(Please ignore the uncoordinated outfits and focus on the fact that I missed a napping opportunity for this.)
Sunday, June 24, 2012
One Week Birthday
Two blissfully sleeping babies + Camera within reach of my bed = One-week birthday impromptu photo shoot!
(Please ignore the uncoordinated outfits and focus on the fact that I missed a napping opportunity for this.)
(Please ignore the uncoordinated outfits and focus on the fact that I missed a napping opportunity for this.)
Saturday, June 23, 2012
Adjusting to Newborn Twins
Before I start this post, I have to say this again: I love my babies.
But last night around 4 am, The Husband said, "The next time someone asks me how it's going, I'm not going to lie: It's terrible."
It really is. My life right now consists of an endless cycle of breastfeeding, burping, and comforting newborns (The Husband has taken over most diaper duty). Unlike my last one, this c-section continues to cause me a great deal of pain. My boobs hurt so much that when the babies latch on, I sometimes want to vomit. My back aches from the bad posture and lack of abdominal strength I've adopted in the last several months. And to top it off, because I'm still on bedrest for high blood pressure that can turn hospitalization worthy in the two weeks following delivery, I see very little of life outside of my bedroom.
But sleep is what I miss the most. I am lucky if I sleep two hours in one night, and those hours are not in a row. I'm embarrassed to admit that on more than one occasion, I've chosen the prospect of two minutes of sleep over brushing my teeth. And showering just might be a thing of the past.
Two nurses at the hospital who had twins gave me this advice: Take it one day at a time. I'm really trying to live by that, because the thought of continuing like this for the next day -- let alone three months or more -- makes me want to scream.
The only solace I have is that I know they'll grow out of this stage, and because of the exhaustion, I'll forget most of how I'm feeling right now. I've even forgotten most of the night and day after the babies' births, but I do recall being so tired in my hospital room that I would nod off even if someone was talking directly to me. I'm convinced that this amnesia is what allows people to have more than one child. If not for that, why would anyone put themselves through this more than once?
Maybe it's because they smell good. And they could fit into tiny doll clothes. And some of them have crazy spiky hair.
Okay, so at the moment, I am not embracing the chaos. But give me time.
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| Me and Conor |
It really is. My life right now consists of an endless cycle of breastfeeding, burping, and comforting newborns (The Husband has taken over most diaper duty). Unlike my last one, this c-section continues to cause me a great deal of pain. My boobs hurt so much that when the babies latch on, I sometimes want to vomit. My back aches from the bad posture and lack of abdominal strength I've adopted in the last several months. And to top it off, because I'm still on bedrest for high blood pressure that can turn hospitalization worthy in the two weeks following delivery, I see very little of life outside of my bedroom.
But sleep is what I miss the most. I am lucky if I sleep two hours in one night, and those hours are not in a row. I'm embarrassed to admit that on more than one occasion, I've chosen the prospect of two minutes of sleep over brushing my teeth. And showering just might be a thing of the past.
Two nurses at the hospital who had twins gave me this advice: Take it one day at a time. I'm really trying to live by that, because the thought of continuing like this for the next day -- let alone three months or more -- makes me want to scream.
The only solace I have is that I know they'll grow out of this stage, and because of the exhaustion, I'll forget most of how I'm feeling right now. I've even forgotten most of the night and day after the babies' births, but I do recall being so tired in my hospital room that I would nod off even if someone was talking directly to me. I'm convinced that this amnesia is what allows people to have more than one child. If not for that, why would anyone put themselves through this more than once?
Maybe it's because they smell good. And they could fit into tiny doll clothes. And some of them have crazy spiky hair.
 |
| Conor (left) and Samantha (right) |
The Babies Are Here!
The goal was to make it to 38 weeks, and when I developed preeclampsia that goal got downgraded to 37 weeks and 1 day, and then when a weekend in my 36th week arrived where no one could watch Zachary and the on-call doctor was described as "not warm and fuzzy," my personal goal was to make it to 36 weeks and 4 days.
