Days slipped into weeks and then into months. Aaron and Connor were healthy and strong. Their issues with prematurity diminished before our eyes. They kept us up all night, they chugged down formula like some kind of starved ape-like mammal, and kept us in the poorhouse with the amount of diapers they required on a daily basis. That being said, they were still a source of great joy.

Joel struggled with all the changes. Suddenly he was no longer the center of attention. He decided the only way to counteract the lack of attention was to go on the attack. I mean, negative attention is still attention right?. He decided he would do everything he was not allowed to do until someone cared. He drew on the walls, took a dozen eggs and broke them all over the floor, would throw himself on the floor screaming, you know typical stuff. I decided something needed to be done.

I hired a teenage girl to come over and help. She would either watch the twins while I took Joel out or she would take Joel to the park to play. It helped, but Joel still demanded more than I could give. I was starting to feel pulled in so many directions and would collapse on my bed at night frustrated and near tears. This motherhood thing was way over-rated and I was not at all living the sweet life I had planned. It was too hard. I started crying daily, losing my temper and snapping at Scott over every little thing.

After a lot of long conversations with Scott and other close friends, I decided to seek help. I had always felt that I could do it. I believed I was strong enough to withstand whatever came my way. One meeting with the therapist led to a quick diagnosis: post partum depression.

For those that boo-hoo this issue and stand next to Tom Cruise and his drivel, I challenge you to spend a day with a woman with twins, a highly energetic two year old, countless bouts of rotovirus and overactive hormones. Trust me, the issue is real. It certainly was for me. I was in over my head and needed some kind of break, or a nervous breakdown was inevitable. The therapist recommended hiring someone to give me some much needed respite. My parents had always taught me to follow doctor's orders and this was no exception. When Scott realized that the help would ease my constant sour spirit, he was on board.

God brought a wonderful woman into our lives who helped me more than I could ever share here on this blog. She helped me stay sane. She cleaned my house, took care of my kids and just let me leave and sit at Panera for two hours reading a book. My kids called her Nana, but she was more than that. She was an angel sent by God. She helped us celebrate the twins' first birthday, saw their first steps and loved them without reservation. I look back and realize how my life would have collapsed around me if she had not stepped through the door of my disheveled mind. She stayed around for almost two years, until she moved to help her daughter care for her children. Whatever sanity I have left, I owe to her.