All About R

Since I can't seem to find time to write anything coherent, and, well, really anything, here is some randomness from R's life at the moment.

R has decided she identifies best with bratty girl characters. Her current favorites include Lucy from Peanuts, Zoe from Baby Blues, and Angelica from Rugrats. Since, aside from Lucy, she only knows these characters from books, we are seriously considering banning these books for now. How sad is that? David from No, David may have to go too. He is clearly not a good influence on anyone!

Aside from the bratty girls, R remains firmly obsessed with Disney Princesses. She has never seen any of them on TV either. In fact, she doesn't even have books about them. She has one set of Disney Princess dolls that started the mania. It is quite creepy. So much for gender neutrality! Thankfully she still spends hours a day happily playing with her new Brio blocks and with vehicles from her Brio-esque train/transportation set.

If I have to sing "Frosty the Snowman" too many more times, I just may scream. R is obsessed. We sing it many, many times a day. In fact, we sing all Christmas songs many, many times a day. The worst is bath time. Each night she gives me the opportunity to entertain her with a 20+ minute concert while I pump breast milk. Since I am doing the entertaining, I don't suppose I could be called a captive audience. Perhaps I am her captive entertainer? Or just a slave? She doesn't actually ask for anything these days, she does demand it. (Occasionally we remember to ask her to use manners. Sometimes we get a "please" and often she storms off to her room crying because we dared "deny" her something. Mostly we just comply because we are too sleep deprived to really thing it through.) Yeah, slave seems pretty fitting.

All is calm, all is bright

Calm is a very relative term in our house these days, but I will take calm in any form in which it comes. Last weekend was not calm.

Last Tuesday I noticed that Leon's belly button was red. Not knowing if it had previously looked like that (all the diaper changes from the three kiddos kinda blend together), Jeff and I decided to just keep an eye on it. By Thursday morning it was scarlet, swollen, and puss-filled, so Leon and I trotted off to the doctor's office.

Although this is a common occurrence in newborns after the umbilical cord falls off, nothing is normal or routine with our neutropenic bebes. So, poor little Leon was sent back to the hospital for 48 hours of IV antibiotics and observation. I did not deal well with this.

On Friday, his belly button looked better. Much better. Even better, his blood tests showed that he had neutrophil! While the level was still critically low by normal standards, for a child who had previously not had any, this was amazing. The nurse practitioner assured us that as long as nothing changed he would be coming home on Saturday. I was in a much better place.

Saturday morning I got to the hospital bright and early so that I could make sure to see the doctor during rounds and I could find out the plan of action. The doctor was in rather early, and the first thing he did was show me that Leon's belly button was healed. I could sense the big "BUT..." hanging in there. Unfortunately, although his blood tests were fine and he had no systemic infections, the puss from his belly button tested positive for the bacteria e. coli and staph. Again, these are not unusual in small quantities in all people, even newborns. However, in our neutropenic baby, these needed to be treated with antibiotics. Two weeks of IV antibiotics in fact. Because of Leon's size and age, the antibiotics could only be administered in the hospital. To make matters worse, there were many patients in the ward with RSV, and respiratory virus with very serious consequences to preemies, so I was told it would not be possible for Michael to visit. And, knowing that if Ree visited, she would be likely to all but lick the floors, we know she had to stay home too. My little family was getting torn apart.

The whole time the boys were in the NICU, I kept hearing how strong I was, how I was dealing with everything so well, how I was so brave. None of that applied this time. I completely fell apart.

I muddled through the day. On Sunday morning I did not get to the hospital until lunch time, so I did not have a chance to speak with a doctor. However, I did learn that for the first time ever, Leon's neutrophil was in the normal range. Yes, normal! He was not considered neutropenic at the moment. This gave me some glimmer of hope.

On Monday, I was in a much better mood. I was up and out the door bright and early. I wanted to make sure I was there to talk with a doctor so I could plead my case to have them the course of treatment since Leon was no longer neutropenic or to see if there was any way we could manage this at home.

When I arrived at the hospital, the nurses were in fantastic moods, and all were happy to see me. One even threatened to take Leon home with her - she liked him that much. Leon and I spent the morning hanging out and dancing since I had finally remembered to bring in CDs. It was a strange little existence, but it was happy.

Around 1:00 p.m. the same fabulous nurse practitioner who told us on Friday that we could probably leave on Saturday was back in our room. She wanted to know if I would like to take Leon home, and if so, she would do everything in her power to make sure it happened. I don't know what she did - and it didn't happen quickly - but she was able to get the doctor to agree to let us manage Leon's antibiotics at home with a home health nurse. Leon was a free man!

Leon and I got home around dinner time on Monday, and since then things have been hectic as one would expect in a house with two newborns, a two-year-old, two dogs, and two sleep deprived parents. (That's a lot of "two"s!) But it is a very, very happy hectic, it is much calmer than juggling a family divided, and aside from desperately wishing that all goes well and Leon is able to stay home as he completes his antibiotics, I couldn't ask for more, especially at Christmas.

The Last Two Weeks in Review

This is my third attempt at describing the past two weeks. I'm finding there is so much I want to remember and so little that other people will care about, that it's nearly impossible to organize and edit all the information and describe it in any coherent way. And acute sleep deprivation is not helping the situation. I'm going to do my best to let go of my perfectionist tendencies (again, the sleep deprivation is to thank), and am gonna just cut myself off and post my ramblings. Editing will come later...

December 7th - 11th was by far the most frustrating period in the NICU. On the 7th we were told the boys would be coming home that week. It looked like Leon would definitely be home by the 9th, and possibly on the 8th, and Michael would follow within a day or two of Leon. But then, on the 8th, a different doctor was on duty, and the new one was much more cautious. We were back to playing food games, and Jeff and I were spending 18-20 hours a day at the hospital to ensure our boys were playing the games correctly (and we were helping them cheat, when necessary). Once L and M wete eating enough at their force feedings, they were allowed on-demanding feeding. Once they were eating on demand, they had to gain weight. Then they had to gain weight more rapidly. Finally, on the 11th, they were allowed to leave. That day we also got an explanation for the insanity of the week. The doctor was truly treating our boys like she would treat her own child. Her daughter has pulmonary issues and she was providing our children with the level of care she demanded for her daughter. More than anything, we felt sorry for her daughter!

Once the boys came home we discovered that for us, claiming to be parents of twins who are in the NICU is akin to claiming to have been to China because you visited EPCOT Center. You got the flavor of it, but it's a long way from the real deal. The first week at home was a total blur.

R was extra needy after since not only did she have to share attention with two newborns, but she had to deal with the fact that her parents had been MIA for three weeks. We read a lot of books, including the story of A Charlie Brown Christmas which I'm pretty sure we read at least 82 times a day. She is obsessed with Christmas in general, so we also sang Frosty the Snowman almost as many times. She and I baked Christmas cookies and went Christmas shopping.

While in the NICU, the boys were primarily bottle fed, and I expressed milk 7-8 times a day in order to have enough breast milk for both of them. This continued at home, both because the boys weren't established as great breast feeders and to allow others to help feed them. One of R's favorite expressions was "Mom pump milk!" and she loved milk pumping time because it meant I could do nothing but sit and read and sing to her. One night she surprised me by fully assembling the breast pump for me. Apparently she is very observant.

Adding a new baby into a family is crazy, but adding two babies takes it to a whole new level of insanity. It didn't help that we only averaged four hours of sleep a day. (Note, that is per day, and not per night as there were nights we only got 2 - 2.5 hours of sleep.) For the first couple of days we didn't even really know what to do with them. They spent a lot of time in their crib. Thankfully they were together in there. Just as we were starting to make a plan and remembering what to do with newborns, Leon decided to cry from 2 a.m. - 8 a.m on Monday which meant Monday was a recovery day. Finally on Tuesday we started actually interacting with the little guys. I even put down a blanket on the floor and they had "tummy time" with R.

During the week, L and M both discovered the dogs. Jeff was able to witness it with both, and said it was too funny.

Despite the fact that the boys are supposed to live in a people-free bubble, we did get out a couple of times. On Friday the 12th we took them to the doctor and discovered that each had gained 3 ounces since the day before. While part of the weight gain was the result of using different scales, they both clearly gained weight. Woohoo! And take that overly cautious NICU doc!

Wednesday, December 17th was gorgeous, and with temparatures in the 70s, we headed out for a walk. We do not travel lightly these days. R was in the front of the double stroller, and Leon sat in his car seat in the back. Jeff pushed that monstrosity while I carried Michael in the sling. I can only imagine what we looked like walking down the street. I'm sure it was interesting.

Then again, everything about the boys so far, including their birth has just been, well, interesting.

Week Two

I started to write yesterday when I was deep in a pity party for myself. I had two kids stuck in intensive care indefinitely, a sick two-year-old, and I didn't know if I would be returning to work next week. But that wasn't the worst of it. The worst part was I was a nursing mommy and couldn't even drown my sorrows in a six (or twelve) pack of beer. Nooo!!! Life was just not fair.

