Does This Ultrasound Make Me Look Fat?

First, I had the ultrasound. The technician was nice, but all-business and not very chatty. Baby A is head-down, ready to go Baby B is completely breech. I asked how much they weigh and the tech said she wasn’t checking that today. Then this lovely conversation emerged:

Me: But they look nice and chubby, right?
Tech: Of course they are chubby! After all, look at their mommy. Nice and…uh…solid. [And then she mumbled something about me not being slight or slim, I missed the exact word.]

That hissing sound you hear is my self-esteem deflating like a balloon. I think I’ll save the bulk of these rantings for another post, but let me just say this: I really, really don’t like it when people make flippant or pithy comments about my weight or size. I know she didn’t mean anything by it, but still. I, like many women, have a few issues with body image. My weight can fluctuate up and down, and it has dramatically during the TTC process, considering all the meds I was taking, etc. I have an obese aunt (over 400 pounds) and my grandmother was obese as well. That gives me some perspective in terms of weight and size, but it hasn’t stopped me from dabbling in unhealthy eating habits and flirting with compulsive exercise and yo-yo-ing with the best of them. I am my own worst critic, so the last thing need is anyone saying anything to me. It just really gets to me.

And that wasn’t the only comment today. On my way to the appointment, a man slowed down and leaned out of the window of his shiny black, souped-up Mercedes and yelled to me, as I was waiting with a group of others on the corner of 56th to cross the street, “Looking big” and not in a nice, enchanted sort of way. The women near me scowled in solidarity and the men, well, just looked at me. I wanted to melt into the sidewalk.

I promised myself I wasn’t going to obsess over weight and exercise if I got pregnant. And I am not. I am proud that my body isn’t betraying me or these babies. I am amazed that it can stretch to accommodate these two lives. I don’t look at the scale at weigh-ins and I am not busy figuring out how long to will take me to get back into shape. And now, especially with two girls coming, I need to keep this in check. The last thing I want to bequeath to these two girls is food/body issues. And I am in general doing ok, but when things like this happen, I am that dieting fourth-grader who is starving herself because she feels too fat. Or that eighth-grader who weighs herself 10 times a day (exhaling deeply, because extra air in lungs translates to extra weight on the scale) and uses averaged weight to determine whether or not I deserve to eat dinner. Or the twenty-something who would go to the gym before work and after work, skipping lunch in the middle and smoking like a chimney throughout it all, all in the name of looking good in a pair of jeans. Good times.

Enough about that for now. Back to the ultrasound.

The doctor-on-duty on Wednesdays in the Fetal Evaluation Unit is my doctor. My doctor came to the door during the u/s (she couldn’t see me) and asked the tech if she was ready for her. The tech said no, and that she would be done in a few minutes. My doctor disappeared, then returned maybe two minutes later and just waked in and when she saw me she told the tech to stop the exam because I am fine and these babies are fine. And just like that the wand was whipped off my stomach and my Baby View TV was turned off. It kinda annoyed me because, while I appreciate her optimism and confidence, I prefer to lean on the side of please-let’s-be-thorough. Every time I see my doctor her attitude is all is well, let’s cut corners and get outta here. I don’t doubt her expertise and her experience, but I am a teensy bit of a worrier in general and I would appreciate just a modicum of hand-holding. I am, after all, 33 weeks. Can we take a few more minutes?

Next was the non-stress test and the babies both did just fine. Baby B was moving non stop and then she got the hiccups. Baby A was a little quieter but she performed as well. I tried to get specifics (did their heart rates accelerate at least 15 beats for at least 15 seconds? Did they accelerate too much? Or too little) but the tech just kept telling me it was all fine. She then pointed out on my print out where I was having contractions. Guess what: we're not going to worry about that. I’m back a week from now for more of the same.

I am so relieved and grateful hat this was a positive baby day though. I didn't even mind that I spent two-and-a-half hours there all together.

Pictured above are my extremes: On top is me at a low weight. And on bottom is me at a high weight (thanks to four months of clomid and other fertility meds and, well, less exercise and more eating). My true weight settles somewhere in between. It’s hard to post these pictures, which is why I am doing it. To me, these pictures represent manifestations of issues with body, control, exercise and food. I can’t deny it: I still have a ways to go to slay these body issue demons.

Non-Stress Stress

I should be taking my first non-stress test tomorrow. I say “should” because I am not technically scheduled for it but my doctor wants me to have it done. Since she is the doctor-on-duty in the ultrasound division on Wednesdays, she can make this happen. So first an ultrasound, with a growth and fluid check and then the test.

Of course I am all worried about this seemingly simple test. Naturally I turned to G**gle to find out what this was all about. It’s straightforward: A machine will monitor the babies’ heartbeats for an extended period of time. Most important is that the babies’ heartbeats accelerate at least 15 beats above baseline for at least 15 seconds. I have named this the 15/15 goal. If this happens twice within 20 minutes, the test is considered “reactive.” That means they pass. If this does not happen at least twice within 20 minutes the test is considered “nonreactive.” A nonreactive test result might mean nothing at all. Or it could mean there is a problem with oxygen or the placenta.

These babies are overachievers already so I would like to think that they will pass with flying colors. But I am still very nervous. We have come so far and have been through so much. I always say I am waiting for the other shoe to drop (where did this expression come from?) and so I think “what if this is the other shoe?” Why can’t I be one of those people who don’t worry their entire pregnancy?

Other test news: I find out if I passed my final graduation project on Wednesday too. This is a culmination of the past two-and-a-half-years of grad school. I feel fairly confident that I did indeed pass, but, again, I don’t take these things for granted. It will be quite a relief to get that Pass stamp.

But if I had to choose which test I wanted to pass tomorrow, obviously there is no question which test I would choose.

Pictured above is my niece with a flashlight. I feel a little bit like her today because there is an electrician here trying to fix the hall light without tearing apart the ceiling so I am acting as apprentice and holding a flashlight for him, much like this. But not nearly as cute.

World's Fastest Appointment

Today was the world’s fastest appointment. Dr. Nothing Bothers Her walked in and said we were going to be quick because she was hungry and needed to eat stat. She did an u/s: Baby A is head down, hanging out on my cervix. Baby B is once again floating along the top, in a transverse position. No cervix check and the nurse didn’t even check my blood pressure. However, the nurse did weigh me and while I still don’t know how much I weigh, she told me I lost three pounds. I knew my stomach was shrinking.

I tried to initiate talk about end strategies but my doctor says it is still a little soon. Which it is, I know, but recent discomfort makes it a hot topic for me. She said if they stay in this position she would suggest a C section. But if Baby B moves, then a vaginal delivery would be possible. To be honest, I don’t really have a strong preference. Both ways have major pros and cons. I lean toward a vaginal delivery but whatever way is safest and best is fine with me. But the planner in me secretly LOVES the idea of a scheduled date. The realist in me knows that this really isn’t up to me. And the pessimist in me still can’t believe that I am having these conversations at all.

Next appointment is in two days: A growth check and fluid check and my first non-stress test. And then the appointment cycle begins anew next week….

Pictured above are not one but TWO pictures of me smiling! Contrary to legend, I do in fact smile from time to time in pictures! The thing is, I find it particularly hard to smile for the camera when I am alone. I’m a little self-conscious about my smile (it’s amazing how one can hold onto some critical comments for, oh, decades) and I am not a huge fan of posed pictures. But put me with another person that I love (or like a lot) and I can smile easily. So here is a full frontal shot of me, crooked linea negra and all, also at 33 weeks, with a smile on my face (Nicole elicited said smile with some comment or maybe a threat or an eye roll!). And then there is a picture of me with Leif, riding the camel at the Bronx Zoo.

Like Clockwork

All the books I read insist that I will start recognizing the babies’ sleeping and waking patterns in utero. I have found this to be a stretch: They seem to move when they want, in no discernable pattern. They have busy days and quiet days (scary). There are mornings when I drink orange juice and lay on my side and nothing. And then there are days when I drink nothing and sit up and they are punching like crazy. It’s all quite random….but I must say that one pattern is revealing itself: Like clockwork around 10:00 pm the babies wake up and reorganize themselves for a half hour or so. They are kicking and punching and rolling with such force that I can just watch my stomach move. By this time Nicole is already asleep so I am the only one to witness this phenomenon.

