We entered the hospital and scrubbed our hands for the last time. The smell of iodine and disenfectant were becoming tiresome and it seemed to stay on my hands for days. As we pushed open the doors to the ISCU, we knew we were ready to end this chapter in our lives. As we walked toward the twins, a nurse approached us and mentioned that one of the car seats did not pass the test. The straps were not adjustable and since the boys were so small, they needed to be supported in their car seats with rolled up towels. The straps were too high on the car seat and we would not be able to take one of the twins home if we did not buy a new one.

It was already late, and we had no idea what would be open. I started crying, thinking we would have to leave one of them behind because nobody thought to call us ahead of time and tell us about the car seat. Scott said he would go to the closest mall and hope something was open. I told him money was not an issue, to buy whatever he could find. As he rushed out the door, tears were streaming down my face.

I walked over to the twins and picked each of them up. I sat on the rocker and held them close. I loved to smell their little heads, which seemd to almost fit in the palm of my hand. They now were back to their birth weight, around 4 pounds each. They had lost a bit of weight the first week, dropping them down to a little over 3 pounds. They were still so tiny.

As I sat there, the nurses started to pack up some of our things. The boys were on a high calorie formula, which was very expensive. The nurses found a case of unopened formula and told us to take it with us. It would last a few days. They also gave us a lot of bottles and nipples, since the boys still needed little ones. The store bottles were still too big for their little mouths. They also gave us preemie diapers, diaper rash cream, preemie pacifiers, and the little hand made quilts that covered their bodies while they lay in their incubators.

It felt like an eternity waiting for Scott to return. I was so scared he would not find a carseat and we would have to leave one of the boys behind. How could I decide who would stay and who would go? It didn't seem right to me that they were created at the same time, spent 7 months inside my womb together, three weeks in the hospital together, just to be separated the day they are discharged to go to their forever home. I was not going to let that happen. I decided to put their "coming home" clothes on their little frames. I had purchased them 4 months prior, in preparation for a dual homecoming. They looked like little clowns, the brightly colored fleece clothes drapped over their tiny bodies.

Scott came in smiling holding a big Graco box. He had found one. A Graco no less, which would also work on our new double stroller. I was thrilled. The nurses looked it over and adjusted the straps. They gently took Aaron out of my arms and placed him in the carseat. He was so small, the car seat seemed to consume him. The nurses than showed us how to take towels and blankets and roll them up so they could keep him snug and stable. They did the same to Connor. Once we had them all snug and warm, we knew it was time to go.

We took pictures, hugged a few nurses and took all the pictures and papers we had taped to their incubators. The nurses checked our wristbands and compared them to the twins and then the moment arrived. One of the nurses took a pair of scissors and cut the wristbands off, smiled and said, "Congratulations, they are all yours." With that, we pushed open the doors and walked away. We were ready to leave that place. We were ready to be done with the roller coaster of emotions, the dinging of the monitors, the constant worry about weight and eating, and the days of seeing other parents in anguish over the impeding loss of their newborn child. It was too hard. The grief seemed to often outweigh the joy and we were ready to begin a new joyous chapter. We were done with grief.