But I didn't blog then, and I am glad, because things are looking up today. And that's kinda the story of the last week. It has been a constant roller coaster. We've had some great moments - sneaking R in and letting her spend time holding and feeding M, finally getting the boys together, and watching M discover how to nurse by himself. And we've had some not so great moments - having to wear surgical masks to touch our babies, doctors trying to ship my boys off to Chapel Hill which is two hours away, doctors trying to ship my boys off again, discussions of bone marrow testing, bad test results, more bad test results, and beginning really scary genetic treatment.

But that is all in the past; here's where we are as of 10:30 this morning.

The boys continue to have a lack of neutrophil, a type of white blood cell needed to fight infection, in their bloodstream. Their doctor now knows the low neutrophil count is due to the fact that the boys have an anti-neutrophil antibody (try saying that one five times fast!) in their bodies, and the neutrophil is binding to this antibody rather than to germs. While this sounds bad, this is actually really good news, especially compared to some of the alternatives that have been discussed. While they still don't know why this antibody is present, given that both of the boys have it, it is most likely that I passed it to them while I was pregnant. If that's the case, the level of the antibody will decrease over the next few months, and they should have no long term problems with their immune systems. Even better, this problem typically spontaneously disappears which means the boys won't be subject to long-term treatment over the next few weeks/months.

It also means, that as long as everything else goes well, the boys will get to come home in the next week as long as we see their pediatrician weekly and a phlebotomist (blood doctor) monthly for awhile. We can do this.

So in order for the boys to come home, they have to avoid infections and any other new problems, and they have to learn to eat on a schedule. At least from what we've seen, L has this scheduled eating thing down. He is 5 for 5 on finishing the bottles Jeff and I have given him over the last two days, and we are desperately hoping he keeps it up. M is still not there. We did have some major food victories with M this week - he finished a bottle for Jeff and has started nursing like a champ. In an effort to get M to eat enough from a bottle to keep the doctors happy, I have temporarily stopped nursing him, so hopefully he will catch on soon. He seems to be a day or two behind L on most things, but when he gets them, he makes sure he does them perfectly. (And I suppose I don't even have to mention that we are going to completely revamp how they eat when they get home so we can get away from this insane force feeding schedule.)

This week has taken a toll on R, too. I have been at the hospital from 8:00 - 6:00 every day which has left little time for her. She's had Dad or Gran every day, but that's still not the same as mommy time. Our one child with the amazing immune system, finally broke down and was sick with a cold starting during the night on Thursday/Friday. We cut our time at the hospital short on Friday. After I spent an afternoon with her, and she got a good night's sleep, she seems to be just fine.

Now if only we can get, and keep, L and M to be just fine too!

Week One

The boys are a week old today, and what a very strange week it has been. The week was a bit surreal, a bit of an emotional roller coaster, and included a holiday. What madness!

My thoughts are absolutely all over the place, so here is the best I can do at summarizing what's been going on.

I was discharged from the hospital on Monday, which was great news because it gave me a lot more freedom to spend time with L and M. (They sound like an episode of Sesame Street - they were also brought to us by the number 2!) Unfortunately, on Monday afternoon we learned that the time together would definitely be spent in the hospital. Due to their rather unusual birth story(ies), and I promise to share my rambling version of it/them soon, they needed to stay on antibiotics for at least seven days, which meant definite hospital time for the week.

Through the week, they have done well and have made all the progress their medical team would expect for preemies, especially given that boys are apparently slower to catch on to life in the great big world than are girls. (Such lazy little boys!) While we have had some issues along the way, right now we have two pretty healthy looking babies who are eating, sleeping, and pooping well. They are still not taking all their food orally at every meal, but Leon is nursing like a champ and taking almost all of his, and Michael is taking more than half orally, which their doctor believes is excellent progress. Apparently with premature babies, there comes a day where everything just clicks into place, and based on their efforts so far, everyone is sure that day for eating will come very soon for these two since they are improving every day.

However, the boys are also facing a very serious issue that has nothing to do with being preemies. In short, the boys are just not producing enough white blood cells, which are needed to fight infection, and everyone is baffled as to why. The NICU at our hospital is considered the second best in the state, following only behind the departments at Duke and UNC-Chapel Hill. (I'm guessing they are combined or else there is some very odd math going on.) Those departments have already been consulted, and the physicians there are also currently scratching their heads as the boys seem to be happy and healthy in every other way. They are running a battery of tests on them to essentially start ruling out what isn't causing the problem, and they are also going to start performing blood work on me. Right now no one knows the problem, or really what it will mean, so Jeff and I are just doing our best to take things one day at a time and focus on keeping the boys happy and healthy in every other way. I'm learning to fight for them, in a nice way, and so far this has resulted in them being moved closer together (they were in two separate halls), allowed them to breastfeed, and now means they can spend some time together every day.

Meanwhile R is adjusting to life as a big sister, and thankfully she doesn't know any other way of being a big sister. She is technically only allowed to visit the boys once a week. We decided that meant one day per week, and she made two trips to the hospital last Sunday. On her first trip, she was a little overwhelmed and her only comment was "teeny, tiny baby" when she saw M. After some explanation that Mommy had a room at the hospital, and L and M each had their own rooms, she did better on her second visit. She sang to the boys and ended each visit with "Bye, M!" and "Bye, L!" The boys had IVs in their heads since they rip them out every where else, but this didn't seem to bother her. She just looked at them and said, "Medicine!" and knew it was just like Mommy's medicine.

Since we found out about the white blood cell issue, I have been staying at the hospital most of the time, going around 8:00 p.m. and staying til 2:00 p.m. the next day which allows me to be there for 5 of the boys' 6 feedings a day. In between, I am home to nap, shower, and spend time with R. She seems to be doing okay with this schedule as I am still spending more time with her than I do when I go to work. She hasn't quite discovered that I don't get weekends off, but with Gran here to help and take her on adventures, I doubt she'll mind.

R was a big fan of Thanksgiving, and her she enjoyed many of the holiday traditions, even if I wasn't around for most of the day. She watched the parade in the morning, and was happy to fill me in on the details I missed, including Dora and Abby flying by and waving. She watched football in the afternoon with Jeff, and she ate turkey for dinner. But her take on Thanksgiving is similar to her take on birthdays. If birthdays mean cupcakes, Thanksgiving means, "Pump-kin pie!!!" and the pie was CLEARLY the highlight of her day. After all the other drama of the week, we enjoyed just kicking back and eating some pump-kin pie too!

The Birth Story(ies)

Twins typically get stuck sharing everything from Legos to bedrooms to their parents' attention. And they almost certainly share a birth story. But knowing how things in my life are always, um, different, it is only fitting that my twins each have their own birth story.

The Birth of Percy
(Yes, we did give them new names, but the old ones will work for now.)
I woke up at 5:45 on Saturday morning having the hideous kind of lower back pain that is only associated with being in labor. I wasn't having any abdominal pain, so I decided to just monitor it. Over the next half hour, I continued to feel contractions at irregular intervals as back pain.

At 6:15 Jeff's alarm went off, as he was planning on spending the weekend coaching his team in a soccer tournament. When he got up, I told him I was "feeling weird," and he raised both eyebrows, but I told him to go ahead and shower.

Less than 5 minutes later, I started feeling another kind of weird that I can't explain, so I called my parents who were thankfully in town and staying just a few minutes away. I told them that I wasn't in labor, but I thought something was going on, and I asked that they come over so that I wouldn't be alone with R when Jeff left at 7:00 since I knew I was in no condition to care for her.

Around 6:30, while waiting for my parents to arrive, my water broke. I went into the bathroom where Jeff was still showering and calmly told Jeff him he wouldn't be coaching that morning. I then called my doctor's office and finished packing for the hospital. When Jeff got out of the shower, he too began packing his stuff, and in hindsight I can't realize how calm we were knowing that our babies would most likely be born that day.

My parents arrived around 6:40, the dogs went nuts, and we got R up to tell her goodbye. Suddenly, I felt my body progressing really, really quickly, and as we walked out the door I could feel Percy descending through the ol' birth canal. I instinctively crawled into the backseat of the car, and my last words to Jeff as I laid on the seat, clutching it in a death grip were, "Get me there safely."

And we were off. Like a seasoned NASCAR driver, Jeff took off at 65 mph driving through city streets while I laid in the back watching landmarks seemingly crawl by. Jeff tried to talk to me, but I was concentrating so hard on my mantra "I'm not pushing," that I was unable to respond. When we were about half way there, the doctor on duty returned my page. In the middle of a monster contraction I managed to tell him that my water had broken and I was finding it very hard not to push. He then calmly asked me if this was my first baby. I told him no. He then not-so-calmly asked how far away we were. I was completely oblivious to my surroundings, but I managed to relay Jeff's "10 minutes," to the doctor. My last words to the doc were, "I don't think I can get out of the car by myself," and after some reassurance from him about there being help, I hung up the phone.