The other pattern that is revealing itself are nighttime bathroom breaks. Last night I got up seven times, which is about average for me. It involves much maneuvering to get to the side of the bed, swing my feet over and drop to the ground (our mattress is high off the floor). And then I have this interesting hand-and-foot thing going on. I’m going to go ahead and diagnoses bloating in both. Since I have removed my rings and resorted to flip-flop wearing, I don’t exactly know for sure, but I really think I am seeing little sausages when I look at my fingers. My hands and feet feel sore like they were punched. It hurts to make a fist and walking or standing for periods of time is not so fun. The only bright side of this is this means I don’t have to iron anymore! For this last month I will be dropping off the ironing at the dry cleaners!

Bad nights’ sleeps means more daytime napping. I usually nap in the morning, after I wake up, for about an hour or so. Something about sleeping on the couch agrees with me. Also, I will nap on the couch with Nicole when she is watching one of her “shows”, which arguably happens only once a week, tops, but still. This weekend, it was some train wreck called “Crocodile” or “Alligator.” The problem with these shows is that they are not good to nap to, because there are always chainsaws and screaming and hammering and unusual creature noises and dying creature noises in the background. I’ll be on the precipice of sleep when the sound of an alligator/crocodile ripping off the head of some damsel in distress snaps me back to the land of the wakeful.

On Saturday night, Nicole planned a small surprise graduation dinner with friends at a restaurant. There was a woman at a table near us who told me as we were leaving that she had twins. She delivered at 42 weeks (!). I wanted to hit her with so many questions: How long was her cervix? Was she induced? Was she uncomfortable? Isn’t it dangerous to deliver that late, because from what I read the uterus gets so distended that it can’t contract properly back to its natural shape and hemorrhaging sometimes ensues. Her babies were just under 7 pounds each, that much I did ascertain. But my babies, at 32 weeks, are already almost 5 pounds each. Which means if I were to estimate it, they would be 7 pounds each by 36 weeks and 8 pounds each by 38 weeks, if they continue with their growth rate. By 42 weeks, they would be 10 pounds or so. No way I can go to 42 weeks. No way.

I want big healthy babies and I will deal with this discomfort as long as I have to, but still, it really is getting very uncomfortable.

This week commences Doctor’s Appointments-palooza. I have two this week: The first one is today. My next ultrasound is Wednesday. I think today is just weight and blood pressure and quick look at the babies. I’ll rattle of a short list of complaints and my doctor will tell me she isn’t worried. Wednesday is my first non-stress test, I think, and another growth check, during which we will see how chubby the babies are now.

Pictured above is me at 33 weeks. So far, no stretch marks. What does that say about my skin? That is was made to stretch to unfathomable lengths? I still have time to get some and my skin still has a lot of stretching to do so I won’t count any chickens before they hatch. But no stretch marks would be a happy little bonus. I do, however, have that "mask of pregnancy" on my face (left side), which I noticed for the first time this weekend, but Nicole said has been there a while.

When a Toffee Almond Bar Isn’t Just a Toffee Almond Bar

I’m done. That was the fastest two and half years (ah…not really). I just had my last class and handed in my giant behemoth of a culminating project. Provided I pass that project, I am all clear to graduate. So no more readings or work or papers or presentations or group projects. No more spending my weeks in a cave of work, obsessing over the details, feeling guilty for not doing more. Most of all, I am happy to not have to sit for four hours in classes anymore. Pregnant or not, that is just too long.

I can’t post negative parenting tips from Nicole anymore. When I came home tonight she congratulated me on my last class (stubbing her toe on the step in her mad dash to hug me) and told me she got me a toffee almond bar, which was chilling in the fridge. I didn’t want to admit that I already got one and ate it in class (I need the sugar rush to stay alert). She kept pushing this bar on me, and when I finally admitted that I already had one and wasn’t really hungry, she asked me to bring it to her, which is weird, because she never really eats them. It was curious that she became impatient as I changed into PJs and took out my contacts and puttered around, but I didn’t think much of it. I can be clueless sometimes. But she asked again to bring her the bar and I finally obliged. The bag seemed heavier than normal but I didn’t think much about it. And then I opened the bag and there was hidden inside was a gift of a beautiful pair of sparkly earrings. I already feel so lucky and grateful for everything that I have (non-material, that is) and these sort of things are just the icing on the cake. Or the toffee in the bars, if you will. Really, I am happy with a sincere card (I have saved sincere cards for the past 25 years or so). But this is very nice too! I took a picture so I could someday show it to our daughters and say “See? These are the sort of things your mom does.”

And now tomorrow, blissfully free of grad school and papers and presentations, oh my, the real nesting can begin.

Parenting Tips by Nicole

I always say that I am going to carry around a notebook to write down some of the things Nicole says, but I never do. She comes up with some gems when she is distracted and tired; times when she feels the need to respond but doesn’t quite think about what she is saying. Her mouth is on automatic pilot.

Here’s a snippet from a conversation last night:

Me: Mina called. She wants to know if splinters will come out on their own.
Nicole: Sometimes. I don’t know. Why?
Me: Leif and Skye have a ton of them in their hands and feet and they scream every time Mina tries to tweeze them out. She doesn’t know what to do.
Nicole: She should just give them a stick to bite on or something and take them out.

Before you call child services, she wasn’t really serious. But still, I need to start recording these things, just for fun.

Speaking of calls, every 20 days or so, my cell phone voice mail reminds me that I have “One message about to expire.” I got that reminder again today. It is the same message I have saved since the fall from my IVF nurse. I have no idea why I didn’t manage to answer that call—as many of you know, the world stops when you are waiting for those blood work update phone calls from your RE office and your phone is glued to your hand. How I managed to miss that call, I don’t know. But it was pure torture dialing up voicemail and punching in my numbers and waiting to hear “Hi Jennifer this is Michelle calling…” all the while trying to determine from her opening tone if it is good news or bad news. Anyway, I have been reluctant to delete that message since it brought such good news (a rising beta, a properly behaving progesterone level) so I save it month after month. But every 20 days that message brings me right back to that fear.

I looked today at birth announcements. I still can’t believe that this is all happening. I feel like I am living someone else’s life. Of course, I can’t find any I like and think I might just make them myself, but I think that might be too much to handle in the first weeks after the babies come home. Look at me, all positive.

Tomorrow is my last day of grad school. It’s been four and half years and I am SO ready for the break.

Pictured above is Nicole with cake. She tells me all the time to not bake cakes or cookies or other such things because having dessert every day is a tad excessive. Yet whenever I make something she is in SUCH a good mood (food excitement) that it is hard to obey such orders.

Everyone's Getting Bigger

Yesterday’s sonogram went just fine, thank goodness. The babies are laying in a reverse transverse position: Meaning Baby A is laying with her head to my left and her feet to the right and Baby B is dong the opposite above, right under my ribs. How these babies have room to move I don’t know. But they are just having a party in there, switching it up each week.

They are big: Baby A is 4 pounds 12 ounces and Baby B is 4 pounds 11 ounces. And I am only 32 weeks. I asked the doctor if they were getting too big too fast and he said there is no such thing as that with twins. Well, maybe not for him, but for me there sure is. At this rate, the babies will be almost 7 pounds each at 36 weeks and almost 8 pounds each at 38 weeks. I’m grateful to have big, hopefully healthy babies, but I worry about how this physically happens. It just seems impossible that my uterus will be able to carry that much. My cervix, for those who monitor these things, has shortened a bit, from 4.0 to 3.6. Anything above 3.0 at this stage is great, according to the doctor. And their heart rates were both around 148, which is normal (the acceptable range is 120 to 160)

I feel like I went from walking to waddling in one short week and I am convinced that my fingers look like little water-retaining sausages. And my speed has slowed down even more. On the way to the u/s yesterday, Nicole met me at home and we walked up together (well, she was constantly a few steps ahead of me) and she said, and I quote: “It’s painful to walk this slow.” Ha! But it’s true, I walk slow now and meander, gradually moving from one side of the sidewalk to the other. And I need to take little breaks to catch my breath. I’ve never felt so out-of-shape and yet so full-of-life (literally). Yet another pregnancy oxymoron.

