The Red (Ok, Purple) Balloon

People always say being a parent changes you profoundly. In my usual naivete, I assumed that they were talking about the lack of time to yourself, the sleepless nights, the death of a sex life, etc. And having Oscar and Judah, in all its glory, has definitely brought all of these things to fruition. But what I wasn't prepared for was the amazing changes that have occurred in my worldview.

Today, I was at Target for like the the thirteenth time in three weeks. I have been going there so often lately that I don't even buy any random crap there anymore. In the past, I couldn't get out of Target without at least one pair of leggings, a smelly candle or some interesting looking frozen appetizer. But as I go twice a week for diapers, breast feeding accessories, burp clothes etc., I am now intimately familiar with the inventory and I am not the least bit interested in the random purchases that usually entice me.

As I was leaving I noticed a purple balloon fly away. For some reason, the perfect purple oval caught my eye as it floated into the crisp, sunny, blue sky. I scanned the parking lot to see where it came from and discovered a little girl, about three years old, getting out of a minivan with her mom looking at her with intense concern. The little girl was shocked at losing her treasure and started gearing up to cry. Her mom, not wanting to cause her little girl any pain or disappointment was distraught and started apologizing over and over "Honey, I am so sorry. Sweetie, I am sorry we weren't able to hold onto it. Oh sweetie, I am sorry. I know, you are sad that it is gone." My heart just broke. I was acutely aware of this little girl's intense feelings of loss. It didn't matter to her that a balloon is free and of no monetary value. It didn't matter that it is an uncomplicated, silly little trifle. She obviously loved it, was enchanted by it, and almost certainly was delighted when she received it. The childish wonder at watching a balloon float and tug at a string is totally lost on us adults, who are so jaded, rushed and distracted, not even the wonders of a Wii Fit excites us. But not that little girl. That purple balloon was precious.

As I listened to her cry inconsolably, it occurred to me that as a parent, I would do anything not to have my kid (or kids) feel sad or have any kind of loss. I mean, it wasn't even my kid (or even a kid I would ever see again) and I could barely stand it. I was so sad for her to lose her little prize.

The thing is, I have 11 nieces and nephews and I have witnessed lots of sad, innocent little meltdowns about similar kid crises. And I have really only ever been concerned because I wanted them to stop crying. I have never felt any real empathy for their pain, mostly because I couldn't relate or because it seemed inconsequential. But not today. After I watched the whole balloon episode, I called Brent and started crying when I told him the story (and in my defense, I haven't been that emotional lately, I appear to have even dodged the baby blues). I thought of Oscar and J.J. and I literally couldn't stand thinking of them ever suffering, even over something as trivial as losing a balloon.

I never imagined I could ever be so tuned into another person (people). In the morning, when the boys wake up, no matter how deep a sleep I am in, or what time it is, I always wake up about 3 minutes before the boys start crying. They will be silent as a church mouse and then some instinct deep inside of me wakes me up to let me know that the boys are going to need me. It amazes me that when the boys cry, my milk lets down and I have to feed them. My breasts don't have ears, how do they know? And I already have a barometer for their safety and comfort. I innately know if a situation is too warm, too cold, or too germy for them. I just never expected to feel and respond to my children's needs so viscerally.

Parenting has changed us. Yes, it has removed some of our freedoms, our time to ourselves, and our sleep. But more importantly, it has made us into people with profound empathy for children, and their needs, their happiness, and their sadness. And these are all skills essential to being a good parent. The biggest change of all is not all the things that have been taken away, but all the things we have gained.

Pictures!

Here are some pictures from Oscar and Judah's first month:

http://picasaweb.google.com/oscarandjudah/OscarAndJudahOneMonth#

And here are some from bath time:

http://picasaweb.google.com/oscarandjudah/1stBath#

Enjoy!

Happy One Month Birthday!

Starting today, I am going to try and write the boys a little letter or note on each month's birthday. In the interest of full disclosure, I should mention that I stole this idea from my friend Lauren's blog. She writes the best letters to her twin sons Aiden and Chase and I can't resist knocking off her idea...

Sorry this is a little late, they turned one month on Tuesday. I tried to get this up on time, but it just couldn't happen.

Dear Oscar and Judah,

Today you are one month old. I am going to say all the cliche things right now, so be prepared. I cannot believe how quickly a month has gone by. It seems like it was literally last night that I was hyperventilating in the triage room of the hospital, waiting to waddle back to the OR so I could finally meet you. You seemed so tiny and vulnerable at first, and honestly, I was a little scared of you. And all your noises and grunts and quirks were so unfamiliar to me. It is like I felt like I should know you guys better than I did.

This past month has been such a whirlwind. At first it seemed that all you were doing was sleeping, eating, crying and pooping. Lots of pooping. Judah, you have the especially amusing habit of enjoying to finish your poop mid-diaper change. Then after you start that chaos, you change it up with a giant fountain of pee. And it gets Daddy and I every time. Good work. Clearly, you are just like your dad and I suspect that you (like him) will never tire of pee and poop jokes.

Everyone was immediately amazed at your ability to get on a schedule. Right away you established yourselves as good eaters and sleepers and we have been patting ourselves on the backs for being so lucky to have dodged some the dreaded infant miseries like colic, spitting up and general fussiness. And really, so far, we have, although Oscar, as much as your brother likes to poop, it seems you like to barf. Just a little after each feeding, but I guess you are going to be the one who makes puke jokes (also like your father).

I am happy to tell you that your dad and I have been doing pretty well over the past month too. I am getting myself back together after a delightful pregnancy (you are too young to be told the truth) and I am really starting to feel back to normal. I think that my nightly glass of wine helps immensely. I now only look like I am about 4 months pregnant, although the size of my boobs might frighten some (not you though, as these cha chas are you 24 hour diner). I no longer am in much pain from the surgery and I didn't get those dreaded baby blues. I am fairly cheerful except when your daddy doesn't clean up the bottles that he leaves in the sink all the time. (BRENT! TAKE A HINT! CLEAN UP AFTER YOUR DAMN SELF! Sorry 'bout that.)

Speaking of Daddy, other than my little complaints about the bottles, he really rocks as a dad. He is calm and patient. He changes diapers and gets up in the middle of the night with me. He calls you cute names like "My Little Man" and "Judah Bear." I am trying to break him of Oscar's nickname that is starting to stick...I just don't think we should call you "O.J." in light of recent events.

Also, we are so happy to tell you that your doggies love you guys a lot. Kiva is endlessly curious about these new additions and she spends a lot of time sniffing and trying to kiss you, which I am constantly trying to monitor. Walter is spending most of his time guarding me, which is par for the course. You both are really enjoying all the visitors who have been coming over, especially the UPS guy that Kiva scares to death every time he rings our doorbell, which is often thanks to everyone's generous and thoughtful gifts!

Anyway, we are really having fun with you guys. I can hardly wait to see what you do over the next month. You are already waking up and looking around so much. We are starting to get glimpses of your personalities and individuality from cues other than what you do with your bodily fluids. We are loving every day of being your parents. Happy birthday!!!

Professional Pics

Here is a link to our newest web album, chock full of the professional photographs Brent and I had taken last week. We love them!!! Feel free to poke around.

http://picasaweb.google.com/oscarandjudah/AliMurphyPhotos#

Here is a sample!

It is 1:24 p.m. and I haven't dried my hair.

For those of you who know me, that is a big deal. I am totally obsessive about keeping my hair clean, shiny and straight. When I let my hair air dry, it becomes the texture of hay and it looks like Gilda Radner's lid. So, even if I don't change my underwear, I make sure that my hair is gorgeous. I figure people will forgive the extra 25 lbs I am carting around if I look pretty from the neck up.

But alas and alack, today it was not meant to happen that I could blow dry and straighten my hair. To help explain this shocking phenomena, let me take you through my day. Bear in mind that right now I practically have a staff to help me run this house and I still can't seem to groom myself. We still have the night nurse five nights a week from 10:00 p.m. to 6:00 a.m., and a nanny five days a week from 9:00 a.m. to 4:00 p.m. and yet, I am still a bit of a mess. I can't even fathom how one does this without help.

See, I got up at 7:30 to the dulcet sounds of Judah crying. And after changing, nursing and dressing him (which took 45 minutes), it was Oscar's turn (who had been crying off and on the entire time). Then I did the same for Oscar. Then I went downstairs to pump for another ten minutes. Next thing you know, it was after 9:00 and Brent was leaving. I tried to scrape together time to brush my teeth, shower, get dressed in whatever Old Navy stretchy cotton outfit that was devoid of breast milk stains, and then shovel in some breakfast since I was ravenous (nursing burns 1000 calories a day for twins, and I would look like Elle McPherson right now if it wasn't for all the extra food I have to eat just to have the energy to lift the remote).