As we continued to speed along, I suddenly felt Percy crowning, and Jeff said that I did manage to shout, "He coming!" I reached down to take off my pants, and that's when Percy just kinda shot out of me. He came all at once, and I instinctively picked him up and wrapped him in my cardigan. He began to cry, even before I was able to clean out his nose and mouth. He actually barely cried, which scared me since Ree came out screaming in a nice, relatively warm hospital room, and this poor little guy was naked and wet in 26 degrees, but Percy was too busy looking around and holding my finger to make much noise.

At some point Jeff glanced over his shoulder and saw our new little man, and about three minutes after his birth at 7:08 a.m. we arrived at the hospital. We pulled up to the door at the hospital, and Jeff went inside for help. Seemingly seconds later, my doctor opened the door to the car and I saw a sea of medical professionals. My doc reached into the backseat and cut the cord, and then a horde of nurses whisked little Percy inside.

I suppose this is about the point where Stinkpot's birth story begins...

The Birth of Stinkpot
Knowing that twins are typically born minutes apart, the remaining members of the gigantic medical crew frantically tried to get me out of my pants, out of the car, and into the hospital. Yes, things happened in that order, and as I sat in a wheelchair wearing just my t-shirt, sweater, and a pair of clogs, I realized it was really, really cold out. I asked for a blanket, and in the chaos, someone ran inside, grabbed a blanket, then ran back out with one for me. Not the most efficient method, but at least I was no longer naked from the waist down (aside from the clogs).

It was my turn to be whisked inside, and they ran me to the closest staff elevator, took me up to labor and delivery, and all but launched me on a bed in the first available room. Nurses simultaneously took off my clothes, inserted an IV, and threw a gown over me. Someone then asked for the position of Twin B, which the doctor couldn't tell from an external exam. Suddenly I was on my back, the doctor was doing an ultrasound, and he announced, "Vertex." After spending so many months lying across my belly in a transverse position, little Stinkpot was head down. A collective "Woohoo!" was heard throughout the room, with me being the loudest. I still had a chance of delivering twins without a c-section.

Jeff soon arrived with a nurse, and I began shaking violently. The shakes were a nasty combination of the usual post-birth shakes and strong contractions starting again. By this time Percy was all clean and cute and swaddled, so they brought him to me for some cuddle time. Not only was it good for me mentally, but they thought it would definitely help my hormones surge so that his brother would quickly arrive on the scene. I definitely enjoyed cuddling, and a nurse took some family photos with her camera since we had forgotten ours in the crazy dash out the door.

And then things slowed waaaaaaay down. I was still shaking, but I had a strong feeling Stinkpot wouldn't be arriving any time soon. I could actually feel him stretching and playing between my contractions. The little guy was so excited to have so much room. I could just sense him thinking, "This is what I'm talking about!"

Since things had ground to a halt, the doctor who cut Percy's cord decided to head home at 8:00 a.m., the time he was scheduled to leave. He filled in the new doc, who turned out to be a wonderfully patient man.

Knowing that Stinkpot was not going anywhere, I inquired around 8:30 or so if I could have an epidural, figuring there was no chance. As it turns out, I was making no further progress, and my wish was granted. As much as I hate unnecessary drugs, it was lovely, and I actually just zoned out for quite awhile in a nice, relaxed state, the shaking finally gone.

Around 9:30 or 10:00, when I had still made no progress, Doc B said it was probably time to give me Pitocin. He wanted to try inducing labor (again) by that route to prevent the boys being born TOO far apart. Some doctors, including several in my practice, insist that twins be born within an hour of each other. I knew I was already on borrowed time, and I was still hoping to avoid a c-section, so I graciously accepted the Pitocin.

They started Pitocin and still we were waiting and waiting and waiting. Finally, around 11:15, things started kicking in, and life started getting pretty painful, despite the epidural. After about half an hour, as things got worse, the nurses encouraged me to go ahead and start pushing, which I did. Stinkpot's bag of waters still hadn't broken, and each time I pushed, I could feel it painfully pressing on the birth canal. Finally the doctor was called in, they checked Stinkpot's position, and they decided it was time for me to push. (The nurses and I didn't let on to our little secret about me having already pushed for quite awhile.) The doctor also decided to manually break Stinkpot's bag of water. It sprayed ALL over him. He was drenched. Even the resident with him had to cover her mouth to avoid laughing out loud.

After that, it didn't take too terribly long for Stinkpot to make his entrance into the world. He finally emerged at 12:16 p.m. during the Ohio State - Michigan game. Unlike his brother, Stinkpot came out screaming, and we knew immediately he at least had some nice, healthy lungs.

After a little cuddling, he too was whisked away, and we sat back and stared at the TV, still in disbelief that we were suddenly the parents of three children.

34 weeks and still cookin'

As of today, I am 34 weeks pregnant. Woohoo! This is a major milestone. While they are far from well done, it means the babies are at least al dente and should be okay if they decide to make an appearance sooner rather than later. It also means the docs are relaxing quite a bit. After going in for checkups twice a week for the past few weeks, I am back to only going once a week like a "normal" pregnant woman.

For those who are curious, I had an ultrasound last week, and the babies weighed 4 pounds, 9 ounces each. Having nine pounds of baby in my belly definitely presents a few problems. Sitting is rather awkward these days, so when at home, I sprawl. Thankfully, we have great couches for sprawling. The question I'm asked most frequently seems to be, "How do you sleep?" and the answer is "Very carefully!" When I'm tired, I flop down on my side with a body pillow and pass out for awhile. Since the boys are so big and I'm carrying them so low, I typically can't lay still for more than an hour or two without having to go to the bathroom. That's when the comedy begins. I have to somehow figure out how to roll out of my locked position and get out of bed and get to the bathroom without stepping on Max who is always at my side. This process can take awhile, particularly figuring out how to roll over. Poor Max generally gets stepped on. Jeff finds this whole process hilarious. I am grateful that he has not taken a video and posted it on YouTube. Then again, perhaps I shouldn't give him ideas...

Things That Make Me Smile

There are many things about R that make me smile. Here are some highlights of the past week.

Jeff told R she needed to help take care of Sick Mommy, so R has been busy cooking for me. Every day she comes in with bowl after bowl of play food for me, and each and every time she demands, "Eat, Mommy, Eat!" And the food she makes cannot be matched in even the finest of restaurants. Her favorite dish is a sandwich containing a hamburger patty, onion rings, peas, eggs, and a hot dog between two buns. She also keeps me steadily supplied with juice and "hot tea."

Apparently this morning she decided that play food and drinks weren't enough for Sick Mommy. We keep R's sippy cups on the door of the refrigerator so that she can pick them up herself when we open the refrigerator. This morning Jeff opened the door for her while making breakfast and didn't pay attention to what she grabbed. She then came trotting into the bedroom where I was working in bed with her treasure. She had a can of Miller Lite for me. My girl knows how to take care of Sick Mommy! (And though I haven't been a big drinker the past few years, after more than eight months without a drink, it did look pretty good even at 8:00 in the morning. So many tailgating memories came flooding back...)

Before the election, Jeff found this clip on YouTube. For those of you not following the link, it's a song called "Obama is Beautiful World" performed by a cheesy Japanese pop group. Jeff played the video once that he can remember. Last Tuesday night we were watching election results on TV before R went to bed. Every time someone said the name of our President Elect R would exclaim, "O-BA-MA!" Apparently it is a very fun to say. This continued for quite awhile, and then she just started singing "Obama is Beautiful World." And she sang it over and over. For several days. You can take the girl out of Athens, but you can't take Athens out of the girl...

Trick-or-Treat, Part II

For those of you wondering what the heck went on with me last weekend, here are at least some of the ooey-gooey details.

On alternating Fridays I was seeing my midwives and my perinatologist (my high-risk baby doctor). I like to alternate between both ends of the spectrum. Last Friday I had a cervical ultrasound with the perinatologist, Dr. Wright. While there, they discovered my cervix had shortened from 3 cm on 10/17 to 1.5 cm on 10/31. I was sent directly to the hospital. There was no going home to get Jeff. It was GO!!!! NOW!!!! So I went.

When I got to the hospital and they discovered that I was dilated 2 cm. I was also apparently having contractions every 2 minutes. I had no idea. Whoopsie-doodle! I was whisked off to labor and delivery where they pretty quickly got me on an IV in case dehyrdration was the cause. (I was pretty sure it wasn't since I had used the bathroom three times since I had arrived and I'm pretty infamous for my freakish need for hydration.) They did actually take my word for it on it not being dehyrdration, and they only waited a few minutes before putting me on magnesium to stop the contractions. I was also the recipient of a nice shot of steroids in the bum for the babies' lungs. You would think this would have been scary, but I was pretty detached. If anything, I was more annoyed because I didn't know what was in store for me and no one would tell me. Also, my gut instinct was that the babies were not ready to come out, and my uterus wasn't doing anything it hadn't been doing for the past 2 or 3 weeks. The contractions were so mild for me (although some looked nasty on the screen) that if I felt them at all, they felt like the babies were rolling over. No squeezing, no pain.

