Wisdom & Strength

09/21/2025

I can still feel them laying on my chest. Their tiny bodies fit in the space right below my collar bones. I smile at that memory. I was blessed to be able to hear their heartbeats when the nurses checked. I was happy to hold them and sing to them a song my mother would sing to me as a child. 

My babies would have turned 8 this year. It’s kind of crazy that one looked just like my Little Genius, and the other like Tater Tot. 

The idea of having twins had never crossed my mind. My sister was the one who wanted twins. She always wanted a big family. She would come up with all these names that she wanted to give her future children, and I’d say something like, well that’s your 43rd child! Lol. The idea of having twins freaked me out. When my loveband and I saw two amniotic sacks during the first ultrasound, I think we were both in shock. It was a happy moment, but for me, well, it was very overwhelming. I already had one boy, my little genius, who as a toddler was trying to navigate his humungous emotions. I didn’t know how I was going to handle him and twins! People talk about having two under two. I would have had three, two and under. We were planning for one baby to be nestled in my womb, not two. 

Sometimes, I wondered if my overwhelm and negative thoughts were what brought on all the things that went wrong with that pregnancy. Sometimes, I wondered if the medical interventions I was given during  the birth of my first injured my body. I’ll never know what really happened. The doctors, with all their diagnostic procedures, couldn’t figure out why certain things were beginning to happen way too soon. Getting stitched up and being on strict bed rest didn’t help for long enough. Just another week, and maybe, just maybe my baby boys would still be with me.

I miss them so much, imagine what they’d be into, how tall they’d be now. What would their sibling/twin dynamic be? I miss them so much, but there is so much that I received from the experience of carrying them. 

Thanksgiving, 2016. That was the day I heard an owl hoot in the night. We were at a friend’s house that year, having Thanksgiving with her family. I’m not sure if it was when we were getting ready to leave, or what, but we were all out front just chatting. I heard the clear sound, and then a rather large owl flew off the lamp post above our heads. It was pretty dark outside, so I could only see the outline of it, but it was beautiful. 

During that time, I liked reading about omens. (I’d read the Alchemist a few times, and the concept caught my interest.) It was an enjoyable pastime, and I don’t like, go seeking omens or whatever, but when something like this happens, I just have to go and read all about it. 

When I read about the owl, there were several meanings. One was something about death (yikes), but the one that I stored in the back of my head was this: if a pregnant woman hears an owl, she will have a smooth, peaceful labor. Just hold onto that.

Come December? January? I was around 18 weeks pregnant with my twin boys when we found out that there was some funneling in my cervix. (If this is TMI, sorry, but oh well! This is what happened. Lol.) Basically, it was beginning to open from the inside out if you aren’t familiar with the term.

I think I did bed rest pretty well. I knitted a neck pillow for my little genius. (It was too big for his little neck though lol.) I journaled a lot, and tried to make sure I was eating, and drinking enough water throughout the day. The hardest things for me were not being able to take care of my oldest boy, and having too much information at my fingertips. My loveband did an amazing job taking care of our son and me, and still working. I think that may have been when he also started working a part time job because FMLA as a teacher sucks. 

But I was reading about too many things that could go wrong with twin pregnancies, and cervixes, and whatever else. I had already been a bit freaked out, then I was feeding myself all this negativity. I really didn’t know how to guard my heart and mind back then. Thank God for lessons learned. 

Well, one morning, it was a Friday, I noticed that something happened that shouldn’t have happened. I called the doctor’s line and talked to some person that wasn’t my doctor, told her that I’m pretty sure (TMI again) I just lost my mucous plug even though I’d had a cerclage and had been on bed rest for about 4 weeks. The woman tells me not to worry about it. Well, she said more than that I’m sure, but the gist was don’t worry about it. 

Fast forward a few days. It’s kinda crazy, I just looked at my calendar from February, 2017, and the appointment that we had scheduled on the 27th is still there. I had to get an ultrasound every couple of weeks, and when I woke up that morning, well, I woke up a bit early to contractions. They weren’t strong, but they were certainly consistent. I knew we had an appointment with the specialist, so I just got ready like normal, informed my loveband that I’d been having them for maybe a few hours, and we proceeded to go to our appointment. While Dr. G was checking out the babies, he definitely saw that I was contracting, so what did we get to do? Go to the hospital. 

They put me on some medication that is supposed to stop contractions, and if I recall correctly, the bed was slightly inverted so that my feet were higher than my head. I lose all concept of time during these events, so I have no idea how long this went on. All I know is that it was long enough for whatever medication to cause some sort of toxicity. I was extremely overheated to the point that I allowed ice to touch my body. (My loveband knows I do not like ice, or having cold things touch me.) I just felt so… I don’t even know how to describe it. When I was trying to communicate through my heated panic, apparently my words were slurred. I couldn’t even think well enough to choose the words I was trying to get out. They ended up stopping the medication that was supposed to stop contractions. It wasn’t working anyway. I could still feel them the whole time, softly, but they were still there. All we could do at that point was let labor run its course, and hope the babies’ lungs were developed enough to put in the NICU. It was unlikely. 

Once I felt normal again, I felt prepared for what was to come. I was sure to rest before labor freely progressed. The lights were dimmed. My loveband laid on the bench or chair by the window, so he could rest too. I wasn’t worried. I wasn’t scared. Contractions came harder. I breathed through them. This was how I’d wanted my first birth experience to go. No epidural. God created me for this. Everything was so peaceful. God held me through it all. Everything went smoothly. My babies were born. My tiny twin boys. God held me through it all.

The hospital’s pediatrician came in to examine my boys to see if there was anything we could do. They still weren’t developed enough. We could try to put them on the machines, but it was a long shot. It would be a fight to get them to viability. We didn’t want that for our babies. We didn’t want to prolong any suffering they might experience. We felt peace about allowing them to fly back into the hands of our loving creator. We chose to hold them while their hearts still beat. We chose to give them the kisses that we wouldn’t be able to give in the future. We took pictures, we smiled at them, sang to them. Tried to bottle up all the baby moments we could in just those few hours. Peace. Their heartbeats slowed…stopped. Peace.

Yes, we cried. Our parents cried with us. Our friends and coworkers showed us their support and love. But I tell you, I have never known what it really meant to have peace that passes understanding until that day, in that hospital, when my babies were born too soon. I love them so much. 

I chose the twins’ names before they were born. My loveband kept wondering why I was pushing so hard for us to choose their names. There was time. I like to think that it was a God-wink. He knew the time we actually had, so he put it in me to want to choose their names. (I was also on bed rest, so what else was there to think about? Lol.)

I always wanted my children’s names to have meanings. Baby A became Avery Bryant Bulwer. Avery means wise. Baby B became Pearce Bryant Bulwer. Pearce, the rock/stone, signifies strength. Bryant also has to do with strength. I think it’s amazing how I chose these names as a life-long prayer over my children' s character. But before they even develop their character, God was building upon mine. I grew in wisdom and understanding in the months after this birth experience. I also grew in strength. God gave me his strength.  

Although I miss my babies, I thank God for their lives. They are and will forever be a part of who I am.