From the category archives:

pregnancy diary

Afternoon Tea at the Ante-partum Unit

by Myg on November 24, 2008

Everything is still status quo, but it’s Monday and I’m not going home from the hospital today. Probably not tomorrow either.

This mostly boils down, once again, to what I call my “clusterfuck of life timing” issue. Because I am having preterm contractions now at this moment, when we – me & the boys – are only 26 weeks and 5 days along, and because of my positive Fetal Fibronectin test, the medical team is understandably nervous about sending me home.

Now, they would have sent me home if I could take Procardia, a medication that stops contractions, but I seem to react badly to it. I tried to take another low dose this afternoon but within 15 minutes I had heart palpitations that made me feel like I was in a full blown panic. Man did that suck. There are other medications they can use to stop contractions, but none of them look like a good long-term bet for me right now, so I think the plan is to just watch me here and make sure I don’t go into labor.

They will probably keep me here until we hit 28 weeks, which would be next Wedneday. At that point they said they might be more comfortable with “watch and wait” at home. But we’ll see. As I now know, anything can happen in a week.

I am pretty okay with this plan, as much as I want to go home. I’d rather be bored here than home biting my damn nails over every flutter or tightening in my belly. We’ve come a long way to get to this point and I will do anything, anything at all to keep the guys in there gestating for as long as possible.

A little while ago a 14 year old Chaplain (okay, maybe she was 26?) came in and asked me if I wanted her to pray over me. It was so awkward, but I felt bad for her so I said okay. She rambled a little, “Um, God, um, heavenly father, dear Lord um please be with um Amy here today…” and I tried to look serious – but it really wasn’t easy.

Besides that, they brought me a cannoli and a cream puff this afternoon and asked me if I wanted tea or coffee. And the pastries? They were totally edible!

As long as wireless holds and the boys stay put, we’re doing just fine.

{ 4 comments }

Replay

by Myg on November 22, 2008

I’ve had almost no sleep since 4pm yesterday. Pardon me if I’m a little edgy.

I started having more mild contractions again yesterday. Again, they weren’t painful. I just had a lot of them in a short period of time. No other preterm labor symptoms though. But all the same I had to go back to the hospital.

They poked me, prodded me, stuck things in me. Early this morning I had the roughest pelvic exam of my life and at this point, that’s really saying something significant. Sweet Jesus, this doctor (a stout grey haired man I’d never seen before) was barbaric. It’s 15 hours later and I’m still sore. Sure, he wanted to be certain my cervix was closed but WTF? Men like that have NO place in gynecology, I’m sorry. I’d really like to give him a reciprocal rectal exam while he’s constipated, shoving a fist up his ass with all of the vigor he employed with me this morning. Actually, no, I wouldn’t like to do that. Not at all. But I would appreciate it if  someone, preferably big fisted, would do it to him. Let me know if there are any takers.

Other than the contractions, which I kept having, all was well. In fact, they thought they’d send me home last night. But to be safe, they repeated the Fetal Fibronectin Test (fFN) and the result was positive. A refresher on what this means, from the March of Dimes:

Fetal fibronectin (fFN) is a protein produced during pregnancy and functions as a biological glue, attaching the fetal sac to the uterine lining. During the first trimester and for about half of the second trimester (up to 22 weeks of gestation), fFN is normally present in the cervico-vaginal secretions of pregnant women. In most pregnancies, after 22 weeks, this protein is no longer detected until the end of the last trimester (one to three weeks before labor).

The presence of fFN during weeks 24-34 of a high-risk pregnancy, along with symptoms of labor, suggests that the “glue” may be disintegrating ahead of schedule and alerts doctors to a possibility of preterm delivery.

and…

The greatest value of the fFN test is the high level of reliability of a negative test result. According to ACOG, “Fetal fibronectin testing may be useful in women with symptoms of preterm labor to identify those with negative values and a reduced risk of preterm birth, thereby avoiding unnecessary intervention” (1)

In women with symptoms of preterm labor, a positive fFN result, while less reliable, allows doctors and patients to take preventive measures to delay labor for as long as possible and to consider labor-suppressing (tocolytic) medications.

They were fairly surprised. I was upset. They reassured me, a positive is not something to get terribly worked up over. But since I did have it and I had two episodes of contractions within a week, they decided to give me steroid shots to help the development of Doot’s and Bing’s lungs along, just in case. It wasn’t a tough decision, but it was a recommendation that scared the crap out of me. Like, there was enough of a chance of the boys coming early that I needed to do this. That’s not what I want to hear right about now. I got my first shot yesterday and my second and final shot tonight, 24 hours later.

Today the very nice, and very gentle, and might I add, FEMALE High-Risk Maternal Fetal Medicine doctor came to visit early this afternoon and did an ultrasound of the boys and a very gentle transvaginal ultrasound. “Your cervix is the size of Kentucky” she said. Apparently, this is a compliment. It’s a very good thing. Especially when carrying twins. The boys looked “perfect.” So all in all it looks as though things are okay. I am not, repeat, not having preterm labor. Not at this point, anyway. They just want to be sure and do whatever they can to prevent preterm labor from happening and god forbid it happens in the next week or two, give Doot and Bing every chance.

“You’re pregnant with twins – your body is not going to act the same as if you were carrying one baby.” the nice lady high-risk doc said. “How can we expect you not to contract with two babies in there at this point? Your body has stress on it more like you’re 30 weeks along, not 26.”

Well, that was a good point and made me feel much better.

Still they’re keeping me. At least until tomorrow morning, possibly through the weekend. I’m now officially out of work. But I am less freaked out by the contractions and that’s a good thing.

I keep telling myself, I’m just along for the ride now. I’m trying to let go into this experience while still remaining a strong advocate for myself. It’s a delicate balance. And it may or may not be obvious at this point, but “delicate” is not my strong suit. With two boys on the way, that’s probably a good thing though.

{ 9 comments }

Dry run: a story about preterm labor that wasn’t

by Myg on November 16, 2008

(Eds note of caution: Another post so long it should have chapters, really.)

This is where I spent Friday night and Saturday morning:

It’s room 7 of the Labor and Delivery Unit at my hospital. See the cute little newborn tray across the way? I apologize for the crap photo, but it was all I could muster from my cell phone at 6 am after hardly any sleep.

No, thank God, I didn’t have the babies. Though it was pretty damned hilarious that mere hours had passed after I’d written about the milestone of potential viability for the boys when I started to notice a lot of tightening across my belly. I counted seven times in 45 minutes and thought, “huh, well I should probably call the doctor.”

I did and they said COME IN RIGHT NOW.