And now we go into appointment-palooza. Starting next week I will have weekly sonograms and weekly non-stress tests and weekly visits with Dr. Nothing Bothers Her. I’m glad I selected a doctor within walking distance of my apartment!

Pictured above is Baby A. I asked our lovely u/s technician (no Attila!) if we could get pictures, and she was happy to try. She even did the fancy 3D/4D thing! But, she said, there is “just too much baby in there” to get a good shot. She tried a few times and then went back to 2D and this is all we got. No pictures of Baby B because she is facing my spine, which makes me nervous that she is spinning around in there. So this picture shows Baby A’s face to the right and her hand is on her head. I know, it is not the best view, but it was the best she could get. I’m pretty sure I see some chubby cheeks but that could be wishful thinking.

Borrowed Time

This is what makes pregnancy challenging for me: As a control freak (for lack of a better word) I am forced to surrender any sort of timetable or agenda and let the cards fall where they may.

I should have learned this during the TTC journey, but alas, I didn’t. I had it all planned out: We would begin the process while I was still in graduate school and by graduation, I would be pregnant. I was certain conception would happen the first or second time. I was counting off months on calendars and weighing the merits of one month versus another for giving birth. I had this image of me, in a cap and gown, walking across that platform to accept my degree, with a little baby thriving inside of me. Oh, how that all makes me laugh now.

But the universe, in its infinite wisdom (or strange sense of humor) decided I would indeed graduate with not one but two babies inside of me. And not during my first Masters, but my second. In between, just to keep us humble I guess, we endured countless cycles and appointments and disappointments and m/c’s and an ectopic, reminder after reminder that I wasn’t the one calling the shots here.

Flash forward a couple of years, and I win the pregnancy lottery. And still, I have no control. I have no idea how much time I have left before these babies arrive or before I might be put on bed rest or before I just can’t move around at all (I’m getting close). It’s like I live on borrowed time. I repeat this like a broken record, but my friend Jen had a picture-perfect pregnancy till one of the babies kicked a hole in his sac at 31 weeks, and suddenly she was in the hospital till her babies were born just before the 35th week. And then there are countless blogs from twin mothers, like the story of a woman who goes in for a routine exam and discovered that her amniotic fluid is too low, which warrants hospital bed rest (see here). Or the woman who watched her cervix go from nice and long to way too short in a very short span of time (here). And the woman who discovered that she was having contractions but didn’t even feel it (here). Things happen, quickly, abruptly and out-of-the-blue.

I have an appointment today and I am nervous. I have been feeling different lately. Not really in a terrible or bad way, but different nonetheless. There is the whole disappearing energy thing, the joint pain and the problem with my hands. There is that constant urge to empty my bladder. I feel a heaviness around my cervix. Are the babies getting into position or dropping? Is my cervix getting shorter at all? These Braxton Hicks I keep getting, do I need to monitor them more? Should I be concerned? Is it normal to have them whenever I sit in an upright position?

The anxiety never quite disappears. I’m ashamed to admit that I still look at scary stories online about all of the terrible things that can happen. Even now, at eight months, with the big belly and the kicking babies and the almost-finished babies’ room, I know there are no guarantees. I still hold my breath when the doctor looks for the babies’ heartbeats. I still get nervous for the post-sonogram talk with the doctor. I won’t settle down until these babies are out of me safely and nestled in their cribs. And then the new worries begin.

Nicole rearranged her scheduled (or arranged it) and she is coming today too, which makes me feel better. I hope everything is ok.

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?

Fringe Benefits

We hit a mini-milestone this morning. Sometime in the wee hours of dawn, I felt Baby B punching me with her little hand. In my sleepy haze, I noticed that she was punching me in a regular pattern for an extended period of time. Eventually it occurred to me this wasn’t punches, it was hiccups! I have been so excited for this to happen…along with the u/s picture of one of the babies sucking her thumb, which hasn’t happened yet. One down, one more to go. I quickly woke Nicole up and put her hand on the spot so she could feel it too. It was—to use my favorite word—surreal. There is a little baby inside of me who has the hiccups. It reminded me how lucky I was to be in this place now. The hiccups lasted a couple of minutes, then she moved around a bit and settled back in for some more sleep. And so did Nicole. Then, bizarrely, I hiccupped twice. Not a bad way to start the morning.

Later I visited my friend Jen, who has toddler b/g twins. Now when I am with her I feel like I am getting a sneak preview of life with twins. They play so well together and entertain each other. It’s cute the way they talk to each other and even apologize when they do something wrong! They are each other’s playmates. It makes me so much more excited for my own babies to come out. My visit turned out to be more like a scenery change, since I spent most of my time laying on her couch, even napping for an hour! I only moved to an upright position when it was time to eat lunch (pasta with vodka sauce...yum!). Not a bad way to spend an afternoon.

I think I am at the point when the babies are infringing on my stomach space. I get really full really quickly these days, but, ever the trooper, I eat through the pain. I think I need to stop that, because it just leads to stomach distress later on. I just had dinner with my friend Annie. I had an appetizer and a side order of vegetables and barely put a dent in either. I want to eat more, I really do. I just feel so full, literally and figuratively.

Pictured above is Nicole and me, at 31 weeks. I keep thinking I can’t possibly get any bigger and yet nature finds a way…..

Before and After

Eight inches of rain in New York City in one day, the most we have had in 120 years I think. Wind gusts up to 50 miles and hour. And where we were, on the 57th floor of an apartment building, there was sleet, hail and sideways rain (there is a separate weather system that high up). That was the scene for this baby celebration.

As I said to several people, thank goodness it is illegal for Nicole and I to get married because I don’t think I could handle the pressure of planning and being a part of a wedding. The party was fun, but exhausting, and I didn’t even do the bulk of the work. I spent too much time on my feet and didn’t drink nearly enough water and felt like I didn’t get a chance to spend any significant time with anyone. But it was all worth it. It really made me feel like this was happening. I know my giant stomach should clue me in or the kicks inside me but it was this right of passage of sorts that drove the point home. Pictured above are five of the Fab Six (one is missing in both pictures!). We have all been friends for more than two decades. The top picture is us on Sunday, the bottom picture was us at a wedding shower about five years ago. My, how times have changed. I think about how different all of our lives are now, all that we have been through. It’s amazing.

I had a doctor’s appointment yesterday and since Nicole took the day off she came with me. She was able to see the babies on the not-so-good machine. They have changed positions again. This time, they are both laying in a sort of diagonal fashion, with their bodies kinda curled around each other, like shrimp. I like to think Baby B is spooning Baby A. It explains the new and unusual thumps that I am feeling. It also proves these babies are nothing like me: I would pick one position and stay in it the entire pregnancy if I was them. Why the need to move around so much?

In keeping with her personality, Dr. It Doesn’t Make Me Crazy had not a single concern. This entire pregnancy she hasn’t worried about anything: Not the decreased thyroid function or the cysts on the brains or my low blood pressure or anything. I asked her if I should be looking for a pediatrician and she said I have lots of time (whereas everyone I speak with says I should be well on the road to deciding by now!). Her confidence is a nice change of pace from my the-sky-is-falling attitude and I have to say it has gone a long way to making me feel comfortable and more confident.

I told her that I was a little concerned that the babies seemed so big. After all, every book I have read says twin growth slows in the third trimester. But my babies are getting huge, huge like maybe I do have GD and they missed it (I checked with the nurse to confirm I was GD negative). She shrugged it off and instead predicted that not only would I go full term (!) with these babies, they would be 7 or 8 pounds. EACH. Now obviously this is fantastic news. But it also worries me a bit because the aches and pains associated with carrying two extra lives are becoming quite…painful. I can’t imagine getting any bigger. I really can’t. But I want these babies to come out as healthy as possible. I not going to sit here and hope they come out early because I am uncomfortable. I can deal with the discomfort. But let the record reflect, this is hard and it will be for maybe another 7 weeks.

Thank goodness only two more weeks of grad school. Sitting in class for four-hour stretches has lost its charm. And one week till my next super-sonogram growth check.

What’s Wrong With This Picture?

So tomorrow is our Alternative Baby Party, our version of a Baby Shower, complete with no ribbon hats, no gift openings and no games. It is supposed to be a celebration of these babies with a relatively small gathering of friends and family. Family flew in from Florida and friends are driving in from as far as Syracuse. People are taking planes, trains and automobiles to be here.