Friday afternoon they got the results of my fetal fibronectin, a test where they check for a protein that indicates whether you will deliver in the next 2 weeks, and the test is over 95% accurate. It was negative. So my body agreed with my gut that it just wasn't time for the little guys to make their arrival in the world. Meanwhile I stayed on magnesium which didn't stop my contractions, but it spaced them out and took them to a level where I couldn't feel them at all.

The weekend was mostly a waiting game. Late Friday I learned that I would have to stay until noon on Saturday when I would get my second steroid shot. Late Saturday I learned I would have to stay until noon on Sunday, 24 hours after the second steroid shot.

On Saturday night, I had a near nervous breakdown. It was a mix of hunger, discomfort, and frustration. Since I had arrived around 9:00 a.m. on Friday, I had been in bed with a heart rate monitor on each baby and the contraction monitor on my belly. I also had an IV with three different fluids in one arm and a blood pressure cuff permanently on my arm because they were all high-tech and it automatically took my blood pressure each hour on the hour. I was hot, stinky, and uncomfortable. My midwives kept checking on me because they just rock, but given the circumstances, they unfortunately had to turn over my care to the OB/GYNs. The OBs kept thinking I would deliver at any second, so they wouldn't let me move for fear it would bring on instant dilation and they wouldn't let me eat for fear that I would need an emergency c-section. (Throughout this, the boys showed NO signs of fetal distress through any of the contractions which would have been the only thing to trigger a c-section.) I was allowed to eat lunch on Saturday, and with a burger and fries in my belly (ahhh...healthy hospital food!), my contractions stopped. But that was my only food between 6:30 on Friday morning and late Saturday night, because when the contractions stopped they cut back on my magnesium, but that started the contraction roller coaster again, so the nurses weren't allowed to give me food until they talked to the OB on duty. And so I waited for her and waited and waited, my belly and boys growling all the time and my contractions increasing due to the hunger. I had seen the OB at 9:30 on Saturday morning, and I didn't hear from her again until 5:30 on Sunday morning when she gave the nurses order to cut me off magnesium completely. (I didn't actually see her then.) Again, the midwives were nice enough to fill me in, and it turns out Saturday had just been a horrible day in labor and delivery. Lots of emergencies, and while being ignored meant I was their lowest risk, they also saw me as a time bomb just waiting to go off like everyone else who happened to be there. I was clearly in the wrong place at the wrong time.

On Sunday morning, I finally talked to the OB on duty, and I let her know that I would like to be able to plan because I needed to work on Monday, and I wanted to know if I will be working from the hospital, from home, or from work. She said she would get back to me as soon as she talked to Dr. Wright. Around 5:30 or 6:00 on Sunday night I started getting nauseous and contracting due to the continued lack of food. (I had been eating about 3,000 calories a day prior to being admitted, and since arriving in the hospital I had already used enough of my fat reserves that I was sporting some skinny legs. What a horrible time to finally have nice legs!) I was still told to just keep waiting for Dr. Wright.

Dr. Wright arrived around 7:00 p.m. and was totally apologetic. No one told her they were waiting on her to make any decision regarding me, and if she had known, she would've been there at 10:00 a.m. Before we even talked, she demanded someone get me food and something to drink since I had also been denied liquids due to the c-section risk. She was very supportive. She also got me off the IV, allowed me to take a shower, and had me moved to the Antepartum Unit with all the other preterm mommies.

The Antepartum Unit was like a spa! My room looked like a hotel room. It had hardwood floors, an HDTV with a DVD player, a couch, a chair, a table, and a nice desk with docking station for my laptop. Also, there was no monitoring, I could use my spacious bathroom all by myself whenever I wanted, I got to wear real clothes, and there was a nutrition room where I could help myself to all the healthy snacks I wanted 24/7. Down the hall there was a lounge with games, books, and nice furniture and an outdoor balcony with patio furniture. It is good that it was so nice, because shortly after my arrival, the OB on duty said I would be staying until I was at least 34 weeks pregnant, which wouldn't happen for 16 more days.

So that was not great news, but at least I finally knew what was going on, and I had a real bed to sleep in, so I got some sleep on Sunday night. On Monday morning, Dr. Wright came to see me, and her first question was, "Would you rather be at home?" I almost hit my head on the ceiling I was so excited. She told me not to get my hopes up, but they were going to run one more hour-long non-stress test (NST) for the babies where they were hooked up to the monitor and then do a full ultrasound of the babies. If everything checked out, I was a free woman (although on bed rest). Bed rest had never sounded SO good.

During the NST I still had contractions, but they were no different from what I had been having, and during the ultrasound, both babies looked great. The babies were very active, they were "breathing" well through their steroid-enriched lungs, and their hearts looked nice and healthy. There was also a great deal of fluid around each baby, which is a good thing. So the OB on duty reluctantly discharged me since he wouldn't contradict the "expert." But he clearly thought Dr. Wright was as nuts as me. (Obviously he has never experienced the physical and mental discomfort of being strapped down for 60 hours with five monitors in/on him with no one telling him what was going on and a toddler that keeps asking when mommy will come home.)

So now I am home on bed rest, and I am pretty excited about it, having seen the alternative. I may end up back in the hospital, but I will enjoy being here while I can. I am still working full-time since I need to save what little leave I do have for actual maternity leave. I have been managing 6 or 7 hours of work a day which means I should actually get a day off from work each week. And there is a part of me that is enjoying the excuse not to have to do everything. R has adapted fairly quickly to the idea of "Sick Mommy," my new name, who can't do all the normal mommy things. My movement is technically restricted to "bathroom privileges" but I am cheating a bit since I was in good shape before and really feel no different. I am at least getting up to sit and read with Ree and to sit at the table during meals. Things could be a whole lot worse.

Trick-or-Treat Part I – R’s Adventures

After Halloween last year, I went shopping and I got the cutest witch costume on sale for R. It was a little black dress with purple ruffles and matching hat. I thought it was a perfect toddler Halloween outfit. A few weeks ago, I stumbled upon this costume as we were getting out R’s fall clothes. I was excited to see them again. I showed R the dress and hat. She took one look at them and said, “No.” There was no emotion over it, just a quick, “no,” as in, no, that is not the dress for me. I tried a sales pitch, and I tried talking about Halloween, but, “no” it remained.

As luck would have it, later that week I had lunch with another mom at work, shared my story, and she just smiled. Her youngest is a super girlie girl and she had just the purple princess dress for us to borrow for Halloween. I was quite happy about that. And when I took the dress home to R, she loved it. She wanted to touch it and hold it and stroke it. So I let her try it on. She did not want to wear it. At all. As soon as I got it on, she took it off. The next night when I got home from work she grabbed my hand, dragged me to the closet, and begged to see the purple princess dress. She wanted to touch it and hold it and stroke it. She did not want to wear it. She didn’t even let me get it over her head this time.

Last Wednesday night I took R to a Halloween carnival at UNCW. It was a huge, chaotic event hosted for all area youth 12 and under, and it was free. The place was out of control, and it was filled with kids of all ages in all sorts of costumes. R loved it, and she was very happy to wear her regular clothes, despite the other kids being dressed up.

On Thursday, Jeff tried a new tactic. He asked R if she wanted to dress up like Abby from Sesame Street. Abby is a new character, and R worships her. She is a fairy with a wand and pig tails. What more could a girl want? By the time I got home from work on Thursday, R was very excited about dressing up like Abby. She was going to wear a fairy dress (the same purple princess dress) and carry a wand (the same princess wand), and she was going to say trick-or-treat. (I wish I could remember how she said it. It was quite cute!)

On Friday morning, she was still very excited. I had a regular check up on the babies scheduled, so while I headed off for that, she and Jeff ate breakfast and planned for the day. She remained very excited about dressing up like Abby, and we were quite excited that we could, once again, use our child to get us a nice supply of candy!

The plans for the day changed when I ended up checking in to the Mommy Hotel for the weekend (more on that in Trick-or Treat Part II). I told Jeff they still needed to go, since she was finally excited about trick-or-treating. He got her dressed up, which I imagine must’ve been quite an ordeal, and they headed off for the neighbor’s house. She got half way across the yard before she started pulling on her dress, trying to rip it off. This was not okay. This was not what she wanted to do. She wanted to put her regular clothes back on.

So that is what she did. They headed inside, she changed into her regular clothes, then our little grandma happily put candy in the buckets of all the kids who came by. For R, handing out candy in her regular clothes every time she heard "ding dong" was a perfect Halloween.