At this moment, the boys were at 25 weeks 1 day in development. It was about 10:30 at night. “They’ll probably just do a cervical check and send me home,” I thought. Wrong.

Walking into the Labor and Delivery unit for the first time under these circumstances felt like stepping into a starring role in a movie without ever seeing the script. It was something completely unreal for which I was utterly unprepared. Then the frightening reality hit me. At some point, I’d be delivering these two boys into the world. This was the place it would be happening. Maybe even this room.

“Not this room. We do all twin deliveries in the OR just in case we need to do a C-section.”

Okay, not in that room. But near that room, for sure.

“Wow, you really are contracting,” the nurse assured me after she hooked me up with fat hard plastic nipple-looking monitors on my belly. One each for the boys and one to monitor the contractions. And by the way, having those monitors strapped around my gut didn’t do much to ease the tightening feeling I was having. My first thought was, “SHIT” and my second was “So, this is what contractions feel like.”

Gallons upon gallons of blood collected. Peed in a cup. Then, a parade of folks came into the room. A happy trio of obstetrical staff greeted me as my “team” for the evening. It consisted of two high school aged residents (okay, they were probably late twenties) with a 12 year old boy turned medical student in tow (okay, he was probably 23). They – the team – were to going to perform the cervical exam.

“When is the last time you had sexual intercourse?” Three young pairs of expectant eyes searched mine. Alex looked up.

“Uh…” (Now, I apologize for the few of you who may read this who actually know me because a little TMI is headed your way. You can skip the next few paragraphs. In fact, I encourage you to do so.)

See, Alex and I had been so cautious since IVF (yep, that’s JUNE) we had really begged off sex in a way that was starting to make us feel inhuman. Or too sibling like. I’d never been told not to have sex once I hit that positive pregnancy test. I just had a feeling, like, maybe we shouldn’t take the chance. But last week, after such good news at the ultrasound, I figured what the hell. I wanted to celebrate. So we did it – on Wednesday night – just a couple of days before this whole thing started.

“Did you know that sex can cause contractions?”

And here I was blaming the whole thing on the #1 Value Meal from Burger King I’d had a few hours earlier. I happen to think fast food is disgusting, but I’d had the strangest craving for Burger King that night. Now they said it could have been the sex? Regardless, I vow to never eat Burger King again.

Anyway, since it had been more than 24 hours since the sex they were able to do the cervical exam. Luckily.

“Then, you just take the swab and swipe it around the outside of the vagina,” the resident said, as I watched the med student looking intently at the space between my legs. “Have you been itching? You look like maybe you have a little yeast infection here.” Lovely. Times like these make me real glad I’m not the shy type.

They performed two ultrasounds, one vaginal to check cervical length and one abdominal to check the boys. Cervix normal – between 3-4cm long. Closed, drum tight. Boys looked great. Heartbeats were just fine. All the fluid was there, where it was supposed to be.

They cultured (like a Pap Smear) for what’s called the Fetal Fibronectin (fFN) test. From the March of Dimes:

The presence of fFN during weeks 24-34 of a high-risk pregnancy, along with symptoms of labor, suggests that the “glue” may be disintegrating ahead of schedule and alerts doctors to a possibility of preterm delivery.

A negative result is highly reliable, and means that you are not generally going to go into labor within the next two weeks. That culture would have to go to the lab so we’d need to wait on that for awhile.

I was still contracting. Not hard, mind you, but it was happening. I tried to will it to stop. And I think – maybe it sounds crazy – I was able to get it to ease up a little bit. I just kept imagining my uterus as a soft pillow the babies were nestled into. I tried to think of the softest, snuggliest things I could and then imagined my uterus was made of that: clouds, Mason’s ears, jello, cool wHip, and then it finally hit me.

The little blankie bunneh and puppeh that Doot and Bing had gotten as a shower gift from my neice. When I lifted them to my face and felt those little baby blankies the first time I declared them the snuggliest, softest little toys I’d ever felt. So it may sound weird, but I imagined my uterus was made out of them. Every time I began to feel my belly tighten, I’d think of the puppeh/bunneh material and believe it or not, if I did it early enough, I’d feel my abdomen just relax and get soft. It didn’t work every time, but it did help. Amazing the weird little tricks you can do with your brain.

The real doctor came in and caught me up on what they knew. So far I was not showing any signs of preterm labor. Thank god. If I had been, they’d give me a steroid shot to help my babies develop their lungs to give them a better chance of survival should they – GOD FORBID – be born soon. But since, as she explained, they can really only give that shot once it was better to do it closer to when they actually suspected a delivery. That sounded fine to me.

She then told me that since everything looked good they were going to wait for the fFN test to come back and then probably transfer me to another room. All of my bloodwork was normal. No infections, no signs of pre-eclampsia. No major issues here. I was just contracting. “Some women just contract throughout their pregnancy,” she said. Great.

They gave me a 20mg dose of Procardia at around 12:30. Procardia is actually a heart drug that lowers the blood pressure, but it also helps relax the uterus. I received the most painful IV of my life – so bad that I begged the nurse to take it out. The IV was for hydration only, not meds. Luckily the doctor came in to talk to me right then and I bargained out of the IV – let me drink water. Given that everything else looked fine, they agreed and brought me a pitcher.

Eventually, my contractions did stop and my fFN test came back at 3am – negative. They took me off the monitors so I could get some proper rest. I sent Alex home to make sure Mason hadn’t destroyed the house and waited for transfer to my new room.

But then at around 4am, I felt the tightening in my uterus again. Fuck. The nurse returned with a wheelchair to take me to the new room, but instead called the doctor. They strapped the monitors back on. I’d be spending the night where I was. Stuck on my back, strapped like so much old luggage. They were going to give me another dose of Procardia, but I asked the nurse to check my blood pressure first. Sure enough, it had dropped from 137/70 (which is real high for me – this is where it was when I first arrived) to 105/58. They skipped the Procardia. Boy am I glad I asked. Another example where, no matter how much you like your medical team or how confident you are in the quality of care you are getting, you can never assume they’ve thought of everything – especially at 4am. If you’ve got a question or any reservation ask, ask, ask.

I could not sleep. I don’t know if it was my nerves, the Procardia, or the position I was lying in, but my PVCs (heart palpitations) were fucking terrible all night. I had near constant thumping in my chest. I felt like I was having an unending panic attack without the panic. Then the boys were jumping, kicking, rolling nonstop. Maybe they do that all night and I don’t notice it because I’m asleep, but hooked up to the monitor (which for some dumb reason, the volume was turned up in my room) every kick was THUD, BOOM, THRASH loud as hell. I could hear their heartbeats all night too, which at first was reassuring and then annoying, as they’d invariably wander away from where the monitor was strapped so that you then suddenly couldn’t hear their hearts. Hearing the steady heartbeats of your babies stop is not something to fall asleep by.