And the storm of the century is heading this way.

Can I just say that there hasn’t been a Nor’easter in these parts in, oh, a year or so. And we haven’t had a big one in years. Years. All winter I was waiting for that blustery, blizzard-y winter’s storm, so I have an excuse to hole up at home in pajamas all day and eating pancakes. But all we got was like a half-inch of dirty NYC snow. And now, the storm of the century! What are the chances?

It’s fine. It’s just torrential rain and near-hurricane force winds and some flooding. I feel awful that people are going to have to trudge through this for a three-hour party.

I just got my hair cut and it is a little shorter than I am used to. Not too short, but still, short.

Pictured above: Nicole and my mother and one of Jon and Tim’s dogs on the roof deck, which no one will be able to enjoy tomorrow. And on bottom is one of the views…that we won’t see tomorrow.

Past Due

I must be bigger than I think I am. Today, while waiting for my u/s appointment, a very pregnant woman next to me asked if I was past due too. Ha! I laughed and told her I had another two months. Once she got over the shock, we talked and shared our experiences, and somewhere in the middle of the conversation I though “Wow…I am sitting here talking about sleeping pillows with a pregnant woman and I am pregnant too.” It never ceases to amaze me.

Not only am I big, apparently I make big babies, too. Naturally, I had Attila the Technician but—surprise, surprise—she was actually kind of nice to me today. First, she measured my cervix, which is still nice and long, holding steady at 3.9mm. Then we moved on to the babies: I asked nicely if I could get pictures and she said “we’ll see.” Well, we’ll see turned into a big no. Baby A is head down again (go Baby A!) but she couldn’t get a good picture of her. Baby B is laying across the top, once again in a T-formation. She is facing the inward, so the transducer only picks up images of her butt and the back of her head. So no pictures for Nicole, who had a meeting in Connecticut and couldn’t attend today’s viewing.

Here’s the amazing part: Baby A is 3 pounds 11 ounces and Baby B is 3 pounds 10 ounces, which is exactly what a singleton at 30 weeks 2 days would weigh! Grow babies grow! At this point they grow about a half-pound a week (I wish I could say the same…). So these could be some big babies! I keep reading and hearing that twin growth slows down in the third trimester, but these babies apparently didn’t get the memo.

I am still sick, but I think I am on the mend. The congestion is clearing, the lethargy is lifting and I am able to stand up for more than a minute without feeling like I need a nap. And I have managed to cut down my nap schedule, too. I hope this is the end of whatever this illness was. Where is the so-called super immune system that some pregnant women get?

Pictured above is my niece playing in one of the new cribs. I still can’t believe that there could be babies in here some time in the next couple of months.

I'm Not Naming Names

I sit squarely in the camp that happiness is a choice. You choose to be happy or you choose to not be happy. It’s really simple. That said, I don’t always make the right choice. Like with my pregnancy: I could have chosen to embrace it from Day 1. I could have pretended that everything will work out just fine, and not let past miscarriages and failures and horror stories stop me from enjoying every second of it. Instead, I worried, fretted more than Harrison Ford ever did in any of his movies, and wrapped myself in a blanket of anxiety. I lived in denial that this fairy tale could possibly have a happy ending and every step of the way, saw the road ending and not continuing. And now, at 30 weeks, with a belly I can’t deny and thumps I can’t ignore and a whole room dedicated to The Babies and their relatively imminent arrival, I regret not trying harder to enjoy this amazing, beautiful, fleeting time.

But I digress….

It is hard enough for me to monitor my own happiness, so why must I feel an obligation or responsibility to monitor someone else’s happiness? Shouldn’t everyone be accountable for their own happiness and be allowed to make their own choices, good or bad? If someone wants to drive their life into a wall, well, then that is their choice. If someone wants to live a lonely and miserable life and alienate themselves, burn every bridge, close every door, lead a life of reaction and never action, then that is their choice. I can’t coax or plead or beg or interfere or do anything to stop that. I can’t plant happiness in someone else’s garden. And yet I try and try and try and try…and wonder why nothing grows. And like a nasty virus (or weed, if I were to continue the metaphor) this misery spreads and suddenly I feel like I can’t be completely happy unless they (I’m not naming names) are completely happy, too, which will never happen. How ridiculous is that? A self-fulfilling prophecy? An unfunded mandate? A viscous cycle? I let myself get pulled into this undertow—I practically throw myself into it—and then wonder why yet again I am struggling to keep afloat.

The thing is, I like my life. I ended a long-term, not-suited-for-me relationship and created this amazing, great relationship with a woman who I never, ever get tired of and who makes daily deposits into my happiness column. Even through the Dark Days of infertility, when I threw myself into the abyss and chose to be miserable and couldn’t see my way out, she never let go or turned away. I have some crappy, selfish relatives but, more important, I have some loving, caring, thoughtful, ever-present relatives, including some inherited through Nicole. Even one good one makes up for ten bad ones. And I’ve had some rough spots in friendships, but in the end I am left with a core group of people who fill up every nook and cranny in my life.

And yet there are times when I dwell in the misery, and lament the relatives who walked out on me and focus on the friends who did me wrong. It is so easy to get stuck in that mindset and I understand completely how some people get stuck there.

It’s not that I’m so evolved or enlightened or Zen. I don’t have the answers or anything like that. Please. I’m perpetually seeing a therapist or reading some book that promises to complete me and talking endless circles with friends who listen to me howl the same refrains.

But I need to get out of this particular person's misery fugue. It’s their life, not mine. Maybe this person is happy in misery, in some sort of ironic way. Maybe they will change. Maybe they will learn that life is better when you try just a little more each day to embrace the light instead of the dark. In the meantime, I need to remind myself to worry about myself; it is the lesson that keeps getting thrown my way, and will continue to plague me until I learn it. How can I begrudge someone who spends a lifetime being miserable if I let myself stew in that misery too?

And despite all of this—these forays into co-dependent misery and my checkered fertility past and the ended relationships and the lingering pain of abandonment and my imperfect perfect life—I ask myself, would I change lives with anyone in the world? And the answer is always unequivocally no, not anymore.

Pictured above are two of my friends (who are girlfriends) running into the ocean. Well, one is running and the other is sort of walking deliberately, like she has an agenda. I love this picture because it is so metaphorical. Pick your own metaphor. And to me, it symbolizes happiness. It was a really good weekend.

Fevers; Embarrassing Milestones; Cervix Checks*

**Updated**

Apparently a 104 fever doesn’t slow a toddler down. My niece came over today, and while her fever is gone, you would think that she would still be lethargic and cuddly and calm, recovering from the fever that broke mere hours ago. No such luck. I Tivo’d about 10 episodes of Dora and she has blown through most of them already (once you weed out commercials and such, it really boils down to 15 minutes of a screaming camel-toed exploradora and her crazy monkey pet and their assorted freak friends like that spaced-out cow and the grumpy old troll who lives under the bridge). Meanwhile, Skye asks approximately 15 times a minute “Ots ah?” or, translated, “what’s that?” She runs around the apartment at top speed, now that her socks are off (socks serve as a veritbal speed bump for kids; must remember this). And she finds the most mundane things fascinating: To wit: She spent five minutes playing fuzz she found on the couch. Fuzz. Five minutes.

Can I also register a complaint about how spoiled kids are these days when it comes to TV? I’m going to sound old here, but kids these days live in this world of on-demand television. Plus they get to experience the wonders of Tivo, so they can watch whatever they want whenever they want. Skye just freaked out when the commercials came on because—gasp!—we were watching live TV. Skye doesn’t do commercials and never has in her little life. She is used to non-stop entertainment. For me, growing up, cable was just coming into people’s homes (with not so much in the way of kid’s shows anyway) and VCRs were just making their debut. And we had to get up to change the channel! How cantankerous do I sound?

I could just turn off the TV but 1.) I am exhausted after another fitful’s night sleep and don’t have the energy to entertain someone with an attention span of five seocnds and 2.) it is snowing ever so slightly here in NYC so a trip to the playground or anywhere really is out of the question and 3.) maybe what I am deeming allergies is actually a cold, because I just feel so blah.

