Full Circle

We went up to Northampton for the weekend. Nicole’s friend Tim is in a touring improv/comedy company and they were performing in Springfield for five nights. We went up for the Saturday night show. It was hysterical! It was the most I had laughed in a long, long time. The babies were kicking the entire time, so they have either developed an early interest in sublime sketch/improv comedy or they are sensitive to all the clapping and laughing around them. Oh, it might have also have been the licorice I ate before the show began. During the intermission Nicole and I watched my stomach and could actually see the kicks and punches. It was surreal.

The show was mostly skits a la SNL, but the group also did several improv sketches, where they took suggestions from the audience and turned said suggestions into skits off the top of their heads. It is mind numbing how some people can do that. In one skit, Tim pulled out of nowhere: “I’m going to crawl inside your mouth and kill you from the inside.” I couldn’t (and still) can’t stop laughing. It fit into the skit perfectly, and it is so funny to boot.

On Sunday morning, Nicole and I performed my experiment of waking the babies up. I laid in the giant hotel bed and didn’t move and the babies were still sleeping. So Nicole started talking to them and after a minute or so they both started kicking. I think this is proof finally that their little ears are working. They can hear us. That is surreal, too. I makes me want to talk to them all the time, but I am aware how crazy that would make me look. Now Nicole needs to start having daily conversations with them so they recognize her voice too when they join us on the outside.

We picked up Tim at 9, I mean 8, I mean 10 (daylight savings has me all screwed up) and went for breakfast in Northampton (eggs AND French toast) and Tim took us to this great book store about 10 miles north called The Book Mill. It was an old mill outfitted as a book store/restaurant/café, complete with dusty corners and Victorian couches and lots of nooks and crannies. All overlooking a waterfall. It was great. I wish we discovered this about four years ago. It must be beautiful in the fall. Then we went back to Northampton for some burnt sugar and butter ice cream; dropped Tim off at his hotel and began the drive home.

What was nice was that I didn’t really worry or fret at all over the weekend. We were too busy and having too much fun for me to let any bad thoughts seep in. Tim is hysterical pretty much all the time, so having him around was like having your own personal comic.

But now that we are back home, let the games begin. Actually, I am still not really fretting about Awful Things That Could Happen because I am concentrating on finishing a ton of work for my Masters. It occurred to me that I am just so done with grad school. I finished my first Masters in two years and went straight into the second without a break. So it’s been four and a half years of grad school. Granted, I am not working this semester and that makes a huge difference, but right now, I just feel like I have so many other things to concern myself with, like these babies, and getting ready for them. I want to take care of myself and Nicole and the babies….not my class readings. I am slightly resentful that I still have grad school looming over me, with some big projects to finish and papers to complete. In theory, I was going to start a doctoral program right after this program was over, but I have come to my senses. I need a break, for at least a year, and then I can assess where I am. More school and babies will be a difficult load to balance. But I am happy to sacrifice the former for the latter, for a few years or even forever.

Interesting tidbit: At breakfast, I made a pit stop to the bathroom and there was a woman ahead of me waiting to use it. So I sat down next to her and waited my turn. The bathroom frees up and I wait for the woman to go in. Instead, she says with a smile, “Go ahead, Hun. Been there, done that,” while waving her hand around my stomach. Pregnancy membership has its privileges, and I still can’t believe I am a member. But this is the interesting part, for lack of a better word: This wasn’t the first time I heard “been there done that.” After one of my miscarriages, a coworker, who didn’t get the memo apparently, asked how the baby was. I said I had a m/c and she flippantly said “Been there, done that,” without so much as an “I’m sorry,” or “I feel your pain” or anything. I remember feeling stunned: How could someone who knows this sort of horror be so trite and borderline cold? And this morning, I got to here this expression again but in much better circumstances. Kinda makes me believe all that talk about the things in life coming full circle.

Pictured above is my giant sleeping pillow on location at our hotel. The pillow comes with me wherever I go (that is, when I sleep someplace other than home). And yet I am still not sleeping that comfortably. It might be time for a new, extra-strength pillow. Also pictured are Nicole and Tim at The Book Mill; and Nicole and the babies and me, looking like a Weeble Wooble. I swear I don’t look this rotund in real life.

Attitude Adjustment

I’m making my morning toast and looking out the window and there, six floors below, is a message on a moving truck, of all things. Life is Beautiful, on the top of a truck. Who can see that message, other than people looking out their windows while waiting for their toast to pop up? It’s not exactly at eye level. And who decided to put that on the top of a truck, and why? It’s like it was a secret message, a little reminder, just for me. And if it wasn’t, don’t burst my bubble, because I like to visit in Fantasy Land every once in a while.

Earlier, when I woke up, I layed in bed for a few minutes. The babies were still sleeping. I started talking to them, a little light banter about the day ahead, and, lo and behold, they started kicking. Is it too much to hope that they can hear me and are responding? A conversation of sorts, through words and kicks and punches. Don’t burst my bubble if that isn’t the case. Again, Fantasy Land.

Nicole’s flight from Dallas is delayed, so I won’t see her before class tonight. And the contractor, who was supposed to begin yesterday, has yet to show up and it is almost noon on Friday. And I have four hours of classes to sit through tonight. So in the moment, life doesn’t exactly feel very beautiful. But maybe we are supposed to look at the bigger picture, the grander scale. Or the smaller scale, as in these two little babies inside me. They do indeed make life very beautiful. And they aren’t even born yet.

In honor of Photo Friday, pictured above is my favorite mug. My SIL got it for me in Japan, the land of All Things Cool. I love that there is no handle, so you can feel the warmth of the coffee on the palms of your hands. This cup has lived with me for a decade. It survived living on a boat with me for years. It survived being packed up and moving to land. Now it sits in my cabinet, waiting for the day that I can drink coffee again.

Techno Babble

Today Nicole left for a business trip to Dallas. She left at 4:00 in the morning. When she leaned over to kiss me goodbye, we talked for a minute, and then the babies woke up! I would like to think they recognize her voice (she was doing most of the talking) and are responding to it, because it is too early for them to wake up and be moving. They usually stay quiet until I get up and haul myself to the bathroom (patterns!). And it is interesting: It seems like one wakes up, starts kicking, wakes up her sister and then she starts moving. I love feeling all that. It’s like a circus in my uterus. But it's strange: There are times when they are kicking away and I grab Nicole's hand and put it on my stomach and they stop. Like they got caught doing something they shouldn't. Her hand goes up and kicking resumes. I think they know that she is the disciplinarian.

The Home Invasion continues. The Contractor was supposed to be here at 10 a.m. Ha! It is almost 2:00 and no sign of him. Here we go again. But the Cable Guy is here, trying to fix our messed-up cable. We have been TV-less now for six days. I’d like to say that it doesn’t make a difference in my world, but the reality is, it does. I MISS tv, and the nightly comfort it brings me. Nicole said that we should have just stapled money to the wall instead of spending it on a TV! That cracked me up. It reminds me of that boating adage: Instead of buying a boat, just stand in a shower and rip up 100 dollar bills. Sadly, it is so true.

Nicole gave the contractor until next Wednesday to finish up. I think that is VERY generous since there are only a few things left for him to do. Another contractor could do all this in one day. I’m serious. I really can’t be here when he is working because it is just too uncomfortable for me. I could hang out in the bedroom and nap and read, but that kinda creeps me out, with him in the other room. Call me old-fashioned. So it is off to hit the streets again. It’s hard because I am still so tired. I don’t sleep well at night at all. Still the flipping back and forth all night long, till the covers are tangled and my back is aching. No wonder I need naps during the day.

Cable Guy just left to get something from his truck. He is flummoxed. He can’t figure out the problem. Great. We would switch providers in a second but they are the only company that services our building. So we are phone-less and cable-less and I wonder how long till we are internet-less. Life was easier without all this technology.

We are going up to Northampton for the weekend. The last time we were there was New Years, when I was 16 weeks pregnant. I was so zippy then! Now I will be 26 weeks. That totally throws me. I still can’t believe I am pregnant. Last time I was there I wore my first pair of maternity jeans (on January 1st). I am still wearing them (well, I have changed clothes since then…). Though it may be time to invest in a bigger pair.

Nicole still gets real estate listings from an agent up there. We postponed buying anything until I got pregnant, because who knew how long that journey would be. Now it is sorta back on the radar. Maybe next year, when life settles into a pattern. We are going to need to have a place outside the city to escape to on the weekends with these two girls. I want them to have grass and tress and mountains. I love living in the city, and can’t imagine not living here, but every once in a while, the siren call of suburbia calls to me.

All this forward thinking still scares me though: I remember being pregnant and touring houses with the agent last year. That was the ectopic. We were thinking “And this would be the baby’s room..”. I was optimistic; not ridiculously so, but just enough to even look at places. And now here we are again, farther along, bigger than before, and this time there’s a deep cut of fear. The babies' room is almost done. Cribs are bought and rug is ordered and the contractor is finsihing the door. I have no choice but to think ahead. And yet I feel like I am going to be punished with tragedy if I think optimistically.