To bargain my way out of the IV, I drank that entire pitcher of water. So I had to pee every hour on the half hour. All in all I probably slept a total of 20-30 minutes every hour until Alex got there at 10am. Maybe it’s good practice for what’s to come.

I started contracting again at 6am. The doctor came in the morning and said, “You were so quiet all night I was going to just discharge you! But since it’s starting again I’m going to have the high risk OB/GYN come and take a look at you so we can decide what we need to do.” And I was fine with this. I did not want to go home with intermittent contractions without having every last person of expertise weigh in on the situation. Because that’s how I am.

7:30 am was change of shift. Alex was not back to the hospital yet but I was starting to really miss him. My new doctor came in and introduced herself and told me they wanted to give me the Steroid shot. “Huh what?” was my response. “But I’m not having preterm labor and I thought you could only give that shot once, and it was better to do it closer to – within a week of – delivery and my fFN test was negative so don’t I have at least two weeks minimum before that would be an issue?”

The nurse came in with the shot as the doctor was explaining her feelings. “As a mother of a pre-term child myself, let me just say this. It’s the worst thing you’ll ever go through, watching your baby in the NICU. If we give you the shot now, it will definitely help – just in case – you do go into labor within the next week. It will help lung development and help prevent brain bleeds. We can’t at this point guarantee that you won’t go into labor within a week or so. And that doesn’t mean you can’t have another shot later if it doesn’t – it just means that the second may not do as much good, but there are a lot of ways to interpret the data around this. I think this would be the safest thing to do now, but it’s up to you.”

“But Dr. S____ (the doctor from the night before) said she didn’t think I needed the shot or that I should have it now.”

“Look, if you get 100 different doctors in here you will get 50 doctors who say do it, and 50 who say don’t. But as someone who’s lived through it, I’m telling you it’s what I would do.”

“Um…ok…I guess…if you really think I need it.”

“Do you want to wait to talk to the high-risk doctor first?”

“Yeah, and I’d like to be able to talk to my husband about it. He’ll be here in a little bit so can we do the shot later?”

“Sure.”

Now here’s why that little exchange is so important. See how close I came to getting that shot? I had this chat on almost no sleep. I had become more confident that I was going to be okay until this doctor – nice as she was – came in with her spiel about why this was so important and how despite absolutely no signs of preterm labor and a negative fFN screen, I might even go into labor within a week or so anyway. The nurse was standing there, shot preparation in hand. I was armed only with my groggy recollection of the rationale my other doctor had given me. My anxiety went through the roof. Of course – of course – I wanted to take every precaution I could to protect my babies.

Luckily, the doctor picked up on my hesitation and didn’t push it – actually gave me an out of talking to another doctor. Otherwise in my state of mind I might have just shown my ass and taken the shot and explained it to Alex when he got there. And that would have been bad, because of this (from Babycenter.com:

Because the benefits of the steroids are greatest during the first seven days after treatment, it used to be common practice to repeat steroid treatment weekly for women who continued to be at high risk for preterm delivery and were still pregnant after the first treatment. But experts now think the risks of repeated treatments probably outweigh the benefits. They’ve been associated in some studies with decreased fetal growth, suppressed adrenal gland function, and adverse effects on long-term lung development….

…Another thing to note is that even a single dose of steroids may have some short-term adverse effects on you. Although it doesn’t happen often, corticosteroids can raise your blood sugar to levels that require you to take insulin for a little while even if you don’t have diabetes. If you do have diabetes or gestational diabetes, corticosteroids may require you to increase your insulin dosage.

I saw the high risk doctor just after Alex got there. I really, really liked her. I actually liked all of the staff – that was one very good thing about the experience. Even the doctor who scared the shit out of me seemed very professional and on top of it. But here’s the rub with that. The high risk doctor again did a bunch of ultrasounds and saw my cervix was totally normal – 3cm long. The babies looked great. No signs of preterm labor. Other than “take it easy” and “watch for these other problems” I was given virtually no take-home instructions or restrictions. “So should I get that steroid shot now?” I asked.

“Definitely not.”

Huh. I explained what the other doctor had said, yadda, yadda, yadda. The high risk doc said, “She thought you were 3-4 centimeters dialated, when the chart said your cervix was 3-4 cm long. It was just some miscommunication. I cleared it up with her.”

Fucking A, man. That was my response to that. In fact, that IS my response to that. Fucking A. A major medical decision almost made on totally wrong information. In more dire circumstances, this is how relatively healthy people die in hospitals.

Stay vigilant with your healthcare providers, no matter how much you like or trust them. It bears repeating. Even at 7:30 a.m. on no sleep, stay vigilant. More vigilant than I was.

They were going to let me go home. Oh hooray! Then came the new resident, “We’re going to send you home with a script for Procardia.”

“Are you sure? Are you going to advise me to check my blood pressure somehow then because my blood pressure dropped a lot last night after I took it and I have no way of checking it at home.”

“Huh” was her response. “Let me check with the doctor.”

No, I did NOT go home with a prescription for Procardia. Vigilance.

Here’s what I went home with: advice.

  • Take it easy this weekend and don’t go back to work until you see your regular Ob/GYN on Tuesday.
  • Track the contractions. If you have a bunch, drink some water and lay down for an hour. If they still get worse, call us right away.
  • If you have any bleeding, spotting, discharge of any kind, call us right away.
  • You’re pregnant with twins, so just get used to the idea of coming here between now and delivery as things come up. It’s not a big deal – it’s expected.
  • NO SEX!

As we were driving home I asked Alex, “Do you think we caused this to happen because we had sex?”

“I say it was the Burger King.”

Whether it was or not, who’s to say. But that’s one whopper I won’t miss.

{ 10 comments }

Waiting for you. Week 24.

by Myg on November 14, 2008

It’s getting serious now. Ladies and gentlemen, we have crossed into the realm of viability. Well, they have anyway.

Now, of course you don’t want to have your babies this early because the consequences are too often dire. But something happens in your brain when you realize the tiny creatures duking it out in your belly could potentially get along without you. With tons upon tons of medical technology in that case, sure. But the idea that they can potentially survive without you, well, that’s a tad bit mind blowing.

Wanna see what they look like? Sure you do!

Bing! 24 weeks

That’s my boy Bing. I’m telling you, he’s got my nose. I can tell. At the time of this ultrasound he was 1lb 8oz.