The Big Girl Bed

Several months ago, R started trying to injure herself on her crib. She would be angry at us for thinking she should do something silly like still take a nap when she was already 22-months-old or go to sleep at night when the dogs were already passed out and snoring and Jeff and I were struggling to stay awake. And in her anger, she would stand at the front rail of the bed and kick until she got her thigh stuck between the crib rails. She would start howling, and we would then run in and try to extract her before she twisted herself so hard she broke her leg. This got to be quite a problem, and there was more than one occasion in which it actually took both of us to free her leg. One of us would have to lift her up to get the weight off the stuck leg while the other shimmied in through the rails. This was not fun or safe.

It got bad enough that we started contemplating moving her to a "big girl" bed then, and Jeff and R went browsing at Toys R Us. That's where they stumbled upon her dream bed - an adorable Elmo toddler bed. Even I couldn't resist its cuteness, and when she stopped injuring herself regularly, it was easy to agree that this would be her Christmas present this year. She's been wanting a big kid bed, we can't do much better than Elmo, and with two little brothers on the way, even after she moves into a twin bed, the Elmo bed can still be used.

Then two weeks ago she started trying to injuring herself on her crib again, and she found new and creative ways to do it. And this time, she succeeded. One night, our mini teenager was sprawled out and passed out with a foot dangling out of the crib. She apparently tried to roll over in her sleep, and the foot didn't roll with her. She woke up howling, and her foot was pretty banged up and swollen that night. Of course, it didn't slow her down at all, and the next night she injured herself while jumping up and down and holding on to the front rail. The rail got in the way of her chin coming down during a good bounce, and she got a nice bruise on it.

And so we decided to go ahead with the purchase of the bed. Thankfully, toddler beds are cheap, and she had just enough birthday money left to cover the cost of the frame and mattress, so we headed off to Toys R Us for our big purchase. R was excited! She kept chanting "Big girl bed!" and we desperately hoped it was in stock. This was when the trauma for me began. I was not upset at the idea of my little girl growing up. I was traumatized because we didn't come home with the Elmo bed. Nooooo. Instead we came home with the Disney pink princess bed. Oh yeah. Despite all our efforts to raise our child in a gender-neutral environment, she has become an uber girlie girl. She loves pink! She loves dresses! She loves princesses! And ever since Jeff found out we were having boys, he's been a lot more encouraging of this side of R.

We got home from shopping right at nap time, so we told R she would have to sleep in her crib one more time. She did, but not without laying on the floor, crying, and hugging the box with her new bed in it. She lamented "big girl beeeeed" as we tucked her in, so we decided we better get this silly bed put together.

That's when Jeff's trauma began. Two years ago, as we were assembling R's crib and changing table very late in my pregnancy, we were hit with the sudden hideous realization that when instructions said, "Your parents can put this together," it now meant us, and we've had quite a few assembly nightmares since then. (For the record, the changing table took over seven hours to assemble.) But the bed frame looked innocent enough. Disney wouldn't allow their logo on a crappy product, would they? So about an hour before R's bedtime that night, Jeff started assembling the bed. When it was not ready an hour later, R was okay with sleeping in her crib again because, "Daddy fix it!" What she didn't know, nor did we, was that it would take another three hours for daddy to fix the stinkin' bed. It was not a fun project!

The next morning, when R woke up, Jeff was able to lead her into the living room where her "big girl" bed sat looking not a whole lot bigger than a doll bed. She was ecstatic! She spent all morning playing on it. She carried all her blankies, dolls, and stuffed animals into the living room to play on the bed. She read books to them on the bed, cooked and served them "food" on the bed, and just loved climbing up and down from it. This was great!

Then came nap time, when we actually moved the bed into her room. She was so excited! And then she refused to sleep in it. This is when her trauma began. On the third trip into her room to tuck her back in, she looked at me and said, "Baby bed, Mommy." Due to no storage in our house, the crib was still in her room, awaiting a time in which we make room for a nursery for the boys. So I put her in her crib, and she immediately fell asleep.

After her nap, Jeff asked her why she wanted to sleep in her crib. Her answer was simple. "Safe!" It's hard to argue with that one, so we decided to take a different approach at bedtime that night and desperately hoped having the crib in the room wouldn't be our downfall. We made a point of showing her how safe her bed really was, and I even laid down on the floor in there and told her I would stay until she fell asleep. After over two hours of various tactics, R called me back into her room (I had given up on her sleeping with me in there after about 45 minute) and said, "Baby fall down!" Baby is one of the three beloved creatures she sleeps with, so I immediately started looking around for Baby. I finally found her in the bed and handed her back to R. Then she told me that Bunny had fallen down, and we repeated the process. When she told me that Who-Dey, the third and final friend had fallen down, I was pretty sure what was going on. Then she blurted out the truth. "REE FALL DOWN!!!!!" she wailed. So I built an extra-tall fortress around the bed, laid down on the floor, and within 5 minutes she passed out. Given that it was already getting close to 11:00, I nearly passed out too.

At 5:30 in the morning, she called me into the room. I asked her what was wrong, and she said, "Mommy sleep here!" I thought it best not to fight her, so I grabbed my pillow and an afghan, and settled back down to sleep on the floor. We slept until nearly 8:00 (which is insanely late for her) and she survived the first night in her big girl bed!

We prepared ourselves for continued battles after that, but it turned out that just getting through the first night was all she needed. Since then she has done quite well in her new bed. We are still awaiting the day in which she realizes she can get out of bed and play with her toys, but we are certainly enjoying things until that occurs. Having now made the transition from the crib to a bed, we are ready to move on to potty training!

Baby News

I know I am way overdue for an R update, and as usually happens, the biggest reason I haven't been blogging is we've been busy living which leaves much to share. So I promise to write about her soon before things get too out of control and I have to report that she's started driving and already graduated from high school.

But for now, an update on the bambinos. The boys are growing. Lots. I had an ultrasound last Friday when I was almost 30 weeks. From everything I've read, average babies at that age weigh 2.5 pounds. My monster boys weighed in at three pounds, two ounces each. Big, healthy babies! (But not so big there was any reason for concern.) It was good to see that they are still gaining weight at the same rate, and they have plenty of fluid.

The boys are hyper little things. I don't know if they are moving that much more than R, or if I just feel it more because there is less extra space, but it seems like they are in constant motion. Every time I sit down one of them goes nuts. The other night I was completely exhausted when I climbed into bed, and I instantly felt movement all over. I was cranky enough to start rubbing my belly in annoyance, rather than out of love. That's when I discovered they both had the hiccups at the same time. Then I melted and thought it was the cutest thing in the world.

I am constantly inundated with questions about how I'm doing, and the truth is I'm doing pretty well. I was lucky and had an easy pregnancy with R, and so far, this pregnancy seems to be about the same. I am pretty tired these days, but I think that has as much to do with working full-time and taking care of a two-year-old at home as it does with being pregnant. Based on my conversations with a good friend who has a thirteen-year-old daughter, the only real differences between our girls is that mine isn't potty trained, and hers can call her more creative names. Otherwise, they are about the same, and my mini-teenager is exhausting! My back has also started getting sore if I sit or stand too long in one position, but a short workout or a long shower still work miracles and can easily take care of it.

I think the strangest thing about this pregnancy is how different it is from my first. The boys are such an afterthought. At this point in my first pregnancy I had already had two baby showers, with a third on the way. I haven't had any this time, nor do I think I'll have any. (Thankfully, we also don't need much other than a semi full of diapers.) When I was pregnant with R, Jeff dutifully came to all my doctor's appointments with me, and we were both busy reading up on pregnancy and newborn care. This time Jeff admits to having "been there, done that" mentality, and is skipping the appointments. (I personally think he is terrified to go since the only appointment he attended is the one where we found it we were having twins!) As for reading, if either of us finds time to read, we are desperately cramming in personal reading while we can. Who knows when we'll get to do that again!

Being pregnant and hormonal, I did have a mild panic attack a couple of weeks ago about being completely unprepared for the babies. We have lots of stuff from R, and friends are giving us tons of hand-me-down outfits, but I still felt like things weren't quite ready. Thankfully, things have been falling into place since then. We recruited Jeff's parents to help us put together a nursery, since furniture needs to be rearranged in three rooms, and their future "nursery" is in boxes all over R's closet and our dining room. My mom came to visit and bought us a second car seat, which is the only thing we legally needed (in order to get the boys home from the hospital). She also got us some itty-bitty onesies and sleepers, which is good since we need basics. This week I got an email from a girlfriend who has a garbage bag of clothes for us, and today a gigantic mystery box appeared on our porch. Jeff's cousin works with a woman who has twin boys, and the mystery box contained tons of clothes in sizes newborn - nine months. I even met a woman in the bathroom at work who volunteered to bring me work clothes in the next size so I could keep my belly covered, and she showed up with a big of clothes the next day. People are amazing. And for once, I really mean that in a good way!

So for now I am grateful to have such big, healthy babies in me, and we will continue to just take things one day at a time.

