Victim of Brutality

Right now, things are quiet in my house. And it's pretty darn eerie.

Milo and Violet are munching on a snack of Frosted Flakes and the babies are napping -- one in the swing and one hanging in the Intellitainer (a non-rocking Exersaucer). I'm not sure why she's comfy like that, but I'm just gonna go with it for now.

And I am a zombie. A complete and total useless waste of flesh today. I can't stay awake long enough to feed a baby or pump -- just the act of sitting still is enough to knock me out today.

Why?

Night times are just plain brutal.

We're both on call for most of the night -- it takes both of us to feed the babes and I'm not exaggerating this one. I can't imagine how single parents do this...

Milo wasn't too bad at night. Once we decided not to breastfeed him, we were able to split his nighttime feedings. I'd take the early one and Scott the later one and we'd both only have to be awake once at night,

With Violet, I nursed her mostly in my sleep. All night long, yes, but I was asleep in a chair so I barely noticed.

But this time? It's just monumental. For the most part, the girls are still on a 3 hour rotation. So we feed them at about 9, taking about 40 minutes. Then we put them to bed. Scott does the getting them to sleep part while I pump. Then I wash bottles and start the load of diapers, get ready for bed and take a shower since I've discovered that I really don't have time to shower in the morning before work. I get to bed around 11:00.

One hour of sleep.

The girls wake at 12ish for their next feeding, again taking about 40 minutes. Then I pump, run the diapers through the hot wash, wash bottles and come back to bed around 1:30 - 1:45.

One hour and fifteen minutes to one and a half hours of sleep.

The girls wake at 3ish for their next feeding, again taking about 40 minutes. Then I pump, put the diapers in the dryer, wash bottles and come back to bed around 4:30 - 4:45.

One hour and fifteen minutes to one and a half hours of sleep.

The girls wake at 6ish for their next feeding, again taking about 40 minutes. Then I pump, make my coffee and breakfast and get ready for the day.

Now some days we get an extra half an hour to an hour of sleep between one of the feedings, but never between more than one. So that means on the best day where we get an extra hour and my housework takes less time than expected, I will get 5 hours of sleep. On a normal day it's closer to three and a half hours.

Could I go to bed right after the 9 o'clock feeding? Not really -- Milo and Violet are rarely settled by then and some nights we're eating after a t-ball game or at the pool or visiting Grandma and Grandpa and time slips away so very quickly. And now that I'm back to work I can't go back to sleep after the 6 o'clock feeding. I had been able to do that until last week and Scott still does (lucky bastard).

And weekends? Well, because I'm generally still up at 7 o'clock after pumping and washing bottles, I nearly always greet one or two of the walking children on the way down the stairs as I head back up to join Scott for another hour of sleep, so no chance for more sleep once they're awake. I've gone so far as to try and convince them that I am completely capable of snuggling them on the couch while I'm sound asleep. It's true, you know... But they don't buy it and start talking to me anyway, frequently pleading "Mommy! Open your eyes!"

Well, Mommy doesn't want to open her eyes. Mommy needs a darn nap! But that's not really going to happen, either, because as soon as Mommy gets home from work, Daddy heads out to the garden or to his parents to mow or to a meeting or to care for the chickens. And Mommy doesn't get a chance to deliberately close her eyes.

I just wish for one day where all I did was nurse, feed, and pump then roll over and go back to sleep. But that would require another adult to assist Scott and if there's another adult around, he's back out to work on out poor overgrown garden, to mow, or to meet with people and I get suckered back into the fray no matter what.

I seriously don't know why it isn't standard issue for moms of infant multiples to get free maid/cook/garden service. If I ruled the world, that is what would happen.

In the mean time, I'll just watch the rest of my family sleep as I play dairy cow, dishwasher, and diaper service. Or, in other words, Mom.

What?? Four Weeks Old? Nope, Five and a Half...

Can it really be that the girls are four weeks old? Well, they were when I started this post. Now they're five and a half weeks old. Wowzers!

I know... time flies at warp speed around here.

Last week marks another fun milestone: the girls are big enough to wear the cloth diapers that I have been so darn eager to use! So they are wearing some organic cotton pre-folds (Green Mountain Diapers) fastened with Snappis and a lavender Thirsties Snap-Wrap covers. To match the lavender trim on their sleep and plays, of course!

Both girls are getting chubby little thighs, finally. All of the eating they've been doing is really paying off. I was worried that all of the weight they have been gaining would end up on their cheeks, but they seem to be spreading it around and are filling out most adorably.

In news of the really odd, they both make this bizarre grunting sound as they wake up -- sort of like a 300lb trucker trying to give birth to a moose. They start with this noise about half an hour before a feeding. It is amusing during the day and disconcerting at night as it does, in fact, wake me wide awake. Scott? Not so much.

And, finally, some news of our poor forgotten older children. Well, they're not really forgotten -- we're all just currently preoccupied with the babies. Including the older kids -- I can't walk across a room holding one of them without Violet begging to "see the baby," which usually involves her sing-songing "Hi, cutie pie!" and kissing their cheeks. Milo is currently banned from cheek-kissing for the second time in the last month because he has had not one, but two fever-inducing colds. Yesterday's was brief, as in he woke up this morning running a 97.5, but he spent the Monday and Tuesday the week right after the babies' births home from school sick with a sinus infection. Sigh... Poor guy can't miss a germ, I swear.

Kid funnies: Milo has taken to throwing disco parties in his room. Which means that he turns on all of the fancy and flashing lights he can find and cranks "Do the Bartman" as loud as I can stand and we all dance.

And Scott relayed the following conversation he overheard Milo having with his best friend at the grocery store as Milo was deciding which fruit snacks to bring to his class party:

Milo's friend, as he points to a box of John Deere fruit snacks: Hey, this box says "Made with real fruit!"

Milo, as he gestures to a box of My Little Pony fruit snacks: Hey, these are made with real ponies!