I’m attached to these babies, and can’t wait to see their little faces. Not before at least another two months, though.

Countdown 100 days. I am still in shock.

Pictured above is Northampton in the Fall, just because.

Day 177

I had a doctor’s appointment this morning to take the Glucose Challenge or whatever it is called. Nicole had the day off, so she came with me to sit through the boring-ness of waiting an hour to draw blood. I also saw the doctor and she showed Nicole the babies. Of course, the screen is so tiny and angled away from me so I couldn’t see a thing. But Nicole was able to see them, for the first time in a long while, which I am glad about. They were squirming around and kicking and punching, high off of the disgusting glucose crap I had to drink. Nicole said she could see the four chambers of their hearts. All I could do was lay there are the docor and Nicole oh’d and ah’d at the screen. The doctor said they were both in breech position, but there was still plenty of time for them to move around. And yet they have been in breech position since they grew limbs. A c-section is seeming more and more likely.

Overwhelmed is still the word of the week. Perhaps month. There is so much to do and so little time to do it. It doesn’t help that we keep having random issues thrown at us: The cable has been out since Saturday; our land line phone stopped working, and there have been other ridiculous little non-important things that have me tettering on the edge. In addition, I am in my last semester of grad school so I have a ton of pre-graduation work to do. And paperwork. Then there are lots of baby-related things that need to be attended to. There are also so many projects that I need to complete…things that are almost done but not quite. And, to top it all off, I am awaiting the imminent Return of the Lazy Contractor, who needs to finish fixing the electrical problem he started and insert the door and add some molding. Again, maybe 6 hours of work that will take him about 4 days to complete.

I know; go ahead and pull out the mini-violins. I do realize how whiney I am being.

And yet that doesn’t stop this train wreck of emotional roller coasters. (I think that is one of the worst mixed metaphors I have ever written!) Maybe it’s the hormones, but the overwhelming-ness of everything makes me cry. Unpredictably and uncontrollably. I had a near breakdown in Home Depot, and only calmed down by sitting on boxes in front of the closet organization section and staring at the myriad possibilities while Nicole procured our special order door from the Special Services desk. I cried again Sunday night. Anything pushes me over the edge. I’m hoping this is a temporary visit to the land of emotional turmoil.

I blame exhaustion, too. My blood pressure is still low…something over 56. Was it 72? Or 82? Regardless, I am tired all of the time and winded even sitting on the couch. I don’t sleep well at nights at all. I toss and turn and spend a good portion of it awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering how I will get everything done that needs to get done in the month of March. No one can fret like me.

Nicole and I spent all day out running errands. I feel like we are making a dent in all that needs to get done (one hand gives....), but there is still so much more to do (...and the other takes away...). We bought an end table, with two empty drawers that I get to figure out what to put in. Nothing like an empty drawer to get me all excited. I may leave it empty for a while in my typical pleasure-delaying style. Why enjoy something now when I can delay enjoying it and instead live in the anticipation of enjoying it?

Nicole took off Friday and today, which means I am once again accustomed to her constant companionship. But now she has to go back to work and I am alone again. Plus, she drops on me that she has to go to Dallas on Thursday for the night. As unhealthy as it may seem, I just don’t feel the need for many spaces in our togetherness. Everything is better when she is around.

In other news:

Nephew Moment: Leif slept over on Saturday night. Sunday, he wakes up at around 6:30, climbs into bed with us (he sleeps on a blow-up mattress on the floor next to me) and snuggles in the crock of my arm while I lay on my back. He reaches over to pat my stomach and says “Good morning, babies.” How freaking cute is that?! Did I mention that he was wearing pajamas with sheep and cows and dogs on them? So cute.

Niece Moment: 10-year-old Isabelle corrected me when I accidentally slipped a curse word out in front of her and Leif. I apologized and said that I shouldn’t say word like that in front of her, and she replied that she didn’t care; it was Leif that was too little to hear such things. Kids grow up to too fast these days. Meanwhile, she is being groomed for a summer position for next year as our mother’s helper! We’d have her work all year long, but there are child labor laws and school and such that make this difficult. She is great with kids, and I think she will be great with her two newest and littlest cousins.

Freaky moment: We stopped at the food store to pick up some dinner ingredients and the total was $6.66. What are the chances? I don’t really believe in that sorta stuff, but the sign of the devil showing up on a grocery bill is a sign that we should go out to eat, in my opinion. I scrapped our plans for a cold-winter’s-night chili and we went out for fondue instead.

New What Ails Me: Now I am experiencing the mind-numbing pain of middle-of-the-night Charlie Horses. My body is breaking down, even more than before.

The Countdown: 177 days down, 103 days to go. I bet I can pack on another 40 pounds in the next few months. Three more sleeps till Nicole leaves; four more till she returns; and two weeks till my next doctor’s appointment.

Pictured above is Leif and geese in front of the backdrop of downtown NYC. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the towers not being there. Or the fact that Leif has never seen the towers.

Six Months Down.....

Wow. It is really starting to sink in, after six months, finally. I keep waiting for those shoes to drop and I have been lucky so far. We have had some awful scares and some interminable waits and some not-so-healthy skepticism (ok, that’s not so much “we” as “me”) but while I’ve been worrying and fretting and all that, life is just moving along. And these babies are one pound eleven ounces each. (If only they were, say, 30 pounds each, so I can explain away weight gain!) Despite all odds, my body is growing two healthy (knock on wood) babies.

Today I went to the post office to buy stamps and I thought “I am going to the post office to buy stamps to mail invitations to our baby shower.” I don’t normally narrate my day like that, but it just really made me feel like I was living someone else’s life. I go to baby showers, not have them. And yet here we are.

We are planning a very informal celebration. It’s open to men, women and children. It isn’t shower-like per se. There will be no ribbon hats because I don’t look good in hats (see above picture) and no present opening because I hate opening presents in front of people—even Nicole. Christmas morning is a nightmare for me. I sit there picking at the corners of my presents. On my birthday it might take me five minutes to open a gift that Nicole puts in my lap. Seriously. When she gave me a commitment band, it took me about a half hour to open the little box. Seriously. I’ve always been this way. I can’t say it is shyness: I have danced on too many bars and shared too many intimate details of my life with complete strangers to pull out that card. I know, I’m strange. I wish I could be more like my nephew, who can not only open his own presents, but everyone else’s.

So I am really looking forward to this non-shower, because it gives us the chance to celebrate this amazing babies event with the people we care about. I’ll probably be a mess and cry the whole time.

Above is the front of the invitation, a picture taken one week before the egg retrieval that resulted in these two babies. It’s funny how casual the imaginary dialogue is on the card! Ha! But I couldn’t exactly put “If nothing catastrophic happens, please join us to celebrate…”

Scan Day

I can tell it is scan day because I always get up at the crack of dawn, in a fit of can’t-sleep-anymore insomnia. So by 4:00 a.m I was up and ready to start the day. And my appointment was NINE hours from then. At 1:00 p.m. That's a lot of worry time.

Right off the bat I knew it was going to be a pleasant experience because I didn’t have Attila the Technician. Finally. Instead, I had this lovely woman who called me Sweetie and answered all of my questions.

I’m happy to report that 1.) both babies are indeed still there and 2.) both have beating little hearts and 3.) both are sonogram superstars. They are in a T formation. They both weigh the same exact amount: 1 pound 11 ounces and are measuring just fine for their age. And my cervix is 4.3, which is great, according to my doctor and the technician. Baby A kept turning from the probe so I only ended up with one picture of her. We did see her drinking the amniotic fluid though, and playing with her hands in front of her face. (hand-in-face picture is above!) Baby B was more than happy to oblige for pictures. We even got one of her yawning! (that is the above picture.) Next to thumb-sucking, that is the one thing I really wanted to see with at least one baby in utero. I am so grateful that everything went well. And I am fully aware that this can all change in a second. But for now, all’s fine and that’s great.

I’ll be back in worry mode in 10, 9, 8, 7……….

Nicole wasn’t there and she is in meetings all day so I can’t even share the news with her. I have been instructed only to call her work cell in the event of an emergency. Babies Are OK doesn’t have the same urgency as, say, some of our other adventures, so I am trying not to abuse my work cell call privileges. For me, picking up gummi bears on the walk home from work is an emergency. Not so much for her.

Baby A, the one who was drinking the amniotic fluid, is probably addicted to Dr. Pepper. Nicole bought a case of it for me, and I am drinking it like it’s my job. Some of it must end up in the amniotic fluid. Nicole fully realizes my lack of self control in situations like this, but she went ahead and bought it anyway. She said that I can only have two a day. Ha! Two is, in fact, more than generous, since I should be having zero. But anyway…I told her I blame her for this new addiction. After all, all I drink is water and orange juice. She introduced this poison into our home. And that Dr. Pepper is like this delicious, exotic, wonderful, amazing break from the monotony of water water water oj more water water and more water.

I told Nicole this and her response was: “You can have a V8. No one is stopping you from having a V8,” with a tad, dare I say, of exasperation. I could have the healthy vegetable juice, but I push aside those 8 vegetables and 100 percent of your daily allowance of whatever in favor of the nectar of the gods. Chemistry’s candy.