Doot! 24 Weeks

This is my other bundle, Doot. Look closely. You can see the chambers of his heart! It’s that area with the dark kidney bean looking thing sort of to the right, midway up. It’s big and powerful, just like his Dad’s. He’s 1lb 8 ozs and a real kicker. Kapow!

So what did my boys accomplish this week?

  • Faces! See? That’s how I know Bing has my nose.
  • Fingernails!
  • Testicles! Say it with me now – Testicles!
  • Lungs! The wee airbags keep growing and here’s where we want a lot of good progress.
  • REM! No, not as in “It’s the end of the world as we know it” but rather the whole rapid eye movement thing itself. Why this matters, I can’t say. Are they dreaming? Can you imagine what their dreams would be like? Woosh, woosh, poke, kick, growl, float, poke, woosh. That’s all I can come up with.
  • Still moving a lot in there. Especially after meals, when just maybe I’d rather they chill so my squashed stomach has a fighting chance to do its job. Right now my poor gut feels like a mishapen shrunken ziploc half turned inside out and stuffed in the corner of a shoe that’s got someone else’s foot in it. Not good, in other words.

How am I?

  • Um…
  • Trying to keep a good attitude, but with the chronic pain thing, it’s not easy. I am always on and on about my back pain so I feel like a dolt recounting it here, yet again. Let me just say it’s not better.
  • How about pain in my left side and the top of my abdomen? Can I talk about that? The top of my belly, just under my boobs, on the left side feels so tender to the touch – like I got punched there. Hey – maybe I did! I feel like I’m being ripped apart sometimes.
  • Hello, Braxton Hicks! I’m beginning to notice these painless “practice” contractions a lot now. Enough so I’m tracking them because as I mentioned above, I do NOT want these guys to come early if I can help it. I started noticing these often enough that I called the doctor’s office (“Hey, it’s me again! How’s it going?”) They are not worried, but said if I get more than 6 in an hour, to call back. I haven’t.
  • Thinking about going out on leave early. Why? Pain. I had planned to work until the bitter end, finish my grants, and then cut loose. But I’m finding that a) I don’t think that’s possible given how I feel. and b) It’s not at all necessary.
  • The more I do, the worse I feel – it’s that simple. If I can be mildly active (you know, walking all by myself to the john, showering, and maybe *maybe* doing a load of dishes) and then lay down a lot during the day I feel best.  I felt bad about this – like I was lazy or something – until I got this book: When You’re Expecting Twins, Triplets, or Quads, Revised Edition: Proven Guidelines for a Healthy Multiple Pregnancy. According to the doctor expert in this book, they recommend many women pregnant with multiples leave work at 24 weeks, and most by 28 weeks. My doctor(s) haven’t talked at all about this yet, but given how awful I feel just sitting half a day at a desk, I have to say I am all for it.  My boss is all for it too and that simply ROCKS. Now I just need to see what my doctors say when I go back next week. God, I hope they’re for it too. It’s not that I can’t work from home. It’s that I can’t THINK very well about work right now. I just want to rest and keep myself mildly entertained. Is that too much to ask?

On top of all of this, I have to tell you how relieved that I live in NJ! Why? I am eligible for Temporary Disability Insurance for all the pregnancy medical related stuff (we pay into it like unemployment insurance here) AND up to 24 weeks of combined Family Leave from the federal Family Medical Leave Act and the extra oh so special NJ Family Leave Act for after the babies are born. ALL WITH PAY AND BENEFITS.

I love, love, love you, socialist NJ. Now if only we could work on the traffic around here.

{ 5 comments }

Shower

by Myg on November 11, 2008

Let me begin this way:

I am an ass.

Now, some history.

If you’ve read much of this blog before, then you may already know that I had IVF in order to get pregnant, and maybe you know that’s because I have blocked fallopian tubes after an ectopic pregnancy (naturally conceived) I had last year. You might even know that I’ve been trying to get pregnant since January 2005.

And you may recall me saying that infertility sucks balls.  Before infertility, I was the kind of person who’d look at someone undergoing treatment like IVF and say, “there are so many kids already born who need homes – why would anyone go through IVF?” Oh yes, I did say that. And I meant it, working with a lot of homeless kids in shelters at the time. I mentally stab myself in the leg with a fork for that now.

So. For the past 3+ years I have been as avoidant of any baby-related social event as I could be. I was extra specially hyper avoidant of the dreaded friend/extended family member’s baby shower. Just. Couldn’t. Do. It.

Because I have an ego, early in my pregnancy I’d made an announcement to those I thought needed to hear it – no baby shower! I did not want to ask my family and friends to participate in an event I had willfully (maybe even spitefully) ignored for the last 3+ years of my life. I just couldn’t face those people or look at how poorly I’d handled my feelings over being infertile in the social context. So more avoidance had been my plan.

How was I going to get the hundreds, or perhaps thousands of dollars worth of gear I was going to need? Hell, I thought these babies would be more like puppies. A cardboard box and some sheets would do, right? They don’t do anything but eat and sleep for awhile – how much could they possibly need? (Hey, I might be 39 years old but what did do I know about babies?)

Six weeks ago or so, someone let it slip that a surprise shower was in the works. I won’t say who. Actually, no less than five someones let it slip. I was told out of kindness, so I would be able to either stop it or prepare myself for it. When I found out, I cried. I was angry, frustrated, a little humiliated and damn it, here was another thing about this pregnancy that felt out of control.

Then I mentally slapped myself. Because I suddenly understood clearly that this baby shower wasn’t about me, and this was something I was going to have to get used to if I was going to be a Mom.

See, the masterminds of the dreaded affair were my stepmother and her daughter, my stepsister, “A”.  A  has been battling cancer for almost five years.  She’s been recovering most recently from lung surgery ever since April.  She is still on oxygen and has dialysis three days a week (from the damage previous cancer treatment has done to her kidneys).

There is nothing – nothing – like a loved one’s cancer to make you understand what is and what is not a big deal in life. My ego? SO not a big deal. Even though I couldn’t see that at first, my stepmom could. And she understood that my babies needed stuff, and that I was going to need help no matter how reluctant I am to admit it or accept it.

While my stepmom was booking the restaurant and paying the bills, A was in charge of all the details – from the invitations to the decorations to the shower games.  She put that shower at the center of her free time for over a month, painting custom made centerpieces and hand rolling adorable little favors between dialysis and schlepping into the city for experimental chemo treatment. “I loved doing it,” she said. I know she did, too.

If that realization wasn’t humbling enough, all of my extended family came out. All of them – even those whose RSVPs I never returned when they had showers of their own, to whom I’d never bothered to send a card or gift of acknowledgment of any kind when their own kids were born. They were all there and they outfitted my two kids better than NASA equips the shuttle.