Yesterday, we gave Violet her first ball glove and ball. It is, of course, pink and black. And she was ever so excited to use it. After dinner, Scott took the kids out to toss the ball around while I pumped (my second job, I swear). Three minutes later, Violet came back into the house, bawling so hard she was incoherent. Something about "Daddy" and "ball" and "my nose!"

Moments later, a hang-dog daddy came around the corner, sighing, "The first ball I tossed to her and I was only two feet away from her. She didn't move her glove at all..."

I'm not sure who felt worse.

Pump It Up

So, the twins are almost four weeks old. Does that seem just insane to you? It does to me. I swear it was just yesterday we were buckling them into their car seats to bring them home from the hospital, grateful that they both passed the car seat check and that they actually fit in their seats. And now?

Well, the days seem endless, but the weeks are flying by -- if that makes any sense.

Before I explain, though, please let me take care of some bloggy business here. On April 18, likely as I was delivering the twins, Sanders over at Just a Dash of Sanders gave me a blog award. She is the mom of twin girls from near our old Penn State stomping grounds. Her gorgeous girls are a wee bit older than mine, so I'll be keeping an eye on her blog so that I can learn what's yet to come...

Also, while editing blog comments, it came to my attention that I was getting some substantial traffic from another blog, Multiples and More. I had joined the site several months ago and check it frequently because there are so many "been there, done that" multiple parents there it has some really great advice. Well, lo and behold, they had my blog featured on their front page under the "Expectant Parents" category. So here's my shout out and thanks for the highlight!

Back to the twin updates: Life is consumed by feeding them, whether it be actually feeding them, preparing to feed them, cleaning up from feeding them, planning feeding them, or pumping to feed them. They eat 7-8 times a day and it is currently taking an hour to prepare, feed, clean up, and pump. It is a full-time job.

I had hoped to nurse the twins as I was very successful nursing Violet (hello, the child weaned at 29 months!). But, according to the lactation consultants, they are true 37-weekers. Which means that they were just young enough that at first, nursing was such an effort that they tuckered out quickly. When coupled with high bili levels (especially Juliet's) and higher-than-preferred weight loss (Willa), we decided that they needed a bit of supplementation until my milk came in reliably. So, under the guidance of a lactation consultant, we started a tube-at-breast (TAB) feeding protocol on the day after they were born (Tuesday).

We were discharged on Wednesday from the hospital with borderline bili levels and borderline weight loss, both were to be checked on Thursday by the home visit nurse. We were still TAB feeding and learned that it was likely that we would need to supplement that way until the girls hit their due date. On Thursday, Juliet's weight loss had stabilized, but Willa's had not. On the other hand, Willa's bili levels were out of the range of concern, but Juliet's were not. In fact, the doctor prescribed a night on the bili bed, which was delivered to our house within the hour.

On Friday, after Juliet's night on the bili bed, we were back to the hospital for another bili level check for her and another weight check for both. Saturday was another weight check for both. Sunday was a doctor's appointment with bili levels (all OK) and a weight check (both girls gaining, finally).

At our Saturday weight check, I told the lactation consultant that I was pretty sure that both girls were sucking on the TAB and not nursing. This was confirmed when the LC did a weight before and after a feeding and the only thing in the baby was the supplement. Sigh... So we changed our game plan again and are offering the breast for as long as baby wants, then bottle feeding pumped milk or formula.

We've been sticking to that since then and both girls have surpassed their birth weights and are doing well. Juliet will attempt to nurse 80% of the time, with one or two feedings where she nurses for 6-8 minutes. Willa will nurse for 1-3 minutes at 1 or 2 feedings a day.

I am frustrated that I haven't been able to get them back to just my breast -- not frustrated with the babies or myself, but at the circumstances that got them off my breast in the first place. Willa's weight loss was rounding 11.5%, which is the starting-to-get-scary point. And Juliet spent one night on the bili bed, but if her levels hadn't improved, she likely would have been admitted to the hospital for more intensive therapy. I get that they both needed to eat and that they weren't quite equipped to nurse like champs from the beginning. But I'm still pretty sad about it because I really, really loved the bond that nursing created between me and Violet. I'm not sure that I'll be able to get either of them back to the breast full-time... sigh...

And then there's the pumping. I don't know how women who only pump can do it. By the time we get both babies fed, it's a 40 minute commitment. Then I pump for about 20 minutes. If I were producing enough to sustain both babies, I wouldn't begrudge a minute of that time. But right now, I'm only pumping enough to feed one baby. I'm trying everything I can think of to increase my supply: power pumps (ten minutes on, fifteen off three times in an hour), staying hydrated, drinking Mother's Milk tea (gives me diarrhea), and extra pumping sessions. And it is not reflecting at all in my pumping totals. In fact, the only thing it is doing is making my nipples crazy sore.

As much as I wish the feeding thing was different, I'll go on this way until I'm so tired I can't function. Or until I fall asleep and suck my nipples right off with the pump. I am feeling a little helpless about this situation, but really am doing my best.

Oooh! Lookie! Pictures... of Cute Kids!

Here are some photos of the babies' births and the first couple of days afterward.

A Birth Story for Mother's Day

Go time...

If being wheeled into the OR wasn't strange enough, arriving there was akin to an out-of-body experience. There were a dozen people in there, not counting me or the on-call doc who was still stitching another mom who had given birth.

There were nurses for me, nurses for the baby, the anesthesiologist, a doc from the NICU whose name I didn't catch, me, Scott, the cameraman, and Scott's mom with a camera. Everyone was in gowns and masks except for me -- I was still in a hospital nightie with a bare bum which was resting in a swap of amniotic fluid.

Thankfully, though I could feel the increasing pressure with the contractions, I was not feeling the urge to push. I think that had I not gotten the epidural, Baby A might have been born in the hallway because the urge to push is pretty undeniable. Super Nurse asked if I was comfortable and could hang on until the doc got there. I said, "Yes. As long as he's not going to be an hour."

