We had to be at the hospital by 7am on Wednesday 12 December 2007 and originally my op was scheduled for 10.30 but there was an emergency section at that time so my delivery was pushed back for a couple of hours. We spent the morning on the ward, relaxing (as much as you can with the sound of babies crying all around!), reading, playing games and chatting. The midwife that would look after me throughout the birth came to see me, checked the position of the babies (Grace – twin 1 was breech and Ruth – twin 2 was head down), checked my ‘shaving’ and asked if I had any particular concerns. I’m ashamed to say that I asked whether I could keep my knickers on or not...

We finally went down to theatre at about 12pm, dh and I parting ways at the door. There were about 25 people in the operating theatre I think, they just kept appearing. Plus, as it was a scheduled twin section, which is apparently quite a rare event, I agreed that a load of medical students could sit in. There seemed to be two of everyone: two surgeons, two teams of midwives and two anaesthetists – one incredibly tall and skinny, one short and German, both of whom were absolutely barking. I knew that the morphine had kicked in when I told the incredibly tall anaesthetist that he reminded me of Guy Secretan from Green Wing. I heard gales of laughter from the medical students behind the curtain...

When I was all prepped and the sheet divide was put up between my head and stomach, dh was led in by ‘his’ midwife looking white as a sheet, but v gorgeous in his scrubs ;). He made a conscious decision not to look down the business end at any point! Once the op started everyone seemed to fade away apart from me, dh and the anaesthetist who checked on me every so often. I started to feel a bit sick and the Guy Secretan doppelganger fiddled with a switch on his Starship Enterprise console and I suddenly felt marvellous. I felt the washing up feeling and the bed started moving around rather violently. Dh looked alarmed, I remained extremely calm!

Suddenly, we could hear the sound of a crying baby (Grace at 12.38pm), then another one (Ruth at 12.39pm). Ruth was handed to us first (I don’t know why), wrapped in a white towel with a yellow woolly bobble hat jammed on her head. Dh held her gently in his arms and laid her on my pillow so that I could stroke her face. I gingerly lifted up her hat and her head was covered in light brown hair. She was taken away for more checks and Grace appeared and we did the same with her. I lifted up her bobble hat, which revealed that she had a full head of thick black hair. My dream that they would be covered in hair like tiny gorillas and would need to be shaved was thankfully not prophetic!

Not long after that, the op was almost over. Dh was led back out of theatre and my consultant appeared over the sheet divide to fill me in on the op (I didn't take much of it in). Then one of the surgeons told me to look down at my stomach to see the difference. I could see my feet again! However, my once huge, tight bump had deflated to a red, saggy, blancmange-like mass. It didn’t matter how much the surgeon told me I’d soon regain my figure, it was only the happy drugs and the thought of the two beautiful newborn babies being weighed in the corner that prevented me from bursting into tears.

I gave the girls their first tandem breastfeed while I was in recovery and half an hour later we were wheeled back to the ward, where dh was waiting for us (sadly, back in his normal clothes) and we got to have our first proper cuddles.

I couldn’t get over how tiny and perfect they were. It all felt incredibly unreal. I kept expecting someone to say that a terrible mistake had been made, that they weren’t really our babies and that we’d have to give them back, but no-one did. These tiny babies, no, creatures were ours and we’d made them. It felt like one hell of an achievement.