Here is a glimpse into my adult life. This snippet of conversation is from last night, as we sprawled out on the couch, watching the American Idol results show (yes, I like this show; Nicole can take it or leave it):

Me: Do you realize that we might have these babies before we find out who the next American idol is?
Nicole: Can we please not use things like that as a milestone? It’s embarrassing.

This, coming from the woman who has a Tivo list with such gems as Frankenfish, a sci-fi thriller about a group of genetically engineered snakeheads that are attacking and eating humans. I just had to make that point. People in glass houses and all...

I have my doctor’s appointment this afternoon for a cervix check and questions-and-answers (On tap this week: Is that tightnening I am feeling Braxton Hicks?). I was talking to my friend Annie last night and telling her about today, she offered to come into the city and help me with Skye so I could have a stress-free appointment. Now that is a true friend. Truth is, I was dreading it, fearing that Skye would freak out as I lay on a table being wanded. But having Annie there makes everything much, much easier. Everyone needs an Annie.

Pictured above is me at 29 weeks, in oh-so-not-flattering striped pajamas again because I keep forgetting to take a picture in the daytime when I am clothed. If you look closely, you can see my popped belly button and my perpendicular hair. As I have been saying for, what, three months now, I need to get a haircut.

** Update: The appointment was fine. Baby A decided she didn’t want to be head down after all and returned to her breech position, which means Nicole has been talking to her feet these past two weeks. Baby B is curled in some sort of transverse/breech/s-shape or something. It’s like baby Jenga or origami. How they fit in there, I have no idea. And please explain to me how a three-pound baby moves 180 degrees and I don’t feel anything beyond little thumps?

I asked about the Braxton Hicks but my doctor said as long as I don’t feel any pain, she is (all together, now) “Not going to worry about that.” Seriously, nothing seems to alarm my doctor. Nothing.

My cervix continues to be a superstar and is measuring 3.4mm. The measurement last week with the fancy u/s was 3.9mm. My doctor said her machine is probably about .5 mm off so it is still holding strong in the mid- to high-three range. I’m proud of my cervix.

Finally, I accidentally opened my eyes too soon at the weigh in. Wow, That’s all I have to say. Well, that and I will gladly add as much weight to my frame as needed to make two chunky, healthy, happy babies.

Something is in the Air

Spring is kinda springing here in NYC, and even though there are only a few trees within sight distance of my apartment, they are apparently generating enough pollen or tree dust to make me miserable. I am not usually an allergy sufferer, so this is new and unusual and not-so-much-fun. I don’t quite know how to alleviate the symptoms. I am congested and have a dry cough and a sore throat from breathing through my mouth. Nighttime is the worst: As soon as I lay down I can’t breathe. When I wake in the middle of the night, I feel like my throat is closing up. And I jar myself awake because I apparently stop breathing for a few seconds, so I wake up gasping. Lovely. I took a Benadryl one night and it knocked me out, but not enough to keep me from getting up every hour or so to pee. And then woke up the next morning feeling like I had a hangover. How do people deal with this year after year?

My niece was supposed to come today to spend the night with us, but she has a 104 fever so she is staying home with my brother. I was looking forward to her being here, with her two-year-old enthusiasm for everything and her Dora addiction, but a part of me is a little relieved. I feel like crap and really need to catch up on the sleep I didn’t quite get last night. Or the night before. Or the night before that. I keep thinking, this is the last day I will feel awful. And it never is.

The babies are kicking me enough to keep me from over-worrying. Of course, I still worry about a random catastrophic act happening, but I am trying really hard to banish such thoughts (and websites) from my head. What if they wrap the umbilical cords around their little necks? What if one kicks a hole in her amniotic sack, which happened to my friend Jen, who then spent weeks in the hospital on bed rest before delivering her twins about five weeks early? I have a cervix check tomorrow and another growth sonogram on Tuesday. Hopefully, Nicole can come, which pretty much guarantees that Attila the Homophobic Technician will be the one doing the honors. My doctor’s appointments are almost weekly now, and soon I will need to add non-stress tests to the mix. Thank goodness my doctor (and hospital) are an easy ten-minute walk away. And that this is all covered by insurance for a change!

It’s strange how fertility issues still run deep. I am constantly reminded of my fertility-challenged past, especially when I see snippets of it other people. A close friend just had an ectopic pregnancy and had emergency surgery to have her tube removed. She was feeling crampy and all this pain and called her doctor’s office, who promised to squeeze her in for an appointment in four days. Typical. Thank God she pressed the issue and got in sooner because who knows what could have happened: She had a 7 cm blood clot protruding through her tube. It’s sad because she struggled for a long time to get pregnant, had m/c’s and chemicals and now this. It’s awful. I wish there was a window into the womb so that we could see why these things happen.

It’s a rainy day. Every year it shocks me, the whole April flowers brings May flowers thing. But it is true. There's rain today and on and off for the rest of the week. I wish I could go to the movies and eat popcorn. Alas, I need to use this Skye-free day to finish a paper and start another. I had to buy a five-inch binder for my final project. It cost $30 (!!) and holds about a million pages. And now I have to fill it. Only three more weeks of grad school…

Pictured above is my fevered niece, back in non-fever days.

Home Sweet Lonely Home

I’m back after two days with my niece and nephew. It’s late, I’m tired, and I still have to do the closet-check, shower-check, room-check, etc., since Nicole is still away and who knows where interlopers might be hiding. I had a really nice time, but I was reminded how two children can be chaos at times. It’s exhausting. In the best of circumstances it is tiring to follow them around, but carrying around these babies and being out of fighting form, I feel like such a aunt failure. I spent much of my time supervising from a reclined position on the couch, asking the kids if they wanted to watch Dora or Little Einsteins. Though I did make sure to take them in the backyard and to the playground both days.

My nephew adorably asks about the babies all the time and says hello to them. He also asked me if I have a blanket in my tummy to keep them warm. We have already established that they have no bed and no toys in there. My niece showed her interest by whacking me in the stomach (in a friendly way, of course) with all her toddler might. She has such personality. And brute strength.

The babies had a party in the middle of the night, which made sleep difficult, not that I mind. It is, for me, the best reason for insomnia. I think Baby B might have actually made the turn and has moved out of the breech position and into the head-down position, like her sister. The possibility of not having a C section makes me very happy.

Look at me, talking all positive and imagining births and baby dresses and chaos. I’m thinking so positively that I am actually feeling nervous about giving birth and raising two girls.

Tonight I drove myself home, drop off the car at the garage and amble back to the apartment at a pace significantly slower than usual, thanks to my child-induced lethargy. As I come home tonight, the doorman tells me immediately that he has bad news. No hello or anything. About 60 horrible thoughts race through my mind (each more morbid than the last) until he says the elevator is not working. Not so bad, I think, considering what I was imagining, but then I realized I’d have to haul myself (and my bag of things-I-couldn’t-live-without-for-two-days-which-turns-out-to-be-too-much) up six flights of stairs, which is not an easy task for me these days.

It’s good to be home. Lonely, yes, but good nonetheless. Nicole is home tomorrow night, then we are off to the resceduled car appointment all day on Saturday (sarcastic: joy) and then Sunday is our anniversary (real joy). And then another sonogram

Pictured above is Skye, indulging in a Breakfast of Champions (a donut!); just one of the privileges of being my niece. Below is an adorable dress that my SIL’s sister made for Skye. I think I need to commission her to make lots of those dresses our babies! Isn’t it cute? I am hoping it is too small for Skye and can pass right down to me.

Waiting to Exhale

The babies are fine, thank goodness. All that stress and worry for nothing this time. My friend Molly recently emailed me that pregnancy is like 40 weeks of holding your breath until you give birth. It is so true. I’m sure a new type of worry takes its place after the babies are born, but for now, I am looking forward to exhaling.

The babies are measuring 2 pounds 13 ounces and 2 pounds 15 ounces. That seems extra chunky, though the doctor says it’s just fine (and there’s always room for error). One’s heart rate is 142 and the other’s heart rate was 150. In exciting news, Baby A is now head down! Go Baby A. Baby B is still breech, but it looks like she is thinking about putting her head down too, like her sister. Also, both babies are kicking each other. Most amazingly, my cervix is measuring 3.9. The doctor was impressed with this and asked if I was on bed rest. I admitted that I was just lazy and like to nap. Well, that and I don’t work, like 90 percent of the other women who are pregnant. So that means there is a lot of time when I am off my feet. If not working is helping to make healthy babies, then I am very happy to not be working.