Now I am exhausted from my full day of worrying. I’d like to take a long nap but I have a 40-page paper to pound out by Friday. And it is a balmy 40-something degrees here in New York so I have spring fever, which inevitably brings with it an inability to concentrate….

Wired and Tired

That’s the last time I have Dr. Pepper twice in one day. I indulged in exactly two Dr. Peppers today: One at lunch and one at an Oscar party. I stopped drinking soda years ago, when we started this TTC journey, except for occasional indulgences like today and on nights that I have class. And now it is 2:30 in the morning and I just can’t sleep. I am wired and so are the babies. They are punching and kicking with caffeinated abandon, which I don’t mind at all, because it is always good to feel like they are still in there.

But I am so exhausted and just want to sleep.

Sleep, anyway, just isn’t what it used to be. I sleep on my side, but I have to switch sides quite frequently because my hips start to tingle and get numb. So over I flip, taking Body Pillow with me, and disrupting the natural order of the covers. Just when I get comfortable, I have to go to the bathroom. And the cycle continues, until I fall into a fitful sleep and then have crazy vivid dreams. Last night, dreams included that I was a crab scurrying down sand dunes; another one featured Rosie O’Donnell as my neighbor; and another included me partying at a club, going into the bathroom and seeing that it was full of bowls of prescription meds that were free for the taking…I scooped up handfuls and handfuls of my favorite OTC sleep aid. Perhaps that was a foreshadow of tonight? And Freuds out there with theories?

This whole pregnancy is now taking on a life of its own. I can no longer sit back and wait for something bad to happen and coast along without doing much. I am so not a procrastinator, and yet, here I am, procrastinating. Stuff needs to be done. The room needs to be built (almost there) and furnished. Things need to be bought. Clothes need to be organized. Arrangements have to be made. Lawyers need to be contacted (oh, yes, the joys of the babies’ mother having to go through the hassle of adopting her own children…don’t get me started on this….). Closets need to be cleaned out (both real and metaphorical). Birthing classes need to signed up for. I feel like I should read at least one book on how to get babies to sleep on a good schedule. And maybe a parenting book too. A party needs to be planned. We spent almost all day on Saturday creating homemade shower invitations. We need to move forward, which requires faith and trust and a belief that everything is going to work out just fine. It really is just terrifying. It makes me feel so pathetic that I just can’t relax already.

I am six months today. 24 weeks. It blows my mind. Today for the first time someone on the subway offered me his seat. Actually, this was a double act of kindness: After the nice man vacated the seat for me to sit in, another woman made a beeline for the empty seat. But then a second woman told the woman that the seat was for me. Another pregnancy first.

Some random things:

• I have two huge painful cold sores on my lip. Two. Throbbing, painful, ugly cold sores. As my friend Tim said, they have their own heartbeats. Ugh.
• We had dinner with two good friends on Saturday night, which always makes me wonder why we don’t make huge efforts to do things like that EVERY night. Life is so much better when spending time with people you love.
• It’s snowing right now but I’m sure it will just make a slushy mess by morning.
• I’m hungry. And it’s been almost three days since my last Gummi Bear attack.
• Three more sleeps till the next Level II ultrasound. And once again that old familiar terror creeps in.
• Bullet lists are SO much easier than paragraphs when you are tired.

Pictured above is me at 24 weeks. Notice how I attempt to flatten my butt by pressing it against the wall? Does it fool anyone? And I so need a haircut. Also pictured is our weekend project: Making the invitations. That picture reinforces that I really, really dislike the color of that wall. It is called something like "Elephant Tusk," which I guess should translate into a warm ivory color. It just looks like prison beige. But Nicole has already announced that there will be no more painting in this apartment for a while. So live with it I must.

Home Sweet (Almost) Home

I survived the first phase of the contractor. He has packed up his things (including his radio which played awful soft jazz music all day long) and moved out of our place. He still has to come back to hang the new door (we have a “dummy” door while we wait for our special-order-takes-too-long-to-come-door) and add some trim and various other small things that should take him, oh, six days, but we are finally getting our home back to normal. The living room sorely needs some pictures on the walls, and we need to get a table for all the cable and TV accoutrements and multitude of wires (now seen on that high table in the middle of the two chairs). And now the coffee table seems rather large for our truncated living room, but oh well. The wall is up and there is a room for two babies and that is what matters right now.

Their room has (or will have) three things that I am morally opposed to: wall-to-wall carpet, a ceiling fan and pink walls. Is this what they mean about parental sacrifice?

We ordered their cribs and bought a dresser and a hamper already. It makes me so nervous because still fear that something can go tragically array. A pop culture reference: I read that Marcia Cross gave birth to her twins yesterday. She was due in April. It is February. That seems v-e-r-y early. At least two months. My doctor said that I won’t go past 38 weeks, but I am beginning to think I will be lucky to even get that far. My friend Jen had a picture-perfect pregnancy, and her water broke at 31 weeks. She spent three and a half weeks in the hospital on bed rest and then delivered two healthy babies (that had to spend some time in the NICU, though).

In fact, now that I am not stressing about the contractor, I have lots of free time to worry about the babies’ health. My next sonogram is six days from now, when I will be in the middle of Week 24. The little kicks and punches are reassuring, but only when they come at regular intervals. When I haven’t felt anything in a while, I start to unravel just a little bit. I’m ashamed to admit that I will prod my stomach in attempts to “wake them up.” Yesterday I was out with my friend Annie and we went for cake. I though for certain the sugar rush would wake them up and get them going, but they were peacefully sleeping (or something). I started to panic just a little when I felt a couple of pops, right in the nick of time, before I went into full-on panic mode.

Are there any people who float through pregnancy with little to no worry?

It’s just that there are no guarantees and as each day passes by I get a little more excited and then a lot more afraid. I really just want to reach that age of viability, and I am not really certain of when that is with twins. Certainly it can’t be 24 weeks, like it is with singletons. Maybe 30 weeks, or 32 weeks or 28.

It’s hard being so negative and scared all the time. I wish I could just sorta fall asleep and wake up with two healthy pink babies in my arms.

Above picture is the new truncated living room.

Slouching Toward a Babies’ Room

I just don’t have the energy to complain about the contractor. The thing is, he is a really nice guy. Kind, considerate, helpful, friendly. I have nothing against him as a person. But as our contractor, well, that’s different. He is awful at pacing his work and has no concept of deadlines. He was at our apartment until 9:00 pm on Friday night (luckily I was at class until 9:30) and still didn’t finish everything. He is coming back on Tuesday, and then again in about a week…and the saga continues.

Since the contractor didn’t get around to painting, today was painting day for us. We painted the new living room wall and the hall wall. And we painted the babies’ room. (For the record, I was masked and well ventilated and used sparingly against Nicole’s will.) We selected a very demure and understated pink called Candy Stripe. On paper, it looked more white than pink and seemed perfect. On the wall it looked like a neon 80s Pepto-esque nightmare. It was a color that doesn’t occur in nature. Ever. This meant I had to trek back to the store and buy a second gallon in a different, softer pink. Peony Pink is a thousand times better. It still seems pinker than what it looked like on paper, but it is a nice, warm color. It took us all day to paint everything, but, more to the point, it would have taken the contractor six days.

Tomorrow I am 23 weeks. I am well aware of the viability goal date of 24 weeks but am not sure if that applies to twins too. Still, 23 weeks. That is a long time. I can’t believe I am almost six months. Nicole felt Baby B this morning. She (Baby B, that is) was kicking up a storm for a change, since she normally punches me with her mini hand. When Nicole took her hand away she stopped. It’s like they have little personalities already.

I feel them moving and kicking…their room is coming together…I need to sign up for a birthing class….I feel like I am living someone else’s life. But I look at my ever-expanding body and realize that this really is happening to me.

For the record, I am getting really, really big.

And Another Thing….

I thought once I was pregnant that was life would be magically blissful. After all, the one thing standing between me and Total Happiness (so I thought) was a baby. So once I got pregnant, I would turn into this Zen, perfectly balanced, happy, optimistic person. I might even take up regular yoga. Traffic wouldn’t be awful anymore; I would just turn up the music and spend some quality time with my unborn child. I wouldn’t mind waiting ten minutes for a subway to come. The bitter cold winter wind wouldn’t bother me a bit. I would befriend telemarketers who call at 8:30 at night. I wouldn’t mind being put on hold for twenty minutes when I call my insurance company. I would easily dodge the slings and arrows of daily life because I had a baby growing inside me.

Turns out being pregnant just isn’t the panacea that I thought it would be.

Don’t get me wrong: I am not in least ungrateful or unappreciative of being pregnant. One thing, I can say with conviction, that definitely holds true is this: You feel gratitude each and every day that you are pregnant. You thank your lucky stars. Your heart breaks when you read about someone having a low fertilization rate or a failed cycle or a m/c. You feel a connection with every woman who is walking the same road (and variations thereof) as you did. Your empathy for those who are still in the position that you were just in a mere few months ago grows exponentially.