Then she asked if I wanted to do a practice push. I laughed and responded, "Not until there's someone here to catch!"

About that time, the someone to catch came in and introduced himself. If you recall, he met Scott earlier while I was sleeping. This time, I was very awake. He also asked for a practice push, so I did. About .5 seconds into the push he asked me to stop (which I could do, thanks to the epidural -- if I hadn't had the meds, Baby A would have hit the floor) and he quickly suited up.

Two pushes later at 11:47 a.m., Juliet Diana came into the world weighing 5lbs 8oz and measuring 19 inches long. Scott cut the cord and she was held aloft so that I could get a quick peek at her before getting to work to deliver Baby B.

First, the doctor needed to break Baby B's water. Well, she was hiding way up at the top of my uterus, starting to come down head first. But way up there. Not that Juliet had really come down too far -- apparently I accomplished the amazing feat of dilating to 10cm before she dropped, but this is common for my deliveries -- both Milo and Violet stayed high until I started pushing, then they were delivered quickly, managing to keep their little (ha!) heads nice and round.

So little miss hiding-way-up-there necessitated the doc getting his hand way up there, too, in order to hook her bag of water. The first attempt led to a trickle, so he made a second attempt, which led to a river which flowed so fast I involuntarily gasped, "Woah!"

According to Scott's mom (the OB nurse of some 30 years), once they know that Baby B is coming down the right direction, the OR relaxes. We certainly found that to be the case. The doctor and Super Nurse did a little bit of external repositioning and asked me to start pushing like mad, contractions or not. As she was crowing, they let me take a moment's rest before the final pushes.

Nine minutes after her sister (11:57 a.m.), Willa Caroline came into the world weighing 6lbs 6oz and measuring 20 inches long, completely covered with cheesy vernex. I was surprised that there was so much difference in their weights -- generally, the docs won't let you deliver vaginally if they think that Baby B is more than half a pound heavier than Baby A. Maybe it's a good thing we hadn't had that last growth ultrasound after all?

The nurses worked on the babies as I delivered the placentas and was repaired -- it's very odd to feel the tugging of stitches and have no associated pain. My tear was a second degree tear, but I didn't really feel it during recovery, thank goodness. Given that my first two babies were nearly 3 pounds bigger than Juliet, I'm guessing my tear had more to do with Dr. Large Hands than it did the actual births, but I'm not going to complain at all because I was able to deliver them the way I had so very much wanted.

Both babies did great -- Juliet had APGARs of 9/9 and Willa's were 8/9. Neither needed NICU time, both came back to the suite with me. I couldn't have asked for a more perfect twin delivery and am so very thankful and appreciative of the doctors and nurses who trusted me and my body to do it.

And that's my birth story for Mother's Day. I continue to be amazed by the four (FOUR!) little people Scott and I have brought into our lives. Every day fills me with more joy than I thought possible; I am continually humbled by the sheer force of their spirits. I feel pretty certain that I am the luckiest mama in the world.

Happy Mother's Day to all!

Watching the Lights Go By

At around 6:00 a.m., the Evil Pitocin was started. I call it Evil Pitocin because I needed it to go into labor with Milo and can't say enough about how much I disliked how quickly the contractions settled in -- from 0 to 90mph in 30 minutes. Aware that using the Evil Pit caused my uterus to hyperstimulate with him (have contractions with two peaks), I had discussed the timing of my epidural very carefully with the night nurse.

I had decided that I only wanted to labor until just after the shift change without the epidural, since it was going to be necessary when Dr. Frying-Pan-Hands delivered the twins. I figured that any great anesthesiologist would love to come in on call on Monday morning and administer my epidural, right? Actually, I was mostly interested in having a "fresh" doctor because getting my epidural with Milo was rather, ummm... difficult. As in it took eleven tries.

Shift change rolls around and I still can't call my contractions any more painful than a 3 on the pain scale. And they aren't assembling into any ordered pattern at all. They were coming every 3 minutes, 5 minutes, 2 minutes, 7 minutes... You get the picture -- like a middle school orchestra plays through a piece of music for the first time -- not paying any attention to the conductor.

At shift change, we were given a treat -- a nurse whom Scott has known since he was a child and who also staffed Violet's birth came in as our nurse for the labor and delivery. We were thrilled!

The anesthesiologist come in, introducing himself and surveying my back. He proclaims it acceptable, saying, "We'll get this one on the first try!" And he did. Whew!!! I was honestly more worried about the epidural than the delivery. Not only that, but it appears to be a perfect epidural -- I can move and sense the pressure of the contractions, but feel none of the ouchies. After this experience, I can now understand why a woman would want an epidural. Don't get me wrong -- I still preferred my un-medicated birth with Violet, but this was a thousand times better than the way I felt with Milo.

Of course, as soon as the epidural was effective, I was overcome with nausea. Super Nurse put something into my IV that got rid o the nausea, but also put me to sleep for a couple of hours. Poor Scott had yet to close his eyes, but I was out deeply enough that I didn't even know that the on-call OB came in to chat with us about what was up. I surely hope Scott told him what I wanted. I think he did, though, as everything was pitch perfect all day.

At some point, S and the cameraman popped back in, wondering if there was a timeline for the day as no one really knew how long it would take. Super Nurse said, "Well, this isn't her first, so she could go from 2-10 pretty quickly. It doesn't usually happen that way and she's about 4 right now, but you never know."

I did rouse when Scott's mom came in to see how we were doing, mostly because I wanted to know how Milo and Violet were after their adventure of the previous night. About that time, I began to notice that the head lead on Baby A was moving. I could feel it twisting and turning and it occurred to me that A's head night be turning to get into place for delivery, so I said something to Super Nurse. She decided to check my progress and very quickly said, "Yep. She's complete."