I have a new nausea trigger: Laying on my back. Earlier today, in need of distractions before my appointment, I got my eyebrows waxed, which required me to lay prone on a hard table while a woman poured hot wax on me and ripped it off. Now that is painful enough, but literally after a couple of minutes I started to feel like I was going to throw up. I got that ping: I don’t know how to describe it, but it is that moment when you have crossed the border between “I don’t feel right” and “Get me bucket.” I suddenly sat up, much to the now-tweezing woman’s chagrin, and started stuttering I’m sorry’s and I feel sick. I had broken out in a cold sweat. It was awful. I was weighing my options as to the best place to aim, but after sitting up for a minute I suddenly felt better. I chalked it up to a random thing (the smells of the salon and all that) and went on with my day.

So on with the day and distractions. I went to Central Park for a nature fix and then to Whole Foods for lunch. Then I went to my appointment. Turns out the laying-down nausea wasn’t random: Laying on the table for the u/s (complete with pushing down on my abdomen) made me want to throw up too. The technician was more than accommodating and allowed me to take breaks, even positioning the craftmatic adjustable table up so I didn’t have to use my non-existent stomach muscles to raise myself to a non-flat position. She explained that it is because the babies and my uterus are putting a lot of pressure on al my internal organs. Whatever the reason, I won’t be laying on my back any time soon.

Nicole is off to Boston tomorrow and I am gong to stay at my brother’s. Their nanny is away for a few weeks so I am watching my niece and nephew two days a week as the pinch-hitting nanny for the next three weeks. I figured since Nicole was gone I might as well stay there, since I get ridiculously lonely when she leaves and why come home to an empty apartment? I go through major separation anxiety, and, as I have said before, I don’t really need much space in our togetherness. When she is gone I just pad around the apartment till it’s bedtime, and then I have to check all the closets and the shower for interlopers; get the Mag-light/battering weapon and put it under the pillow; turn one of the hall lights on; double lock the door; leave my cell phone under my pillow and slip into bed for a restless night sleep.

Thanks, everyone, for your tremendously reassuring comments on the kicking concerns. Turns out you were all right. Once again, experience trumps Google.

Pictured above is what I wish I was making to eat for dinner: Tomato-corn-avocado salad. It just says spring to me. Intstead we are having tomato-basil-mozzarella on spaghetti, which also says spring. And is less labor-intensive.

Kicking Concerns

So did/does this happen to anyone? I’ve noticed that the babies seem to be kicking less the past day and half or so. We were running around a lot yesterday, but at the end of the day I noticed I hadn’t really felt much movement from them (I did feel some, though). And then this morning, Nicole did her “Wake up babies” stomach-talk-and-jiggle for a while and no reaction. We canceled our car appointment, thinking we would have to go to the doctor and lo and behold, Baby A started kicking a little. But in a different spot and not as hard as she sometimes does. Baby B then contributed a few movements. Are the babies just in new positions? Did they move to new corners? Is this normal? Does this happen? Can they have active days or weeks, and then just have a day or two or less action? Is the fact that there are twins in there make a difference?

The internet, of course, scares the hell out of me. So I need to keep my distance from it.

I have had caffeine, sugar, juice and water and did the whole left-side thing. I am pulling out all the stops. I am feeling movement today, but just not as intently/regularly as I did before. I called my doctor’s office, but the office seems to be closed today and I don’t think this warrants emergency service or attention, because I am, after al, feeling something. And I do have a sonogram tomorrow (but not until 3:30….ugh).

And then the whole kick count thing: My doctor has never discussed it with me, and the internet says everything from 10 kicks an hour to 10 kicks in 2 hours to even 10 kicks in a half hour. I know WTF just went through this little movement scare, and everything turned out to be ok. It is just nerve-wracking. So if anyone has some words of wisdom or stories of experience, please do share.

Pictured above is sourdough lobster and Crabby the Globe-trotting card, just because.

Tasting Happiness

I’m 28 weeks. The babies are 7 months. I cannot believe it. Day 197. 84 days left (well, most likely at least two weeks less than that). Survival goes up to 90 percent at this point. Of course, we are hoping for many more weeks, but there is a modicum of assurance in that percentage. Time is going by at a glacial rate, and yet when I see how far I have come it seems like time is flying. And yet another oxymoron.

But it is another week under our belts, which is easing me slowly into thinking maybe just maybe everything will be okay. Wow. It took 28 weeks to start feeling a little safer in this pregnancy. But I’m not counting any chickens until they hatch.

To celebrate this viability milestone, I bought a mini Carvel cake, the best ice cream cake in the world. Not that I need an excuse to buy one. It is, as Carvel says, what happiness tastes like. Who doesn’t want to taste happiness? Not not me, that is for sure. I feel a little guilty as I eat something that has a label that looks like this: VANILLA flavored ICE CREAM WITH artificial CHOCOLATE CRUNCHIES. I love how they shrink the font on the bad words and play up the good words. Whatever. All that artificial whatever makes it dee-licious.

On Tuesday I have another high-tech ultrasound in the late afternoon (what was I thinking, so late? How ever will I distract myself all day?) I’m excited to see what is going on with the babies. The u/s machine in my doctor’s office is so small and it is always angled away from me, since it is most important for my doctor to see what she needs to see. I can barely make heads or tails of the fuzzy images that I can catch a glimpse of. These growth and measurement exams are much more thorough and the screen mounted on the wall guarantees me a good view. And as long as I don’t get Attila the Technician, then I will have a nice guided tour of the babies and their latest developments. Nicole can’t go because she is off on Monday and then in Boston from Wednesday on. I don’t really like going alone, because these are the sort of moments that need to be shared, and not with strangers or Attila the Technician.

Tomorrow, one Nicole’s day off, we have to get up at the crack of dawn and drive out to Long Island o get the seatbelt and car alarm on the car fixed.

Pictured above is the world’s best ice cream cake. Also pictured above is me at 28 weeks. I am in my pajamas and they are striped, and I would like to pretend that that is making me look bigger. But I have a feeling that isn’t the case. Perspective: My chest is HUGE in real life and it is dwarfed by my stomach here. I almost look flat-chested. I’m in denial, but my body has definitely gained some girth around the back side. And maybe in the thigh area too. Ugh. All for a good cause, yes, but still. Through years of TTC and m/c and all those meds I have not been one with my body. Maybe the ice cream cake has something to do with it, too.

Waiting and Wanting

It seems impossible that I can get bigger than I am now, but I know that I will. How can skin stretch that much? And, more importantly, how can skin stretch back that much? I dare say it can’t. I envision a tummy tuck in my future.

This tightening I feel are most likely BH contractions. Comments and google research provide enough proof for me. I’ll bring it up with my doctor at the next appointment, but I’d like to operate under the assumption that everything is normal and right. Right?! My other fun/frightening topic for the next appointment is my out-of-breath-ness. There are times when I can’ even finish a sentence without running out of breath. And forget walking up stairs. Sometimes the trip from the bedroom to the bathroom is too much for me. I also have this weird asthma-like thing going on: It kind of gets hard to breath and my heart starts racing a bit. I have never had asthma before, but maybe it is pregnancy-induced? Or perhaps it is just panic attacks. That would seem more likely.

So much for not letting things bother me. I had another one of those things—for lack of a better word—with my mother on the phone. It is the same pattern with me: A conversation with her incites anger, which morphs into hurt and melts into pity. I still just want her to be happy. And I don’t know if she ever will. It rips me up inside.

But then I wonder what else I can do? I asked her to come to my embryo transfer and she had a roofer coming and couldn’t change it. She gives me “space” after all my D&Cs and m/c’s. She never calls me. Four years in this apartment and I can count on one hand how many times she took the train in (an hour away) to see me. (and never on her own volition). Things like that. It hurts. What can I say: I’m sensitive and easily hurt. I keep trying, keep asking, keep hoping and it leads to nowhere. And yet I feel like an infinite disappointment to her.

Alas.

Again with the tightening in the uterus. I wonder if I should keep track? Maybe it is this position? Nicole's mom said that she always got BH when she went to bed or lay on the couch. That seems to be the pattern with me too.