By now, Judah woke up again, since it has been three hours since he last ate. Then I start the cycle all over again. By this time, it is now 12:30 or 1:00 p.m. I am sure you are getting the picture. Basically, I end up having (if I am lucky) about 60-90 minutes between each feeding cycle and I have to choose how I spend that time very wisely. My options today included the following (in order of necessity)

1. Eat
2. Sleep
3. Brush teeth
4. Shower
5. Put on minimum of toiletries (deodorant is never optional)
6. Empty dishwasher and other kitchen chores so that I can stay organized for the next feeding
7. Feed dogs
8. Answer the phone which rings 8 trillion times a day
9. Watch Price is Right (hey, I have to pump anyway, why can't I enjoy a few pricing games too?)
10. Check email, pay bills etc.
11. Write thank you notes. (Ok, these are currently the bane of my existence. I am averaging getting three done a day, but the gifts are still rolling in at a clip of about 2 a day, so I am not really catching up at all).

Obviously, I could go on and on. But suffice it to say, straightening my hair fell off the list today. At least I didn't have to leave the house so no one other than my nanny and my husband had to witness me in my frizzy glory.

Update and Pictures!

Ok, so here is the deal. We finally brought Judah home tonight after 12 days in the NICU! We are thrilled! He is absolutely the cutest thing ever (besides Oscar, of course) and we can't believe we finally have them both home together. It definitely feels surreal, especially because I am tandem nursing them and when I do, I literally have an armful of babies. It is hilarious. (Again, I will have another whole post about breast feeding one of these days, but suffice it to say, it is unlike anything I have ever experienced. Definitely one of the happiest things I have ever done).

They seem to be very happy and snuggly together. I guess Judah has forgiven Oscar for taking up all the real estate in my belly and it appears that Judah is over the fact that Oscar has already staked his claim on life in the Joseph household.

I will do my best to keep writing on the blog as often as possible and keep everyone updated. Also, I am probably not going to send many email blasts out with pictures very often so I don't clutter up your inboxes. I will, however, post links to our Picassa album here on the blog every time we add new pics so you can check at your leisure.


To get you updated, here is the link for the first album in the hospital:
http://picasaweb.google.com/oscarandjudah/OscarAndJudahJoseph#

And here are all week one pictures:
http://picasaweb.google.com/oscarandjudah/OscarAndJudahWeek1#

And here are some week two pictures:
http://picasaweb.google.com/oscarandjudah/OscarAndJudahWeek2#

Enjoy! Lots more to come!

Welcome Oscar and Judah!!!

Well, apparently my eviction notice was heeded! Hope you are ready for a long post!

Here are the stats. Oscar and Judah Joseph were born on Tuesday, November 18th at 7:46 and 7:47 p.m. Oscar (the artist formerly known as Baby A) weighed 6 lbs. 4 oz. and measuring 18.5 inches came out first, taking a big breath and cry. Judah was born second, (by process of elimination, obviously formerly Baby B) weighing 6 lbs. 5 oz. measuring 19.75 inches and was bit quieter, longer and leaner.

It all went down so quickly. On Tuesday I had a doctor's appointment. As you probably know, I was COUNTING DOWN to this appointment because I knew it would be when I would at least find out the latest possible date of delivery. Of course, in the back of my mind, I was hoping something would compel the doctor to say, "ok, time to go" and send me right over to the hospital. So I finished packing my bag, straightened my hair, shaved my legs and put on some makeup. And the night before I did my toes and nails. I was all set. Oh, and I didn't eat, just in case someone might want to cut me open.

Unfortunately, I was still only 2 cm dilated and 80% effaced. So labor wasn't looking that likely. And without labor or another medical reason to deliver, it looked like they were going to make me wait until the day after Thanksgiving! And upon hearing that news, I just started bawling. I could not fathom waiting another 10 days in my miserable, pathetic, bloated, enormous condition. We then started discussing options. First they hooked me up to the baby monitor and after about an hour it was clear that Oscar wasn't doing so hot. We decided to do an amniocentesis to check out the babies' lung maturity and then if the amnio came back favorable, deliver them on Wednesday morning at 10:00. So, I headed over to the high risk OB's office to do an ultrasound, an amnio and get back on the monitors for a while to keep an eye on the babies.

The ultrasound looked great and the babies seemed all too happy to just hang out inside of me. Then, we did the amnio, which is pretty scary. Especially when you have to do it twice. For the uninformed, an amnio involves sticking a six inch needle into your belly, guided by ultrasound, to withdraw amniotic fluid. They are typically used to perform genetic testing, but can also be used to measure lung maturity. The whole thing was pretty sickening, but it didn't hurt as much as I expected. Then they hooked me back up to the monitors again to keep and eye on the kiddos. And again, both babies weren't doing that well. So, after another hour and a half, they sent me back to the hospital to get checked out. The plan was to eat on the way there to see if that woke the babies up, get monitored for a little while, wait for the amnio results and then go home for my last childless night. Yeah, it didn't quite go like that.

So my mom and I headed over to the hospital fully expecting to be sent home again. The high risk OB was so sure that I wouldn't deliver Tuesday, he directed me to eat. So of course, I ate my favorite, McDonalds. That is right, the whole nine yards, Quarter Pounder, fries and a regular Coke (side bar, I was told to drink a regular Coke to get the babies caffeine and sugar. I haven't had one of those in years. Quite delicious. I can see why people would drink them. But I am going back to my beloved Diet).

After a couple of hours of monitoring at the hospital, which was consistent with the other monitoring all day, the amnio results came back. And it appeared that there was a trace of meconium in the amniotic fluid. This can be a sign of fetal distress, so all of the sudden, the OB from my doctor's group who was on call was sitting on the end of my bed and telling me that they were going to deliver me that night. The next thing I knew, things started happening really quickly. They put the IV in and started forcing fluids. All of the sudden, I was set to deliver in the next forty five minutes. I had to start making tons of calls to get my whole family to the hospital in time. Emily dashed over, and Becky. My mom and Brent were already there. Everything started happening so quickly, I began to panic. I just felt like I needed everything to slow down. Ironic right? After being so desperate to deliver these babies, when it came time for it to happen, I wanted a little more time. But that wasn't an option.

So, I walked down the hall to the OR, climbed up on the table and they put in the spinal. Then I laid down and waited for it to work. It is very nerve wracking waiting to make sure you are numb enough to cut open. Then Brent came in and they made the incision. It all happened so quickly. I was so nervous about the c-section, but it wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. There is definitely some strange sensations of pressure and pulling, but it doesn't hurt at all. And, all of the sudden, there are babies! I was so preoccupied with hearing about how Oscar and Judah were doing and to see them, I wasn't really paying attention at all to them putting me back to together.

I had been fantasizing for months about the first time I laid eyes on my sons. That was a moment that I pictured and dreamed about so often. And it was as amazing, if not more so, when it actually happened. I am not nearly an eloquent enough writer to describe the range of emotions that I felt, but I will try. I was overwhelmed by how adorable they were, I stared into Brent's eyes and never felt more connected to another human being in my whole life, I felt overjoyed and proud at announcing their names, and I was scared and anxious that they were alright.

They immediately whisked them off to the NICU to make sure they were ok and examine them, as both of them were having some trouble breathing. At first it seemed that Oscar was struggling a bit more than Judah. They then took me into the recovery room where my whole family was waiting. I was in there for a long time talking to everyone, but I was pretty out of it to tell you the truth. I was also shaking violently, which scared Brent and I to death, even though it is apparently very normal. Everyone then went home and Brent and I moved to my room. We still hadn't really seen either baby and I was going crazy. The neonatalogist came in and explained that both babies were having trouble regulating their blood sugar and needed to be monitored for a while longer. Both babies got their breathing straightened out though, so that was good news. A few hours later (I guess it could have been minutes or hours, who knows, because I was so zooted out from all the drugs) they informed me that Oscar was improving and would probably be let out of the NICU that night, but Judah couldn't keep his blood sugar up, even after eating, so he would have to stay in indefinitely.

At 2:00 a.m., I was told that I could finally come see the babies, so they wheeled me, in my hospital bed, into the NICU and visited them both. It was outrageous seeing those little boys for the first time. They were so little and fragile and it really hadn't sunk in that they were mine.