Infertility is one of those “clubs” you don’t ever want to be a member of. Like my friends who have lost a parent; another club you don’t want to be a member of. I won’t ever truly understand the depth of their grief until I go through it myself. My SIL’s mother died about a week after she gave birth to my niece. Mina had a c-section, so she was in the hospital for a few days. After that, they were rushing around to get baby Skye a passport and get over to Japan when her Mom died (she was declining for a while because the cancer spread). Her mother never got to meet her second grandchild. It breaks my heart, but, more to the point, it shattered Mina’s. I will never know her grief.

My point it this: I reached my hand (under duress, because who wants to?) into the grab bag of problems and pulled out the infertility card (among others). Why did I spend so much time shaking my fist at the sky and asking “Why me?” Why not me, I guess. We all get crappy hands. That was one of mine. And in the end, if I am lucky, I will have two babies. (But Mina will never have her mom back.)

And the truth is, being pregnant just doesn’t solve the deep-down issues like I thought it might. I still get rageful in traffic and angry when telemarketers call me late and pissed off when I have to wait on hold for a ridiculously long time, only to get accidentally hung up on. I still curse my luck if I get to the subway just as one is leaving the station. My problems didn’t magically disappear. I’m still annoyed at the contractor who is—of all things—building a bedroom for my babies. I didn’t take up yoga. In fact, I stopped my daily hour-at-the-gym routine at about 8 weeks. And I worry about how I will lose this baby weight. I guess this is what happens when you mix equal parts of gratitude and fear.

But I used to think, as I passed pregnant women on the street, that their lives were perfect. You think this world would have more empathy in it, considering we are all going through our own versions of hell at one point or another.

Above picture is my SIL and baby Skye (who's now almost two!).

Odds and Ends

About a week ago I was talking to my friend Jen about how odds/percentages really mess with your head. She had some pretty astute observations. To wit: Let’s pretend your RE tells you that you have a fifty percent chance of an IVF cycle working (and that is generous, bt let’s just suppose for simplicity’s sake). That is a coin toss. A one-in-two chance. A 50-50 shot. Do you skip home, humming to yourself that you are just a transfer away from becoming a mom? Hardly. You insist it won’t work, claim the odds are not in your favor and remain depressed until your cycle return proves you right.

But then take this scenario. You go to get your nuchal scan and you get your blood work back. And your doctor says that you have a 1 in 3,000 chance at a chromosomal abnormality. One in three thousand is by all standards a very low risk. Keep in mind that in NYC, only 337 babies are born every day. Even ten days, one of those babies will be born with a chromosomal abnormality. That is a .0003 chance of a chromosomal abnormality. That is a very tiny number. Do you go home and sleep peacefully, knowing the odds are on your side that you will have a perfectly healthy baby? No. You are positive that you are in the unlucky .0003 percent and rush into an amnio right away, which, any way you slice it, has a risk factor greater than the chance of chromosomal abnormality. (Yep, and I did an amnio, too, knowing all of this.)

These odds fuck with your head.

I know I am beating a dead horse here and perhaps preaching to the choir, but it is so hard after such a long road to wake up on the positive side of things. No matter how slim the odds are of something bad happening, I find a way to squeeze myself in that tiny space and live there, if only for a moment, and sometimes for days and days.

I justify this insanity by clinging to the notion that I was somehow wrong and naïve to embrace pregnancy the first time around. After all, I was over the moon the first time I was pregnant, already shopping at baby stores at just six weeks and rubbing my non-existent belly. I felt invincible: We took so long to get here, so nothing bad could possibly happen. Ha. That m/c hit me like a freight train. Infertility’s cruel joke: It takes you forever to get pregnant and then your baby dies. And the second m/c was twice as hard. And the third: Suffice it to say that it is a slight miracle that I endured it and that my relationship came through—stronger, I’d like to think—than before.

I read in a book that if you overfeed one sense you are most likely starving another. You can interpret that in so many ways, but for me I saw it as this: I spent all of my time trying to have a baby that I neglected every other part of my life. I was convinced my life was a waste without children. I thought my life had no meaning without children. I though Nicole and I would never be a family.

It was a slow process, but eventually the lessons sank in. Nicole and I already were a family, and to act like it was incomplete was disrespectful of what we had. My life wasn’t a waste. And I will be fulfilled, with or without children. Children won’t fill a hole in my life; they can only enhance it.

And then we did IVF for the third time and, magically, it worked. Maybe it was because there were things that I needed to learn before I could become a mother (if the universe really works that way). Or it was just random coin-toss luck.

Where is all this coming from? I’m not sure. Maybe because that fear is still in me and not a single day passes without some visit to that dark place. Maybe it’s because I spent more than 24 hours thinking about baby furniture and baby showers and due dates. I just picked out a lighting fixture for the babies’ room. Right now, I’m trying to feel the good, to embrace the light, to feel the joy of pregnancy and not just the fear. But I can’t shake the feeling that bad things have happened when I let myself go there before. It’s sad, because before I know it, June will be here and I will have spent all these months not living the joy.

Above picture is my 22 week belly (measuring at 27.5 weeks) in the doorway of what will be the babies' room.

All Quiet on the Uterus Front

I have been so bent out of shape these past couple of weeks with contractor hell that I haven’t even had time to dwell on my upcoming doctor’s appointment, much less count down the days. I had one this morning and am so relieved that everything is going just fine (knock on wood). Both babies are breech, but this, of course, can change in the coming weeks. Or not: The doctor said the babies just might get comfortable the way they are and not move a bit. I am 22 weeks 1 day, but I am measuring 27 and a half weeks, which my doctor assures me is normal with twins. My blood pressure is still very low: 80 over 52. At least I have an excuse for being so very tired all the time. And today was the first day that I got measured with the belly tape measure. It was an exciting thing for me.

Baby A is the one kicking my left side with her mini legs. The softer taps I feel on my right side is Baby B punching me with her little hands, I am not feeling any hard kicks on my left side because Baby B’s legs are aimed straight at her sister, so Baby A is taking a hit for the team. It is my favorite thing in the world right now, feeling them punch and kick. Last night the planets aligned for the second time (or is it third?) and I felt both Baby A kick and Baby B punch at the same time. Seriously….what are the chances?

Nicole came back from San Francisco with gifts of sourdough bread and the flu. She is actually home from work today, which is so rare for her. She never takes sick days, ever. She has the best immune system of anyone I know. She never gets whatever I get (I get sick all the time). She has the full range of symptoms and sounds awful. I have hand sanitizer and spray and I am washing my hands like crazy. My doctor assures me that nothing bad will happen even if I get the flu. Other than misery, of course.

I don’t think she should go to work at all this week, but she thinks she will be fine by Wednesday. I rather enjoy having her around, especially when the contractor is here. Instant playmate, though she is not very active and is on the lethargic side. We are holed up in the bedroom. I was able to take a nap. She spoke with the contractor and he is getting work done for a change. I am amazed that even in sick clothes with sick voice and sick hair, people still listen to her. (Though he did take a long coffee break.) But he is actually using power tools and making progress.

I went away for the weekend with some friends, which is also why I was too distracted to count down the days till my next doctor’s visit. Four of us went to Saratoga for the night, a three and a half hours drive away from the city. It was supposed to by 5, but my friend Molly got snowed in with all that upstate snow. Well, she wasn’t snowed in, but the towns between her and us were. It was great to get away and we had so much fun, but I was still so exhausted. By mid-afternoon, I felt like a balloon losing all my air. I went back to the hotel with one of my friends and ate cake and relaxed, but there was no burst of energy.

These sort of events (getaways and such) have an air of finality about them: Like this is the last trip I will take with friends before the babies are born. I now feel this nervous energy; I need to plan plan plan and get in as much as possible before late May/early June. My brother and sister-in-law just bought a boat, and I am so excited. Both my brother and I spent several years on our 20s living on boats, so this is like getting a little gift from the past back. And then it occurred to me: With babies born in late May or June, when did I think I would be going out on a boat?! It’s not that life stops when you have kids, but things really do change. But I am so ready for that change. And excited. For almost the first time in this pregnancy I am beginning to feel like maybe just maybe everything is going to work out.

Yeah, of COURSE, This Happens To Me

So I thought the contractor had left today for good. After all, it was past 5:00 and he had completed his one task for the day (put some plaster on the seams and nails on the new bedroom wall). He also left plaster footprints and splatter all over our wood floors, so I took out the mop and bucket and took off my shirt and started mopping it all clean. Yes, I tend to clean in my bra/bathing suit top/tank top, which I know sounds weird, but to me is just habit. Especially when the heat is cranking in this apartment, which is all of the time. And the apartment was a steam room tonight.

I am on the phone with my friend Jen, who is on her way to my apartment, mopping up the plaster prints in my Newly Giant bra when I hear the keys in the door lock and I hear the door start to open. And it isn’t Nicole, of course, as she in San Francisco. Let’s recap: I am in my bra and I am all the way by the babies’ door. My sweater is in the kitchen, where I left it. There are exactly NO options of cover-up. I ran through the living room, through the entry way and hall and into my bedroom (dodging pieces of wood and tools and sheet rock and misplaced pieces of furniture) in two seconds FLAT. My heart was beating so fast!