Scott's mom decided to postpone the meeting she was about to attend and stuck her head out the door to let S and the cameraman know it was time to gown up. Scott climbed into the surgical jumpsuit, claiming that he looked "like a garbage man."

I was given an attractive shower cap, too, just before the bed went mobile and I was pushed into the OR. You always see shots in movies as a patient is being wheeled into surgery, dramatic music rising, weeping spouses begging the character to, "Hang on! I can't lose you!" and the camera pans to a shot of the lights whirring by overhead, clearly the patient's view. Aside from the melodramatics, the view of the lights is accurate, I can now vouch. I had that thought as I watched the lights go by...

So We Waited...

The words that slipped from my mouth to the receptionist at the birth care center seemed utterly surreal, "Hi. I'm 37 weeks pregnant with twins and my water has broken. I'm not in labor yet. Oh, by the way, I have called S. from the hospital and she will be here with a camera person shortly. They are completely OK to come in to triage or our room, wherever we are when they get here. And there should be a note in my file that my OB is planning to deliver me, even though she's not on call. And I'm Courtenay..."

I'm not sure which part was more crazy -- that the twins were on their way or that the little flighty introduction I gave the poor receptionist made me sound like I was Mariah Carey and we were checking into the celebrity wing of the hospital in L.A. whilst surrounded by paparazzi. In any case, I felt a wee bit self-conscious giving that whole self-important blah, blah, blah...

We were shown back to Room 2, the site of many of our non-stress tests. The tech asked a few questions, gave me a hospital gown and scooted out of the room to let me change. I made Scott take one last belly shot for the sake of weird science, and used the toilet. When I was attempting to stand up without dribbling amniotic fluid down my leg, our nurse arrived, escorted by a newly-minted charge nurse who just happened to be the daughter of a friend and who had staffed Violet's birth. I'm not sure who was more excited -- us or her.

I apologized profusely for leaking on the floor.

After going through the admission paperwork, I was hooked up to the old familiar monitors. Baby A was in the same spot as always, Baby B was sliding up and down the right side of my belly, naturally. I was not contracting in any pattern, commenting that the contractions I was having were less painful than the Braxton-Hicks I'd been having all week.

About this time, S and M (the cameraman) showed up for a quick interview, both looking tired and excited. I apologized for calling them out of bed, but neither seemed put out by it. M decided that he was going to shoot clocks throughout the piece, so, though I have no clue how long I was actually in triage, the video has the proof!

After confirming that my water had indeed broken, the nurses helped us organize our stuff and head to the suite where I would labor. Because I was having twins, the delivery would take place in an operating room in case we needed swift medical intervention, but I was able to labor in the comfort of a birthing suite, followed always by the swoosh-swoosh of the monitors.

I was still not contracting with any urgency, still only dilated to about 2cm. They started an IV with my antibiotics and fluids. My OB arrived on the scene, also looking sleepy. She explained that as luck would have it, the next morning was the only morning that she had surgery scheduled all week and, due to that, the on-call doc was going to have to do the delivery. I blinked and asked who the doc was...

Fortunately for us, the on-call doc was an OB who had been practicing longer than I've been alive -- so back in the day when they delivered breech babies vaginally instead of automatically checking the box for a c-section. I sighed with relief knowing that my body could deliver both babies vaginally if the doc was amenable and that the on-call doc was amenable. As she placed a scalp lead on Baby A, I mused that my OB has tiny delicate hands and the on-call doc towered over Scott and had hands the size of polar bear paws. I shuddered a little and decided that I was glad that I was going to have an epidural.

And then the waiting began. My doc decided not to start the pitocin right away to see if my body would get into a good labor pattern on my own. I didn't think that it would and had a deja vu moment as I remembered back to Milo's birth. My water broke then, too, and labor didn't start. Pretty much like it was going so far with the twins.

And so we waited. Scott and I were far too awake to relax, he was bouncy with anticipation. My contractions weren't painful, strong, nor long. So we waited...

Into the Unknown

Instantly life sped up. Scott flew out of the bed, thanking his intuition for not taking the Ambien, and we started planning what our next steps were.

"We've got to call someone to watch the kids. Should we have someone come here? Should we take them somewhere?"

"What about the dogs? They're going to have to stay outside for the night."

"Must call S. from the hospital so she can alert the camera crew. Yikes! We'll be waking them in the middle of the night..."

"I'm going to be a little vain and take five minutes to put on some make-up. I think we're going to be up all night and I just don't want to look like Frankenstein's monster on TV."

I got myself ready and Scott bustled about dressing himself, loading the few things that needed to be loaded in the van, and finally carrying each of our children through the cold rain to their car seats.

By the time I got to the van, they were both wide awake and grinning from ear to ear. In unison, they squealed, "I love you, mommy!" as I ungracefully climbed into my seat and onto the thick beach towel Scott had laid out to soak up the amniotic fluid.

"Do you know what we're doing up in the middle of the night?"

"Daddy says we're having the babies!!" Violet pealed, her smile shining in the darkness like a beacon. Milo shouted, "Yay for babies"

And we were off in the night to meet Scott's mom at the birth care center so that she could take the kids and we could get admitted. i still was not contracting.

I placed the call to S. from the hospital, she answered sleepily, but became quickly excited when I told her that my water had broken. She said she'd get the ball rolling with the film crew and wished us good luck for a safe drive through the downpour. I called my mom and told her what was up, asking her not to drive out in the middle of the night because I wasn't actually in labor yet, so I anticipated a lunchtime arrival of the babes.

We pulled up under the awning of the birth care center and Scott's mom came out, looking both sleepy and excited. I kissed each of the kids good night, feeling very sad to send them along, even though they were bursting at the seams with pride and excitement. I was remembering how hard it was for me to miss Milo for the few days I was in the hospital with Violet's birth.

