, like a rubber band that’s been stretched out but eventually returns to its starting position. Some days are better than others. And as parents, that rollercoaster of hope, setbacks, and waiting for answers is exhausting.

Some mornings, she wakes up smiling and moving freely. Other mornings, she’s stiff and uncomfortable. It’s a helpless feeling, not knowing exactly what her body needs, only knowing you’d give anything to make it easier for her. Despite all of it, our daughter is one of the happiest babies I’ve ever seen. I mean that sincerely, this girl radiates joy. She has a smile that lights up her entire face, like someone turned the sun on inside her. She lights up every room with her smile. The kind of smile that makes people stop mid-conversation. She laughs like she means it, like joy lives in her bones. And it does. Her laugh is music. The kind that makes your chest ache in the best way.

Regardless of what comes, we know that things will be okay. Our girl is strong. Her strength doesn’t always look like big leaps or fleeting milestones on time. She’s strong in a way that doesn’t show up on growth charts or milestone checklists. Her strength is quieter but more powerful. It looks like resilience, like patience, like showing up every day with a smile that melts your worries away. She adapts to what her body can do that day, and still finds a way to giggle at peekaboo or flash a smile at her big brother while he runs circles around her. She reminds me that strength isn’t always about pushing forward; it’s also about showing up with joy amid struggle.

As parents, we all hope our children never have to face medical challenges. We dream of smooth sailing and picture-perfect childhoods. You want their biggest worries to be which color popsicle they get, not whether they’ll need lifelong therapies. You want to wrap them in bubble wrap and keep the world’s sharp edges away. But life doesn’t work like that. Life isn’t always filtered like our photo albums. Right now, there’s a lot we don’t know. We don’t know exactly what’s causing her symptoms. We don’t have a diagnosis. And we don’t have a timeline for when we’ll know more. There are appointments with specialists, and paperwork that makes your head spin. There’s anxiety that sneaks in during the quiet moments. That uncertainty breeds not only anxiety and fear, but also late-night Googling, which, let me tell you, should be banned after 10 p.m.

My beautiful twin girls, the younger of the two is on the left, older on the right

But there’s also a team of providers who care deeply, therapists who cheer for the smallest wins. A pediatrician who listens, really listens. Family members and friends are showing up with hugs, love, and patience. There’s our other twin, learning to be patient with her sister. Their bond is one of the most beautiful parts of our story. It’s like they’ve known each other forever (beyond their 6 months on this earth and the 9 months they shared a womb). Even when the younger one can’t move much, her sister will scoot over and reach for her, babble next to her, or rest their heads together like it’s the most natural thing in the world. There’s our toddler, who somehow knows when to offer kisses at just the right time and is so gentle with his sisters. There’s laughter and love and light tucked between the complex parts. And most importantly, we have a little girl whose light is so bright, it keeps us going even on the hard days.

We don’t know what the future holds, but we know who holds our future. And we know that no matter how uncertain the road ahead may feel, we’re walking it with the most beautiful, brave little girl leading the way with her radiant smile.

We recently got a referral to a pediatric neurologist, and we’re hopeful that more answers are coming. Optimistic that we can start putting the puzzle pieces together, even if we don’t yet know what the final picture looks like.

Pure sunshine

God Paints on a Bigger Canvas

In moments like these, when the future is unclear, when I’m sitting in a period of confusion and waiting, questioning everything from the “what-ifs” to the “what nows”, I always hear my mom’s voice in my head: “God paints on a bigger canvas than what we see.”

It’s something she’s said to me in every season of questioning, uncertainty, heartbreak, or when the next step doesn’t make sense. It’s a simple but powerful reminder that I always carry with me. Right now, it feels like we’re staring at a tiny corner of that canvas, thick brushstrokes, dark colors, rough texture, and trying to make sense of it. But maybe this is just one small section of a much bigger, more beautiful story being written. Perhaps the chaos, the medical unknowns, and even the delayed milestones are part of a story that’s more layered and meaningful than we could imagine right now. Even when we can’t make out the picture yet, I trust that God has a beautiful image in mind and will reveal more to us as time moves forward. And there’s peace in that.

