There are some aspects of this newborn twin life I don’t quite understand. Like why the soles of my feet are constantly soot-colored. I don’t get the science of my armpit hair not growing after 25 years of reliable black sprouts, or how my babies can sense my weakest moments and simultaneously begin to scream. I don’t understand how I can feel so much love for these little people I just met or how I possibly made more room in my heart which already felt so full with Arlo. I don’t even really understand how I make it through some of the days nor all of the nights. But somehow, we keep going.

Never have I felt so full of hope and love and anxiety and calm and joy and bewilderment and things to do and things I cannot do anymore. My life has been overhauled. And it’s amazing and it’s impossible and yet somehow it’s daily life and it keeps being sort of being possible.

This is the season of two opposing things being true. This is the season of jolts of energy and no sleep. The season of so much couch sitting to do and so much else to do that’s off of the couch that I can’t really do. It’s the season of feeling like I need a clean home for these fragile people and being incapable of cleaning it. It’s the season of staring at little 8 pound beings and thinking “Wow, you have gotten so big.” This is the season of being unable to stop crying and unable to stop smiling. This is the season of feeling incompetent and unstoppable, a terrible parent and the best mom. It’s the season of feeling like I have so much to write and so many thoughts and not the faculties to sit with pen and paper and not the clarity or the time or the peace to pour it all out. Yet here I am. Trying.

There’s a baby over there across the room and there’s another at my feet in a bouncer and my dad is about to bring my toddler home to me. And Arlo, who turns three tomorrow, seems like a giant now and is so grown up and conversational yet so confused by what has happened to his world and his parents. His head looks enormous and he’s still the tiny little boy who made me a mom three years ago.

I feel intense, overwhelming gratitude for the ways my community has shown up for me in the past three months. Friends cleaned our home, many have made us meals, sent us takeout from as far away as California and Ellicott City. Aub and Chris took Arlo for the night–twice–and my parents kept him for our entire hospital stay. Many have held, fed, and changed the twins, stood in my living room while I got the car parked too far away. People have checked on us, given me hugs and snacks and cards and reassurance, asked me what I need from Trader Joe’s, prayed for us, to different gods. Strangers have told me that I am doing a great job and that I look rested (ha). Twin moms have assured me that “yes, it gets better” and reminded me that my feelings are valid and that this is a crazy proposition–two newborns.

Yet, the thank you notes lay dormant on my to do list. Like I am too mobilized to write them and too paralyzed to write them and so they’re blank. But I do hope you know how much I appreciate you. The incredible weight of my gratitude for everyone is light and beautiful and lovely and so heavy to hold. I will get to those notes eventually. In the meantime, thank you.