Meanwhile, I mentioned none of this to Jen while she continued with her story (how she didn’t hear me panting/running/panicking, I don’t know), while I threw on one of Nicole’s sweaters and walked/sauntered back out in the living room all casual as if nothing happened. The contactor said good-bye, said he’d be here again tomorrow around 9:00, and went on his merry way.

Can I just say that he normally rings the bell before he just uses his key to come in. Why he didn’t at this point, I don’t know. But it was a very close call.

Close-call aside, Jen came over and we went to the opera, which I’d like to think the babies liked because they were kicking again, even the usually muffled top baby. But Jen pointed out that they tend to move more when I slow down, which makes sense. And here I thought the babies were developing an appreciation/preference for certain types of music. In reality, I don’t think they can even hear anything yet.

And Jen said that I looked much bigger than when she saw me last. And that was just two weeks ago. Two weeks ago. My belly is going through a growth spurt.

Four more cold and lonely sleeps (sigh) till Nicole comes home.

Whine, Whine, Whine

I want our contractor’s job. He shows up around 10:30; drops off some “things” (I have no idea what is in the bags he carries) and goes out to get his morning Startbuck’s fix. He comes back around, say, 11:30. Then he sets up the radio and lights and other important things. He gets to work around noon, which is dangerously close to lunch time, so another work stoppage for food is just around the corner. He takes smoke breaks and lots of time-outs to “talk with the super” about such things as the location of the juncture box and power issues.

The contractor is a perfectly nice, harmless and polite man. I have nothing against him per se. I am just ready for him to be done.

This whole endeavor was to take about two weeks, tops. The wall itself was to take a mere two day, tops. We are on Day 9. And the wall still isn’t quite done. I STILL say my nephew could finish this wall in a few hours, and he is only 4.

Plus, I need to leave the apartment when he is here. This weather certainly isn’t making this easy on me. Yesterday I went to New jersey to order the door for the room. I stopped at my brother’s house to eat lunch and nap on his couch. But my niece keep saying “Up, Jen-Jen,” in her attempt to keep me paying attention to her. But she would punctuate this with a kiss, so how can I resist her? But I am exhausted. Exhausted.

So not only is our home turned upside down, the contractor managed to blow the electric, and then fix it, though he doesn’t know how he fixed it. I was his apprentice that day because he needed someone to hold flashlights pointed to the ceiling as he ripped it apart looking for junctures, and the power magically turned back on. I’m not kidding. It just came back on. After three days. The hall light is still not working though, but I am happy to sacrifice a little light there in the name of progress. He will get to that, he says, soon.

And in the process of fixing this, he blew up our cable modem. That required a trip down to the cable office in frigid weather to swap out the modem for a new one. And then the wireless router had to be reconfigured. Thank goodness Nicole can do all of that stuff, because I brought cable modem box home, opened it up, and promptly burst into tears. Alas, it was but a modem and a power cord, and I consider myself somewhat savvy about these things, but it still confused me. There are routers and phone systems and modems and cables and wires and more wires. I have Mac and Nicole has PC. There is just too much going on electronically in this apartment for me to understand.

It is 9:40 now and no contractor in sight. Funny thing is, every day he tells me “I’ll be here by 9 tomorrow.” Ha.

Anyway, I was internet-less for a few days, power-less for a few days and insane for a few days. Change that last sentence to the present continual tense.

Last night, we went to see Patty Griffin in concert. I won tickets to her record release party. It was in a really cool space down on the cusp of the Lower East Side. That was a nice break from the apartment. And it seemed to wake up both babies, who kicked me randomly through the show. I wonder if that means they can hear very loud noises. Tonight, I have tickets to my favorite opera of all time. Nicole had to go to San Francisco for work, so she is missing it. My friend Jen is taking her place, so it will still be a nice night for me, away from the disaster that is my home, and luckily the Met is only a ten-minute walk from my apartment. It is too cold to go any further.

Nicole is gone until Saturday afternoon, but I am going away for the night with some friends, so I won’t see her until Sunday. I hate when she has to travel for work. I have an unreasonable reaction to it. I am one of those people who doesn’t need a lot of away-time from my significant other. I see absolutely no need for spaces in our togetherness. I know this may seem unhealthy, but I consider it a good sign that I like spending all of my waking hours with her. Really. After all of these years, still, I want her around me all of the time. So I am in this situation now where Nicole is gone and my home is a disaster: Two things that on their own really up-end me. Add one more element and it would make the Perfect Storm for me.

I know there are bigger issues in the world and that I am being a whiny pain (I mean, really. The cysts are gone and I have two healthy babies), but something about this process really throws me. I think it harkens back to childhood home stability issues. I am very much a needer of stability. I don’t even want to move from NYC until we find the perfect home, because I only want one other home for the rest of my life, no moving from place to place. One partner; one home; lots of routines: I know this is torture for some people but for me it is the definition of happiness and stability.

And now, for something lighter, which made me smile. Here’s a snippet of my conversation with my four year-old-nephew:

Leif: Jen-Jen’s babies are so big [pointing to my chest]
Me; No, Leif, babies are down here [directing him to my stomach]
Leif: Babies are almost here!
Me: Not quite. But they will be here when the summers comes.
Leif: But where is the babies’ door? I don’t see the door?
Me: Mina? [deflecting to my SIL]
Mina: Oh, Jen-Jen will have a door probably where Mommy had a door. [she lifts her shirt to show Leif where her C-section was.]

The above picture is of my niece Skye, the one who won’t let me sleep.

And it is 10 and no contractor.

And I Am Telling You...The Cysts Are Gone!

We went in for the Level II today and received the joyous news that all cysts are gone. This is such a relief, even after the good amnio results.

Naturally, it was a stressful visit. I got there before Nicole, who was stuck in traffic across town. Of course, today I get called in ten minutes early, perhaps a first in my gynecological-related office visits history. My heart dropped when I heard “Jane-ee-fah” and looked up to see Attila the Sonogram Technician with my file. Why do we keep getting her?

I walked as slowly as possible into the room (to stall for Nicole) and spent a couple minutes in the bathroom text-messaging Nicole to buy a little more time. I emerged (after flushing, for appearance’s sake) and arranged myself slowly on the table. Attila had to figure out exactly why I was there, because she refused to believe me when I said that the doctor wanted to check on the cysts. After ten minutes of independent research (computer-checking, file-flipping, talking to another technician, talking to the roaming doctor on duty) she concluded that she needed to check for cysts.

By now it was 11 on the dot and the sonogram portion began. Nicole still wasn’t there. Attila coasted the viewer around my abdomen which such speed that I wasn’t able to determine what was what or who was who or what was where. I couldn’t even tell if the babies were asleep of awake.

Questions that I asked, which she ignored, included:
“Are they moving?”
“Is that an arm?”
“Is that the leg?”
“Is that Baby A or Baby B?”
“Where exactly are both babies laying?”

Questions I asked, which she answered, included:

Me: “Is that the head?”
Her: “No.”

Me: “Does everything look okay?”
Her: “I don’t know.”

She was, as usual, all business and seemed slightly annoyed by my mere presence. But I was so grateful to see both cyst-free brains (she at least pointed that out) that I almost could overlook Attila’s atrocious behavior. Almost.

Another exchange:

Me: “Could I please get a picture?”
Her: “I’m not going to give you a face picture.”
Me: “That’s fine! Anything would be great!!” [extra sugary sweet.]

What I got is what you see on the top of this post. In other words, I have NO idea. The worst, most non-descript, ridiculous pictures I have seen in my entire life. I see a spine and some bones but I can’t make heads or tails of these things. So much for a memento of this occasion. (sorry for the awful scan job, but the pictures themselves were tow different sizes).

And that was that. Nicole rushed in at 11:07 and the whole thing was already done. I felt so awful because Nicole looked extremely disappointed. Crestfallen might actually be the better word; she literally deflated when she say me rising from the table. She was looking forward to the baby-viewing. Another technician would have turned the machine back on for Nicole and given her a glance (after all, I was still undressed and the exam just ended). Not Attila. She was already back in her cave-like area ignoring me and willing me to leave.

I had to occupy myself out of the contractor’s way till class tonight so I went to see Dreamgirls (ehh…but worth it if only to hear/see “And I am telling you”) and in the process, panicked my friend Jen who couldn’t get in touch with me and thought something awful happened. She also left a message for Nicole in a desperate attempt to make sure All Was Fine. So while I quietly celebrated a cyst victory, she sat at home assuming the worst. So I felt awful for the second time today!

I had class tonight, and came home to a semi-dark apartment. The slacker I mean contractor managed to blow a massive fuse and knock out the bathroom, bedroom and kitchen power. And various other needed electrical outlets. He has to come in tomorrow to fix this electrical nightmare. In better news, the wall is framed and studded, with one piece of sheetrock. At least it is starting to look like a room. Or the bones of a room.

One final note: My online research told me to expect the cysts to stick around till they were 24 weeks. Our girls kicked them to the curb before week 21. Our baby girls are overachievers.

Momentous!