The next morning they brought Oscar to me to feed and snuggle with. I attempted breast feeding for the first time (that is going to have to be a whole other post in and of itself) and snuggled up with him. After he ate, we watched the Price is Right and all was right with the world. Later that day I went to visit Judah in the NICU and also attempted to feed him. He did great and I was really hopeful that he had gotten the feeding thing all figured out already. But as the day went on it became clear that on top of his blood sugar issues, he was also showing signs that he was having trouble coordinating his suck/swallow reflex and that he was going to need a few more days (at least) in the NICU. (Again, there is LOTS to say about this, because he is still in the NICU as we speak, but I will save that for another post).

Anyway, to wrap up this marathon blog post, I was in the hospital for four nights and came home on Saturday night with Oscar. I was one of the most popular patients ever thanks to all your thoughtful gifts of flowers, cookies, doughnuts and other goodies. Thanks to everyone (I swear I will write my thank you notes, but I can't promise when). We are doing well at home. Oscar is becoming a champion eater, which is not at all surprising considering his food lineage. My breast feeding is also going well, and I am really enjoying it. The really hard part now is that I am going back to the hospital once or twice a day to visit Judah to feed him and it is a struggle.

Hopefully Judah will be coming home soon. And Oscar should continue to do well. We are having such an amazing time, even though I am beat and a little insane. We really love being parents and we can't wait for more.

Eviction Notice

I am done. I know I have been saying that for weeks, but this time I really mean it. As of tonight, as I write this, I am 35 weeks and 2 days pregnant. This is the average gestation for twins. I am sitting home alone, on a Saturday night, writing my blog, while my entire family and my husband are celebrating my niece's bat mitzvah with cocktails. I am sitting in front of the computer in the one pair of pants that still fit, making a Sara Lee cherry pie for dinner. Could I get any more pathetic? Seriously?

My complaints are many. If you are sick of reading about my pregnancy angst (and really, who could blame you) then skip this post. Because I don't have much else to say. I have been stuck on bed rest/house arrest for almost a month now, and I am at the absolute end of my rope. At first, it was manageable because I could still wear a few items from my closet, I wasn't completely over take out food, I could sleep about 3 hour stretches at night, and I knew it was best to keep the babies in.

Since then, much has changed. I have become dumber from all the TV I watch, including my daily addiction to The Price is Right, What Not to Wear and a solid hour of the Baby Story. Second, I have made an imprint of my ass in my couch. This is horrifying. Third, I have become increasingly uncomfortable. I am talking sheer misery at this point. I cannot get up from a chair without help, I cannot sleep, I have a headache all the time, my feet are of ridiculous proportions, and well, everything hurts.

Also, I have been to the hospital twice in the last week on various false alarms. Talk about cruel punishment, sending a women who is nearly 9 months pregnant to the hospital only to send her home sans babies. Last Friday night, I was having contractions and they hooked me up to the monitors (three monitors to be exact, on elastic bands stretched painfully tight against my very sensitive, itchy, stretched skin) only to discover that Baby A wasn't moving around enough. So they kept me overnight to monitor me (I slept a total of 46 minutes the whole night) only to discover that all was well (of course a good thing) and be sent home. As happy as I was that Baby A is fine, it was pretty disappointing to think that delivery may be in the cards only to be sent back to my couch without passing go or collecting two hundred dollars.

Thursday I got a brief reprieve from house arrest to have my last High Def ultrasound. The fabulous news is that Baby A is 6 lbs. 4 oz. and Baby B is 6 lbs. 2 oz. so they are very big and healthy. The bad news for me is that I now have nearly 12 and 1/2 lbs. of baby inside of me. And they are very happy and content in there, which probably doesn't mean they will be leaving anytime soon without some intervention. The doctor at the ultrasound did come speak with me and after looking at my balloon like feet and hands and taking my blood pressure, decided to send me over to the hospital for some tests and maybe (fingers and toes crossed!) delivery. So I headed over there all a twitter, thinking that 11/13 sounded like a grand birthday for the boys. But yet again, it was all a huge letdown because everything was fine, the babies and I are just peachy.

When I got home, I just lost it. I cried. I slept. And then I went back to the couch. I see the doctor again on Tuesday and I am hoping that she will finally start talking about scheduling me for a c-section, maybe even for this week. A girl can dream can't she?

P.S. A little piece of advice for all of you out there trying to commiserate with a very pregnant, miserable soon to be mommy, the following comments are not helpful, provide little to no insight, and do not make me feel any better. If you have said any of these things, please don't feel that I am calling you out, I have heard them so frequently that I can't even remember who said what, but I cannot hear this crap anymore:

"The babies will come when they ready."

"You aren't sleeping now to get you ready for when the babies come."

"Mother nature knows best"

"Tell those babies to stay in as long as possible"

"Wow, you really are huge."

The Nanny Diaries

My nanny quit. Yes, the nanny that I hired three months ago. Yes, the nanny that I was raving about how responsible and organized she was. Yes, the nanny that was going to teach the boys baby sign language. So much for that. I will spare you the details, but basically, I am on the brink of going into labor and she has taken another job.

I have prided myself on staying pretty calm throughout this pregnancy, which has surprised everyone, and most of all, myself. But on Thursday, I lost it. I had been so proud of myself for being organized and proactive about getting this nanny arranged way in advance, for meeting and selecting her so carefully, for checking her references, and this was my reward. And frankly, having this nanny lined up has given me such a false sense of security. As all my new mommy friends around me have been complaining about not being able to take a shower until 2:00 a.m. and not leaving the house for days, I have been sitting here smugly thinking, "That won't be me, I will have a nanny starting to help me right away." I think this is karma's way of reminding me that all the good planning in the world doesn't mean squat.

So once the shock wore off, I decided to mobilize the network of friends and acquaintances I have been building for years. I used to think that my dream job would someday be a result of all that careful networking, but now it appears that a nanny is going to be my reward instead. And surprisingly, I got a lot of referrals and ideas! We even managed to set up an interview that very night for a nanny looking for a new family. Unfortunately, she isn't going to work out. She was a tad bit too evangelical for us, although she was a very nice person (she was also inexplicably wearing eyeliner on only one eye). Here is a brief exchange from the interview:

Me: What is your favorite thing about the family you are working for now?
Her: They are good Christians.
Me: Uh huh. And what would you consider to be your best quality?
Her: That I am a good Christian.

Now of course her religion is none of my business, but considering our propensity to take J.C.'s name in vain (usually associated with an expletive) I had a feeling this wasn't a great match.

The good news is that we have some good leads for other nannies. I am really hopeful that we can get something lined up ASAP as I really think I need help as soon as I come home from the hospital. I just don't know that I have the ability to take care of two babies at once, recover from a c-section, and maintain my sanity. But time is definitely running out.

In fact, I was in the hospital on Friday night for a bit of a false alarm. All is well, but I was having some contractions and thought the time had come. After a night of observation, they sent me home to the confines of my couch. It looks like I will be camping out there for at least a few more days. Hopefully enough time to line up a nanny and get my roots done, and then not a second more.

The Disney World Fantasy

I just looked through all these pictures of my sister's trip to Orlando with her kids.  There was a time, not too long ago, that I thoughts such a trip would be agony.  I just couldn't imagine what would be fun about waiting in long lines for horrendous, stomach turning rides, with three screaming kids, for hundreds of dollars a day.  I would have much rather have spent my hard earned money going skiing with my girlfriends or buying the latest Prada bag (omg, the fall collection is to die for btw). 

What I didn't understand then, and what I am starting to understand now, is that having kids is fun for the parents.   I know that must seem obvious to many of you, but it hasn't been to me. Emily's kids looked so frickin happy eating mounds of whipped cream for breakfast and riding go carts in the hot Florida sunshine that I could tell it made Emily and Brendan happy too.  I used to not understand that providing joy for your kids equalled joy for the parents. 

I have mentioned a few times that I have had a hard time connecting with the reality of being a parent.  One problem with missing this reality is that I have spent a lot of time dreading all the really scary and difficult things about having kids without spending a lot of time daydreaming about the fun stuff.  I can barely even read the baby books anymore for fear of colic, birth defects and other traumas.  But looking at Emily's pictures reminded me that there are some really fun and funny times ahead.  And for some reason, I just haven't been thinking about those fun and funny times. 

