Who could have predicted that I would be gifted with twins in my mid forties? Who even dares to ask for such a miracle? 

 

Our family was attending a La Leche League conference over Memorial Day weekend in California in 2001. I had the honor of co presenting a workshop on Big Families with one of the founders of that organization. I had the smaller brood, with seven. But that night our family grew by two. 

 

In June John was called to a new job in Pennsylvania, and we were tasked with packing up our earthly belongings. My energy level plummeted, for reasons I did not understand, and I confess that we did not leave the manse in as tidy a condition as I wished. But we did load the truck with a mountain of boxes, prepared to embark on a cross country adventure. Our oldest did not come with us, but stayed behind to forge his own life in an apartment with a new job. So it was that John drove the U-Haul, and I followed behind with our six kids. We learned that day that my mother had lost everything in a flood, and I spent the three thousand miles reconciling my mind to her moving in with us. Into the home that we had recently set in motion to buy. The one that John had not seen. 

 

By August the possibility of pregnancy entered the fringes of my consciousness, and I made an appointment with a midwife. She had her own suspicions, and sent me for an ultrasound. John was adjusting to a fractured job with three bosses and did not accompany me. Hence when the technician pointed out the pair of babies on the screen I bolted upright from the table. I tried to explain that I already had seven and this was not the plan. As if anything in the past three months had been. 

 

They are, of course, the embodiment of my cup running over. I had been blessed already, with children who filled my heart and arms to the brim. Today they turn nineteen, and I cannot fathom my life without them. 

 

It turns out that these young women are part of Someone's plan after all.