I told you I am an ass. Did you think I was kidding?

To top it all off, would you believe that it was A’s best day since her surgery in April? She didn’t use her oxygen for most of the event, despite the fact that she was running around, handling gifts and guests and wait staff.  I haven’t seen her with that kind of energy since before her operation.

When I stood up to thank everyone, I cried.  I’ve done my share of crying over the last few years, but somehow these pregnancy tears are different. Yeah, I still get those snot filled migraine styled headaches when it goes on for too long. But I’m not in mental anquish when the tears come.

I think I’m just experiencing the literal awesomeness of what the whole thing means.

You know, the life cycle and the continuation of our very existence. The way love in a family can transcend any one member’s social transgressions and promote the healing of a bitter past and maybe thensome.  

That kind of thing.

{ 5 comments }

Wating for you. Week 23.

by Myg on November 6, 2008

Ed.’s Warning: This post is epic and contains varying amounts of bitching, moaning and gratuitous hospital footage.

Me, Bing & Doot circa 23 weeks

Me, Bing, Doot, circa 23 weeks

Included in this extra special week was one historic election and one trip to the emergency room. On the same day, even.

Last Saturday I was suddenly feeling much worse. I’d been trying to get a grip on some debilitating back pain for weeks and had restricted a lot of my activities to reduce pain. Remember, no pain meds allowed and Tylenol, I’m sorry, doesn’t do it for me. Not that I mind being a couch spore. My remedy for back pain has meant spending most of my time between my bed, the dog’s couch, and the kitchen table. I’ve become furniture for the cats, basically.

On Saturday I became incredibly out of breath and was having heart palpitations over even the smallest activity – like walking up six stairs to go to the bathroom or taking a shower. Sunday night I woke up in the middle of the night, went to the bathroom and when I came back to bed my heart was thumping in my chest like I had a 12 pound freshly caught Tilapia flipping around in there. It was kind of, you know, scary.

I called the Doc’s office on Monday. They didn’t seem terribly concerned about it, but they did push my regular appointment up to Tuesday morning. That would be…

Election Day.

Coolest fin president ever, k?

Coolest f'in president ever, k?

Now, I have been wringing my hands, biting my nails, on the edge of my seat, anxiously pouring over every bit of political text I can find for months and months. I did some canvassing for Obama in PA during the primary, but given my physical circumstances I wasn’t inclined to do much more than give a lot of money I didn’t have and argue with people in my family. (That arguing politics with family while pregnant thing – not recommended, really.)

Suffice to say, I’d waited a long damn time for election day.

With early reports of lines in NYC being as long as 2 hours, I worried about how I was going to handle a long wait to vote as right now, it’s too painful for me to stand in line for 10 minutes at the grocery store.  But I’d worried for no reason because in my very liberal little town, the polling place at 8am had no lines – just a bunch of happy voters, smiling and milling about. We voted, grabbed a couple of coffee rolls to celebrate, and went home to sweat it out as we waited for the results.

At 10:45 am we had the distraction of my doctor’s appointment, and the walk from the parking deck to the OB/GYN’s office just sucked. I felt like I was sprinting the whole way. “Can this be normal?” I reported everything to my doctor. She checked the heartbeats of Bing and Doot and they were fine. Mine? A little off.

“Your heart’s skipping around, jumping all over the place.” She decided to send me to the ER. “You’re carrying twins, so this probably isn’t the last time you’ll be over there.”  Words of comfort, to be sure.

When I got there they bumped me to the front of a long line of assorted disheveled, pissed off sick folks. Hooked up to the pulse monitor I could hear my heart jumping all over the place. Man did that suck. You really count on certain things in your life to be steady and predictable. The beating of your own heart would rank about #1 on that list, even if you don’t consciously think of it. When it’s as erratic as a McCain campaign stunt, the whole world starts to feel a little shaky.

They put me on a stretcher in the back, popped an IV into me, took oh about 17 quarts of blood, stuck a heart monitor on me. I couldn’t look at it though. I got an EKG and the doctor came back and explained I had some extra hearbeats – PVCs he said. Premature Ventricular Contractions.

Well thank heavens I had the presence of mind to bring my new little camcorder – the Flip. I love this thing with all my heart and I’ll blog it another time. But in any case, it’s the size of an iPod and here’s what you can do with it:


Election Day from Myg on Vimeo.

Not the most flattering video of me, but hey, it’s totally real!

So anyway, were the PVCs anything serious? In and of themselves, no. But could they be a sign of something really bad? Combined with the shortness of breath and fatigue, yeah. So the testing commenced. An ultrasound of my legs showed no blood clots or anything, which was good. But now, here’s where I get upset.

I had to get a chest x-ray and a CT-scan of my lungs. No direct radiation to my boys but there could be a little “scatter” and SHIT FUCK DAMN YOU ARE NOT SUPPOSED TO GET ANY RADIATION WHEN YOU ARE PREGNANT!

So, why did I agree to do it?

The doctors were concerned I might have had a pulmonary embolism. You know, that blood clot thing in your lungs that can kill you.

Here’s where I invoke my right to smack the shit out of the resident assigned that day. My hospital is a teaching hospital, affiliated with the medical university that I’ve worked for since 1999. I’ve helped train my share of residents when I was clinical staff on the psych unit. So guess what? I have a right to SMACK THE SHIT out of the residents when they annoy me.

What was annoying me? I asked, calmly – logically, responsibly – “Can you tell me the risks this test poses to my unborn children?” And you know what I got in response?

“The risk of this test is to them is a lot smaller than the risk to you if we don’t do this test, trust me.”

Hello? Is that what I asked you, bitch? NO. I asked “WHAT is the risk to MY UNBORN.” Not, “What’s the bigger risk?” or “Should I really have this test done?” I was quite the perturbed.

With more reasonable prompting, he did go over some of the risks, which include really great things like an increase in childhood cancer rates from 1 in 10,000 to 1 in 7,000. Is that risk still relatively small? Yes. Is it smaller than the risk of pulmonary embolism? Yeah, of course. Did it make sense to have the testing if the doctors were really concerned? Of course it did.

But I still felt god awful for having exposed my kids to even that much risk. Really god damned awful.

Guess what? I didn’t have a pulmonary embolism. Thank God. Seriously, thank God. All of my labs were normal. I was fine, other than my heart jumping all over the place. Verdict? Gosh we dunno. Plan? Outpatient follow-up with cardiology for more thorough evaluation. Go home now. It was 7:30pm.

I went home to begin watching the election results, though I almost couldn’t do it as the day had been so emotional. But I did anyway, because, seriously, how could I not watch one of the greatest moments in the history of the modern world?