Essentially I think it all boils down to the reasons Brent and I decided to have kids.  As much as I was desperate to get pregnant, I wasn't really in touch with why.  It was more of an intuitive, instinctual kind of thing, rather than a desire to play and enjoy having kids.  I wasn't consciously thinking about the having kids part, I was more responding to some primitive need to procreate.  And as some of you know, I hadn't really given a lot of thought to what happens after you get pregnant.

Seeing Emily's pictures tonight got me so excited.  Excited to take my kids to Disney World someday.  Excited to take them to Colts games.  Excited to watch them be cute when they do something like eat a mound of whipped cream.  Having them and being a part of their lives will be the payoff for all the worrying, sleeplessness, and misery I have been enduring (and will continue to endure).  

And it is finally beginning to feel worth it. 

I can't remember...

...what it is like:

1. To have feet that don't look like canoes

2. To walk without waddling

3. To go more 90 minutes without peeing

4. To read anything other than baby books

5. To drink a glass of wine without debilitating guilt

6. To wear pants without an elastic waistband

7. Not to sweat in 40 degree weather

8. To eat Jimmie Johns less than three times a week...I think I need a support group to cure my addiction.

9. To do something other watch TV in the evenings

10.  To sleep in bed with less than three other men

11.  To not be a walking punchline.  I am seriously sick of complete strangers laughing openly at the size of my girth

12.  To be able to breathe.  Really.  Can't breathe.  At all.  

13.  See my vajay vajay.  Sorry if that is too personal, but at this point, I am not sure it is still even there. 

14.  Not to take my blood pressure 18 times a day.  I bought one of those home monitors and I am so worried about pre-eclampsia that I have become a tad bit compulsive. 

15. Not to blow dry my hair every day.  I know it is vain, but I am not going to the hospital with anything less than gorgeous, clean, freshly straightened locks.  There are just too many pictures that are going to be taken and if I have to be fat, bloated, and have greasy hair, I might actually perish. 

Hannah Joseph - Home of the Whoppers

I have ten pounds of babies inside of me. Now, think about this, most people never experience what ten pounds of babies can feel like, considering most babies are born in the 7-8 pound range. But right now, at 32 weeks, Baby A is 5 lb 6 oz and Baby B is 4 lb 14 oz. And they are running out of room at the inn.

The end of pregnancy is such a strange time. I have now been pregnant long enough that I can't really remember what life was like before I was pregnant. I am feeling very stressed about getting lots of little things done (really little inconsequential things, like putting away the Desitin, hanging the pictures on the nursery walls, and putting together the email distribution list for when the boys arrive). I have most of the major stuff done, like washing the clothes, buying the diapers, putting together the cribs, packing the bag for the hospital etc. But still I feel no peace. I guess feeling pressure to do all these little jobs is just a proxy for what I really feel like I need to do, which is give birth.

The funny thing is that I have been so anxious to get to this point in time. I have avoided all the big pitfalls, including high blood pressure, bed rest, gestational diabetes, a fifty pound weight gain, too much amniotic fluid, etc. And now that the birth is literally just around the corner (probably within the next 4 weeks or so), I can't picture it. I keep trying to grasp little glimpes of the reality of having two babies, but it is just too profound for me to understand. I know this is all a little esoteric and wishy washy, but I am feeling really dreamy and odd. I cannot believe I am about to become the mom of two people (not dogs, or cats or chinchillas - yes, I made the college mistake of buying a chinchilla, I was charmed because it ate donuts).

Anyway, that is my big news. My doctor today predicted that I wouldn't go three more weeks. Being the gambling addict that I am, I wanted odds. But damn doctors are so cautious, he wouldn't give them to me.

Food for thought

I am one of those people who is ALWAYS hungry and rarely full. My whole life, I have been plagued by this particular issue. You know how people sometimes scratch their heads and say, "Gee, I forgot to eat lunch." Yeah. That was NEVER EVER me. I have never missed a single solitary opportunity to eat.

My relationship with food is fairly complex and I have always struggled with my weight. I don't think I am quite ready to air all that dirty laundry in this forum, but suffice it to say that I have food issues, and that is putting mildly.

During the first half of the pregnancy I got off to a running start. I read in one of my gazillion pregnancy books that early weight gain in twins was directly correlated to the birth weight of the babies. So I took that to mean that I could eat ice cream every night, in addition to the other 3000 calories or so I was eating. I quickly gained about 12 pounds. During the second trimester, I was delighted to learn that I should be eating between 3000 and 3500 calories a day! Now, believe it or not, that is actually hard. Especially when you need to fit lots of healthy fruits and veggies in there. I mean, I could take down 1000 calories worth of french fries every day no problem, but somehow I think that might not be in the babies' or my best interests.

But I continued to eat nearly everything in sight, mostly because for the first time in my life, I was eating without debilitating, complex, agonizing guilt. I have been doing Atkins off and on for two full years and let me tell you, I took no greater pleasure than enjoying every carb that came my way. I gained another 10-15 pounds in the second trimester. I kept asking my doctor about my weight to make sure I was doing no harm to myself or the babies and I kept hearing reassurances that I was right on track.

Then a funny thing happened. Food started to lose its lustre. I went to McDonalds one day (I was trying to limit that particular addiction to once a week - for those of you who knew me in college, that is quite an accomplishment) and it wasn't good. Now, I have been eating McDonalds on the regular for my whole life and for the first time EVER, I didn't want it. Curious. Very curious. Then, nothing started tasting good to me. And my hunger, for the first time in my life, went away. I had to force myself to eat every meal (other than breakfast, for some reason, Cornflakes has been IT for me). And this trimester, I have gained all of 4 pounds or so.

This lack of hunger has opened up a new world to me. I don't wake up in the morning thinking about what I am going to eat today. I am not driven by what I am going to have for lunch or dinner. I am merely eating to sustain myself (and my babies), but pretty much not for pleasure at all. And I wonder, am I cured? Is this merely a symptom of the fact that Baby B has taken up residence on my stomach and is smushing it or is there something deeper and more psychological going on here. Have I finally sated my appetite? Now that I am permitting myself to eat whatever I want, do I not want it anymore? Sort of like make the forbidden fruit (or in this case, carbs) no longer forbidden.

Realistically, it is probably more the former than the latter and after the babies come, and I get back on the deprivation bicycle, I will probably go back to obsessing over every bagel that I don't get to eat. But what a life it would be if that didn't happen.

Low Carb Scare

I haven't posted in a while, so I thought I would take this opportunity to give all you spectators out there a brief update on the babies, me, and well, other general stuff.

So first things first. The babies are BIG! I mean, really big. Which should come as no surprise to anyone who has seen me lately. Because I am also really big. And no, I am exaggerating. I am now about the size of a someone who is 40 weeks pregnant. Yes, as in full term. And I still have six weeks to go. The upshot of my impressive girth is that as of two weeks ago, Baby A was 3 lb, 3 oz., and Baby B was 2 lb. 12 oz. Anything over 3 lbs. prior to 30 weeks is awesome. So it looks like they are going to be nice and hefty.

The news wasn't all good though. They both have a lot of amniotic fluid too. My doctor was somewhat concerned that all that poundage and amniotic fluid was an indication that I had gestational diabetes. Of course I immediately freaked out. Gestational diabetes = a no carb diet. Now, I have been doing Atkins off and on for years as a means of torture (and to fit in my jeans) and I have been on a carb bender for about 7 and 1/2 months. But the possibility of gestational diabetes stopped me cold. You can take away my vodka, my red wine, and my personality after 9 p.m., but you take away my french fries and there is a good chance of PRE-partum depression. So, I took the blood sugar test and waited with baited breath. NEGATIVE!!! I guess we just grow 'em big in these parts. Probably thanks to all the french fries!

The other downside to the size of the babies is that I need to now cut back on all my physical activity. It isn't quite bedrest, as I can still leave the house and do stuff, but I need to be fairly restrictive about what I choose to do. I have started working primarily from home and I am sticking pretty close to the couch. The working from home thing has far exceeded my expectations and I am surprisingly productive. I always thought people working from home were secretly on their couch eating bonbons and watching The Price is Right. However, I find that if I get up and shower, eat breakfast and settle in at the computer, I actually get MORE done than I did in the office. What a shock! And I love it. Practicing law in pajamas is actually quite pleasant.

Staying home all day does make me somewhat antsy. However, I suspect that is going to get worse and provide some fertile material for future posts, so I will save that topic for another day.

Have I mentioned?

