Crossing The Line

Something happened between last Sunday and now. I went from pregnant-and-hanging-in-there to wow, some changes need to be made. This weekend was particularly difficult. I am realizing that I just can’t keep up with my normal schedule. I move at a much slower rate; I wake at least five times a night to pee and I finally realize that the pain in my hands that hasn’t gone away might be carpal tunnel (it feels like both of my hands are bruised). Sitting upright or driving immediately starts BH (but laying down all the time just isn’t practical). And, most poignantly for me, I’ve lost valuable space in my stomach: I want to eat more but I just can’t. I think the babies are pushing up on it and creating the illusion of fullness. The bright side: Perhaps this will slow my rapid weight gain (as long as it doesn’t slow the babies’ weight gain).

While I am nesting like a maniac (organizing the room; washing clothes; rearranging closets and shelves, making lists), the babies seem to be doing the same inside of me. They are moving around in new and unusual ways. We can feel body parts, but I still find it hard to discern an arm from an elbow; a head from a butt. These babies are either moving into a head-down position to ready themselves for their impending arrival or they are settling themselves in with no intentions of leaving (I think it’s the latter…). I have an ultrasound tomorrow and I can’t wait to see what is going on in there and find out how much these babies weigh (I could be off, but it seems like 14 pounds each). Last week, my doctor seemed convinced that they would stay in for at least 38 weeks (or more) and weigh 7 to 8 pounds each. Right now, that seems like quite a tall order.

My hormones have taken an abrupt turn as well. Yesterday I saw bird gathering grass and twigs for its nest, with the impossibly perfect song The Byrds song Turn, Turn, Turn randomly playing in the background as a sort of soundtrack (“A time to be born, a time to die; a time to plant, a time to reap; a time to kill, a time to heal; a time to laugh, a time to weep….”) For absolutely no reason at all, I started to cry and couldn’t stop. There are obvious metaphors, and some direct connections to current events, but still, why the copious tears? It’s like I am no longer in control, physically or emotionally.

Yesterday, while sorting through some baby clothes, we decided on a take-home outfit for the babies, even though we aren’t sure when they will make their arrival or how much they will weigh. So we are driving around Long Island yesterday, dividing time between my mother’s house and Nicole’s sister’s house, with two cute little onesies folded in my bag in the backseat. It reminded me of the very beginning of this pregnancy, when my confident RE promised us when I was 5 weeks pregnant a take-home baby, an expression that struck me as so blunt and sterile. I didn’t believe him, given our track record and the seemingly impossible odds. Thus began the roller-coaster (Heartbeats? Sacs? Growing properly?). And here we are, eight months later, choosing take-home outfits for these take-home babies. I’m not exaggerating when I say I really didn’t think it was going to happen for us. Lucky, lucky, lucky.

Pictured above are two pictures of Leif (I couldn’t decide which one was cuter), who asks me all the time when the babies are coming out. I said in the summer, which confused him this weekend, since it was in the 70s here in NYC. We went from winter to summer this weekend, and will return to spring some time later this week. Which begs the question: How do you explain global warming to a four-year-old?