Less than two years earlier, against my better judgment and without my doctor’s knowledge, I’d come down to Alabama, where my parents lived, to produce and direct a show that my production company had been commissioned to perform. I was 32 weeks pregnant with the twins, but one thing I’ve learned working in the theater is that when opportunity knocks, you answer.
My husband, Paul, and I already had two other kids, one-year-old Layna and five-year-old Ethan, and they came with us. We drove straight from our home in Columbus, Ohio. All the while, I was reassuring Paul that it would just be a short visit. I’d do the gig, Mama and Daddy would have a chance to bond with their grandkids, and then we’d go home.
I was in this very spot—in the den— when my water broke. Six hours later, the twins arrived for their surprise birthday. Immediately they were whisked off to the NICU, where they stayed for the next 14 days.
PAUL HAD TO GET BACK to work, and Ethan needed to get back to school. Even after