I love my husband.  A whole lot.  Sometimes I think people don't know how deeply I adore Brent because so much of our relationship is based on bickering, bantering, sparring and just plain arguing.  Friends are constantly trying to officiate our fights, mostly because I think that they are disconcerted by the tension between us.  But that is the basis of our relationship, and really it is what makes us tick. 

Anyway, regardless of our methods of showing our connection to each other, I am absolutely enchanted by Brent.  And I don't tell him or show him very often.  He has always been an unbelievable partner and husband, but lately he has really came to play.  

As I am sure you are aware by the overall tone of this blog, I haven't exactly been in the best mood lately.  And frankly, I am a bitch even on my best, non pregnant, non swollen, non itchy days.  And Brent has been completely unfazed.  In fact, more than unfazed, he has been unbelievably sympathetic.  This week, as I was in my usual habit of looking for something to criticize, I started in on Brent about how he doesn't seem excited about the babies coming and I wanted to know what he was thinking.  I asked him what he was most looking forward to when the babies are born, fully expecting that he would say "seeing what they look like" or "picking their names."  Instead he said, "seeing the end of how uncomfortable you are.  I just don't want you to be miserable anymore."  How sweet and tender is that?  And this from a guy who has no qualms about using the "C" word to describe a yucky girl. 

Brent has also been so patient.  Every night I unleash a litany of complaints about how tired, uncomfortable, itchy, hot, stuffy or generally miserable I am.  And Brent responds the same way, with the same ardent concern in his eyes.  "Baby, what can I do?  How can I help?"  Every night, he gets me a glass of ice water, walks the dogs, and generally takes care of every silly request I make, without even the slightest bit of irritation.  

And let's add the rest of Brent's stresses to the equation.  Not only are we having twins this fall, but we are also opening our airport location of King David, getting our catering and event business off the ground (as we speak, Brent is working a festival until 2 a.m.),  trying to make the mortgages on two houses (anyone want a house in Shelbourne Greene...we have one for sale!), training a six month old German Shepherd, planning his brother's bachelor party, running three fantasy football leagues, and doing my "honey do" list during every spare minute (which includes such glorious jobs as cleaning out the garage, picking up the doggie do in the yard, helping with my laundry, emptying the dishwasher, going with me to Babies R Us and, well, you get the picture).  Not to mention the fact that Brent is always an amazing son, grandson, and friend to all the people he loves.  Somehow he finds the time to visit his grandmother and great aunt in the nursing home, call any friend who may be sick or troubled, and just stay on top of everything.  I don't know how he does it.  But I love him more than words can say for being such a responsible, caring, hard working man.  

And have I mentioned that beyond him just keeping his shit together, he makes me laugh? I am not sure he knows that I have more fun with him, just sitting at home on the couch, than doing anything else.  I don't think I have told anyone that when Brent's eyes twinkle with joy or mischief, my heart melts.  I realized that we have been married 2 and 1/2 years and I love him more now than I ever thought possible, even on my wedding day, when I was bursting with unbridled adoration.  

I am so lucky.  Now you all know.  I hope he does.  

Large and In Charge

Just wanted to put up a more recent picture of my expanding girth. See? I told you I wasn't exaggerating when I said I was HUGE! Can you believe I have at least 8 more weeks of this? Me neither.

Oh, and writing that last post must have been cathartic or something because I have somehow strung two great nights of sleep together. Hallelujah!

Nightmares

Time to add a new complication to the mix. I cannot sleep. Up to this point in the pregnancy, sleep was not really an issue because I have been so darn exhausted. Well, now I am still exhausted, and I start fantasizing about climbing into bed around 8:30. However, that is what sleep has become, an absolute fantasy.

Here is the routine. I get ready for bed around 9:30. This entails putting on Brent's Reebok Dryfit sleeveless Colts shirt (God, I hope he never wore that in public), filling a waterbottle of ice water, taking my iron supplement, prenatal vitamin and fish oil capsules and then hoisting myself into the bed. This is no small task and sometimes requires Brent's assistance.

Then I begin the battle with my pillows. Currently I have a tempurpedic pillow, a body pillow and a cheapie king size pillow, as well as my schmata (which is my 15 year old stuffed white cougar that I simply cannot live without). Add to the mix a comforter, sheets, and well, Brent and the bed has become very complicated. I usually spend about 10 minutes struggling around with the pillows trying to find a position that increases my odds of falling asleep within two hours or so. This position has to be just right, so that I am not putting pressure on my belly, so that I am not laying on my vena cava, and I have my head and knees supported. Very tricky business.

By this time, I am about 142 degrees, sweating and cursing and no closer to sleep than if I had just downed a Red Bull.

Have I mentioned that my allergies have never been worse? Oh, well let's add that little fun fact to the equation. I can't breathe through my nose because they are both completely clogged. I also can't breathe through my mouth because I am wheezing. Maybe I need to grow some gills. And, Baby B has decided that my ribs and lungs are lovely place to take refuge, so my breathing is compressed from south of the border as well. So, naturally, I start to panic. Every night. And then begins the agonizing about whether I should take something to help. I know that Benadryl is considered safe for pregnancy, but I doubt I should be taking it very frequently. And I know that my Albuterol inhaler is also considered safe, but I also hesitate before using that. So then I toss and turn and worry and I'm sure you can imagine that all that anxiety does wonders for my level of relaxation.

Oh! And my belly itches. Unbearably. Like it has poison ivy all over it. Then I scratch it (with my gloriously long nails, thanks to the prenatal vitamins) and it hurts. This has got to be some cruel joke right?

Miracle of miracles, somehow I fall asleep, usually about 2 hours after I actually hit the sheets. And then, about 2-3 hours later, I wake up. Because I have to pee. And then I have to do the whole routine all over again.

Hurry Up and Wait.

Its an old saying, but it has never had more meaning for me than it does now. I am officially in my 26th week. What that means is that I probably have no more than 10 or so weeks to go, seeing as my doctor has said that she probably won't let me go much past 36 weeks, if I even make it that far.

On one hand, 10 more weeks sounds like a freaking eternity. That is 70 days. And I am starting to feel borderline miserable. First of all, I am so hot. Like on fire. I have the A/C turned down in the 60's at home and Brent has taken to wearing a sweatshirt to bed. Meanwhile, I am sleeping with no covers, sweating. My office is an oven. SOMEONE, TURN OFF THE HEAT! But unfortunately, the heat is those two little parasites living inside of me. Don't get me wrong, I love them to pieces, but they are still parasites. Aside from the ridiculously tropical temperature of my bod, I am just getting large and in charge. My proportions are bordering on the absurd and when I tell people that I am not due for at least 10 more weeks, they look horrified. When I inform them that there are twins in there, they look only slightly relieved. I was told this week that I look "like I should be strapped to a hospital bed." (END QUOTE OF INCREDIBLY INSENSITIVE CO-WORKER.)

On the other hand, as uncomfortable as I am, and as I long as 10 weeks sounds, I am terrified the babies will be born prematurely. I keep having the same damn nightmare over and over that I go to the doctor for a checkup and they make me deliver the babies that day. I beg and beg and beg, but they won't listen. And it is never because the babies are sick or I am sick, it is because the doctor is mean. I wake up feeling totally terrified and determined to keep those kids in there as long as I can. If I keep them in for 50 weeks, does that improve their chances of going to Harvard?

And on the other hand (for you sportsfans keeping track at home, that is the third hand), 10 weeks sounds like not enough time at all. I am beginning to panic about all things large and small. For one, the nursery hasn't even been started yet, and except for a few silly message T's (one says "Lock Up Your Daughters") I haven't bought a blessed thing. These babies are going to make their way into a home full of dog toys, lots of LV purses, copious amounts of sporting memorabilia and nothing for them. I was eyeing a little plastic bone yesterday and wondering if it could double as a teething ring.

Aside from the acquisition of material crap, I am also not feeling ready emotionally. Brent and I had a lovely Labor Day weekend of being lazy, sleeping late and going out to dinner. I enjoyed myself immensely, and the thought in the back of my mind all the whole time was: this is all about to end. To add insult to injury, a lot of my friends are having babies lately, and they are all bemoaning their lack of sleep. And I am downright terrified. I border on evil personified when I am tired, so I advise you to stay away from me, for oh, the next year or so.

So to sum up, I have never been more uncomfortable in my life, so of course I can't wait to get these babies out of me. Except that I am having nightmares about having them early. And that there will be nowhere to put them when they get here. And that I am not sure how the hell I am going to care for two little babies. Don't I sound serene?

Get your paws off me!