Stalked!

Last weekend I watched an old episode of Coupling, the amusing, and much more naughty, British version of Friends. In the episode, ditzy Jane is explaining to her friend Susan that she is being stalked. The following conversation takes place.

Jane: I'm being stalked, actually, so I'm pretty secure in my attractiveness.
Susan: You're being stalked?
Jane: Is that so hard to believe?
Sally: My god!
Jane: Everyday on my way home from work, a man follows me. It's true.
Susan: Well, have you been to the police?
Jane: They said I was being silly and paranoid. I heard them laughing after I left.
Sally: That's terrible!
Susan: Well, have you confronted the man who follows you?
Jane: Well, there's no point, is there? It's never the same man twice. Sometimes they switch over when I'm halfway home. It's so well organized!

Currently, I think I can actually understand how Jane feels. I too feel like I am being stalked by a rotating army of strangers, although I can't say it makes me feel secure in my attractiveness. My belly has become a beacon for attention. I cannot do anything without providing acquaintances and strangers with a full update of its growth. (It's amazing how friends never ask round after round of questions...they know better!)

During the first six months of working at UNCW, I was a social pariah. The new girl. Ewww. Stay away from her. Then I started sporting uber-belly. Suddenly I cannot go to the bathroom without having an extended discussion about due dates, bed rest, and C-sections. And the rounds of questions don't just come from women. Just yesterday I had a nearly 30 minute conversation with a gentleman who works across the hall from me about how his first-born only weighed 2 pounds, 14 ounces (the weight is drilled into my brain) at birth. 30 minutes! I am guessing in the average work week I spend the equivalent of an entire day discussing the current status of my uterus and its quickly growing residents. Thank goodness I work at home one day a week!

Then today, while innocently trying to walk to the library on campus to get a newspaper, a man actually ran up to me to ask about the belly. Yes, he ran. Then proceeded to walk alongside me the rest of the way. It is nuts!

Since I need to purchase some larger shirts anyway, I am thinking very strongly of getting a shirt printed that reads, "I am due December 30th and am having twin boys. We have a two-year-old daughter too, so life and the holidays are about to get interesting. I'm still feeling fine, and every indicator says I will go full-term and not need bed rest. I have not yet scheduled a C-section and don't plan to do so unless absolutely medically necessary. Any other questions????" Yes, I know, I probably should cut to the chase...

Language 'Splosion

When R decided to speak using words, it happened all at once. One day, a few weeks ago, she just started gushing out words. Her vocabulary tripled or quadrupled over night. It was crazy. Then a couple of weeks ago she started using sentences one day. Out of nowhere she was stringing words together. Somewhere in there she started describing things using adjectives. Last weekend I noticed her suddenly conjugating verbs. If we asked her what the dogs were doing, rather than saying, "Max run" or "Pru sit" as she had before, she started saying "Max running" or "Pru sitting."

Nothing is more amazing to me than her sudden ability to count. While we practice counting things as we put them away, we haven't actively worked on teaching R numbers. She's only 2, for Pete's sake. And for the past week she has enjoyed chanting, "One, two. One, two. One, two." We were never quite sure if she even knew those were numbers or if she was just practicing to be a drill sergeant or an aerobics instructor. Then, on Sunday morning, she and I were stacking blocks. In an attempt to stretch out the activity, I said we should count the blocks as we made a tower. R then counted along with me from one to ten. Thinking it was a fluke, after she destroyed the tower (she likes to ram them using just her belly, which is hilarious to watch), we did it again. And she counted again. Then we did it one more time.

Jeff had been at the dog park at the time, so when he and the canines returned, I asked R to tell him how many blocks we counted, not knowing if she would remember. She then started at three and proceeded to count correctly all the way to fourteen. We were blown away. Jeff had never heard her count beyond two before either. Apparently she isn't quite the zombie we thought she was when she watches Sesame Street.

No, no, no, no, no!

Over the past couple of weeks, I have thought about all sorts of things to write about, and for each, I would compose a brilliant postings in my head. (Since there is no proof that they weren't brilliant, I feel free to claim this! Not to mention, it's only 6:42 on a Sunday morning and I've been up with all the "children" for awhile, so perhaps my judgment is a little cloudy.) But back to the postings. They were great, but I never got around to writing them down. And now that I am making the time to write, they have all slipped my mind. When I think about the past couple of weeks, all I can remember is, "I was tired."

I have a girlfriend who is worried about me and thinks this pregnancy is really taking a toll on me. Without even thinking, which can be a challenge for me even when not pregnant, I told her that it wasn't the two kiddos that are still incubating that are wearing me out, it's the ones that are here.

R is being fantastic this morning. There is a futon in the computer room, and she is sitting on it reading Sesame Street books. Every now and then I hear the name of a character and "Oh no!" which is clearly her favorite phrase these days. She loves disasters, at least when they are someone else's disaster. Even more than she loves her favorite phrase, she loves her favorite word which is, "no," and she practices saying it quite frequently. In fact, she practices saying "no" so often, that this is probably the biggest reason for my exhaustion. She will not do anything unless it is her idea. Ya know how I've written on our nice little bedtime routine? It can now stretch for hours (no exaggeration) as she stalls every step of the way and we get her to pick up her toys and put her clothes in the hamper. Of course, then there are other nights in which we sail through it smoothly, and there is never any way to tell what kind of night we will have.

Meals are completely unpredictable as well. Although we always said our goal was to get as much good food into her while we could, we never actually thought she would stop eating healthy food. And she hasn't, really, we just never know what food she will want to eat. A favorite one day can be rejected the next. Wednesday night we had black beans and rice for dinner and she demanded more, more, more beans. (She also likes to pick out the sauteed onions. The girl is a sauteed onion freak. Sometimes.) On Friday night, we had baked beans for dinner. Normally she loves them because not only are they beans, they are coated with sugar. How great is that? But on Friday she refused to eat them and claimed she did not like beans. At all. Ever. As she repeated this, it was hard not to get a little Green Eggs and Ham chant going in my head, and that's probably what got me through the meal.

The other challenge in my life is also laying on the futon right now. Poor Max, one of our canine companions, has had a couple of rough weeks, and they are taking a toll on all of us. The current stress phase began on Wednesday night, a week ago. There was a crazy tropical (sub-tropical?) system that moved through the area, and we had strong sustained winds all night. We also had occassional stronger gusts around 45-50 mph that shook the house. He woke me up during the night out for an emergency trip out to relieve himself. (Feel free to insert standard joke about the storm scaring the crap out of him.) He was awake all night. On Thursday night we had torrential downpours all night, so he was awake all night again and had to traipse out to the bathroom again at 3:00 a.m. To deal with his stress, Max decided to eat the towels that we keep by the doors to wipe the dogs' paws. This set up a vicious cycle in which Max would not feel good because he ate a chunk of towel, so he would eat some more towel to deal with the pain. Needless to say, he has had a rough couple of weeks as he and the towels have battled.

But last night was a good night. Both of my "children" slept through the night, and I only had the two belly-dwellers to contend with. For the most part, the belly dwellers were good and Stinkpot even refrained from his crazy usual position shifting in the middle of the night. (If I didn't have ultrasounds as proof otherwise, I would swear this baby had 12 elbows and 16 knees.) So for now I will enjoy the calm. It is a lovely way to start the day.

Why You Little...

I made it through the entire weekend without wanting to strangle R. In fact, I didn't want to inflict any bodily harm upon her. This is a good thing! And a huge improvement over last weekend. Apparently, the terrible twos strike each child in a different manner, and for R, they involve wide mood swings between anger and tears with lots of cuddling and hugs in between.

Last weekend was a gigantic battle. We fought over clothes. (R didn't want to wear them.) We fought over leaving a La Leche League meeting. (She wanted to walk up and down the stairs of death to the meeting room 15 more times.) We fought over not stopping at McDonald's when we drove past. (Not that we ever stop there. We generally limit visits to McDonald's to vacation.) We fought over not stopping at a playground swarming with kids when there were no parking spaces, the heat index was approaching 100 degrees, and it was lunch time. We fought, fought, fought. And R, who is usually pretty reasonable, would not compromise. Any "no" from me just led to immediate tears. Big, noisy, my-mom-is-beating-me level tears. And then she would want hugs to know that she was still loved. And the worst part was all drama was just for me. She was fine around Jeff.

Last week things settled down and evened out a bit more. There was a lot less anger, and the battles she fought were evenly distributed between Jeff and me. She watches Sesame Street every day, and each day she sobbed when the TV was turned off at the end of the episode. The clothing battles continued. Jeff ended up letting her wear whatever she wanted since at least she was covered. One day she was wearing an orange butterfly shirt, pink and black polka dot biker's shorts, and red socks with locomotives on them when I came home from work. On Thursday, she didn't even get dressed and was still in her pajamas when I arrived at home. On Sunday she kept taking her pants off. And her shoes never stay on, even in public. She is fairly good about handing them to us after she removes them, but she does not want to wear shoes and will only tolerate them if her feet are touching the ground at that instant.