"One day you will tell your story...overcame that battle..."

Our Story of Infertility, Loss, and Unimaginable Grace

That perspective has carried me through more than just this season. Our journey to parenthood hasn’t been easy. We’ve faced infertility, loss, heartbreak, and more moments of confusion and grief than I can count.

There was the chemical pregnancy, hope that bloomed and then vanished. We then went through 22 months of infertility, feeling as though my body wasn’t equipped to carry a child. We were so fortunate to get pregnant on our first round of fertility treatment. We were expecting twins. At week 11, we lost my son’s twin. While we don’t know if that baby was a boy or a girl, we named them Hope, as it was the first time we had hope for our family to grow. We held our breath every day until our son arrived. At every scan, he was so active, and it was like this calm would wash over me, that he was okay. After we had him, we wanted one more. We didn’t know if I would get pregnant again. Surprise! A few months after he was born, we got pregnant. At 8 weeks, I miscarried. Our world felt shattered and heavy with questions we couldn’t answer.

"One day you'll be staring at the blessing you used to always dream about."

And here’s the part that still stuns me: if we hadn’t lost that pregnancy, we probably wouldn’t have tried again. And if we hadn’t tried again, we wouldn’t have our daughters. That reality floors me. It’s an emotional equation I never expected to live, but one I now understand more deeply: sometimes beauty grows in the cracks of what’s broken. I still ache for the babies we didn’t get to hold, bury me in sneakers because I am planning a play date with my angel babies in heaven, but I also look around at the three beautiful children we do have, and I’m overwhelmed with gratitude. Despite all the grief, I can say with certainty that I see the threads God was weaving.

My grandma, one of the most amazing women I’ve ever known, had a dad who was a twin. We figured that at some point, somewhere in the family, another set of twins would join the world. She told me once, “I’m glad God picked you to have twins. I don’t think I could’ve done it.”

First of all, she absolutely could have done it. She was and is strong, capable, and full of grit. But I know what she meant. And I do believe God knew what He was doing when He sent these girls to me, even on the days I feel entirely inadequate. I still question, worry, and second-guess. But somehow, you show up. You change the diapers, make the bottles, call the doctors, kiss the boo-boos, and trust that grace will meet you in the next moment, and the next, and the next.

"If you saw the size of the blessing coming..."

Finding Joy in the In-Between

We’re learning to find joy in the in-between. To celebrate the tiny steps, literally and figuratively. A longer stretch of tummy time. A smile after a strict stretching routine. A good nap (for her or me, honestly).

We’re also learning to let go of timelines. To permit ourselves to be tired, and to grieve the things we thought parenting would look like, without losing sight of how beautiful it is.

Some days, everything feels heavy. Some days, we cry in the shower (because it’s the only room with a door that locks). But most days? Most days, we’re just doing the best we can, surrounded by sticky floors, unmatched socks, and an overwhelming amount of love.

Because at the end of the day, this journey, messy, uncertain, beautiful, is ours. And even when it’s hard, it’s also beautiful.

If you’re a parent, navigating challenges of your own, whether it’s medical concerns, developmental delays, pregnancy loss, or just the daily overwhelm of raising tiny humans, I want you to know you’re not alone. I see you. I know how heavy the unknown can feel, how exhausting the day-to-day can be, and how easy it is to wonder if you’re doing enough. But I also know there are glimmers of hope tucked into even the hardest days. A sleepy smile. A sibling snuggle and watching our kids bond in their beautiful ways. A quiet moment of peace after the storm. These little flashes of joy are not small. They are the anchors that remind us we’re still moving forward, still growing, still loving deeply, even when the road is hard. So if today feels heavy, hold on. There is beauty here, too. And one day, we’ll look back and realize just how much strength it took to keep going, and how worth it all was.

Suppose you or someone you know is experiencing infertility, pregnancy loss, or symptoms of anxiety, depression, and more during pregnancy or the postpartum period. In that case, I encourage you to seek out support. Postpartum Support International is an excellent resource with access to providers who specialize in supporting this specific population. There are resources for your local area as well as online support available.