I look  through the small circular window of the NICU.

There are babies in there and they are mine.

I grew them, harbored them for thirty five weeks, inside my body, our hearts and souls intertwined.

I can barely believe they are here.

I am a Mummy

.

The bigger of the two has soft strawberry blonde waves, still tight with vernix. Her cheeks are round, almost chubby, against her tiny body.

“Maddy” I whisper and her eyes open wide, reacting to my voice.

Those eyes, huge blue pools that drink me in, bright from birth but exhausted by her new world.  Story telling eyes. Soul catchers.

Just as quickly as they have opened, they are shut once more and I am left to  greedily take in the rest of her. Her fingers and toes, her mouth, drawn up in a cherubs bow.

She is beautiful and already I can see that she resembles The Family.

I cannot hold her though, she needs oxygen and time, so I hold her hand and coo to her through the glass of the humidicrib.

The softness of her skin lulling me into the sweetness of motherhood.

She is the second twin.

The first is on an open resuscitation trolley, her tiny body working hard to breathe, her head is covered by an oxygen box but it has a sliding window and one of the midwives opens this so I can see her features.

The first thing that strikes me is her dark, dark hair, so unlike anything I had imagined. Her head is the size of an orange but every single tiny feature on her face is perfect. Her eyes are squeezed shut as if to deny the world and her mouth is clenched but I can tell it is bigger than her sister’s and her lips are full.

This is Imogen.

She does not respond to her name. Being here is too much work at the moment but as I hold her hand her fingers curl around mine. Such long fingers, so graceful.

I start to cry because she is not well but the baby grasps me tighter, grasps my heart and I know that everything will be okay.

I look closely and think she is a mixture of both of us but her face is wise, like an old woman, who has seen much of the world before.

Everything about this child is diminutive but not her spirit, her spirit is big and full, like the moon she was born under.

I am tired and the doctors need to work on the babies, so my first foray into motherhood is brief. I am wheeled from the NICU slowly, my heart full with these two little girls.

Happy Birthday, my sweet cherubs.

Where have those years gone?

You are no longer babies, no longer little girls but on the cusp of womanhood.

I can hardly believe my luck. I am honoured to be your mother.