The meltdown that makes me smile occurred while I was making dinner one night. As I was cooking, she started sobbing hysterically in the little hallway next to the kitchen. When I asked her what was wrong she eventually calmed down enough to say, "Coooorrrrrn." Yes, she was hyperventilating because we were having green beans and mushrooms (two of her favorites) instead of corn (her favorite of the week). So she got a big hug and we agreed to have corn for lunch the next day. Unfortunately, she overheard me mentioning the incident to Jeff, and that started a whole new mournful cry for "Coooorrrrn!"

It will be interesting to see what this week brings...

I'm Growing!

Any woman who has ever been pregnant understands the feeling of growing overnight. With any pregnancy you can wear something one day and it fits fine, you wash it, then when you try to put it on two days later, it's way too small. (And you know the dryer wasn't that hot.) But twins seem to be taking the overnight, and daytime, growth to a whole new level. Some of my fun experiences from the past week include:

• Attempting to put on pajamas. I have spent most of this pregnancy sleeping in my stretched out size-small t-shirts that I wore through most of my pregnancy with R. (I'm not a big person, and they got me through the first 36 or so weeks with her.) The other night I went to put on one of these shirts. I could not get it over my belly. It's not that it was even more stretched out on my belly - it just wouldn't pull down over my belly. It was like the experience of trying to put on a pair of stiff jeans that are 2 sizes too small. It just doesn't work. So I dug through my drawer, found a larger shirt, and put it on. I told Jeff about my experience, and he commented that the new shirt I found fit really well and looked like it was just the right size. The new shirt was a men's extra-large.
• Time lapse photography. Jeff was looking at pictures on the camera and came across one where he finally took a picture of my belly. He commented that we really needed an updated photo (implying I was a whole lot bigger). I reminded him that the photo was a whopping eight days old.
• Trying to get home from work. On Friday morning I sat down in my car, noticed my belly was getting closer to the steering wheel but thought I had a ways to go before it made contact with the steering wheel, and drove to work. On Friday afternoon when I got in the car, my belly was touching the steering wheel. I do work a strange and long schedule, but I had been in my car within 10 hours!

On the bright side, I hear that twins do grow much earlier than singletons, so perhaps the growth rate will slow down. Meanwhile I will enjoy that while I am quickly becoming a fashion don't as I try to keep myself covered, I don't care. I'm having twins!

Baby Update - 24 Weeks

I talk about R all the time, but I haven't said much about the boys. From what I can tell, they are doing a-okay. Right now they are about a foot long and weigh a little over a pound each. (Think big ol' ear of corn.) They are incredibly active. One of them, labeled Boy B in the first ultrasound, is my hyper little guy. He is always kicking and squirming. Last week I even got a good look at his little foot under my stretched-out skin as he tried to kick off from my ribs. (I hate to break it to him, but he just ain't gonna be as big as Michael Phelps.) When Boy B is having play time, he makes sure his brother is awake and playing too.

Boy A is much more chill. He moves, but his movement is much more fluid. In the first ultrasound we did get to watch him kick and punch his brother a few times and it was easy to imagine him saying, "SHUT UP!"

Both boys love it when I eat, and about 15-20 minutes after I start a meal, the belly circus begins. Woohoo for new flavors! They also appreciate story time, and they seem to pay close attention when I read to R each night. (Either that or they are practicing for jumping off the sofa when I try to read to them as toddlers.) The other night Boy B woke me up at 3 a.m. Pru was howling in her sleep, and she apparently startled him...a lot. He did not settle down for awhile.

Sleep in general is interesting. When they were smaller, getting up was always a challenge as they liked to burrow down around my hips while I was sleeping. They can't do that any longer, but they aren't making things a whole lot easier. I sleep on my side, and each time I wake up I typically flip to the other side since my shoulders get kinda numb. When I was pregnant with R, I don't remember having many belly issues when it came to rolling over aside from getting the momentum to move. I may have had to give her a shove to make her shift, but it wasn't a big deal. Now when I roll over, all 3 of us have to roll over. Whichever baby was on top before never seems to be happy with the idea of suddenly ending up on the bottom. There is much protesting and refusing to move. Then there is the fact that he has to wake up his brother in order to get the one who is now on top to move. I think the sibling battles start early!

I had my monthly update with my midwife yesterday, and all seems well. She is requiring me to get additional ultrasounds, but she will allow me to skip all the other hurdles OBs typically require women pregnant with multiples to jump through. Even the ultrasounds don't seem too bad, and she is definitely encouraging me to space them out as much as the perinatologist (the high-risk baby doctor who is performing the ultrasounds) will let me. My first one is next week, and I'm sure it will be an interesting experience. Meanwhile, I continue to hope for healthy, full-term babies, and I certainly wouldn't mind a nice, easy delivery too!

A Day in the Life

Last week was strange. At work, we provide the Board of Trustees with quarterly updates of our work, and with September 30th looming, everyone in our office had to cram five days worth of work into a four-day workweek. (Thank goodness for being a governmental employee, though. A "bad" week means working through lunch, not staying til the wee hours of the morning.)

Home was busy too as Jeff was "promoted" to the position of head coach of a rec league soccer team just days before the season began. He and R spent lots of time getting things ready for the team's first practice, which meant our nights were also busy as we attempted to prepare for Tropical Storm Hanna.

So while I promise to blog a bit about our "hurrication" later this week, for now I am ready to focus on "normal" again. One thing I haven't shared in awhile is our current routine, and whether anyone else cares or not, I'm sure that some day I will enjoy looking back at seeing what our world looked like.

R went through a phase where she would not sleep through the night. In fact, she was getting up many times a night to check on me. She didn't want to miss seeing me leave for work. After trying other alternatives, I finally asked her if she wanted me to get her up before I go to work. She responded with an enthusiastic, "Yeah!" so that is what we now do. R sleeps until I wake her, and I generally get her up around 6:30. We eat breakfast together in the bathroom while we get ready. (Not the greatest of habits, but she also eats a second breakfast with Jeff.) While I fix my hair, she dutifully combs hers, and then we put on makeup together. She has her own clean sponges and brushes to use to apply her "makeup" while I put on mine. She then heads to my dresser and gets out a silver bracelet for me and a plastic bracelet for her to wear. Once we are ready, she happily kiss me good-bye, then she stands at the window to watch me leave. Thanks to the new routine, Jeff says there are also no more tears in the morning when I leave. She waves and is then ready to play or eat her second breakfast.

During the day, R and Jeff have all sorts of adventures together. They typically venture out of the neighborhood at least a couple times a week, as Jeff is enjoying his time with just one kiddo at home. On other days, they stay and play at home or take care of the yard. Regardless of their adventures, R and I always discuss her day when I get home.

As her vocabulary expands, so do the reports of the day's activities. Food still remains the center of her life, and she is good about naming everything they had for lunch, especially if she and Jeff went out to eat. She is pretty good about remember other activities from the day, and she really loved telling me about her trips to the soccer store and league office last week.

As we talk after work, R helps me change into my "mom clothes." While I am changing, she typically tries on my shoes. She has a favorite floral pair of flats that she loves to get out daily. Thankfully, she is also good about putting them away when she is done.

Next is dinner. R is becoming increasingly self-sufficient. For months, she has been responsible for taking her drink from the kitchen to the table. Now she will also go and get her own bib and put it on before the meal. Once we put her in her booster seat, she buckles herself in. After eating, she places all the dishes and cups from her tray on the table, takes off her bib, and washes her tray with a wash cloth. She also insists upon washing her own hands and face. Lately she has also insisted on washing her toes after every meal, which just leaves us scratching our heads in confusion.

After dinner we play. R demands that I color with her most nights, and I'm pretty happy to comply. Last week I discovered that the little preschool teacher had set up "centers" for me to do in her room. She drug me in (literally - she grabbed my hand and yanked me down the hall), and told me I had to play blocks. Then we moved on to Little People and then with wooden shapes. At least a few nights a week we workout together, and R loves to play "tunnel" and crawl through my legs while I do yoga.

R is forever inventing new activities for us to do while she is in the bathtub. She remains obsessed with nursery rhymes and songs, and we spent a lot of time chanting and singing. She thinks it's hilarious to play "This Little Piggy" with my toes. Her favorite song for the tub is the "Meow, Meow" song from the old cat food commercial, and Jeff has made it clear that we do sound like a couple of dying cats, especially with the echo of the bathroom. Lately she has also been "cooking" for me in the bathtub, using plastic bowls and Elmo's back brush as a spoon to make me peach yogurt and oatmeal. (Her ideas for food, of course.)

The rest of the routine has not changed. Following her bath, she eats a snack, we read four books, she brushes her teeth, and I took her into bed. I then clean up the house, walk the dogs, and get ready for another day of fun!

