Preparing for the Twins

I built the nursery myself. Two cribs, side by side. A changing table. A rocking chair. I painted the walls a warm white and hung things on them that I hoped they'd like.

Standing in that room, alone, before they arrived — that was one of the strangest moments of the whole journey. The room was ready. They weren't here yet. The gap between those two things was enormous.

I took a newborn care class. I read books. I talked to other parents of twins. I made lists of what I'd need in the first weeks — formula, diapers, wipes, the specific brand of pacifier that supposedly worked best.

None of it fully prepared me. Nothing can. But the preparation itself was important — it was a way of saying: I'm taking this seriously. I'm showing up.

I talked to a therapist. I talked to friends who were parents. I tried to understand what I was walking into — not just the logistics, but the identity shift. The way becoming a parent changes who you are.

You can't fully prepare for that. But you can acknowledge it's coming. You can make space for it.

I flew to Kenya with one bag and a car seat. The night before the scheduled C-section, I sat in my hotel room and tried to sleep and couldn't. I wasn't scared, exactly. I was ready.

Ready in the way you can only be ready after years of working toward something. Not calm — certain. This was happening. Tomorrow, I would be a father.