This may be a bit played out, and I know it is a frequent gripe by pregnant women, but WHY THE HELL DO STRANGERS COME UP AND TOUCH ME???? I do not understand this phenomenon. Most of you who know me know that I am not the most touchy kind of person. I just don't really like to be man handled, by strangers or even by friends. In fact, this past weekend, I went to see Kathy Griffin with two of my dearest friends in the world, and I was totally smushed in the seat. Becky, sitting to my left, couldn't avoid her arm or foot touching mine. But I wanted to give her a smack! I couldn't stand the skin to skin contact and I love her dearly. So you can imagine how I feel about all these freaking strangers touching my belly.

Yesterday we had the unfortunate experience of attending our third funeral this year. We are heartbroken to have lost Brent's cousin David, who was 27. He has been very ill since birth, and this was not unexpected, but still, it was tragic and we are so sad for his parents. We spent the majority of the weekend attending family obligations related to David's death. The unfortunate side effect of all of this was that I had to see A LOT of people, some of which I didn't know very well. And I look VERY pregnant. And people were just all over me, like white on rice. I am sure it had something to do with people wanting to focus on a happy event in the midst of such sadness, but it felt so invasive. It is like people didn't realize I might be in mourning too and that I might not exactly be up to being circus freak sideshow.

The worst offender was relentless. This woman, we will call her Cruella de Touchy, came up to me and started rubbing the back of my arm. I stepped back, seeing as that little familiar gesture generally makes my skin crawl, not to mention the fact that I barely know her and couldn't remember her name immediately. She was undeterred. She stepped forward again, now with one hand on my arm and the other on my belly. I took two steps back. Again, she kept coming, and now she added close talking to her repertoire of miseries. I could not escape this evil woman. I was being assaulted! I put my arms firmly in front of my stomach and started walking away. Cruella de Touchy just wouldn't get the hint. I was fuming and finally I just walked away mid-sentence. Brent watched the whole spectacle and was laughing because he could tell how miserable I was. I just don't understand what it is about being pregnant that suddenly makes you public property?

The rule of thumb that I have developed out of my close encounters yesterday is this: if you would hug someone upon seeing them, then it is probably ok to touch them, gently, on the belly, WITH EXPRESS PRIOR PERMISSION. Otherwise, HANDS OFF!!!

That means you Cruella de Touchy!

A little incapacitated.

I am getting big. And I don't mean, "haha you are so cute pregnant" big. I mean, "You look like you need to be wearing a circus tent!" big. This has all happened very quickly. It feels like even three or four weeks ago, I was a manageable size. No longer. I had back to back weekly doctor's visits and we discovered that I grew 4 centimeters in a week! That is outrageous! To put things in perspective I am now the size of a woman that is 8 months pregnant with one baby. I, on the other hand, am only 5 and 1/2 months pregnant (albeit with two babies). So the upshot is that while I am feeling enormous, I am actually pretty much on track for twins.

The amusing side effect of my girth is my ever broadening range of complaints. Here is a short list of things that it is getting difficult to do:

1. Wear a seatbelt - It has to be across my legs, instead of on my non-existent lap

2. Cross my legs - I don't why, but I just can't do this anymore. I look like Al Bundy when I sit

3. Sleep - every night is an adventure, I have become practically a contortionist trying to find a comfy position

4. Sit on the floor - Brent's favorite activity these days is laughing at me when I try to get up from a seated position

5. Tie my shoes - god it seems early to be dealing with this cliche of pregnancy

6. Wear a bathing suit - ok, so technically I can still wear one, but it might scare small children

7. Go to work - who am I kidding, that was always hard for me

8. WALK

So Number 8 needs a bit of elaboration. I think I have mentioned before that my left leg has started falling asleep if I walk or stand for more than 5 minutes. Well, this coupled with my lack of stamina, my general bad mood, and my penguin-like gait has forced me to reevaluate my walking options. But I am not bed ridden yet and I like to be out and about. So, I have gotten creative. Case in point, last week, Brent and I went to Sam's Club for some necessities. I really wanted to go in and not just sit in the car (all those free samples are like drugs to a pregnant woman). But I knew I just couldn't make it around that mammoth monument to American consumerism. So, I hopped in a motorized cart- in our family, we call them Amazing Jazzies. And it was some good clean fun, let me tell you! I spent most of our shopping trip trying to run Brent over, speeding up aisles in reverse (complete with a back up beep!) and generally enjoying all the stares I got. It was so funny. And fun. Check out the picture for a visual.

It is amazing the lengths with which I have to go to entertain myself without wine.

A little scare...

Yesterday, I was having a bit of trouble breathing and my heart felt like it was beating out of my chest. So, I called my doctor, fully expecting to be told again that everything was fine and to take it easy and drink more fluids. Imagine my surprise when she told me to come in immediately. I got there and my blood pressure was pretty high and my pulse was too. They send me right over to the hospital to get checked out. Believe you me, all that rushing around did not do wonders for my anxiety, not too mention my racing heart.

At the hospital they hooked me up to a bunch of machines, took some blood, monitored my blood pressure and sent me home. Thank goodness. The upshot is that my blood pressure is a little high (and will likely be getting worse), my iron was low and my potassium was low. The recommendation? Rest more, drink fruit juice and take an iron supplement. Not a huge deal, except that resting more isn't exactly the easiest thing in the world for me. As much as I adore my couch, and I really really do, I always feel like there are a million things I could or should be doing (on my list today: work, get a pedi, clean out the fish bowl, laundry, and water my plants). But the doctor was explicit that I need to be cutting back to about 25 hours a week at work and lay down for a few hours a day. So, it looks like I might be reigniting a love affair with 90210, which is most conveniently being shown on the Soap Network from 4-6. Hooray!

Thankfully, this isn't the worst thing in the world, and most importantly, the boys are just fine. The goal is to keep them and myself as well as possible for as long as possible. So if that means sitting on my heiny eating bon bons, so be it. Look at all the sacrifice I am making for my family.

Childbirth Classes

Last night, Brent and I attended an "Expecting Multiples" childbirth class at our hospital. Like most normal pregnancy things, I was skeptical about the class in general. I just couldn't picture Brent and I siting dutifully in a class of pregnant couples, practicing breathing, passing around baby dolls and watching birthing videos with a straight face. But the closer and closer I get to my delivery date, the more I realize that I don't know squat about what to do with the babies when they get here, nor do I know very much about how to get them here in the first place. Other than the unfortunate and unexpected crotch shot in Knocked Up, I have never even seen a live birth before.

So, with some misgivings, we signed up and went to the class. (We were late, of course, I am sure you aren't surprised.) And all in all, it was a good experience. We covered a wide variety of topics, including diet and weight during pregnancy, risks associated with multiple pregnancy and birth (I could have taught that portion of the class I have read so much on the topic), birth options, and newborn care and feeding. The instructor rocked, she was a nurse who had identical twins, so she gave great practical AND medical advice. Here are some of the things we learned:

1. By week 20, the average twin weight gain is 25 pounds. WHO HOO. What a relief. I was starting to freak out about my girth, it is good to know that I am within normal limits. I guess that means I can resume my doughnut habit.

2. 65% of twin births occur prior to week 37 and more than two thirds are by C-section. The good news is that I will probably know by about the end of September (around 30 weeks) whether or not I am going to try it the ol' fashioned way or if I am going under the knife.

3. Our hospital doesn't use heparin to clear IV lines, so no worries that our kiddos will suffer the scandal du jour that has been occurring at hospitals around the country

4. We should try and feed the babies at the same time so that we aren't constantly feeding, changing, burping and the like.

5. Co-bedding (putting them both in the same crib) isn't recommended by the American Association of Pediatricians. But I think I am going to do it anyway.

6. We should get a backpack diaper bag and we should always carry an extra set of clothes and diapers in ziplock bag for each kid. Great idea!

The information was flung at me so fast my head was spinning. It didn't help that this WT lady that was a hospital employee (IN THE FACILITIES DEPT...NOT A HEALTH PROFESSIONAL) kept interrupting the teacher to give her two cents. If I wanted to get medical advice from a hillbilly with too many kids and feathered bangs, I would have gone to the state fair and asked a carnie. At least then I would have gotten some fried dough for my trouble.