My favorite thing to do is to wake up and before the babies wake up, have Nicole wake them up by talking to them. It works every time. Today she leaned in and started talking about the day and Baby B started to kick. Baby A followed suit. The three of them had a conversation like that. It is the most adorable, endearing, amazing thing in the world. It reminds me how lucky I am. It’s funny how we spend all of our lives waiting and wanting that sometimes we forget that we already have everything that we need.

Hitting An All-Time Low With Avocadoes

For weeks now I have been craving avocado. I go to the stores, fondle the avocadoes and they are never ripe enough to eat that night. Yes, I know I could buy one and let it ripen and have it in a couple of days, but I don’t really have enough patience for that. Plus, looking at said avocado every day and not eating it would torture me.

So today I go to my friendly neighborhood organic grocer and of course, there is no ripe avocado. But out of the corner of my eye I see three avocadoes sitting in someone’s cart. Three supple, soft-looking, perfect avocadoes. The cart’s owner was wrapped up in choosing a lettuce, so while he wasn’t looking I gently poked his avocadoes, just to see if they were ripe. And they were perfectly ripe! I ALMOST switched my semi-hard one for one of his soft ones. Luckily, I came to my senses, but it was a low moment in my day. What has come over me?

I think I may be having Braxton Hicks. I am not certain though. I look it up on the internet and I get 1,000 different varieties: The whole uterus gets tight; just a section of the uterus gets tight; they hurt; they are painless; they feel like gas; they feel like nothing. For me, one corner of my uterus—where Baby B is hanging out—gets really taut. Like you could bounce a quarter off of it. The other day when my sister-in-law was over she felt it and said “Oh, that’s just the baby’s head.” But now, as I type this, it is soft there. Is she moving around? Changing positions a lot or pushing her head tight against me? I can feel the punches, but how is it possible that I can’t feel a two-pound-plus being inside of me moving into a new position? Am I just that out-of-tune with my body?

I am also getting a lot of comments now about how I look like I am about to pop. Ha! I usually say I have some more time, and when pressed to say when, I admit June and they are flabbergasted. I guess that means I look big. At least I can pull out the twin card. I swear I went from “Do I look pregnant?” to “Oh my goodness I’m huge” in about two weeks.

Viability increases to 90 percent on Sunday. This day can’t come soon enough. But I’ll be much more settled when I hit 36 weeks. My prediction is I will finally relax (a little) and enjoy this pregnancy without fear of something awful happening then, since viability is so much higher. That said, I still panic every day about all that can go wrong. Like how one in five babies has is born with an umbilical cord wrapped around their necks. That’s my latest panic.

That corner is hard now. See? Is this Braxton Hicks or what? At my last doctor’s appointment my cervix was still nice and long and I have no other signs. I know BH are completely normal, but still. I just wanted to get into the 30s before my body started practicing labor. BH combined with Baby A tap-dancing on my cervix (yes, I still fear she will kick it open) equals one worried me. But what else is new?

We have a land line again. Thank goodness. The phone tech man was like Buddha. He was so calm and peaceful and even parted with words of wisdom: Don’t take things personally and you can’t make everyone happy. Context would make these quotes more relevant but it is such a long story. Just trust me when I say it was enlightening. And we have a phone!!!

Pictured above is today’s leap of faith: The cribs were delivered and assembled. These cribs are a thing of beauty. I am in love with them. (And you can see the pink walls, green carpet and dresser too.) Having them here makes it all seem so much closer and real. And it scares me so much. Who am I to assume that this will have a happy ending? There are no guarantees, but I am trying to have faith. That, and not taking things personally.

In the Shape of......a T

27w1d and all is well. Thank goodness. It was a long appointment, and my nervous energy increases every minute that I have to wait. I got there at 2:00 but didn’t see the doctor until almost 3:30. Then she came in and squirted the goopy blue gel on my stomach, but her phone rang and she had to take that call. Fifteen minutes later, I got what I came for: A glimpse of our two good-looking babies, with beating hearts, and their active little limbs. The babies are laying in a T-formation: One is breech, and the other is laying across on top of her. So Baby B has been active, moving herself out of the breech position that she was previously in and tucking her little body way up there. My cervix is around 4, which my doctor assures me is good for this stage of the game. I hope so. I am happy to be rounding the corner on the magical 28 weeks, but will feel even more reassurance once I get into the low 30s. And then the mid 30s. Then the upper 30s. There are no guarantees, I know, but it is amazing how time keeps marching on, no matter how much or little I worry.

The babies are getting bigger and are about as long as a magazine, so they can’t flop around as much as a singleton could because there just isn’t any room. I am not sure how it is with other twin pregnancies, but with me there has been a clear delineation between the two babies from the minute I felt movement. Baby A stays firmly to the left, in breech position, kicking my cervix all day. Baby B stays to the right in breech or tucks herself across the top in the fancy T formation. My doctor keeps assuring me that they could both flip down head first, but I don’t really see how that will happen. They seem so happy where they are. I feel their kicks and punches all over the place, but in general I can feel the difference between a hearty kick and a lighter punch.

It makes me wonder what my grandmother thought in the 1940s, when she was pregnant with twins but didn’t know it. Didn’t she feel kicks and punches all over the place? Did she just think it was one active baby? She didn’t know she had twins until she was delivering. It is amazing how far we have come since then.

I have a growth scan next Tuesday, so I will get a longer look of the babies, complete with pictures.

Pictured above is my nephew Leif a few hours after he was born. The cutest baby in the world, in my opinion. I still can’t believe I will get two of those. And that this little package is now four and half years old!

Kinda Somewhat Sometimes

I have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow, which, of course, makes me very nervous. But not as nervous as I could be. I am happy that the fear isn’t quite as bad as it was in the past: Then I would worry each and every day until I laid back on that table, ripping that tissue paper to shreds and had a sonogram, which, lucky for me, was usually every two weeks. Now I can (kinda) push (somewhat) all the negative thoughts (sometimes) from my head until the day (or two days) before.

Feeling the babies move is tremendously reassuring, which, I think, in part is why I am calmer. It is almost as reassuring as a sonogram. In general, Baby A is much more active than Baby B. I think that is because Baby B has an anterior placenta, so that is absorbing most of her energy, but maybe it is a personality thing. But still, Baby A still seems like she is the kick-and-punch leader. She usually wakes up and starts moving around and then Baby B follows suit. Every once in a while, I will feel Baby B first, but that is much more rare. It’s probably too soon to call, but maybe Baby B is the calm one and Baby A is the more active one. Hopefully, we will know in a few months.

We had a relaxing weekend that involved no grad school work or contractor. Our niece Isabelle came into the city and spent the night. She’s 10. She brought with her an extra credit recipe for school that we made on Sunday morning. It was for some Danish treat called Poor Knight’s dessert, or something like that. Basically, it is bread, sugar, butter and raspberries. What could be better than that? We drove her back home to Nicole’s sister Liz’s house, where I showed Liz my belly progress. She commented that I had the linea negra. I had no idea. Nicole knew, though, and never told me. She said it happened about a week ago and assumed I knew. Not quite. I just don’t see many things on myself these days and rely on others (Nicole) to sort of keep me abreast with what is going on. Shaving is ridiculous. I just sort of guess where to shave and then start shaving. If there is something going on below my belly, I just don’t know.

A woman commented to me today that looked like was about to pop. Ha! I said I am barely 28 weeks. I have (hopefully) at least 9 more weeks. 37 weeks seems like a reasonable time to deliver. 38 is even better. 39 and 40 just seems like torture. I can’t believe I am even this far and thinking about all this.

I am also happy to report that the Snooogle—that ridiculously named pillow—is the best invention in the world. For the first time in a very long time, I actually slept without back pain. I was comfortable and content. It was the best purchase we made so far. Even Nicole noticed a difference: She said I didn’t toss and turn as much, which must be very nice for her. I can’t wait for someone else to get pregnant so I can pass on this amazing gift of a good night sleep.

By the way, right after I wrote that whole thing about Baby A and Baby B, Baby B started going crazy kicking and punching. And Baby A is not doing a thing. It’s like Baby B could read my mind and wanted to show me that I was wrong. Just goes to show that when I assume, I make an ass out of, well, me.

One more sleep until my afternoon appointment....