It was cold out, and in the whirlwind to get to the hospital, I had not grabbed a jacket, so I shivered in the cold wind as Scott closed the van doors on our family of four for the last time.

We made our way into the darkened lobby of the birth care center, taking deep breaths as we stepped off the edge into the unknown.

Yes, I'm Fine... Actually, My Water Broke

Sunday, April 17 dawned like any other muddy spring day here in Iowa. The mischievous sparkle of a spring snow that had dusted the previous morning was long gone, but the whine of the spring wind wrapped itself around the house, making a melancholy song.

I was restless. And very uncomfortable, perhaps more uncomfortable than I had been during the entire twin pregnancy. Uncomfortable enough to need a shower, breaking my one-ness with the couch for long enough to actually shave my legs. That is, by the way, a real feat for a beyond hugely pregnant mama in a smallish shower. Yes, I felt absolutely compelled to shave my legs.

My pelvic bone felt like it was breaking in two and I was actually flopping around on the couch like a turtle on it's back. I chanted silently every time I moved, "One more week. Hang on for just a little longer..."

Scott's parents brought dinner that night. I think they were missing my lovely Milo and Violet, but it was nice to eat something not frozen, then warmed or carried out from who-knows-where. I commented to his mother that I was feeling about done with being pregnant, that 37 weeks was tomorrow.

TMI alert (sorry, Dad): Shortly after they left, I discovered I was losing my mucous plug. I laughed loudly from the bathroom. Scott misheard and thought I was calling for help, so he came bounding through the house like a herd of elephants to see what was up. I said, "I'm losing my plug here. That just means I'm moving closer to labor, but it could be hours or weeks. Not a hard sign of anything."

Still, even though I was approaching labor and delivery for the third time in my life, the excitement began welling. It may sound naive, but I felt pretty certain at that moment that I wasn't going to make it to 38 weeks. Scott seemed to sense my restlessness and decided that it was the night for him to stop taking the Ambien -- just in case.

Neither of us fell into a deep sleep. The girls were having a dance party, using my bladder for a trampoline, so I was up four times to use the bathroom before 1:00.

At 1:20, as I was laying there in the darkness, listening to Scott's breathing become rhythmic and deep, I felt the telltale POP and a small gush. I quickly rolled out of bed, not wanting to flood the mattress. Scott stirred slightly. I made my way to the bathroom in a trance. Sat down, could tell that the trickle of liquid was not coming from my bladder. Sleepwalked back to the bedroom, where I stood poised at the foot of the bed, not quite sure how to wake Scott.

He roused slightly, and asked a perfunctory, "You OK?"

I stammered, "Yes, I'm fine... Actually, my water broke..."

A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words (Give or Take)

With eight little feet
Our family is complete!

We welcomed to our family Juliet Diana (5lbs 8oz and 19 inches) on April 18 at 11:47 a.m. and Willa Caroline (6lbs 6oz and 20 inches) at 11:56 a.m. Mommy was so glad to not have a c-section!

Pictured above in Violet's arms is Willa and Milo is holding Juliet.

More details to come when I'm a bit more awake. This is definitely NOT anything like bringing home one baby...

36 Weeks and What Am I Doing?

Hanging out on the couch during the day on modified bedrest. Yep, I got the order on Thursday because my blood pressure has been elevated for a couple of weeks -- not really any higher than it went when in the last weeks of pregnancy with Milo and Violet, but wasn't carrying around a 54cm belly those pregnancies and I am now.

54cm. That's sort of crazy -- that's like being a year + 2 weeks pregnant with a singleton. Even on the message board for multiples and twins I have a huge belly -- for twins. Kinda right on for triplets, though.

How big is my belly? So big that my doc couldn't use the drop down choices on her charting software because it only goes to 50cm. So she had to put my measurement in the notes section instead. D'oh!

So, what have I learned about modified bedrest?

1. My dogs are dang gassy all day.
2. Daytime TV stinks, too.
3. My own ankles have returned!
4. It is exhausting trying to relax all day. Yeah, that seems like an oxymoron, but it's not.
5. I adore my hubby, who has been doing it all since Thursday. Including getting stuff done that I simply couldn't get to. He is clearly more efficient than I am... Yay, Scottie! You rock, my love!
6. My kids think this is a great opportunity to have me play with them since I'm essentially a hostage of the couch. Yes, I had to institute a rule that mommy is not to be covered in toys. Or cracker crumbs.
7. These same children also believe that they need to sit so closely to me that I'm not exactly sure where they end and I begin. This also leads to much belly squashing and an occasional war for what's left of my lap (there's not much there).
8. I'm kinda having to force myself to eat because I'm just not too hungry since I'm expending the energy of a sleepy sloth.
9. I am actually considering playing Milo's DS. Of course, then my excuse of "I don't know how to use a DS, so I can't help you" is out the window, but only if he catches me. He has Lego Harry Potter and that seems way more interesting than solitaire on my phone.
10. I can't seem to think of a 10th thing I've learned while confined to my couch... Perhaps my brain is already turning to mush?

Suck It Up, Sister!

I don't know why I do this... it frustrates me to no end, but yet, every pregnancy I end up doing it anyway. And I get darn frustrated every time. Sigh... Maybe I'm a glutton for punishment (in more ways than one).

What is my issue?

Those darn pregnancy message boards. Inevitably as I draw closer to my due date, I find myself stopping by a message board for women due about the same time I am during my afternoons home alone. And every day there is another woman *begging* to go into labor. At 34 weeks, 35 weeks, 36 weeks... You get the picture. It's not the same woman, either. Apparently, the idea that a 40 week pregnancy is average doesn't make sense to them. That if 40 weeks is average, some women will be 2 weeks early and some will be 2 weeks late and still be considered a "normal" gestational age.

