Two under two.
It wasn't always pretty. It wasn't the airbrushed photograph of a bright-eyed young couple and their babies. It was greyer than that, apart from the bursts of laughter and the endless, uncomplicated love from a little boy and girl born 18 months apart. They made it all ok. Because it was harder than I could ever have imagined.
When I was pregnant, I tried to explain it to my one-year-old. He was starting to talk. He still needed me to lift him into his cot at night. I don't think he understood that a new baby was coming.
I missed him more than I've ever missed anyone during those two days in hospital. And then I came home with his baby sister. Our little family of three had become a family of four.
Life was lived in a sleep-deprived haze, from which there was no let up. I felt, often, like there wasn't enough of me to share between my babies. I missed the company of my 18-month-old son. It had, before, been just us.
Now there was also my baby daughter. To feed, to dress, to hold, to be with. My son would squeeze his way under my arm while I was breastfeeding his sister. He was desperate to be close to us, to be a part of us.
For the first few weeks he was showered with attention from the rest of the family, but it was clear he missed his mummy. He was intrigued by the baby doll who had come into our lives and seemed to be taking up so much of the adults' time. And then, after a while, he realised she was here to stay.
There were a couple of weeks of jealousy. Tantrums, playing up, behaviour we had not seen before. And all we could do was love him and love her and make sure they both knew that we would go to the ends of the earth for them.
The months of sleepless nights seem to go on forever. The days were a fog, and lifting my head off the pillow after a broken slumber seemed almost too hard on some days.
But gradually, without me realising, it became easier.
I was no longer cajoling a toddler to eat while also breastfeeding a baby in my other arm. I was no longer spending 45 minutes on getting us out of the door. I was no longer dreading outings because they were hard to organise around two different nap and feeding schedules. Getting up in the morning became easier as we all got more sleep and my two babies both grew a little less dependent on me for everything. They learned to wait while the other was attended to. They cried less.
Now, they are 13 months and just gone two-and-a-half. They are best friends who love each other intensely and want above all to be together. We have come out of the other side of what was a constant logistical puzzle.
There are still hard parts to days, yes, but life with two-under-two is no more. Life with a two-year-old and a one-year-old still has challenges. But it is also easier and simpler and less daunting.
The Duke and Duchess of Cambridge will know tiredness like nothing they've ever felt. But they'll also see a bond grow between their babies like nothing they could ever have imagined.
Then, one day, they realise that the hardest days have passed. And then, they'll wonder, quietly, whether they could do it all again.
Kiran Chug blogs at Mummy Says