This morning, around 6:00 am, while still lying in bed, Nicole felt Baby A kick! It is faint but you really can feel it if you press your hand on my stomach and sort of concentrate. She kicked about 10 times over the span of a few minutes. Baby B, in her own corner, kicked a couple times too, but it is too difficult to discern her little kicks because her placenta is between her feet and hands and my stomach. I’m so happy that Nicole can finally start to feel the little kicks inside me!

And now, another day wherein I become a refugee from my own home while the contractor comes. I am tired already. Hopefully he will do more than merely measure…..

What Comes After DD?

I now know the answer to this question: E. I am the proud owner of a 38E maternity bra. It’s just a regular bra, in a large size, with the word “maternity” slapped onto it so they can justify jacking up the price a bit. Still, it makes a world of difference to actually have one that fits. I changes the landscape of my profile and makes me look different n clothes. What took me so long? I wore it out of the store.

I spent some time this afternoon in Destination Maternity, trying to find something to wear to Thursday night’s can’t-wear-jeans event. I still feel like such an outsider in these sort of places, like someone is going to pop up and say Silly girl, you can’t be here.

The visit wasn’t as nearly traumatic as I thought it would be. In fact, it was rather pleasant. The staff trips over themselves to help you and they are constantly asking me if I wanted water or orange juice or any help at all. I ended up buying a nice stack of stuff. Turns out maternity clothes—shirts and sweaters and skirts—feel so much better than regular clothes. Once again, I bow to the powers and comfort of elastic. And there was something about looking at myself in those mirrors that made me look more pregnant. My stomach looked huge Huge. I did just eat lunch, but still. And maternity clothes make you look pregnant. These oversized shirts I’ve been wearing just make me look thicker.

In contractor news, I came home just as the contractor was leaving. No room progress. Today was “measuring day.” In other words, today is the day when you come home and look around and say “What did he DO all day??” Measure.

One row of Somoas gone....

If (Only) These Walls Could Talk

So much for progress. I left the apartment today because the contractor was coming, and I really shouldn't be around when he is kicking up dust (bad for babies) and creating a mess (bad for me). It was fine, because I had little errands to run and then I stopped by my sister-in-law’s to spend some time with my niece and to nap on her couch and eat delicious homemade chicken noodle soup.

When I got home, I was so excited to open up the door and see progress. We were told that the frame for the room would be up, and probably also some sheetrock. Imagine my surprise when I saw…nothing. Not a single thing. I was hoping to stand in the babies’ room tonight and just…be there. The sheetrock was there and all the tools were there, but nothing was done. Now I know this is par for the course for contractor, and I don’t expect miracles, but I should point out that I suffer seriously from any slight change in my habitat. I really struggle with it on a psychological level, with some deep roots that I can trace back to childhood. And did I mention the nesting? We have picked out cribs and paint and carpet and I think an armoire and even the hamper.

I am ready to get this room built before I slip back into “These babies are going to disappear” mode. I am almost superstitious that something bad will happen if we buy anything or do anything baby-related. It was devastating to pack up books and magazines and the very few things that I had bought during my other pregnancies. I could have nothing around to remind me of what I lost. In such a situation, what does one do with a room? A whole room? Filled with baby stuff? I can’t even imagine. And that fear is so real that there are times when I almost chicken out on pulling the trigger on this remodeling job. It takes very little to push me into the negative space, and a lot to get me to the positive space.

On a happy note, I do think having the room and then filling it up will help drag me into the realm of “This is really happenening.” Because it still feels too good to be true. I know I sound like a broken record (skipping CD?) but I can’t believe that after all we have been through, we are at this point. I have never felt so grateful for something in my life.

The lack of progress may have been a low point in the day, but Nicole brightened the night with stolen Girl Scout cookies. I love those Samoa cookies with a passion but lack any scout connections, much to my dismay. Someone gave Nicole a bag full of boxes of cookies to share with her employees, so she pulled aside the box of Samoas for me ( a misuse of executive privileged?). They are chilling in the fridge as I write this, and will be a central part of dessert (along with another cake I baked…let’s see if this one lasts more than a couple days). It will be hard not to eat the entire box in one night. I really need to learn to pace myself.

I just read somewhere (can’t remember where) that the average couple only talks 15 minutes a day. Isn’t that sad? I speak to my friend Jen more than that every day; it seems strange to think I sometimes speak to her more than I speak to Nicole (at least during the work week). But that is because Jen and I can talk during the day, since neither of us work (and she has downtime when her twins are sleeping). That whole statistic is one of those reminders that relationships actually take work. Nicole and I went through so much during the years of TTC, and the m/c’s and all the failed cycles. During crisis mode, you don’t really think “Are we talking enough?” You think “How am I going the get through this day?” I am happy to be at the point again when I am focus on things like making sure we have meaningful exchanges that last longer than the length of four songs.

Pictured above is me in pajamas at 20 weeks, side view. Let’s just say I am not thrilled to notice that it seems like I am carrying babies in my a$$. I hide my head in shame. And I have to stuff this body into some decent semi-formal wear by Thursday. Ha! In other body news, my belly button is half popped out, which is kinda freaky.

Three more sleeps until the next Level II and who knows how many sleeps till the room is done or even started.

Halfway There

On Sunday, I hit the 20-week mark, which means that if I am lucky enough to stay pregnant full term, then I am exactly at the halfway point. It’s more likely that I will not go full term, since twins like to show up early. Which further means that I am more than halfway through this pregnancy, a concept that absolutely confounds me. I saw my nephew today and he saw my stomach and said “Babies are almost here!” I think that is his four-year-old way of saying I am getting big!

I had my first Movement Panic Attack, since the babies decided that they didn’t want to keep up their Popping. They were so active the other night, so I just assumed they would be active every night, at the same time, doing the same thing. Well, not quite. On Saturday night, if my womb could make a noise, it would be the sound of crickets. I don’t think I felt a single pop. That lead to a string of poor food choices on Sunday in an attempt to force said babies into a sugar high. Sugary cereal, a vanilla milkshake, a chocolate truffle, orange juice, all in the name of sugar high, which, in theory, would create a Popping chain reaction.

Then I stooped even lower. I read online that some women will shine a flashlight on the uterus. This, apparently, bothers babies, who wiggle and squirm, ostensibly to get away from said offensive light. Others say the babies don’t mind the lights, they are just reacting to it. Either way, I decided to give it a try, justifying it by thinking if it were SO bad, there would have to be a warning on all flashlights.

I had Nicole do the honors, and she agreed, but if you looked closely at her almost imperceptibly shaking head and subtle eye rolls, she was not thrilled to partake in such activities. (There was also something about the limp-wrist hold that screamed “This is ridiculous. And maybe mean.”) But I think it worked: I did feel some popping after the light experiment. And that reassured me for about a second.

Now is the time when I wish I listened to my friend Jen, who warned me not to get crazy about the whole movement thing. But I apparently can find something to worry about all of the time.

I was additionally reassured by lots of information online, which says movement is in fact very sporadic in the beginning. You’ll feel it one day, and not the next. It becomes more regular as time goes on, meaning, in a couple of weeks. This is not what I really imagined: I thought it would be more like a switch: Babies start moving and don’t stop. Is it too much to ask that they check in a couple times a days with a few kicks?

The contractor begins this week to make the babies’ room. We picked up some paint colors and looked at some carpet swatches. I am overwhelmingly opposed to wall-to-wall carpeting, but the babies will have that in their little room. And even though I am against too much pink, their room will be pink (well, a soft, soft, soft, light pink). It just seems like the right thing to do. What is happening to me? I am so excited for this room to be done so I can start officially Nesting. I am ready to buy a dresser and their cribs and start hanging pictures and things like that. I am beginning to get very excited. I still can’t believe this is happening to me. It truly shocks me to look down at my stomach and think that there are two babies in there. Two squirming, getting-bigger babies. Also shocking is wearing elastic waistband jeans. And my rapidly expanding everything.

Double Pops

I am beginning to believe that those pops I feel really are moving babies. And now I feel awful; because I can’t remember when I first felt them. Doesn’t that make me a bad mother already? My list of offenses is getting long we better start a therapy fund for these kids. I asked my sister-in-law when she felt movement with my nephew and she said “Oh, I was on the train going to work. It was 7:15 on a Tuesday and I felt a pop. I was 17 weeks 2 days.” She practically remembers what she wore. Every detail of the seminal moment is etched in her brain. Me, I am looking through my own blog to see when I first mentioned it (Thursday, January 18th, when I was 18w4d). So that would most likely mean that I felt something the day before. But where or when, I couldn’t begin to say.

But whatever it is, it is getting more frequent. Last night was incredible. I came home from class around 9:00 and stayed up way after Nicole went to bed. I was laying on the couch trying to bore myself to sleep and it started: Lots and lots of little pops. First it was just Baby A, the overachiever in the movement department. And then Baby B made a rare and welcomed appearance. There was one moment when both kicked me at the same time! They stayed up till almost 1:00 a.m. with this little off-and-on popping. It was like they were having a party. It was unbelievable.