Who on earth would want a baby that will go straight from her body to the NICU? When asked that question, most backpedal and say, "Well, I don't WANT a sick baby... but I do want to be done being pregnant." Because the extra three or four weeks to get to term will be unbearable? Right?

Simple fact: no woman is comfortable at the end of pregnancy, even if she has had a textbook pregnancy. She's slow and sore and can't sleep and has heartburn and might be swelling and, well, you get the picture. But we're ALL that way. A wise friend once told me that you go through the last month of pregnancy feeling so uncomfortable that you're ready to do anything, including delivering a baby through your ear, to get comfortable again.

I'm sort of on the fence about being induced at 38 weeks with the twins. Logically, I understand that it is usually safer for babies and mother for twins to come then, but on the other hand, if my placentas are still functioning well and my blood pressure isn't skyrocketing, I kind of have a hard time thinking it's OK to evict them before they say they're ready to come out.

I sympathize with the women who are just over being pregnant, really, I do. I can't sleep for more than 45 minutes at a shot before waking up in searing hip pain, then spending 30 seconds climbing out of bed to use the bathroom and another 30 seconds lowering myself back into the bed on my other side, only to repeat the cycle in another 45 minutes. I am winded to the point of needing to sit for 5 minutes upon arrival at my office -- the walk is uphill no matter from which direction I approach it. And right now, my daughters are in a race to see which will get their head down into my pelvis first, but both have miserable aim, so they are grinding their heads on the insides of my hipbones. And the heartburn? ATOMIC. So I get wanting to be done.

On the other hand, this is the last time I get to do this and, most of the time, I am in complete amazement at the crazy dance in mt belly. Which, I'm guessing will measure a full year pregnant at my next appointment. A FULL YEAR. So suck it up, sister, and imagine carrying my belly around for a while.

Yep, it is a good thing it's me and not you...

Belly Love

"Mama, I love your belly," Milo crooned as he wrapped his arms as far around me as they could get, which, considering my girth, wasn't very far.

"Me,too! And I love the babies!" Violet piped up, her cold little hands on my belly, one over each baby's back.

I love my belly, too. I love feeling full of life, even with all of the discomfort that comes along with an extreme pregnancy. I'm calling it that because the skin over my uterus is stretched to shiny, the stretch marks now climbing higher toward my cheat like tree limbs reaching for the sky. 50.5cm is what the doc told me on Thursday, chuckling and smiling. "You look cute!" Maybe it was because we were somehow wearing matching lime green shirts, though I guarantee that her trim figure is far cuter than mine.

We did not set an induction date yet, but that 38 week mark hits the day after Easter. I'm sort of in shock, though -- I made it to April! And I have no restrictions, other than the normal no alcohol, drugs, or banned foods.

We did get to see a very crowded ultrasound. I imagine that if there were only one in there, it would be really cool to see, but with two? It was hard to get measurements because someone was always moving or getting a limb in the way. We could only get a fuzzy shot of Baby A's little face because she was so low the tech had to shoot diagonally across my belly. Baby B would only reveal the bottom half of her face, but those shot show a generous pout -- clearly she has Violet's full lips. She also started the ultrasound in a race to the bottom with her sister, then slid up transverse, then slid back down vertex.

And their weights? Well, I'm sorry to say that anyone who has guessed Baby B to be smaller or under 5lbs is already wrong -- Baby A was 4lbs, 13oz and Baby B was 5lbs, 2oz. So I'm carrying nearly 10lbs of baby already.

No wonder it takes me forever to walk anywhere...

It's Time!

Well, I've reached that all-important 34 week point. Why is that such a huge deal? Because if I go into labor now, they won't stop it. Chances are that the babes would need only minimal NICU time.

That being said, I do not feel like I'll be going into labor any time soon. I'm still relatively comfortable (except at nighttime) and haven't had any more episodes of contractions. Both girls are head down and active and I am growing exponentially. Probably because I've been hittin' the ice cream. My next non-stress test, ultrasound, and appointment are on Thursday and I can't wait to see how big the girls are now.

So I think it's time to start a baby arrival pool! I will deliver at 38 weeks (April 25th or so) because my doc won't let the twins cook any longer than that. I think her normal call day is a Tuesday, which would be April 26th, so let's call that the last eligible day for this little wager, shall we?

Give me your best guesses! How about answering the following:
1. Birth date
2. Birth time
3. Length of labor (Milo's was 12 hours -- 6 active, Violet's was 7 hours -- 3 active)
4. Baby A's weight
5. Baby B's weight

If you are normally an anonymous commenter, leave me a clue in your comment so I can figure out who you are. Like, "Your cousin from Russia" or something. Or your name, if you aren't afraid -- that would make it much easier. Like, "Jana K." or whatever.

I don't have any prizes for y'all (my prizes are the baby girls I'll get to meet), but if you are the closest predictor, I'll make sure to pimp out your psychic ability to anyone who cares!

The Stressful Non-Stress Test

It is the third time that the nurse has been in the triage room, frowning at the monitor. She chats for a moment, then says she's going to find the on-call doc to see how to proceed.

I turn to the monitor, watching the double tracings of my babies' heart rates. Baby A's line is yellow and it dances all over the monitor as she kicks and swishes away in there. Baby B's line is green and it holds steady, varying between the same 10 beats per minute a non-reactive stress test.

I am thoroughly convinced that this is just what Baby B does. All three times she's been on the monitor, her strip shows less reactivity, yet I can feel her moving, listen to her hiccups amplified by the monitor, and know that she really is fine.

But she's not giving them the data they need on the strip, so the doc orders a biophysical profile, which is an ultrasound that looks for certain things: practice breathing, movement, muscle tone, etc.

I am still relaxed, for the most part, but had made the mistake of texting back to Scott when he asked, "How do they look?"

I texted, "Baby A looks gorgeous. Baby B is being a stinker and avoiding the monitor."

Seconds later, "Is she in distress?"

"No, too calm. Might be sleeping."

