Newsflash: You're Pregnant with Twins

You're pregnant with twins!

I've been asked many times about the moment we learned we were expecting twins. I've told the story before. But I don't believe I've ever told it in a formal way (meaning, in writing). 

As I was putting together this blog for expectant and new parents of twins and higher-order multiples, it occurred to me that it would be really fun to hear everyone's stories of THAT MOMENT. As I've talked with more and more moms and dads of twins over the years, their stories have never failed to make me laugh, cry, exclaim, "WAIT...HE PASSED OUT?" or a combination of the above.

So let's do this.

I'll share my Holy Sh*t...I'm Having Twins story, and I invite you to share yours with the rest of the First Year With Twins community as well! Simply email me at with your story, and I'll post it here in the blog for everyone to enjoy!

As do many expectant moms of twins, I knew that my chances becoming pregnant with more than one baby were increased. Getting pregnant with Grace (my oldest) wasn't the easiest feat, and we ended up using Clomid for a little assistance in the please-make-me-ovulate-I-beg-of-you department, and thanks to my medical degree from Google University, I knew exactly how likely it was that I would become pregnant with 2, 4, 8 or 26 babies at once.   

When Grace was a year old, we decided to continue growing our family. I had my mind set on having two kids, two years apart (sidenote: as of this writing, I have 5 kids, ranging in age from 17 to 8. I don't entirely know what happened but I often blame Jack and Henry for anything I can, including this).

My OB said that we could try to get pregnant without the Clomid, but that it would probably take a long time and, given my impatient nature, might not be the best option.

I love doctors who know and accept me. I left with a new Clomid prescription and a mission.


A few weeks later, my period was 6.2 hours late. I had practically furnished the second nursery, decided on a name and found an adorable PJ set to wear in the hospital post-delivery, and this was before all 4 pregnancy tests were positive---but barely.

I remember walking the fourth one across the street to my friend's house and asking (with a hint of desperation), "You see the vertical line there, right? Like, that's a positive result, right?"

To which she hesitantly replied, "Um, I think so." 

A couple of weeks later, on Christmas Eve, I miscarried. 

I didn't understand. I had a plan, remember: two kids, two years apart. And with each day that passed, that 2-year gap I planned to have between my kids grew. 

Back to Clomid I went. Month One was unsuccessful.

Month Two was, I swear, a science experiment at our house. I'm going to bet that a large majority of you are nodding right now. Basal thermometers and charts and pills and Google research and OH MY GOSH THE PAIN.

I called my OB's nurse one morning. "Um, I'm seriously in so much pain on my right side that I think I either have appendicitis or my ovary has dislodged itself from wherever it's supposed to be. Either way, I'm pretty sure it's a medical emergency and how much Ibuprofen can I safely take and not affect the 28 babies I'm sure I'm carrying already."

"I think you're just fine," she calmly replied. "You're probably just releasing a lot of eggs because of the Clomid."

"How many do you think? Like, 147? Because I'm not prepared to carry 147 babies; I'm not a tall person."

Fast forward two weeks; it was time to send over my temperature chart to my doc's office. 

The chart looked like a mountain range. Not even a little bit the way Google University says that one's temperature chart looks like when they've even ovulated, let alone conceived!

"I'm sorry," the nurse said when she called. "It doesn't look like it worked this month. But let's give it another month!"

You can imagine my shock when Day 28 came and went with no clear evidence that I was not pregnant.

To the drugstore I went.

Test One: very positive.

Test Five (different brand, just to be sure): very positive.

Test Eight (because maybe the first two tests were both defective): very very positive.

I was pregnant! I was thrilled! And I was 100% sure that there were two babies growing inside me.

I told David that I was sure I was pregnant with twins. He rolled his eyes. Then he panicked. Then he thought about teaching twins how to golf, and he got excited. 

Because I had taken Clomid, my OB's standard of care was to do a 6-week ultrasound. 

I walked into that exam room, climbed up on the table, and excitedly said to the ultrasound tech, "Let's see these babies!"

"Babies?" she asked, confused.

"Yep. There are two in there."

The way she looked at me probably would have thrown a woman not as convinced as I was that she was, indeed, pregnant with twins. 

The whoosh of the ultrasound filled the room. "Here's the baby!" she announced. "Oh, looks so good. Great heartbeat!"

"That's fantastic," I replied. "Where's the other one?"

This poor woman wore on her face a combination of confusion over my certainty, annoyance over my seeming suggestion that she wasn't doing her job correctly, and sadness over having to inform me that I was wrong and, perhaps, clinically insane. 

She unenthusiastically scanned some more, perhaps solely in an effort to prove to me that there was one and only one healthy baby swimming around in there. David stood in the doorway (it was an incredibly small room) with arms stretched above his head, hands resting on either side of the doorframe. 

And then it happened.

The ultrasound tech grabbed my right wrist with her right hand. Hard.

"Oh my God!" she said. "There is another one!"

"Told ya!" I replied.

And then my heart simply exploded. I knew, but of course I didn't know that I knew. 

David, who first thought I was crazy for having the thought at all, then thought the whole idea sounded fabulous, then was told there was only one baby and was now hearing that there were two, began to tear up in the doorway. 

And there they were. These two little boys who would, over the next 8 months, grow far too big for their mother's 5'3" frame, begin in-utero arguments they would continue for years after birth, and convince me that there's no such thing as too many Krispy Kreme donuts when you're expecting two. 

Oh---and given that they were born at 35 weeks, Grace had JUST turned two when they made their arrival. Funny how things work out, isn't it? 

Share your story! How did you learn you were expecting twins? How did you feel? What were the first words that came out of your mouth? What did you do immediately after finding out? 

Post a comment below or email your story to I'll be thrilled to share it with our community!