PEACE.
It does not mean to be in a place where there is no noise, trouble, or hard work. It means to be in the midst of those things and still be calm in your heart.

In spite of myself (or maybe because of myself, as Marco might say) I’ve somehow made it to the cusp: the third trimester. The home stretch. Music to my ears. I can’t imagine how it’s possible that my body itself will stretch further to make room for these growing babes—2.10 lbs each as this trimester begins, as good as singletons at this stage, huzzah! But I have confidence my body will still expand, even if it continues to choke me out along the way.

Just as I believe my body will continue do its bizarre miraculous thing in spite of what I think or say or do (pu pu pu), I’m slowly starting to have confidence that my intractable mind will stretch to incorporate motherhood, too. I still need some convincing on this front, but things are looking up.

As usual, it’s friends, parents, and spouse who are helping me believe. The other weekend, Daphne, her mother-in-law, my mom, and Marco helped shovel out boxes from the storage room—I mean, babies’ room—to clear space for two new beings. Once I could see the floor in there, I immediately started fantasizing about a rug. A sickeningly sweet baby-style area rug with clouds and moons and stars. “Of all things the babies will need, you’re fixated on a rug?” asks my wonderfully practical friend Rebecca from California. Indeed, I am. It’s the first bit of gear I’ve been able to get excited about, now that I believe these babies are going to be real. This weekend, I picked one out. I ordered it. No small victory here.

The rug makes it real. The fact that at 7.5 months with twins I look ready to pop makes it real. During trimesters 1 and 2, I grew reluctantly accustomed to a sense of the surreal, the unreal, the insane. It’s not a comfortable state of being; I’ve resisted it every step of the way. The reality—two babies growing limbs and organs and fingernails inside me—has been too much to fathom, leaving me barfing with vertigo, body and soul. Working at a start-up this whole time has been a terrific distraction, and while frenetic, in many ways its timing couldn’t have been better. It’s given my mind something all-encompassing to do.

But now it’s time to start putting my feet on the ground, feel the rug beneath me, find a way to steady my head long enough to find a pediatrician and buy a crib.

The rug. The crib. The changing table. The trappings of two babyhoods that have not yet arrived are symbolic, and yet they are more. They are signs of my belief, material affirmations of the unbelievable coming true. Today, Daphne gave me two pairs of booties (pictured above). The babies have hiccups. I believe they are going to make it to reality. And I believe their mother just might too.

(Gratitude to Sarah Saffian for sending me the epigraph to this post.)