We text back and forth and I can hear his anxiety in his keystrokes. He's not with me because he's going to pick Milo up from school and I can tell that he is very concerned that he isn't by my side. It doesn't seem to matter that I tell him that I think everything is fine, he interprets this as cavalier and calls his mother, the OB nurse of 35+ years, (who has seen the strips and agrees with me) for a more expert opinion. So my darling worried hubby is causing me more stress than the non-stress test was.

Finally the ultrasound tech arrives and she starts looking around to see what's up in there. The best news is that both babies are vertex (head-down). I was pretty sure that they were, based upon the placement of their hiccups over the last week or so. This is a huge relief to me -- as long as A stays head down, I'll be able to deliver vaginally, yay! There is nothing wrong with delivering by c-section, but I'd really like to avoid having surgery if at all possible. I am intimidated by the recovery, particularly when I have two other children at home who will need a mom.

As we watch the screen, it is clearly apparent why Baby B was difficult to monitor -- she had pretty much folded herself in half and turned so that her back was away from the probe, hiding and playing with her foot. Side note: cutest thing on ultrasound ever to watch her reach for her foot and play with her toes...

Both babies passed the biophysical profile 100%, so I was finally released to my OB appointment, after three and a half long hours. I joked that I was at the hospital for less time when I delivered Violet.

The OB appointment? Well, my regular doc was on vacation, so I saw another doc from the practice who was very complimentary on my history with this pregnancy. She asked, "Did you go full-term with your first two?"

"They were both born at 39 weeks, plus a few days, so yep!"

"You'll be going full-term this time around, too. Great job, mama!"

So now two out of two doctors think that the girls won't arrive until their time to be evicted. I'm guessing that at next week's appointment (34 weeks + 3 days), I'll be setting an induction date for just after Easter. That date is coming both too quickly and far too slowly for my liking...

The Nine-Month Marathon

I sort of suddenly occurred to me that within the next five weeks I'm going to have four children.

Four.

And two of them are going to be stuck on my boobs for months. How lame is it that I'm totally excited that I got a script from my OB for a new breast pump? My old one was purchased when Milo was born and used approximately 600 times during Violet's first year. It's looking a little sad... But I get to go pick out a new one, yay!!

We're busy prepping our cloth diapers. I just ordered wet bags, diaper pail liners, and cloth diaper-safe diaper cream. The only diaper supplies left to order are the all-in-ones for daycare, and those won't be really necessary until daycare time this fall.

So, up until now my focus had really been on making this a healthy pregnancy and on keeping the wee lasses inside as long as possible. With a negative fetal fibronectin test, I'm pretty much assured to get to 34 weeks without pre-term labor. Since the ruckus of early last week, my contractions have subsided tremendously, to the point where I'm not tracking them by the hour anymore, but by larger chunks of time -- like three in four hours. Boy am I glad for that!!

But now? Well, we're past the concern of having micro-premies. We're getting ever closer to having babies that would need minimal NICU time. They're busy putting on weight and practicing breathing right now. In fact, all the practice breathing leads to hiccups on one or both sides of my belly most of the day, which cracks me up!

I'm not going to officially say that we're in the home stretch, but I can definitely see that finish line up ahead. I won't wish the babies out for amything because this is really and truly my last pregnancy and, knowing that, this last month is bittersweet.

I have developed one new symptom: my ankles have been swelling a bit. It might not be apparent to someone who rarely sees them, but I've got crazy narrow ankles normally and they're swollen for me. I didn't really retain water with Milo or Violet, so this is new for me. I've been boosting my fluid intake to try and flush it out, but it could just be that I'll have to deal with this until the end. Oh, well, one can't expect to measure 47 weeks pregnant with no water retention, huh? It probably means my weight gain at Thursday's OB appointment will be a little shocking, but, again, my weight gain total will be less than it was with my other kids, so I'm not really going to complain. I might be limping over that finish line, but I'm going to get there!

Hey, Look! It's a Freakishly Huge Pregnant Lady!

Hey! It's Sunday. I don't normally post on a Sunday, but after a series of unfortunate events (none of them mine, naturally), I ended up sleeping up on the couch through a loud, loud thunderstorm. Which apparently scared the poop out of Tess. And onto my toy room floor, grrr... So after cleaning that up, I'm wide awake for the day.

I thought I'd show y'all what one might look like if one were 47 weeks pregnant with one baby. Or what I look like 32 weeks and 5 days pregnant with two. Since my doc seems pretty convinced I'll carry to term, I have decided that my ultimate goal is to beat her previous "biggest belly" record of 56cm. Which I will do if I continue to grow at a rate of 2cm per week -- I'll hit 57cm at 38 weeks, or eviction time.

I hope I don't spoil your brunch by posting this pic...

Guess Where I Spent the Night Last Night?

Labor and Delivery...

Don't worry -- the girls are still in here!

I started contracting (painless) around 6:30 last night and was contracting every 20-25 minutes. Called Scott's mom (the OB nurse) for advice around 9:00, she suggested calling L & D, which I did. They had me page the on-call doc, who didn't get back to me. D'oh! By this time, I'd drunk nearly a gallon of water and was falling asleep on the couch and it seemed like the contractions had stopped, so we went to bed.

Woke up at 2:30 to pee (hello, gallon of water) and noticed I was contracting again. Laid there timing them and realized they hit every 10 minutes, which was way closer than I was comfortable with, so we called the kids' college-aged sitter to see if she'd come over. Sweetheart that she is, she was at our house in 15 minutes in the middle of the night.

Went in and got registered for the hospital (hadn't done that quite yet, oops!) and got hooked up to the monitors, where they could see contractions every 7-8 minutes. And two very lovely, reactive babies, which was great -- nurse (who was very pregnant and darn adorable) said they were both doing very well. Then, naturally, they went on the run and both flipped head down during the monitoring, LOL, so she had to chase them for a while.

