The Story
I was 23 weeks pregnant when I unexpectedly went into labor with our twins.
Up until that point, everything had felt normal. We had found out we were having a boy and a girl at our 20-week ultrasound and were settling into the excitement and anticipation that comes with preparing for two babies at once. Like most moms, I imagined what our future would look like. I imagined bringing home healthy babies, sleepless nights, matching milestones, and the version of motherhood I thought I was headed toward.
Instead, my water broke in the middle of the night.
At the hospital, doctors discovered that it was my son’s sac that had ruptured. We knew he was coming. What nobody knew was whether our daughter would too.
After trying to delay labor long enough for steroid shots and medical intervention to give him the best chance possible, I delivered our son, Evan, at just 23 weeks gestation.
Then we waited.
Because our daughter, Brielle, stayed where she was.
I remember the doctors telling us they had read about interval deliveries in medical journals but had never experienced one themselves. Everything felt uncertain. Every decision felt impossibly heavy. We made the choice to protect Brielle for as long as possible, knowing we had no guarantees for either of them.
For seventeen days, I remained hospitalized on strict bed rest while Evan fought for his life in the NICU.
Motherhood became very different than what I had originally envisioned.
Over the years, our family has learned how to navigate therapies, surgeries, developmental challenges, special needs parenting, and all the complicated emotions that can come with it — including guilt, grief, resilience, gratitude, and hope existing all at the same time.
But we’ve also experienced incredible joy.
Today, Evan and Brielle are thriving in their own ways. Their story is still unfolding, just like ours is.
For years, I felt called to write this story down. Not because I believe our experience is more important than anyone else’s, but because I know how isolating motherhood can feel when life doesn’t go according to plan. Whether it’s the NICU, medical challenges, special needs parenting, loss, uncertainty, or simply carrying burdens quietly that nobody else can see — so many moms are walking through difficult stories while trying to hold everything together.
I created Interval Twins to share our story honestly and to create space for those moms too.
My hope is that somewhere in these words, someone feels seen. Someone feels understood. Someone feels a little less alone in the in-between.
Those seventeen days changed me forever.
I could only visit Evan briefly each day because I was still being monitored constantly. My husband split his time between the NICU and my hospital room while we tried to process a reality we never could have imagined. There were machines, specialists, conversations, medical terminology, and endless unknowns. I remember feeling incredibly alone in it all.
At the time, I couldn’t find stories from other moms who had lived through something similar. Most of the information available felt clinical and terrifying — focused on statistics, complications, and worst-case scenarios. What I needed was hope. I needed honesty. I needed someone who understood the emotional weight of living moment-to-moment while not knowing what the future would hold for your children.
Seventeen days after Evan’s birth, Brielle was born.
Both babies spent months in the NICU. There were surgeries, setbacks, milestones, fears, and countless moments where we simply didn’t know what would happen next. Evan experienced brain bleeds and other complications related to extreme prematurity. We didn’t know if he would walk, talk, or what kind of quality of life he would ultimately have. Even after leaving the NICU, the uncertainty didn’t disappear. In many ways, it simply changed form.