I made it to my goal! On Monday, June 18th at around 6 pm, I started feeling crampy and odd, so I asked to be placed on the monitor to view my contractions. They were around 7 minutes apart -- not too unusual that late in a twin pregnancy and they do not necessarily indicate labor. In fact, the week before, I had contractions about 6 minutes apart, and I could just tell that despite the consistency, I was not in labor. This was a little different, but I still can't verbalize how.
The nurse called my warm-fuzzy OB, who just happened to be on his way into the hospital for another patient. By the time I saw him, I was dilated to 2 cm. He also told me that my ultrasound that day showed that my baby girl had an abdomen in the 10th percentile, which was the first time ever that we had an indication that either of my babies might not be tolerating my blood pressures well. So he let me know that we were going to have babies that night by c-section.
I cried. I cried at the thought that one of my biggest fears -- that my newborn would be taken away to the NICU before I could hold her -- had just become much more likely of a prospect than I had let myself believe. And I cried because I had to break the news to The Husband that something might be wrong with one or both of his children (and because I would have to wait for him for an hour to get to the hospital). And I cried because I was just not prepared mentally to suddenly have two babies. Hell, the nursery still was not done.
I was wheeled down to triage in a stretcher and The Husband arrived shortly thereafter. He wasn't scared. He was joking about my blood pressures, and about sitting in the same uncomfortable chair in triage room seven many times before (including when I was admitted to the hospital a few weeks prior, and twice during the hospital stays during the Zachary pregnancy).
My OB told us that we were 6th in line. He also said not to be scared, but there would be a lot of people in the room; because my children would be born pre-term, NICU staff would be there to evaluate them.
I was taken into the operating room at around 9 pm. Just viewing the two baby warmers and all of the people in the room caused my blood pressure to reach 200/120.
At 9:11 pm, "Baby A", Samantha Mary Jane, was delivered kicking and screaming. About 3 minutes later, "Baby B", aka Conor James, made his arrival, also screaming (my OB told me Conor had not been so intent on joining the party). They were both taken to their separate warmers where I heard apgar scores of 8 and 9, Samantha's weight of 5 lbs, 10 oz, and Conor's weight of 5 lbs, 1 oz. I also heard that news that my babies were perfectly healthy and would not need to go to the NICU. I cried.
I was finally able to hold them in recovery (despite the fact that some thoughtless nurse tried to inform me that I would not be able to do more than look at them until I could move my feet). My babies were unbelievably tiny and cute in that old-man sort of way that all newborns look. I love them dearly.
Welcome to the world, Samantha and Conor.
And because this is the post about their birth, I'll leave this one with that. :)
I made it to my goal! On Monday, June 18th at around 6 pm, I started feeling crampy and odd, so I asked to be placed on the monitor to view my contractions. They were around 7 minutes apart -- not too unusual that late in a twin pregnancy and they do not necessarily indicate labor. In fact, the week before, I had contractions about 6 minutes apart, and I could just tell that despite the consistency, I was not in labor. This was a little different, but I still can't verbalize how.
The nurse called my warm-fuzzy OB, who just happened to be on his way into the hospital for another patient. By the time I saw him, I was dilated to 2 cm. He also told me that my ultrasound that day showed that my baby girl had an abdomen in the 10th percentile, which was the first time ever that we had an indication that either of my babies might not be tolerating my blood pressures well. So he let me know that we were going to have babies that night by c-section.
I cried. I cried at the thought that one of my biggest fears -- that my newborn would be taken away to the NICU before I could hold her -- had just become much more likely of a prospect than I had let myself believe. And I cried because I had to break the news to The Husband that something might be wrong with one or both of his children (and because I would have to wait for him for an hour to get to the hospital). And I cried because I was just not prepared mentally to suddenly have two babies. Hell, the nursery still was not done.
I was wheeled down to triage in a stretcher and The Husband arrived shortly thereafter. He wasn't scared. He was joking about my blood pressures, and about sitting in the same uncomfortable chair in triage room seven many times before (including when I was admitted to the hospital a few weeks prior, and twice during the hospital stays during the Zachary pregnancy).
