The babies are coming! The babies are coming!

So maybe this isn't as momentous as a British invasion, but it certainly feels pretty traumatic the closer I get. And I'm getting close. In less than a week from when this is published, I will have a son and daughter.

It all feels so fast, but then I realize how long it took to get here. Two years of trying, five months of fertility treatments, 20 weeks of morning sickness, 13 weeks of bed rest, hundreds of doctor's appointments.

I feel like I've been pregnant forever, and yet I still wish I had more time. The babies are easy to take care of right now. I don't have to worry about changing diapers or guessing what their cries mean. I can take them anywhere without stressing about pushy people with dirty hands.

That's not to say I've loved being pregnant. It hurts to put on pants, and I'm never comfortable, no matter what position I'm in. All the rest people tell me to get is impossible since I can't sleep without running to the bathroom every 90 minutes. I am not even that bloated, but I feel like a whale.

Not that I've hated pregnancy, because I realize what I get in the end: two beautiful babies. Perhaps it's that mommy gene that wipes away all the pain we go through so we are able and willing to reproduce again. Maybe I've been brainwashed by a perfect storm of hormones. Maybe I am just excited to meet them.

As frustrated as I am to have spent months lying on my left side, spilling everything I eat, I don't regret it or wish it went differently. OK ... I wish I had been able to go to work and live my daily life, going to dinner and movies with my husband, walking the dogs in the park and doing laundry, which for some reason I actually miss.

I would have loved to have had a symptom-free pregnancy, if that exists, and waddled through waking life with just a bump as evidence that I was with children.

I wouldn't have minded avoiding all the rude questions about whether the conception was natural or "fake" -- yes, someone actually used that word -- or the countless uninvited rubbings of my belly. What I wouldn't do to drink margaritas and eat hot dogs and raw sushi!

But none of that stuff really matters as I embark on the biggest challenge of my life thus far. I'm going to be a mom.

My husband would tell you that I'm already a mom. He noticed that a few months back when I had to make another hospital run with complications and I told him, "I'm not giving up these babies," in a fierce, mother-bear tone he had never heard me use before.

I will do whatever I need to protect them, but I'm also scared at how good I will be. I feel myself getting overly defensive when I try to explain to the grandparents-to-be how I can do it all on my own, and, "That's not how they do things these days."

While I learn to accept how much help we will need with twins, I'm still worried about going from bed rest to babies without a break. I had hoped to have at least one week to run errands and do the last-minute prep work. But it's not in the cards.

The other day I was trying to map out my career and stressing about how two babies at one time would fit into the world that I've known. I want to hold onto myself. I fret about being just a mom -- or just anything for that matter.

And then it hit me: Now is my time to focus on being the best mom. Of course I will never be just a mom, but I can certainly learn how to do it right from the start.

So looking back on all the pain and hurdles I dealt with in the past 36 weeks, I honestly feel pretty good about all of it.

This whole pregnancy has been like nothing I imagined. No baby book spelled it out for me. Every time I had a question, I would find an almost answer.

So with just days to go, I admit I am not ready. But that's OK. I have many years to perfect my version of motherhood.

Maybe I'll be so good at it that I'll just have to do it all over again.

Laura Lewis Brown's column will be taking a break for a while as she adjusts to motherhood.