I was glad I did. At 11pm when Keith Olberman announced Obama was our new president-elect, I cried. Man, did I cry. Then during Obama’s speech I cried. Hard.

But I felt good. And you know what? My heart felt good. Because I knew then that I’d be bringing my boys into a world where we have a chance of making the world a better place. And as I gradually start to move  into my new role as a mother, I realize there’s nothing I care more about than that.

So how are Doot and Bing doing in week 23? They are:

  • Kicking, kicking, kicking. In fact, last night I had my first experience of actually seeing a well placed kick by Doot lift a paperback off my belly. Whoa! Sometimes it’s adorable. Sometimes, not so much. Like that kick to the bladder this morning.
  • Able to hear me and Alex, for sure. Do they think it’s weird how much we talk to and/or about the dog? Do they like that Kings of Leon song I keep blasting over and over? How do they like the Rachel Maddow show? The things you wonder about.
  • Developing their lungs and the blood vessels to the lungs, which is all kinds of important right now. Statistically speaking, when they get to 24 weeks old they’ve got a 50/50 chance at viability outside of me if their lungs grow enough. But…here’s to praying there’s no need for that.

And as for me? Well, if the long entry above the bullets wasn’t enough for you, let me recap:

  • I’ve got some physical stuff going on right now that’s not exactly what I’d hoped and dreamed my long wished for pregnancy would be. But you know what? So far it’s nothing so dreadful that I can’t sleep at night worrying. I can deal with it.
  • I am always, always, always worried about money. I don’t know if this will ever stop now that I’m about to be a mom, but God I hope so. My strategy so far is to try not to think about it. Good plan, eh?
  • I’m trying to figure out how to salvage the rest of my work responsibilities from now until D-Day given the stuff going on. But for some reason, I don’t care all that much. Changing priorities, anyone?
  • I love my husband and my dog more than I can say.
  • I love my country, now more than ever

Enough said, don’t you think?

{ 5 comments }

Waiting for you. Week 22.

by Ms. Myg on October 31, 2008

It was pain week. Yes, that’s what I’ll call it.

I have a history of back/neck injuries sustained from two totally excellent places:

  1. Flipping over the handlebars of my Sears Freedom bike when I was 7 years old. It was real bad. So bad, I cracked my brand new adult front tooth in half, landed on my head in the middle of the street and was knocked unconscious. Hospital time!
  2. Rock and Roll. I played guitar and sang in an indie rock band from the time I was 19 until…well I last played a show in December of 2001. I was 32 then. (Ugh. That long ago?) Anyway, I had some terribly shitty posture and managed to herniate two discs in my neck, which became very problematic for me in 1999. With treatment (physical therapy, chiropractic adjustments, drugs) I fully recovered. Or, did I? Herniated discs are like that.

I haven’t had a lot of complaints about these issues in the last few years. I’ve been lucky. Every once in awhile if I was feeling achy I’d make a trip to the doctor and get an adjustment, then be fine. I maybe saw him a couple of times a year. Then came pregnancy. With twins.

The pain I now have in my back is different. It hovers somewhere in the middle, (“Really? Not your lower back?” most formerly pregnant women, aka mothers, ask me. Now, I may know absolutely fucking nothing about being pregnant, but I can tell you exactly where it hurts, damn it.) The pain was particularly vicious on the left side, right under my ribs, every night at around 8:30pm until I went to bed, when it would wrap itself around to my abdomen, making me ponder whether or not I was getting an ulcer. Then magically tonight it appeared on the right side, and behaved in much the same way. I was relieved for the change in scenery, as it were.

This pain started gradually. I first noticed that if I spent much time on my feet, I’d be screwed for days. I learned, hey, don’t spend so much time on your feet. Now it’s to the point where I can’t spend too much time sitting upright, either. I need to spend a significant part of the day laying down. Which sounds a lot nicer than it is – especially when you still sorta have a job, like I do.

Know what’s really killing me? I had to stop walking the dog. Couldn’t make it down my street to the corner without my mid back feeling like it was being ripped apart. I feel so, so bad about not being able to do things with my dog! Soon enough he’s going to be relegated around here to actual, you know, dog status. I was hoping for a little more time I could really dote on him. Poor guy – he’s just 19 months old – still a puppy for labs. [Insert gratuitous adorable dog pic here:]

Man, he still does that head cocked to the side thing when you talk to him too. He’s too much.

To alleviate the pain, I had a full on therapeutic massage last weekend. It was nice, but it didn’t fix shit. On Monday I begged my doctor to squeeze me in and got an adjustment. I think that helped – some. My pain is more localized now. But it still hurts. A lot. And for a lot of the day.

The OB/GYN told me to order the “prenatal cradle.” It’s a crazy borderline S&M looking contraption that will support my back in holding up my belly.

Wear it UNDER your clothes, dummy!

Wear it UNDER your clothes, dummy!

With that shoulder support, it should alleviate some of my mid back woes. If you need one, google it, but don’t order it from the maker, Prenatal Cradle, or you’ll pay about $20 extra for one with shipping. I ordered mine from Target for around $60, shipping was free. I’ll let you know when it gets here if it works. I really pray it does because if all goes well, I’m looking at another 15 weeks of this shit!

So that was my week.

Oh, the kids? Here’s what Bing and Doot have been up to:

  • They’re growing. How do I know? Well, I don’t exactly, other than the fact that I have been growing. And they seem to be crowding my internals a bit more. Conventional Wisdom says they should be about a pound each and a foot long a piece. That makes me crave a Nathan’s. Or two.
  • They are now producing their own hormones. Great – just what we need around here. More hormones!
  • Moving around. I still worry about whether or not I feel them moving enough. But I do feel tap, tap, tap every now and then. First this side, then that. Every once in awhile in the middle of the night, somebody kicks me hard enough to cause pain in a vital organ. It’s reassuring.
  • Other than getting bigger, I’m not sure what’s left for these guys between now and showtime.

And as for me, the pain thing is really tantamount. If you’ve ever experienced chronic pain, you know of what I speak. It just flavors everything in your day. So since I devoted so much of this post with that, I’ll skip it in the bulleted recap of the state of me:

  • Getting clutzy and moving in the vertical plane is more complicated. Unplug something? Pick that sock up off the floor? Okay, I’ll do it, but it had better be REAL important to you.
  • Worrying. Like up at 3am thinking about every single thing that isn’t done. From the hall closet being a wreck to the nursery to work related things to my wedding photo album (yeah, I got married 6 years ago, but still.)
  • I HAVE NO FUCKING CLUE WHAT I’M DOING HERE! SHUT UP! GO AWAY! DON’T LEAVE ME!
  • Denial. Sometimes I just don’t believe they are really, truly in there. Just as I was typing this, I received a message in the form of a swift kick from Doot in the liver. Thanks, buddy.