Pictured above is Isabelle, hard at work, and me, with wet hair, hard at work on sitting oh-so-gracefully (which is what I do best) and reviewing the recipe. If you look to the left over my shoulder you will see delicious cake, which I made on Friday and I am happy to report is still around. But not for long.

The Evil C Word

Wow…lots of good comments on the name issue! It’s interesting to see the full spectrum of names and reasons why people pick those names. And stimulating to read the political angle too. If I were to be honest, I would have to say that I am guilty of being the evil C word: Complacent. I am pissed off at the lack of equality out there on so many levels (not just the gay/lesbian arena) and yet I don’t really ever do anything about it. Except vote and rant to people who feel the same way. And we all know that isn’t changing any laws.

But just because I have a female partner doesn’t mean I want to sacrifice my rights. And as I said before, these rights take on a whole new meaning as we embark on this child-rearing adventure together. I guess that is what parenthood is al about: Fine, I’ll suffer, but don’t you dare make my children suffer. But I don’t want any of us to suffer, frankly. I’m pretty old-fashioned when you get down to it. I want to be married. I want us to have the same last name (I’ll change my last name to Nicole’s so we four will have the same name). And I want the same rights as everyone else. When you think about it for a second, it is ridiculous that I should have less rights than other Americans just because of my female partner/wife/girlfriend, etc. And that makes America different from scary countries that deny its citizens basic human rights because…..?

And yes, after I am allowed to marry Nicole, I will divorce her, take her money (thanks, marriage laws, for giving me half of all assests and alimony because that is what true love is all about!) and marry a dog or some other domestic animal. Because that is the next logical step, right? If Nicole and I are given the right to marry, the next thing you know people are going to want to marry their parakeets.

My political anger has been so heightened lately. It really bothers me that Nicole is going to have to adopt her own children. It is annoying on so many levels: Morally, logistically and financially. Because there are two, this is an even bigger expense. We were told once that it is about 10K; with two it is about 15K. And because the salary cut off is low, there is no tax rebate for us.

And I was reminded by my politically-savvy friend Christy of this lovely nugget: If a married woman cheats on her husband and gets pregnant and even admits that the baby is not her husband’s, the husband is still the legal father because that child was born during their marriage. And then there is always this: When we were considering me carrying Nicole’s egg, we discovered that even though it is Nicole’s egg in my body, Nicole would STILL have to adopt the child that is biologically hers (but carried by me). It all is all so absurd and not fair and don’t even get me started on equality. I can’t think of any good reason why committed couples who would be married if they legally could can’t have the same rights as my friends who just sign a marriage license. I worry about things like what happens if I died during childbirth. Do the babies go into foster care? Would Nicole have to worry about coroners AND finding where her children are living? Would my mother swoop in as next of kin or something? Do we need to write up some sort of legal document until they are adopted that states that they belong to Nicole? What if something awful happened to me during the adoption process? Would that null and void the adoption? We really need to contact an attorney, and I have all these intentions, but it becomes so overwhelming that I just become that word again….complacent. Because we all know if I wait long enough, an attorney will intuit through vibes in the air that I need his/her services and show up at my doorstep.

In baby news, we can now see the babies moving from the outside a lot. All of the sudden, my stomach will just bulge because one of them is kicking or punching me from the inside. It started around last week but has become so much more obvious now. They are only about two pounds each….I can only imagine what it will feel like when they (hopefully) get bigger and stronger!

I have a doctor’s appointment on Monday and I can’t believe I haven’t been doing the countdown. I have been so busy with class work and contractors that I didn’t have time to worry. And that makes me worry that because I did relax a little, now something bad will be revealed. I look at my own ticker and am stunned that there are 93 days left (most likely minus at least two weeks). And I think—depending on which source you believe—I will enter the last trimester at 27w, which is Sunday (other say 28 weeks and some say 26 and a half weeks. Go figure). Despite my own awful fears and predictions, this pregnancy is moving along.

I want time to speed up and slow down. There I go again with my oxymoronic desires….

So much for spring. It is snowing out now and in the 30s. I think I’ll make a cake and try not to eat it all before Nicole gets home.

Pictured above is me in front of the White House that thinks I deserve less. Despite that, you can tell how respectful I am being from my posture. I never sit that straight (no pun intended). I really have the posture of a vulture. No wonder my back hurts so much.

What’s In A Name?

It was about 70 degrees today in NYC and I celebrated by going to a book store. I started out with the intentions of a nice, brisk Central Park walk, my first escape from grad work and renovation hell in days. And somewhere on the way up there, I decided to pit stop, and never got my energy back. So I sat in the Dean & Deluca café reading books that I had no intention of buying instead. I also had a celebrity sighting: Sitting right next to me was M.olly Sh.annon. I wasn’t certain at first, but then she made a phone call and used her name and that sealed it. It was one of those New York moments.

On the name front: In the past month I have spent approximately 16 hours on the phone with the cable company and phone company and all sorts of other utilities and companies. And each time they always ask for the information on the account. When they pull it up, they ask “And am I speaking with Nicole?” And I always respond, “No. You are speaking to…..the other person who lives here.” The other person who lives here? Is that the best I can do? Is that destined to be my title for life?

This is one of those things I think about from time to time, but now, with children on the way, it has renewed importance. All this name stuff. The babies’ names. Their last name (Nicole’s). What we call each other. I’m old-fashioned: I wish we could be married, but until this is a federal thing, I don’t see what benefits it would actually incur for us to run off to Massachusetts or New Jersey or wherever for paperwork that the federal government won't recognize anyway. Nicole still has to adopt her own children; special accommodations need to made for assets in the event of any untimely demise (still lose lots of $$ in probate anyway); and that is just the tip of the unfair iceberg. But I digress.

So what are we supposed to call each other? Even after all these years together we still flip flop around. Here are the nominees:

Partner: Are we running a company together? Partner has such an official feel to it. And it is not terribly intimate. However, once when a doctor started talking to me about sex and semen and how I needed to avoid both, I told her I had a female partner, so skip the sperm talk. But partner still sounds so clinical.

Spouse: Rhymes with mouse and house. Seems charmingly archaic, though, like something used in the early 1900s. But try using that word in public and people look at you as if you are speaking Latin. Interestingly, this is the term Nicole has used to describe me in business situations (I think like when she is one the phone with HR talking about insurance or something). Otherwise, I think she just refers to me as “Jennifer.” I don’t think she has outed herself to one person at work: Not the 30 or so people who work for her and not her own managers or colleagues. Not one. That's a lot of people who are expected to intuit. She just starts saying things like “This weekend Jennifer and I…” and expects them to make the connection. (I wish I could be a fly on the wall while people put the pieces together.) I must say that I agree with this approach: After all, people don’t “announce” their heterosexuality. But still…too much room for ambiguity for me.

Girlfriend: The ever-popular ambiguous, ubiquitous girlfriend. Especially difficult to use when talking with anyone over a certain age (some generations uses “girlfriend” to describe female friends all the time). You run the risk here of someone thinking you are referring to a friend that is female. Sometimes context can help (“My girlfriend and I were in bed sound asleep by 9:00”) but sometimes context can’t help (“My girlfriend and I went out for dinner”). Either way, girlfriend still has a transient, temporary, I’m-still-looking kinda feel to it. At least to me it does.

Domestic Partner: Too legal-sounding. I don’t like adopting a title created by a government that doesn’t want to grant equal rights to same-sex couples but wants to appease them with mini-rights. And I don’t really want to use such a sanitized term that was created so as not to offend those who are sickened by people like me and my wicked, wicked ways. Also, it makes me want to rename all of the major nouns in our life. Domestic residence. Domestic squabble. Domestic bed. It begs the question: Are we allowed International Partners? Do people really say “And this is my domestic partner…” ?

Wife: Obviously the most accurate term to describe us. Actually, to be more specific the stereotypical “wife” really describes me well and the stereotypical “husband” describes Nicole, if you want to speak strictly in terms of roles. But, as my ever-wise friend Annie says, the beauty of same-sex relationships is that no one has to play a role. Yet Nicole and I do. In a way. Go figure. But “wife” still gets caught in my throat. I can’t imagine Nicole at work referring to me as her wife. In certain circles, it is appropriate, but in general, I feel like the world isn’t ready for that. Should that matter?

Pictured above is nothing because blogger wouldn’t let me upload. : (