Surviving Spontaneity

For the past couple of years, since Jeff and I became parents, our lives have been very structured. There hasn’t been much room (or energy) for spontaneity. If anything, we were more likely than not to cancel plans (sorry , we know we’ve bailed on all of you at some point) rather than make plans at the last minute. Structure has been the only way to keep everyone in our family happy, healthy, and sane.

So this weekend was a big shock to our systems. On Thursday night we found out that our friends Tom and Kursad, along with Tom’s girlfriend Monica (who is now our friend!), were coming for the weekend. This is when I realized that there are some advantages to being super pregnant with twins. In the past, I would’ve freaked out by this turn of events and would’ve spent hours on Thursday night grocery shopping and cleaning the house for the weekend. Instead, I did the very bare minimum. Thursday night R helped me sweep and clean the bathrooms to remove the biggest chunks of dog hair, and that was the full extent of our cleaning efforts. On Friday, she helped Jeff vacuum, take the recycling to the collection center (we don’t have curbside recycling here, so recyclables pile up all over the house) and they went to the grocery store for a few basic food items. And that was it.

Friday afternoon the guests arrived, and we had a wonderful time with them. We had a completely relaxing weekend of beach going, movie watching, and great conversation. There were a couple of times during which everyone else went out while R slept, and I read almost half a novel enjoying the quiet. It was great. Perhaps, even with kids, spontaneity can be a great thing.

CUPCAKE!

R's first birthday was fun. She even got to have two parties. But she didn't really understand what was going on, and Jeff and I didn't make a big deal out of it. We figured there were plenty of years in the future in which we could have all sorts of crazy princess parties.

Her second birthday was even tamer as she only had one birthday "party" and it just involved the immediate family and one set of grandparents. But the biggest difference between her first and second birthdays is she now understands the concept of birthdays (at least sorta) and she was very excited for all the birthday hoopla this time around.

As we were preparing for her birthday, we learned that to R, birthdays mean cupcakes. We are not quite sure why this is. R has never had a cupcake, in fact, she's barely tasted cake, but cupcakes were the theme of all our birthday planning.

The weekend before her birthday the whole family was at the grocery store. As we headed down the baking aisle, Jeff and I were debating what kind of cake to make. I had planned on being boring, healthy mommy and making a whole grain carrot cake. Jeff was fighting for cheap, processed cake mix Devil's Food. Given that I'm pregnant...with twins (I'm so gonna milk this for awhile), it wasn't that hard to persuade me to buy a nice chocolately box of Betty Crocker mix.

Once that was decided, we had to determine how the cake should appear. I figured a plain rectangle just wouldn't do (I'm an auditor, I live by the rules all week long - I need some imagination in my baking!), so I was trying to come up with an interesting shaped cake. As we discussed bunny vs. caterpillar vs. butterfly, Ree heard the word cake. She then began bouncing up and down in the cart chanting, "Cupcake! Cupcake! Cupcake!" So that was decided.

Several days later, it occurred to me that perhaps I should purchase some kind of decorations for her party. (I would've made decorations, but I'm pregnant...with twins! :) So R and I trotted off to Dollar Tree to get inspired. Elmo is still one of her favoritest things in the whole wide world, and we miraculously stumbled upon Sesame Street plates and napkins. I handed each to her and told them we would use them at her birthday. She seemed confused. So then I said, "On your birthday, Grandma and Grandpa Gene will be here and we'll eat dinner and then sing happy birthday and have cupcakes." She kissed the plates, then the napkins, hugged them both to her chest, and began the "Cupcake!" chant again. The chant continued all the way to the register, while she swung the bag all the way to the car, and all the way home. That night she said a teary goodbye to the cupcake accessories as I put them away til her birthday.

When it was time for her actual birthday, R was still obsessed with cupcakes. But she also discovered presents. Presents are fun! And they were all for her! She was very excited. She loved tearing through them. If we had let her, she would've taken hours to open presents since she wanted to try each and every item as it was opened. Toys had to be played with! Books had to be read! Clothes had to be tried on!

Once we finally moved on from the present opening, it was time for cupcakes. R was very excited. She happily sat in my life while we sang happy birthday and blew out the candles. She loved huffing and puffing and trying to blow out the candles, and I'm happy to report she never did spit on the cupcakes.

But there was no greater joy than watching her savor the first beloved cupcake of her life. You could tell she thought it was heaven. She first ate the decorative frosting, one delicious bite at a time. Then she moved on to the regular frosting. Next she ate the top layer of cake. Then she slowly moved down to the rest of the cupcake. She was so busy enjoying each and every morsel that she barely made her usual editorial comments. She was a true cupcake connoisseur!

In the days since her birthday, she has still been delighting in all her new toys. She also went to the doctor for her two-year check-up, and all is well. She remains a petite princess. She is 32" tall, which at least put her on the charts although just barely. However, she still only weighs 20 pounds, which puts her substantially below the chart since most one-year-olds weigh 20 pounds. But she is a happy girl, and clearly growing, and that's all that matters to us and her doctor. Thankfully, they are out of her reach reach, or I think she would make up for her low weight entirely in cupcakes.

And Babies Make Five

I am not quite sure when I realized I wanted to have children. It was probably some time during junior high or the early high school years. I spent most of my free time babysitting, and there were several families in which I felt like I was practically raising their children as I saw them at least weekly and often daily. I do know that it was during this time that I realized I wanted a big family. From my observations, it truly seemed like "the more, the merrier" and I loved the happy chaos that went along with families that had three or more children. My favorite family had four children when I started babysitting and six children when all was said and done, and I always loved my time with them, hectic though it was.

Jeff always wanted a big family too, and for years the running joke was he wanted enough daughters to start his own soccer team. (That's 11 little estrogen-filled munchkins for those of you who don't follow the sport.) While we were eventually able to agree that perhaps eleven was a few children too many, we did know early on that we wanted to try to have to children and if all went well, we would have several.

No matter how much we had talked about children, we weren't quite prepared to go from thinking about maybe trying to get pregnant to finding out we were pregnant with R just a few weeks later. Nor were we fully prepared for instant pregnancy a second time. But nothing was quite as startling as our visit to the doctor last week.

Throughout my pregnacy with R, Jeff dutifully went to my prenatal checkups, excited to see for himself what was going on with the development of our first-born. This time around he is happy to stay at home with our crazy toddler and has resigned himself to a cheerful "been there, done that" mentality. However, we both decided that it made sense for him to come with me to my ultrasound last week. I wanted moral support and we thought it would be nice if he could be there to "see" his child for the first time and possibly learn the sex.

When we walked into the ultrasound room, Melissa introduced herself as our ultrasound technician (UT) and Jeff worked on getting R situated on the floor with her arsenal of activities. (In typical fashion, we had already been waiting for over 30 minutes, first in the main waiting room, then in a second waiting area, and R was already getting bored with this process.) Apparently once she got started with the ultrasound, Melissa was not one for stopping her work, and she consequently began smearing about a half gallon of goop on my belly to ensure that she would have enough for the entire ultrasound. As she smeared, we chatted. Our conversation went something like this.

UT: You're big for 20 weeks.
Me: Yeah, but it's my second pregnancy, I'm little, and I was measuring right for one baby at my last appointment, so no one seems to be concerned.
UT: Do you think it might be twins?
Me: We haven't ruled it out...

I smiled and realized that Melissa was ready to get on with business. She places the wand on my belly, then looks at the swirly blob on the screen. Melissa then freezes and holds up two fingers. I see some really crazy unfocused blobs on the screen and think she is holding up two fingers meaning to wait, like other (normal) people hold up one finger meaning "wait a minute." Apparently the thing was just not working.

Time passes and she is still holding up two fingers. I still see blobs. I start to wonder if she is giving me the peace sign.

More time passes and she is still standing there, holding up two fingers. I still see blobs and seem to remember my ultrasound with R being a whole lot clearer. I wonder if the two fingers is some code that I was supposed to have learned. I am awfully lazy about reading up on baby stuff.

I finally decide to break the silence.

Me: Two?
UT: Two.
Me: Two???
UT: Two.
Me: Two WHAT?
UT: Two babies.
Me: Huh?
UT: Twins.
Me: Ohhhh.

With a look of complete panic on her face, Melissa then says, "Hold on. I have to find out what to do." She then starts shuffling around and then bolts for the door. Right before she gets there, she turns around and tells me, "Usually they don't want me to do ultrasounds of twins. The docs don't handle twin cases. They pass them on to high-risk doctors." I then noted that if it made any difference as to whom she would consult, I wasn't a patient of the OBs in the practice. I was a patient of the midwives in the practice. Her look of terror went up a couple of notches and she silently high-tailed it out of the room.

As the door slammed shut behind her, that left me and Jeff staring at each other each realizing that we were suddenly leaping from our nice, sensible family with one child into the crazy world of "big" families. And R just kept on coloring.