They did the group B strep test, a fetal fibronectin test, and checked for amniotic rupture. My water had not broken (yay), my cervix was only .5cm dilated and not effaced at all (yay), the fetal fibronectin test was negative (yay!) and they sent me home.

I knew I wasn't in labor, bur preterm labor can be sneaky, so that's why I went in -- neither the doc nor the nurse thought I'd made a bad decision, especially because the chances for pre-term labor go up when carrying multiples.

I have my regular NST and appointment with my OB on Thursday and part of me is wondering if she's going to take me out of work. If she does, she does -- my supervisor is fine with that. With 6 weeks till full-term, 4 weeks till no likely NICU time, if I'm pulled from work I feel pretty good about what I've been able to do to this point.

I was running a low-grade fever part of the evening, pretty sure I caught whatever the kids had last week. Plus, with Scott gone all last week, it was darn stressful -- even with my mom helping out.

I had jokingly told the girls that they weren't allowed to come until Daddy got back, perhaps I should have been more specific...

The Pregnant Elephant, aka Me

Well, it finally happened. Within the last week I have gone from comfy pregnant lady to feeling like a pregnant elephant. I am sore, tired, and just plain worn out. I am looking into pregnancy support belts - the more straps and elastics, the better. My belly was measuring 41cm last week, so I'm not exaggerating when I say I'm huge.

I have never been one to complain through pregnancy -- aches and pains are just part of the process. But, man, do I feel like I've taken a whiny pill in the last three days.

I've started plotting my errands so that I have the least amount of walking to do. And definitely the least amount of carrying, stooping, and crouching to do. I actually got groceries this week and refused to get dog food because I just didn't want to pick up the bag of food. I knew that Scott would be running to town at some point this week and could pick some up if needed. And we've resorted to giving the dogs Cheerios when we're REALLY out of food, so I was pretty sure they wouldn't starve. Turns out, they had plenty of food anyway, whew!

I've been walking by the laundry and pretending it doesn't exist. I don't mind folding and putting it away, but the last time I tried to carry a basket up from the basement to our bedroom, I felt like I'd run a mile. While carrying a manatee.

Forget scrubbing the bathtub. Or the floor -- I've been wiping up muddy dog prints by skating around on towel shoes. If it can get done from a standing position and requires lifting fewer than 10 pounds, I'm your gal. If not... well... I'm not your gal...

I kinda hate feeling like a weenie. But I hate feeling like a worried mama even more. I had a spell of Braxton-Hicks contractions on Wednesday evening that actually had me concerned. As in, concerned enough to chug 30 ounces of water and lay down to monitor them concerned. Thankfully, even though it felt like I'd had 5 contractions in the hour previous to monitoring, there were only two in the first hour of me lying down and one in the hour after that.

I assume that I just completely overdid it on Wednesday. As in, I worked, then got groceries and unloaded them, then picked up the kids, then came home and cleaned up dog barf while trying to give snacks to two very demanding children who must have worn their hollow legs. When I went upstairs to change out of my work clothes into something more comfy, I was followed by a daughter who insisted on picking out my shirt and socks, which made a three-minute clothing change into a 15 minute dose of frustration. At the end of which, a bawling boy-child came upstairs because he'd been asking me for more cheese crackers the whole time I was upstairs. Could I hear him? No. Did that matter to him? No. Did he like it when I reminded him that he was already holding a bowl and that he knew where the crackers were, so he could have gotten himself more crackers? No. More tears, and not just his.

By the time Scott came home, I was at my wit's end. And, apparently, my uterus agreed with me. I swear that every time Milo started moaning, I contracted. So I really didn't mind it when I banished myself to my bed to do some monitoring.

OK... 8.5 weeks to go... I can do this! I think I can, I think I can, I think I can...

They Have Names!!

So Scott and I have decided on names for the twins. You might have thought it would be an agonizing decision, one we spun round and round like a pebble in a rock polisher, but somehow it wasn't.

When naming Milo, we hadn't made up our minds until about an hour after he was born. With Violet, I had told Scott how much I loved Violet and he said he loved Genevieve. At the 20 week ultrasound, as soon as the tech announced "Grandma will be happy -- it's a girl!" Scott, with tears in his eyes, touched my rounded belly and said, "Hello, Violet..."

And this time?

Well, after the initial shock of knowing that there are not one, but two girls on the way wore off (OK -- who am I kidding? That shock really hasn't quite worn off yet), we sat in the waiting room as the ultrasound tech burned a copy of our ultrasound to DVD. Scott sighed, "Two girls..."

He is one of those daddies who really stalls on discussing a name until he knows the gender of his progeny, but I don't function that way, so I had been making suggestions all along, "How about Nmn Kkl? or do you like Kkl Wsd better?"

Anyway, back in the waiting room he looked at me and asked, "So I guess we'll be having a Nmn and a Kkl, then?"

"Well, actually I thought about Nmn Kkl and Hgf Bvm." Hgf is a name Scott has loved for years and, while not my most exactest favorite, I do like it and how it flows with Milo, Violet, and Nmn.

"Oh! I hadn't thought of that... I like Nmn Kkl a lot and love Hgf, but I don't really like Bvm."

"How about Nmn Kkl and Hgf Thq?"

"I love it!"

And that, dear friends, is how we named the girls. In three minutes after my 18 week ultrasound. About 9 weeks ago.

Oh, did you think I was actually going to tell you what their names are? HA-hahahahaha... Nope -- that will have to be a surprise to you. Sorry! Feel free to submit your guesses -- unless you are one of my online mommy friends to whom I have already spilled the secret -- that's cheating! You're also not allowed to tell anyone I know in real life...

Here are some hints:
1. Both are girls names, no unisex
2. They aren't rhyme-y or match-y, but sound nice with Milo and Violet
3. I love them and Scott loves them, so even if you don't, keep yer trap shut!