Anyway, we then watched two videos about childbirth. The first was a vaginal delivery of twins and the second was a C-section of triplets. The vaginal delivery was actually not that disturbing, other than the amount of touching the husband (and mother in law) were doing while the wife (who also had feathered bangs) was in labor. I was so creeped out. If Brent or Carol get near me with the intention of caressing me while I am having contractors, I fear they will leave the hospital with fewer appendages than they entered with. But all in all, the video was pretty amazing. I was slightly distracted by Brent's running commentary. At one point, he actually poked me and told me to ask the teacher if we could keep the placenta. If you know Brent at all, you would understand that is his type of gross humor. If you don't know Brent, please don't judge me for my choice of spouse.

The C-Section video was another matter altogether. That was just GROSS and SCARY. I was seriously disturbed by the roughness of the whole procedure, not to mention that the amniotic sac squirted everywhere when the surgeons ruptured it. I turned a lovely shade of eggshell white. But regardless of the method of delivery, it really is quite unreal to see living, screaming, babies being pulled from their mom and ready to enter the world. I was speechless. The range of emotions I felt was indescribable, a mixture of fear, anxiety, joy, excitement and impatience, all at once. I felt like I couldn't wait for it to be me combined with a hope that I never have to do it. (Of course I know I do, but you know what I mean.)

After the videos we took a tour of the Labor and Delivery area of the hospital. We walked around the high risk OB area, where bed rest moms stay, and then to the Labor and Delivery rooms and OR. Then we ducked into the NICU, which is an awful place. I mean, they have tried really hard to make it cheery, and I know the babies are getting amazing care, but still, no baby should be born at 2 pounds. We saw one born at 30 weeks, and it didn't even quite look human. More like a little tiny doll. It was really tragic to see these oxygen hoods, and vents, and all the other gear these kiddos need to survive. I resolved then and there to stop wishing for the babies to come early...they definitely need to be well done by the time they are born.

The outcome of all this is that I do feel a little better prepared for what is coming. But honestly, I am not sure if knowledge is power in this situation. Sometimes I feel like the more I know, the less confident I feel. But regardless of how I feel, it is all going to happen and happen pretty soon.

The collection of crap begins!

I am shopper. Pure and simple. I simply adore the acquisition of stuff. This was immediately evidenced by my maternity clothes buying frenzy the second my jeans felt tight. I bought every cute, flowy, empire waisted top or dress in existence. I scoured the racks of Mimi Maternity, Gap Maternity and Target. I spent long hours logging time on peainthepod.com, Ann Taylor Loft Maternity and Belly Dance websites. I even dragged my ass around Anthropologie and Saks looking for extra large roomy clothes on sale. I was always in search of the perfect outfit to make me look a) pregnant, but cute, like Jessica Alba b) like I have thin arms or c) that I wasn't as lumpy as I looked in the mirror. Regardless of how many black tops, pairs of leggings, or tenty dresses that find their way into my closet, I have failed at those objectives. Simply put, I am not a cute pregnant girl, I have always hated my arms and the need to remain covered at all times, and I am indeed, lumpy.

So I decided to stop spending a fortune on clothes that have a (hopefully!) limited shelf life and start buying stuff for the babies. (Although I think I am in love with maternity "Secret Fit Belly" jeans. These are just divine because they have no waist band, and hence no muffin top! Instead they are fitted with a stretchy, skin colored panel of fabric that goes all the way up to your boobs. They look like jeans but feel like a comfy pair of spanx. HEAVEN. I might never go back.)

To be perfectly honest, I haven't bought a single thing for the boys. At first it was because I was a little superstitious - there is an old Jewish belief that nothing should be purchased for the babies before they are born. And frankly, there is some practical import to this belief: I suck at returning stuff anyway, can you imagine how hard it would be after a miscarriage? But now the danger has mostly passed and I am not really very superstitious anyway, so the stuff should start rolling in, right? Then, I was hesitant to buy stuff until I found out the sexes. Well, check, blue stuff is in order, in abundance. But still, I hesitated. I just haven't been compelled to start buying anything. I have a few theories why:

1. I don't know where to start - quick as you can say Prada, I could tell where the best maxi dresses are this season. But I have no clue where to buy baby crap, what the best stroller is, how much one should spend on baby bedding etc. I am freaked out by the sheer volume of stuff I need to get and where I should get it from. Someone with kids, please HELP!

2. I suck at decorating. Let me tell you a little story. One day, shortly after Brent and I moved into our new house, I started panicking because we were having dinner guests in a couple of days and my house was completely unadorned. No knickknacks, artful arrangements of glass, pictures on the wall, nothing. I hate doing it. So to alleviate my panic, my dear sister Emily spent the day at HomeGoods, Tuesday Morning and Target and then zsa zsa'd up my crib. I am having the same problem with the nursery. I don't know what to do, how to do it, and I am at a complete loss. Someone with style, please HELP!

3. I have to buy two of everything! Two car seats, two highchairs, two bassinets, double sets of diapers, bottles, bibs, onesies, pacifiers. My heading is spinning. Where the hell is all that crap going to go? And how will I afford my addiction to designer purses anymore?? Does having twins mean you get a double prescription for Xanex? Someone with drugs, please HELP!

Notwithstanding the foregoing, I think I am going to brave Pottery Barn Kids and Babies R Us this weekend. I don't have high hopes for a good outcome, especially considering I can't walk for more than five minutes without my leg going numb, but I'll let you know how it turns out.

Ode to a Mr. Misty Float

Dear Dairy Queen,

This week I discovered one of the greatest concoctions of all time - the Mr. Misty Float. Let's get semantics out of the way first, I just refuse to use your new fangled marketing name for this delightful treat, the so-called "Arctic Freeze" which I consider to pedestrian, common, reminiscent of a Quik Stop beverage, and well, just plain lame. From hence forth, I will call this slushy cup of goodness by its nostalgic moniker: The Mr. Misty.

I happened upon this confection by sheer luck. You see, my assistant at work, Sara, is pregnant too, and now I have a partner in crime when it comes to gestational indulgences. We were both hot and grumpy and didn't really want to work so we got to chatting about what snack we could find to cure what ailed us. She suggested that she make a run to your fine establishment. I was at once filled with both excitement and confusion. I always end up with the worst food envy at DQ. If I order chocolate soft serve, I covet someone else's vanilla. If I get Reese's cups in my blizzard, I lament that I wasn't creative or adventurous enough to try Oreo's and mint syrup. In the past, my visits have been less than satisfying. My bewilderment deepened when I peaked at the DQ menu online and accidentally stumbled upon the page with nutritional information listed. Oh the horror!!! A small chocolate shake has over 500 calories. Ignorance was far more blissful.

Well, Sara suggested a Mr. Misty Float. What is that I asked. I had never heard of such a thing. She explained that it DQ's version of a Slush Puppy with a dollop of soft serve floating on top. I was intrigued. I was excited. Visions of cheery goodness starting floating before my eyes. My heart started to beat a skip faster. This was outside my normal wheelhouse of chocolate and peanut butter. Maybe this mysterious Mr. Misty Float was the answer to my endless DQ food resentment. On a wing and a prayer, I went for it.

Not 20 minutes later a paper cup full of icy, sugary, red glory appeared before me with a blob of vanilla soft serve floating enticingly on top. I had a conference call that was scheduled to begin at that precise moment, but I threw caution to the wind and dug in. I figured I could hide my enjoyment of my extravagance and fully participate on the call. I was wrong. Little moans of joy escaped my lips and finally I had to fess up to the other callers what I was doing. And you know what? They shared my affinity! They knew all about this delicacy and wholeheartedly understood my swoon.

So thank you DQ for serving me such a outstanding dessert. I will be back. Soon. Maybe I will try the orange one next.

Love,

Hannah and Babies A and B

Ach. My aching back...

Well friends, I think the period of an easy-peasy pregnancy is over. In a word or two, this sucks. I hope you won't mind indulging me in a little bitch session about the aches and pains I have been feeling...I sort of feel like a long-suffering bubbe (for you gentiles out there who don't watch Weeds, that is Yiddish for grandmother).

In the last few weeks, my body has started to completely fall apart. It all begin with a weird episode where I got dizzy and lightheaded and all freaked out. Of course I called the doctor, who patiently (and patronizingly) explained to me that I am pregnant with twins in the middle of the summer and I should lower my expectations about feeling well. I should drink lots of fluids and take it easy. Umm, ok.

Next up was a day of heart palpitations. I thought I was having a heart attack all day and when I went up the 17 steps to my office I almost fainted. That was fun.

Then, my tailbone started hurting when I sat down for extended periods of time. I know what you are thinking, and yes, I have accumulated a bit of padding on my tush that would theoretically protect me from such discomfort. Not so. So add that to the list of super fun special pregnancy symptoms that are magically delicious.