I’ve got a lot more internal state of mind stuff to spew at you, but it’s late and I’m tired and oh, jeez, did I mention my back hurts? Makes even blogging a bitch.

You may be wondering, as I have, given my complaints above, do I still think pregnancy over 35 = AWESOME?  Well, yes. I do. But I will qualify this with the fact that awesome doesn’t mean easy. It doesn’t even always mean good. The big bang was awesome, wasn’t it?  Mother nature must have gotten a serious damned back ache from that, right?

{ 2 comments }

22 Week Belly Tour

by Ms. Myg on October 27, 2008


22 Week Belly Tour from Myg on Vimeo.

Soon I’ll write my “Waiting for you – Week 22″ post, but thought I’d give you voyeurs a glimpse of my ever expanding cargo space.

{ 5 comments }

Waiting for you. Week 21.

by Ms. Myg on October 24, 2008

I’ve picked up a bad habit – reading the blogs of other mothers, some of whom have some really, really awful stories to tell. But, oh! These blogs are good. The writing is good, the people are good, the stories are real. You can’t beat good blogging. It’s the new indie rock.

I found two of these new mom blogs because many women bloggers have, quite understandably, flipped the fuck out over John McCain’s assinine comments during the last debate about “health” of the mother being an “excuse” (I really wish I could render McCain’s sarcastic wrinkly finger wagging air-quote gesture in print somehow) that “pro-abortion” proponents use for protecting women’s reproductive rights.

The blogger backlash led me first to Uppercase Woman, by Philadelphia writer Cecily Kellogg. I’m now undoubtedly hooked, and the timing couldn’t be worse.  Why?  Well, Cecily was pregnant with twin boys four years ago, during the last presidential election. She had severe pre-eclampsia, diagnosed in week 22 (EXACTLY WHERE I AM RIGHT FUCKING NOW, btw) and lost both of them, four years ago this coming Sunday. But the story is even worse than that – worse than just “losing them.” She had to have a late term abortion after one of them died in utero and she was in danger of dying herself.

The other new mom blog I found is by a woman named Alexa at Flotsam. She shares another harrowing, god fucking awful tale about complications in her twin pregnancy. Her twin son had died from some mystery infection in utero and she ended up delivering her daughter at 25 weeks (she continues to blog about her daughter’s progress). Damn, damn, damn.

See why I shouldn’t be reading this shit right about now? But I have, so now I subject you as well.  Please, if you can stomach the kind of grief and heartache women face every day with this shit, read their stories. But for GOD’S SAKE, NOT IF YOU’RE PREGNANT! Especially NOT if you are pregnant with twins, like me! Wait until those little bugs are out here raising hell, at least.

But, if you are willing and able, here’s Cecily’s response to McCain and the recap of her story. (Scroll down to the bottom of the page to start from the beginning – there are a bunch of posts related to it.) Cecily, I know you’re dealing with some strong anniversary reactions right now and a lot of grief. Much love to you, fellow stranger.  Alexa Flotsam’s story is here, and it is equally powerful.

When you take 30 seconds to consider the reality for women who have to endure something as atrocious as the death of her unborn child or children at that stage of development, I hope you feel a very hard slap in the face. I hope it hurts. And by you I don’t just mean John McCain or Sarah Palin or any other so-called “pro-lifer” out there. I mean all of us. We all need to feel a little pain when considering how these kinds of issues become political footballs among the majority of us who will never have to face this specific brand of agony. But perhaps if we all hurt a little more for these brave, loving women, we might collectively come to our senses regarding the safeguarding of, yes, women’s HEALTH.

Glad I got that off my chest. It has been no small amount of emotional workout to keep my anxiety in check after reading those stories.

After reading a bit about all that can go so desperately wrong at this stage, I freaked out and called the nurse practitioner coordinator person at my OB/GYN’s office. This is the first time during my pregnancy where I’ve had to wait more than two weeks to see a doctor in person. Given a few things, like a) Cecily’s story, wherein she had severe pre-eclampsia at 22 weeks and was virtually asymptomatic and b) women who’ve undergone IVF are twice as likely to have pre-eclampsia and c) I was still unsure if I was feeling the boys move enough, or in the right way and d) I didn’t have a glucose challenge test scheduled yet and e) after my last ultrasound, it was not recommended I come in after two weeks for a new cervical length check like they wanted me to at weeks 18 and 16, I had some questions.

“Wow, that was a thorough voicemail!” she laughed when she called me back. Damn straight it was. I’m a social worker. I work in the health care industry, though off to the side now. I know that doctors, nurses, all sorts of medical professionals fuck up. Not intentionally, but in a “we’re so, so, so overworked” kind of way. They follow protocols more than instincts, and treatment protocols are dictated by insurance companies who have the ultimate goal of saving bucks, not you. Often these are tailor made for the general population and don’t fit your specifics. So yeah, I had questions.

And you know what? I was okay with her answers, which were that a) they’ve been checking my urine and blood pressure for early signs of pre-eclampsia and everything looked great – they really were not worried at this stage. b) I’d get the referral for the glucose challenge test (to check for gestational diabetes) at my next visit. c) What I described over the phone as possibly the movement of the boys sounded like it was indeed movement, not bad gas, and if I was worried at all, to come in and they’d check on me. And to call if I had any worries or concerns at all. I was okay with that, and since that day I feel them moving a lot more. Though I still swear it feels like gas in the wrong part of my body.

Anyway, you want to know how the kids are? This is what they say about week 21:

  • They are plumping up like little turkeys in there, baking away and packing on the pounds. Like mother, like sons.
  • They are wrinkly like prunes or like your grandpa’s ass, perhaps. Depends on your grandpa.
  • They are sucking their thumbs! Man that’s so cute to think about I can hardly stand it.
  • They do seem to be wriggling around a lot in there now, as though to say, “Mom, look, you’ve got to get a grip on yourself!” after my agonizing and worrying about it.