Then this morning I woke up early as usual. No pops. But right after I got up and went to the bathroom, and came back to lay down, the popping started again. Maybe I woke them up? I moved myself and my body pillow to the couch. When Nicole got up. I told her that the babies were up and moving around really late last night, which prompted Nicole to give them their first lecture. I rolled on my back so she could explain that we were early-to-bedders and early-to-risers and that they needed to start getting used to that schedule. She even quoted Ben Franklin. It was funny because when she was speaking, ALL popping stopped. But as soon as she finished and went inside, they started up again. I think we know who the disciplinarian in the family is.

I have probably packed on an extra 3 pounds drinking sugary drinks and eating Gummi Bears (excuses, excuses) and laying on my left side to see if the babies move. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t. But every time it happens, it makes me feel so good. I can’t wait until Nicole can feel it from the outside, but I have a feeling that is going to be a while.

Emotions are still running rampant. Yesterday I heard Don Henley’s “The Heart of the Matter” in some store and the lyrics made me cry. How much more of this emotionality can I withstand? I haven’t heard that song in years and I certainly didn’t think much about the lyrics in the past. But, wow, those lyrics seem profound now. (“How can love survive in such a graceless age?”)

We have a birthday dinner tonight and will probably be going out to Long Island on Sunday. In their words, lots of distractions to get us a couple days closer to the next sonogram. Next week, the contractor is building the babies’ room. I am simultaneously over-the-moon and terrified. Nicole and I have talked a lot about how we are going to decorate the room (light, light pink walls, light green carpet and cherry cribs), and just thinking about it makes me excited. But then that old familiar terror sneaks back in.

Clothes Call

Last night was an exercise in clothing humiliation. We had tickets to an opera, which meant that I had to get dressed up for the first time in a while. And that, sadly, means no elastic waistband pants. About an hour before we had to leave, I went through my closet, foolishly thinking I can get away with wearing one of my skirts, since most of them sit so low on my hips anyway, and it was my stomach that was getting bigger and not, say, my hips, right? Well, practically none of my skirts fit. At all. I couldn’t get them zipped up on the side or the back, thanks to my expanding stomach and, apparently, expanding other parts.

I finally found one that didn’t look ridiculous, and I even found a shirt that covered my stomach, thanks in part to the fact that the skirt, which used to sit so low on me that I would have to make sure my underwear wasn’t showing, now comes up to over my belly button. The skirt covers my stomach, but then sort of falls down, creating an oh-so-lovely tent-like appearance. I just felt like a blob, fat, stuffed into a skirt that I can maybe wear for a couple more weeks, which is good since we have another one in about two weeks. But, again, believe me, I am so happy to be in this position.

We went to an opera back in November when I was around nine weeks, and I remember thinking that by the next time opera, I would be almost 5 months. It seemed so improbable. And I said then that if something awful happened, we wouldn’t come to this performance, since it would just be too sad (yet another thing ruined by infertility). And yet, there we were, me stuffed a little tighter in the seat. I still can’t believe it. Baby A seemed to like the experience, because she was kicking a lot during the performance. Baby B may have also been moving around, too, which is so not like Baby B, who seems to be the calmer of the two.

I don’t think they can actually hear the music, and I am still not even sure if that is movement I am feeling or just gas or, more likely, stomach fat multiplying. My ob/gyn tells me because of the anterior placentas, it will be hard to really feel anything for a while. But I am feeling something. And I like to think it is movement, which means we are getting dangerously close to the months when I will start obsessing over movement, despite the ministrations of my friend Jen, who warns me not to get caught up in that.

Clothes in general are really becoming an issue. Thank goodness Nicole is the opposite of me: I like all my clothes tight and form-fitting (not painted on, just not baggy) while she favors (in casual wear, at least) the oversized, non-form-fitting clothes. So I have been raiding her closets for shirts and turtlenecks and sweaters. Thank goodness for her button-downs collection, which I always argued was too large (do you really need a shirt in six shades of, say, blue?) and now I am wondering why she can’t have about 20 more of these shirts. She is not the skirt-wearing type, so I am on my own in that department. I’m in charge of my own bottoms.

Yesterday, we met with another contractor about building the babies’ room. The first one never followed up with an estimate. Nice. But we really like this one, and he can start very soon, which is great because I am getting really excited to get this started and done. Nicole and I talked more about colors and we may have agreed to a soft, soft petal pink room color with a mint green rug. It will look good with the dark wood blinds and the dark cribs we want to get. Yes, I know pink is the opposite of gender neutral but we do need a light color to brighten up the room. And I think I may have scared Nicole with this very girly pink chandelier-y type think that I emailed her a picture of. What is happenening to me? Maybe it is just a stage. After all, the Girl News is only officially a little over three days old.

Did I mention too that I am an emotional wreck? That rheumatoid arthritis commercial (“I will be free, I will be strong, when the ni-i-i-iight is long”) makes me well up every time. And that depression commercial (“Where does depression hurt? Everywhere. Who does depression hurt? Everyone.”) also makes me lose it.

It is clear that I am no longer in control of my body or my emotions. Two little less-than-a-pound beings have taken over.

The above picture of us (the four of us!) showcases my extra-puffy cheeks, my 14 new chins, my receding lips and my expanding gums (wtf?), my generally expanding self (by the minute) and my last fitting skirt. Hello, darkness/body issues, my old friend. I look taller than Nicole, which I am not. I'm sure Nicole would want me to point that out. She is very happy that she is like one inch taller than me. (ok, maybe it is two inches, but who—other than Nicole—is counting?)

Movement and Milestones

When I told my sister-in-law about the good baby news, she said “Oh, good, now you can sleep, right!” Ha! That’s what she thinks. Now I need to worry about hydrocephalus and discordant growth and preterm labor and shortening cervix and…I could go on and on. But I am really trying to not worry and to enjoy what might only be my only pregnancy. I am most likely about halfway through and it hasn’t exactly been a picnic so far. But I really want to start to feel that excitement, which requires a lot of faith-building on my part, and requires me to embrace the feeling that everything is going to be okay.

I had a hard time getting to sleep last night because someone was keeping me up. I’m not going to name names (Baby A) but this someone was kicking me on and off in the lower abdominal area for about a half hour. Now these kicks are by no means powerful; in fact they are barely noticeable. And I am not even certain that it is kicking. But it is that little popping sensation again, in the same area, coming in random intervals. It could just be gas or something, but I was just so amazed that it might be kicking. That fact that I have two little lives in me is really starting to sink in. Two little girls; our daughters. And that kept me awake and full of wonder for a while. And then I worried if it was possible to kick a cervix open.

I also tried to engage Nicole in bedtime conversation, a practice she hates, as she takes her sleep very seriously, which is understandable—in her defense—since she is the one who has to get up at the crack of dawn and go to work. But I saw on another blog (I need to learn how to create live links…anyone?) that this Photo Friday theme is “What makes your body unique?” I decided that this is a good question for Nicole. At night, right before she goes to sleep. Which she takes very seriously.

Me: What do you think is my most unique body part?
Nicole: What?
Me: My most unique body part?
Nicole: I don’t know. It’s bedtime.
Me: Can’t you think of something?
Nicole: All of your body parts are unique. Everyone’s parts are unique. [with a touch of annoyance] Why?
Me: [I explain Photo Friday]
Nicole: I don’t know [she starts to laugh] . Maybe your arm hair, since it grew to an inch and half long during this pregnancy. [hysterical laughing.]

Not what I was thinking! And here I thought she would say something romantic like “Your stomach, because it holds my two children!” Or “Your beautiful _____.” Or “How could I possibly pick just one unique part of you?” But she is right: My arm hair grew and grew and I measured it at 1.5 inches long. Which is very long indeed. I finally cut it down with scissors, but not before contemplating braiding it, beading it, making dreads, etc.

Today I hit a milestone. I finally made it down to Pinkberry Yogurt (that’s not the milestone), and the Yogurt man behind the counter made some comment like “A woman in your condition shouldn’t be doing that.” (We were discussing gyms, for some small-talk reason.) This was the first time that someone I didn’t know acknowledged my pregnancy. Which means I am visibly pregnant, and not just chunky-looking. At 19 weeks and 3 days, someone sees me as pregnant; a complete stranger. In my winter coat, no less. It felt really good, and reminded me once again how lucky I am. After all that we went through, after feeling so hopeless and complete devoid of any faith, here I am, pregnant with two babies and looking like it.

Nine more sleeps till my next Level II Ultrasound.

The Best News

I hate to give away the ending of a good story, but here it is: Amnio results are back and both babies are fine! This was the best news, and a nice counterpoint to the worst news ever (cysts on the brain). A nice bookend to a rather harrowing and worry-filled eleven days .

How I got the news was, of course, a little stressful. I had my regular doctor’s appointment this morning in the hospital at 9. When I got there, I called the genetic counselor and left a message, telling her that I was in the building (her office is in the hospital too) and asking if the results were in yet.