Then as I was packing for Karen's wedding, I started trying on all the new cute(ish) dresses I had bought. I slipped on some low gold heels only to realize I had developed the dreaded CANKLES. Yep, my ankles have completely disappeared and now I am left with legs that resemble tree trunks. I was mildly alarmed that I was already swelling up in my feet, especially considering how kind I have been to them recently. Usually I am a complete masochist when it comes to shoes, but lately I have been strictly attired in flats. I look short. And even with all this vertical sacrifice, I am still all swelled up.

We went to Karen's wedding over the weekend (elephant feet and all). It was an absolutely spectacular time and I have never been happier for someone that wasn't, well, me. It was a traditional, loving, and warm affair and I really enjoyed the whole shebang. Except for when my left leg started falling asleep. Apparently when I stand up for extended periods of time, one of the babies seems to push on a nerve that makes my thigh fall asleep. It was amusing when I tried to dance the Hora. I am not a strong dancer in the first place. Pregnant, bloated, tired, dizzy, with a numb left thigh does not improve things. If any of you have photographic evidence of me attempting to dance, please do not make it available for public consumption. Thanks.

Then to make matters actually scary, I took my blood pressure when I got home from Chicago on Monday and it was super high. I, being my melodramatic self, completely freaked out and started envisioning what my life would look like if I had to go on bed rest right now. I was picturing lots of Law and Order and ice cream sandwiches. I know that doesn't sound that terrible, but imagine not leaving your house, in the middle of the prettiest time of year, for TWENTY WEEKS. YEP, THAT MEANS FIVE MONTHS. I would truly go insane. I called the doctor the moment her office opened, and she explained to me (with a bit less patience and even more patronization) that I am pregnant with twins in the middle of summer, and that as long as my blood pressure comes back down (it did) I should drink lots of fluids and take it easy. Um, thanks.

The only great news I have to report is that I felt one of the boys give me a good hard kick during the wedding reception on Sunday night. I think I can safely infer from the kick that the babies enjoyed me whispering scandalous news during the birkat (the after dinner prayer). Good to know. I am glad to hear that my gossipy tendencies now have a legit justification: the babies like it!

Daydream Believer

Brent and I have had the weekend to adjust to our big news from last week, and it has definitely begun to sink in. As I expected, finding out the babies' sexes has helped a lot with the reality of being a parent. Finally I can begin to picture what my family is going to be like.

However, I have a terrible tendancy to oversimplify things until I experience them. Case in point: pre-pregnancy I never understood what the big deal was. I figured your belly got big and that was the whole story. I was completely unprepared for how humongous the changes would be to my body. No one told me that I would feel like a completely different person once I was pregnant. I figured I would buy a couple of empire waisted dresses and be good to go. Um, no. My body is a complete mystery to me, complete with long fingernails, hair that is falling out, giant boobs, and a range of emotions that could fairly be described as schizophrenic. And that is putting it mildly.

So, in keeping with my usual oversimplifications, I am picturing two robust, athletic, sports minded boys, who love manly man things like their dad, but have a sensitive (ok emotional) side like their mom. I am already dreading their destructive little hands leaving fingerprints all over my new house. I am dreaming of bowl haircuts and bike rides. I am wondering how I will teach two little boys to pee standing up when I have never really even seen a man do it (I ask to Brent to close the door. He sometimes complies.) I am dreaming of picking out two Brooks Brothers suits for their bar mitzvahs. And I am fantasizing about them coming home from school and telling me about a crush they have, and asking for advice about the mysteries of girls.

But of course, I really have no clue what to expect. I am sure most of these images are born and bred from TV shows, movies, books, and other people's experiences. The truth is, the reality will probably be far more complicated, interesting, exhausting and exhilarating that the sound bites and fleeting images that are swimming around in my brain. These boys are going to be individuals who I am sure will surprise me at every turn. But for now, I will keep on daydreaming about who I think they will be, because otherwise there is nothing else to do but wait.

We Found Out!!

So, to end the suspense...we are having TWO BOYS!!! We had our 16 week ultrasound this morning and everything looks fantastic! They are healthy and happy wriggling around in there. Baby A continues to be very calm and serene, and Baby B is well, not.

We are beyond thrilled to be having two sons. Brent is already dreaming of taking them to Colts games, KU basketball games and Nascar Races. I am dreaming little boys hugging their mama, playing with puppies, and watching them play sports. I am fulfilling my destiny of becoming the ultimate soccer mom. I might as well get one of those soccer ball decals now to put on the back of my SUV with the names Baby A and Baby B on them!

More to come later! TWO FREAKING BOYS. I can't wait to meet them!

Weebles Wobble But They Don't Fall Down.

Yep, that is me. A Weeble. It is official. I am really pregnant and I really look like it. It is also confirmed by the fact that I got completely winded when I walked up the stairs today. I was huffing and puffing and I got really dizzy. That was fun.

So yesterday I realized that I have been spending a lot of time thinking about what it is like being pregnant and not a lot of time thinking about what it is like being a parent. This phenomenon is sort of analogous to when brides are fixated on their weddings but not actually on being married. It happens a lot and I think it is ridiculous. The wedding and the pregnancy are temporary, the marriage and the kids are permanent (hopefully!).

But honestly, it is really hard to think about what being a parent means. I can sort of envision having one baby, mostly because I have watched friends and family bring a child into this world. But even daydreaming about one child is a stretch because I really don't have any clue what we are in for. There is certainly a lot of anxiety and stress thinking about the enormous responsibility that is barreling down the pike at us, and that is what is blocking me from actually visualizing being a parent. Adding to that panic is that I cannot even fathom what having twins is like. And for the first time in my life I genuinely don't have a clue what I am in for. In the past I had a general idea of what college, law school, or even working would be like. But there is simply nothing that can prepare me for what is coming. I am already feeling tangibly petrified about breast feeding, sleepless nights, lack of free time, my general selfishness, depression and weight gain and that is all extremely magnified by the sheer work involved in bringing two children into this world.

So instead I have been fixated on pregnancy and not parenthood. I have been buying every cute maternity top known to man, reading every pregnancy book ever written, checking pregnancy websites and not giving a thought to what comes next. I haven't bought one baby item, not even a bib or a cute pair of footies. I haven't interviewed pediatricians or lined up a nanny. I haven't visited the hospital or scheduled birthing classes. That would make it too real. But whether I do all those things (and I really need to) or not, these babies are coming. And as much as time is crawling by, I have a feeling I am going to look back and think my pregnancy was over in the blink of an eye.

I do have hope that some this will just come naturally as normal pregnancy things happen over the next few weeks. I am sure the fact that there are two human beings inside of me will become harder and harder to ignore as they start to cause more of a ruckus in there. And tomorrow morning we may be finding out the babies' genders, which will probably go a very long way in actually visualizing our family. Maybe by tomorrow I will know if I am in for a lifetime of makeup, purses and shoes or sports, dirt, and little Brents (shiver!) or a little bit of both!

I felt a tingle!

I have been pretty damn grumpy lately. And it is Monday morning to make matters even worse. And I am starting to grow out of some of my cuter maternity clothes, ALREADY, which sucks, any way you slice it. I am really starting to get big. I mean really really. I saw an old friend this past weekend who was about 8 weeks ahead of me and we were the exact same size. Oy. I think I need to step up the evening walks and ease off the Mexican food.

So keeping all those grumbles in mind, imagine my surprise this morning to have the strangest little sensation! I got this very ticklish sort of bubbly feeling on my right side. At first I ignored it, as I have been known to have quite a few mysterious stomach rumblings in the past. But it just kept happening. And then I remembered that my mom said that the first time you feel the baby, it will feel like an eyelash fluttering. That is exactly what this felt like!!! I am still not even sure I really felt anything, as I am prone to some psychosomatic symptoms of pregnancy. The power of suggestion is very strong with me. If someone asks me if I have had headaches, one instantly appears! And people have been asking me all the time if I have felt anything yet even though it is still on the early side. But I am just so big already people can't help but think that the babies must be the size of cantaloupes by now. (Which again, I am attributing to my fondness for tacos).

But if this is the real thing, no doubt this is Baby B wriggling around. From the looks of the ultrasounds Baby A is just a serene, calm little thing, but Baby B would not sit still at all! Sound like anyone you know?

And speaking of ultrasounds, we have scheduled for Thursday morning. There is a fairly decent chance that we will get to find out the sexes! Hooray!