“It began in October of 2016,” says the narrator. He began a Facebook conversation with one of my friends. She wasn’t a ‘friend’ any longer, but she was a former friend who was a ‘Facebook friend’ at the time.
It began innocently enough but gradually devolved into deception, secret communications, and an emotional affair. He deleted her messages, talked to her on the phone when I was at work, and even draped a sheet in the center of the living room so I couldn’t see his computer screen if I sat on the sofa.
Let’s fast forward to March of this year. My mother was in poor health, so my parents decided to go to Georgia to be closer to my sister. He suggested that we join them to be closer to my mother in case something happened. I was overjoyed because I realized, ‘This may be our new beginning!’ I got a new job in Georgia and relocated there first, staying with my sister and parents until we could find a place to reside.
That’s when the incident occurred—the situation. I didn’t realize it until I traveled to Pennsylvania to pick up my daughter and return her to Florida for the start of school. He was expected to pack the apartment and travel down in a moving truck the following month. When we went out for ice cream one day, my kid slipped. Her daughter’s name was mentioned and how they went to the pool. She eventually told me that this woman was at our apartment and had slept in daddy’s bed. I was furious. I was perplexed. And I was ANGRY.
We talked back and forth over the next few months about what we should do. I learned that his affair partner was expecting his first child during those months. She even gave him the exact name he and I had chosen for a son if we ever had one. This was the kind of thing you’d expect to break someone. I was shattered but not quite broken enough to flee. I wasn’t prepared.
We tried our hardest to make it work. We went to one treatment session before he no longer wanted to go. Things started to improve after a while. We relocated to Virginia for a new start,’ and he promised to spend more time with me. He used more minor expletives around me, and he would walk the dog and surprise me by picking a flower for me and placing it in a cup for when I awoke the next day. He eventually expressed his desire for a second child. I was apprehensive at first, preferring to wait a year to ensure that everything between us was in order. ‘Well, if you love me and want to be with me forever, why not now?’ he said. As a result, we began attempting to conceive.
I’d recently stopped taking the Depo shot and was having problems conceiving. Months passed with no sign of progress. I finally went to my OB, who ran some tests on me. She also gave me some medication to assist me in managing my period. We then discovered that I wasn’t ovulating. I proceeded to Clomid. It took three cycles of Clomid for me to get pregnant.
I finally saw those two lines in December of 2017. Months of ovulation testing, the Ovia app to track my temperature and the days we had sex, and numerous unsuccessful pregnancy tests. The lines had finally been drawn. The week before Christmas, I went to the doctor. They did an ultrasound, but it wasn’t obvious, so I returned the following week. I was overjoyed because I could finally see a faint image of my little bean.
We had a second ultrasound the following week. The ultrasound technician reported seeing TWO little beans. ‘Come again?’ was my exact remark. That’s when I found out I was expecting twins. I was the only one at that appointment. I had no idea that this would be the pattern for the rest of my pregnancy.
I surprised him with the ultrasound photo when I came home. He didn’t believe it at first. Everyone congratulated us, but he suddenly looked so far away. He pretended I wasn’t expecting a child. When he started speaking with his affair partner again, I realized something was up. (I’m sure he had been for the entire year.) He becomes more adept at concealing it.)
He’d eventually become panicked. He’d say things like we couldn’t handle twins. He couldn’t stand it when I was working, and he was watching them. We wouldn’t sustain twins on top of the child we already had financially. (He hadn’t worked in years, and I was our only source of income.) I spent some time shopping for baby goods. Many folks donated cribs, swings, and clothing to me through local Facebook groups.
He left a month or two later to visit his affair companion. He called one day and said he didn’t believe the twins were a good idea and that I needed to figure out what to do. I mentioned adoption. I looked into agencies and found one with excellent evaluations and success stories. I made contact with the adoption agency on my own. I interviewed on my own. I was the one who made all of the decisions.
He threatened to leave if I didn’t get rid of all of the twin baby supplies I had in the house. So I piled all of my baby gear into my car and drove to the nearest thrift store to donate it all. My automobile was utterly entire, from the front seat to the back. I was almost unable to close the doors completely. I continued to work full-time, care for my then-8-year-old daughter, and walk my 65-pound dog. Imagine a 32-week-pregnant woman walking a large dog while carrying twins!
The adoption agency conducted a thorough investigation of my background. Their lawyers discovered a baby shower wish list I wrote when we thought we would keep the twins. I needed to clarify that it was created before the adoption decision. I instantly got online and removed it. Strangely enough, when I deleted it, it felt like a piece of my spirit perished.