And then I met with my doctor. Both babies are moving and their little hearts are beating. They both changed their location, and are now in breech position. And, I found out, I have an anterior placenta for both, which means the placenta is like a pillow between my stomach and the babies, which further means that I won’t be feeling any kicks with any regularity any time soon. My cervix is measuring nice and long, and everything else seems to be in fine order. My blood pressure has hit a new all-time low: 74 over 60. This explains why I have felt so dizzy and tired and lethargic the past five or six days.

So then I walk (walk might be an over-statement; it was actually a very, very slow amble) over to Whole Foods and pick up a few things. I am waiting on that huge line, trying to balance an unwieldy bunch of broccoli rabe, a giant container of yogurt, another giant container of sour pickles and ricotta cheese. And then I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket, which I currently can’t access due to all of the things I am balancing in my hands. I manage to shuffle things around just and pick up the phone right before it goes to voice mail. Then, of course, it is my turn, and after waiting for 5 minutes on line, I don’t want to give up my spot (what was I thinking?) so I try to mange the phone call from the genetics counselor, take directions from the Check Out Traffic Director and pay at the same time.

While the register attendant was asking me way too complex questions like credit or debit or cash back, I was trying to speak with the GC. She asked me if I was still in the hospital, which scared the sh*t out of me. Does she want me to come to the office for bad news? Do she need to explain things in person? Is this report going to involve diagrams? I tell her in an increasingly panicky voice that I have left already and without much further ado, she just blurts it all out. The final results are in and both babies are fine. I was so happy and relieved and exhausted and grateful. No offense to the GC, but I hope that is my last phone call from her ever.

I got off the phone and apologized to the register attendant and then packed up the groceries in my bag. I managed to text Nicole the good news before I made it to the top of the escalator.

To celebrate, I am thinking about mustering up the energy to drag myself down to Chelsea to try Pinkberry Yogurt. Does anyone know anything about this place? I hear it’s all the rage on the West Coast, and I keep reading how beloved this yogurt is. Is it worth the energy? Remember, I am really tired!

Pictured above is me at 19 weeks. I discovered that if you do a google search for belly pictures of pregnant women, you might turn up some very pornographic results, so here’s hoping I don’t turn up in some dirty search. But this is what almost five months with twins looks like. My expression is animated, as I am explaining to Nicole my latest embarrassing pregnancy side effect. And those little things I am holding are the $4 onesies I bought. Yep, nothing but the finest for our girls.

And Another Sleepless Night.....

In an insomnia fit, I watched a terrible, terrible Lifetime-esque movie last night. Well, I must admit I Tivo’d it, but only because I thought it was a documentary. It was called “Half a Dozen Babies,” and the details described it as “An infertile woman takes fertility drugs and delivers six babies.” I’m a sucker for those super-high multiple birth stories, so I thought it would be an interesting way to pass a couple of hours.

So I figure out in two seconds it’s a movie, not a documentary, but I watch it anyway. And it was beyond awful, and I have been know to enjoy awful lifetime movies. Just the details on how it happened were incorrect (doesn’t anyone fact check these movies?). She goes in for her first beta and her levels are 7,000. On Day 14? Please.

The fake “bump” the actress wore was also ridiculous. Her stomach was about 7 feet in front of her. And then they created stretch marks on said stomach, which looked like someone took a garden rake and dragged it along her sides.

Then, against all odds, she delivers 6 healthy babies (she managed to keep them in for 34 weeks I think, which in itself is ridiculous). And then the most unbelievable part: The mother and father are just fine. Not a single issue in sight. They make having six kids look like taking care of a goldfish. That Amy Grant song “Baby Baby” was actually in the soundtrack, during a montage scene where you see the parents cheerfully scrambling during diaper changes and getting bottles out of the fridge and pushing babies in swings. Sometimes I cry tears of frustration after a mere few hours with my nephew, and he is one baby and so very well behaved.

Oh, and this super family managed to do this on one salary. Not one six-figure with six-figure bonus salary; one fast-food restaurant manager’s salary. Seriously. Call me crazy, but it is hard to stretch that kind of salary to cover all the bases for a family of eight. The couple lived with the mom’s parents, but a fight between the mom of six and her mom prompted the happy couple and their six under-a-year-old kids to pile into their van and leave in the middle of the night. No diapers or cribs or clothes. Just upped and moved to another city. Just one ridiculous concept after another. And yet, at 1:00 in the morning, I was hooked.

So today, in a fit of optimism, I looked through a baby name book and ran some ideas past Nicole. It looks like we won’t be settling on any names any time soon. Here were her responses to my suggestions:

• No
• Are you kidding me?
• You’re kidding
• You have to be kidding
• Never
• I wouldn’t name a cat that
• That’s perfect [sarcastic]
• That’s great [sarcastic]
• Maybe [ followed by: “I was just tossing you a bone. I don’t really like that name.”]

Our boy was going to be Atticus. I also mentioned Noam to Nicole when we thought perhaps we could have two boys, and she agreed. She recently revealed that there was no way she was going to let me name our son Noam. I am learning so much about her during this pregnancy!

I have a feeling both girls will have long names, like royalty: A first name followed by six middle names and a last name, and maybe a descriptor such as “The Great” or “The First.” We’ll see. We are kind of settled on three middle names, but those won’t be unveiled any time soon. (surprises abound!)

Tomorrow is my appointment and—I am hoping— the day we get good amnio news. A little more than 12 hours from now. I wasted most of this afternoon just waiting for the day to end so it would be night and pajama time and then bed time and then morning and then sweet relief. Worry is absolutely exhausting. I am really getting tired of it.

The above picture is of my beautiful niece Skye, and her reaction to eating sour candy. She’s not a fan.

I'm 19 weeks today. 19 weeks.

The Power of Two

Well, waiting for the final amnio results is harder than I thought. I have to admit that after Tuesday’s good FISH result news, we had a huge sense of relief. And the rest of the week passed without much torture, thankfully. But starting last night, and now this morning, the waiting torture is back. It is amplified this time by the fact that we are not entirely certain when we are going to get the results. Monday will be 10 days, and there is a good chance that the results will be ready by then. But it could take longer than that, by a few days, or even a week. We really don’t know. It all depends on how fast the baby’s little cells are multiplying, etc.

This is what I learned through talks with our genetics counselor and research: The FISH test basically counts up chromosomes. We should have 23 pairs. If there are any extra, then that is when trisomy is diagnosed (a third chromosome attached somewhere). 13, 18, and 21 are the pairs that get that extra chromosome. 21 is D.S. So what Fish tells us is this: Do we have a normal amount of pairs with no extra? And we did have a normal amount of pairs, no extras. Thank goodness.

What I also read (which I like to hold onto) is that DS is the most common abnormal chromosomal amnio diagnosis, followed by the other trisomies. All of the other chromosomal abnormalities (ty sachs, sickle cell, turner syndrome, etc.) account for a very small percentage of amnio diagnosis. Plus, a lack of ultrasound findings further limits the chance of having any other abnormality. So that means that we are not out of the woods till we get the final results, but the odds are really on our side (I’m praying). If there is faulty logic to this theory, I don’t want to know.

The good news is all this drama distracted me from my continual count of “How long till my next doctor appointment?” And my next appointment is this Monday. Only two more sleeps till my 9:00 am visit! Very exciting. I hope it is boring. A regular, run-of-the-mill, nothing-is-wrong appointment. Most of all, I look forward to the little glimpse into the world of the babies. The next appointment after that is 11 days later, when I go in for another Level II Ultrasound. I pray that those cysts are gone by then. Or at least going away. Gone is better, though.

I’m still feeling little pops. No flutters of flopping, just pops. Most of them are happening in one area. On Monday, I will find out again for certain where the babies are positioned. I am thinking about asking the doctor to draw outlines on my stomach so I can be sure. I’m hoping the pops I feel on the lower left side of my abdomen is Baby A. But why then is Baby B so quiet? Why no Baby B pops? I guess it isn’t fair to start comparing them quite yet, but I can’t help it. These babies need to start moving around on a regular basis so I can feel reassured! Is that too much to ask?

I dusted off Power of Two, by the Indigo Girls, the babies’ theme song, which I was listening to a lot in the beginning of this pregnancy. (“Two” is represented visually by the two little leafs at the top of this post, in case anyone was wondering why there were two leafs up there. I’m way into symbolism.) The lyrics seem so appropriate, at least to me. Change all the I’s to we’s and it is as if the babies are singing the song to me. I realize that mothers are supposed to comfort and console their children, but it occurs to me that the opposite can happen, too. I know, I can be really cheesy, but right now, I’d like to think that it is a message to me that every little thing is going to be alright (hmmm… a favorite Bob Marley song…maybe that is a message too?).

So were okay
Were fine
I’m here to stop your crying
Chase all the ghosts from your head
I’m stronger than the monster beneath your bed
Smarter than the tricks played on your heart
We’ll look at them together then well take them apart
Adding up the total of a love that’s true
Multiply life by the power of two

Nicole came back from her business trip ad mentioned that I made a “good dent” in the cake. I thought she would be impressed with my restraint, since I really could have finished it all, but didn’t. Go, willpower. But, really, she can’t say anything, because this morning I got up all prepared to go to the gym with her and she was having a slice of breakfast cake.