As for me? I’m just great, just:

  • IN PAIN! My back hurts. Oh, it hurts. It hurts a lot. But the good part is that it’s a new kind of hurt, not that same old boring hurt I had from guitar injuries. And the other blessing, seriously, is that about 5 minutes of back rub in the right spot does give me relief for about an hour. How I suffer depends on what I do.
  • Worried. Ah, sigh. What can I do? I go back to the doctor on 11/5, unless I really just can’t deal with it. Then I’ll go back earlier to hear the heartbeats and reassure myself I’m not really that gassy.
  • Did someone say gassy? Hullo, constipation? Upping my rations of Rasin Bran this week.
  • Big. And getting bigger, it seems, by the day.
  • Limited in my activities. This is self-imposed, due to my back pain (see aforementioned bullet 1). If I stand long enough to get my hair dry, I’m in pain. Fucking ridiculous. I know, my belly is big and heavy and yes, teeming with life. My back muscles are not up to it, at all. I do have a massage scheduled for tomorrow. I know that’s going to help, and my appointment with my back doctor is on the calendar. So hopefully I can do things like unload the dishwasher and fold laundry again shortly. Yeah, I’m really hoping for that.

You know what else? I seriously can’t wait for this election to be over. I hope, oh how I hope, that Obama does it. I hope he gets in and whips the government back into shape. I think he can. I think we can. But god am I tired of the election. I’m just tired of it.

And you know what else, else?

I still love being pregnant.

Check back in another 15 weeks and see if I’m still saying that.

Blogged with the Flock Browser

{ 4 comments }

Waiting for you. Week 20!

by Ms. Myg on October 17, 2008

WEEK 20! OH MY GOD OH MY GOD!

That’s how I thought I’d feel, anyway. It’s a pregnancy milestone, right? The coveted half way point of your average full term pregnancy, a little more than that for us twin carriers. I’d long said to myself, “When I hit 20 weeks, I’m going to feel like this thing is really on.” But the 20 week mark came and went for me without any huge “Aaaaahhhh” moment.

I wonder if most moms-to-be have a particular moment during pregnancy when they go, “Holy shit – this little alien is going to be outside of my body and I’m going to have to deal with it!” I thought since the beginning of pregnancy that 20 weeks would be the point that happened. But if you’ve read this blog for the past month, you might recall that it actually happened at week 16. That was the week I woke up and realized I was going to be somebody’s mom. Two somebodies.

Week twenty did bring with it a surprisingly gruelling ultrasound session, one in which the tech marked down every single length of every bone in each of my boys’ bodies. You know what? That was a pain in the ass. It took like an hour and a half, and then the doctor had to come in and try to get better picture’s of Bing’s heart, because they like to get 8 views, and in his position they could only get 1. “It looks beautiful-perfect-in the one view, but we’d like to get at least a few more.” In what could be a sign of things to come, Bing said, “Screw you guys for interrupting my nap with your pesky technology” and would not offer himself up for a better view. The doctor said better luck next time and not to worry. So for once, I won’t!

At this point, it looks like Bing is a teeny bit bigger than Doot. The doctor said it wasn’t a difference that they were worried about because it’s a very small difference. Do you ever wonder how doctors do it? How they worry so little? They must practice.

However, I know that with twins, you do have to worry about one growing bigger than the other, so I’d rather at this point they were more or less the EXACT SAME SIZE. Is that too much to ask? Ah well, I suppose it’s one of the ways they’re asserting their individuality. No doubt one will have a mohawk in the third grade, while the other will be playing the violin. I do know that during the ultrasound Bing was caught kicking Doot. We’ll have a little chat about that when they get here. No kicking your brother just because he’s a mm shorter!

Other things my boys are up to in week 20:

  • Growing! I don’t know why, but the ultrasound pics I have include magnification and other tech specs, but don’t put my babies’ size or weights down anywhere. Like, why do I care about Hz? I want to know about them. Internet wisdom and the Mayo Clinic tell my my boys are nearly 6 inches and half a pound each. My insides tell me they’re growing all the time.
  • They are now noticeable. I mean to me. The movement I feel with them feels nothing like “popcorn popping” or “soda bubbles” or anything cute like that, that most people tell you it feels like. So much different, I didn’t understand I’ve been feeling them move for awhile now because I couldn’t recognize what it felt like. I normally don’t feel their kicks and punches, per se. I have felt them, I think, and can only imagine I will soon feel them regularly. Instead, what I feel is a sensation of my insides moving around. It feels more like my organs are migrating or as though I have indigestion in the wrong part of my body, to be honest. It feels like “there something IN there!” It’s not uncomfortable, except one night when I’m fairly sure Doot kicked me in the stomach and I woke up with a mouth full of stomach acid. I thought I was going to puke. I didn’t. Rah!

My week?

  • Working SUCKS! I actually have a really nice job. Anyone would envy my job, if only it wasn’t going away. But a large part of my job is to train people, meaning to stand up in front of groups of people and tell them all I know about various subjects. Ego strokes galore, it’s a nice thing for someone like me who likes that stuff. Thing is, my fuckin feet hurt! Who knew I couldn’t think sitting on my ass? Who knew being pregnant and off coffee would be such a drag on my training style? One thing I hate is doing something I love half assed. I’ll cook half assed or clean half assed, but gas bagging? I want to blow everyone out of the water. I can’t do that now, plus, my body really hurts if I stand for too long.
  • I can’t bend down too well. Oh, and I’ve started to waddle. Hat tip to Cheryl Lage again, who dutifully warns of this in Twinspiration. The saddest part of my newfound physical limits is the toll it’s taken on playing with Mason-the world’s cutest and most amazing dog. I can’t bend down, over and over and over, to pick up the slimy toy and throw it to him. And he has yet to learn how to bring it to me without dropping it on the ground. Good boy! That reminds me, here’s the gratuitous adorable dog picture (yes, from puppy years – I need to take some good new pics):

    Mason at 13 weeks old

    Mason at 13 weeks old

  • Emotional. I cry! Wow, do I cry. Sometimes in the middle of the night I cry without any actual good reason. I am also a bit clingy. I am lucky because Alex is nothing if not patient with me and my profound emotional neediness during this time. Okay, writing this is making me cry. See what I mean?
  • Sleep, I miss you so, so, so, so much. It’s going to be a long year or so for me I realize. I am trying to accept it. I do sleep, but I am not able to sleep as soundly as I once did. And I’m not able to sleep for as many hours either. I have been obsessively worried about sleeping on my back, as I still find that I roll onto my back in the night. I had lunch with a friend of mine today – a mother of 7 year old twins – who admitted she slept on her back the whole time. “It was the only way I could sleep at all.” That made me feel a little better.

And a bunch of other stuff, but my absent mindedness and ever present tiredness prevent me from thinking of what it is. Sorry!

In other news, one of my favorite pregnant bloggers, Amy of Amalah.com had her new baby boy! For super special adorable newborn pics, head on over here. They made me cry, of course. But in a really, really good way. Congrats to you Amy. I’m not long behind!

{ 5 comments }

← Previous Entries

Next Entries →