I met a wonderful family that resided in Virginia as well. I had lunch with them at a neighboring restaurant and knew instantly that they were the family I wanted to raise my twin boys with. (Yes, gentlemen! To determine the genders, they used a blood test.) I communicated with the family, sending them ultrasound photographs and keeping them up to date on my checkups. I invited the adoptive mother to one of my high-resolution ultrasound sessions. She was speechless. We also discovered that I was suffering from intrauterine growth restriction or IUGR and had a two-vessel cord. We were aware that my pregnancy was high-risk, and due to my gestational diabetes, I was monitored several times a week. This caught me off guard. I was about 31 weeks pregnant at the time.
My doctor was taken aback when I told him I wanted to adopt. She assured me that I could handle this on my own. She promised to be there for me at all times and to contact her if I wanted to talk. Even after I told her I was sticking to my decision, she treated me like a human.
I went in for my routine visit at 36 weeks. According to the doctor, I was barely an inch dilated, and I had about a week left. The boys, on the other hand, had other ideas. I started having contractions that night but didn’t understand they were contractions. They were just stomach pangs. The doctor asked me to come back the following day since I was in discomfort. My blood pressure was within normal limits, and everything appeared to be in order. But things worsened, and my doctor advised me to go to the emergency room. My doctor called the emergency room to let them know I was on my way and needed to be seen right away. Despite my doctor’s repeated calls, I sat in the waiting room for three hours. When I was carried back, they discovered my blood pressure had risen to 181/100. I was accepted into the program. I was alone once more.
The doctor debated whether or not to deliver the infants. I was on IV fluids and medicines because they first wanted to lower my blood pressure. They could get it to drop a little, but it wouldn’t go any lower. They planned to deliver me the following day, but they did it that evening. My best buddy arrived at the hospital and accompanied me into the surgery room. I texted my adoptive family to inform them that I was expecting a child. They canceled a trip to the hospital that they would take that weekend. My two gorgeous twin boys were born by emergency C-section. They were transported to the NICU because they weighed less than 4 pounds. I needed three blood transfusions because I had lost so much blood.
They wheeled me down to the NICU to visit my babies once I was finally well enough. They were in incubators with a tangle of wires and needles. I was able to hold them and have skin-to-skin contact with them. They were so insignificant. I even had the opportunity to feed them inside the incubators. Knowing I wouldn’t take them home from the hospital was extremely difficult. But I knew this was the right thing to do. I grew up in a broken family and thought my children deserved a better existence. I spent a lot of time alone in that hospital bed, thinking that this was not how things were intended to go. But I also recognized that I am a strong woman for traveling to all of my appointments while still working and making sure that my daughter and dog were okay.
After two to three weeks, the boys were eventually returned home. I had visited them while they were in the NICU. On the day of their discharge, their adoptive parents welcomed me back to the hospital. They paid for photos to be taken at the hospital, and I posed with my boys and saw them pose with the boys. I was able to give them hugs and kisses before saying my goodbyes. In tears, I walked back to my car. I’m alone once more.
It took everything I had not to text their adoptive mother immediately. I didn’t check-in for several weeks. She’d send me images and updates on how things were going. I’m delighted she was friendly and accommodating with my check-ins. These were exactly what I needed. I needed confirmation that they were still alive and healthy.
After my C-section, I received no assistance with my rehabilitation. After three days, I was driving, and after a week, I walked my 65-pound dog. My kid was too young to walk him, yet she still offered! My husband and I divorced for good a year later, two months after visiting my sons. Then I shattered my leg and was unable to walk for four months.
Two months after breaking my leg, I met the love of my life. He arrived and looked after my 9-year-old daughter as well as myself. He took our dog for walks, cooked us food, drove me to appointments, and treated my wounds. He treated me as if I were a person. He’d show up with flowers for no reason. He’d love me the way I’d been intended to be loved all these years. For once, I was relieved not to be alone. It meant a lot to me that someone else was concerned about me.
My adoption is a public one. I get updates every six months and have the opportunity of visiting my boys on their birthday once a year. We’ve had to settle with FaceTime sees the last two years because to covid. I wish I could hug them, but I’m confident that we’re secure. I wouldn’t want to put their health in jeopardy.
It’s fun to watch them develop. They both have distinct personalities and appearances! You’d never guess they were twins. One is a true lady’s man with blonde hair. The other, who has a full head of curly brown hair and is more interested in fire trucks and autos, has a full head of curly brown hair. He has a striking resemblance to his biological sister.
I hope that one day I will be able to visit them and recognize me. I hope they understand why I chose adoption and realize how much I needed and loved them.
Some of you may be asking why I chose to have twins while my marriage was so shattered. I couldn’t accept the fact that it was ended. I believed we had reached an excellent point in our life and that the past had passed us by. When he informed me I needed to consider alternative options during my pregnancy, I began to detach emotionally. That was a pivotal milestone in my decision to begin self-healing. When you have children with someone and are blinded by the length of time you’ve spent with them (15 and a half years! ), making these decisions can be challenging.
I believe I made the correct decision, and while I occasionally wonder what it would be like to have my twins here with me, I am confident in my decision.”
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