My OB told us that we were 6th in line. He also said not to be scared, but there would be a lot of people in the room; because my children would be born pre-term, NICU staff would be there to evaluate them.
I was taken into the operating room at around 9 pm. Just viewing the two baby warmers and all of the people in the room caused my blood pressure to reach 200/120.
At 9:11 pm, "Baby A", Samantha Mary Jane, was delivered kicking and screaming. About 3 minutes later, "Baby B", aka Conor James, made his arrival, also screaming (my OB told me Conor had not been so intent on joining the party). They were both taken to their separate warmers where I heard apgar scores of 8 and 9, Samantha's weight of 5 lbs, 10 oz, and Conor's weight of 5 lbs, 1 oz. I also heard that news that my babies were perfectly healthy and would not need to go to the NICU. I cried.
I was finally able to hold them in recovery (despite the fact that some thoughtless nurse tried to inform me that I would not be able to do more than look at them until I could move my feet). My babies were unbelievably tiny and cute in that old-man sort of way that all newborns look. I love them dearly.
Welcome to the world, Samantha and Conor.
And because this is the post about their birth, I'll leave this one with that. :)
Thursday, June 14, 2012
Joy, Joy, Joy!!
It only took me an hour today, but at least I was able to login to blogger for the first time in several days. Wooo hoooo! I'm afraid that I might lose this connection, so I'll keep it short.
First, happy, happy, happy birthday to Parta!! I still have vivid memories of him teaching me to ride my bike and to drive a stick shift, so it's hard to believe that he turned 70 today! I told him that he's basically a spring chicken until 75, because "3/4 of a century" sounds old, but honestly, he'll always be young at heart and terribly immature to me. Love you, dad.
Next, I am still in the hospital, but we hit 36 weeks today! Again, woooo hooo! My doctors didn't think I'd make it this long, given the blood pressure issues. And I could still go into labor at any time. But for now, we have a c-section scheduled for next Friday, June 22nd, and even though my blood pressures are creeping up, I'm still hoping I can hold out until then. I thought for sure that I was in labor this morning when I awoke at 4 am with sharp, stabbing pain that took my breath away, but the pain subsided, and after drinking a lot of water, I didn't have any more contractions. That is a very good thing, because I can't have these babies over the next four days -- mom flew back to Iowa on Tuesday, and although mom and dad are driving back here soon, they won't be here until Sunday night. Cindy, my trusted friend and daycare provider who's presence gives me so much comfort because I know she'll take care of my boys in case of an emergency (childbirth or otherwise), has chosen this inopportune time to go to Michigan of all places. Hmph, that woman can be so thoughtless sometimes! So I need these kids to wait a little longer.
There's so much more to say, but it will have to wait until I have more trusted internet access. For those of you who still check back in with me occasionally, thank you, and I miss you!
First, happy, happy, happy birthday to Parta!! I still have vivid memories of him teaching me to ride my bike and to drive a stick shift, so it's hard to believe that he turned 70 today! I told him that he's basically a spring chicken until 75, because "3/4 of a century" sounds old, but honestly, he'll always be young at heart and terribly immature to me. Love you, dad.
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| This is one of the few pictures I had on my laptop, but look - even Zachary thinks that Parta is cute and cuddly! |
There's so much more to say, but it will have to wait until I have more trusted internet access. For those of you who still check back in with me occasionally, thank you, and I miss you!
Friday, June 8, 2012
This Is What Happens When I'm Not At Home
All sense of fashion is gone. And that's not saying much, given that I generally lack fashion sense. But I certainly do better than this:
(Btw, we're 35 weeks and one day today. The babies are looking good!)
Well, Hello There
Despite not leaving my room and otherwise truly behaving myself last weekend, my blood pressure at home had been high. Thus, I didn't hold out much hope that my Monday follow-up appointment with my OB would end with anything other than a hospital visit. I had my suitcase packed and had The Husband drive me to the appointment where the inevitable happened.
So I've been here, lying around with crappy internet access since Monday. I've now been diagnosed with mild preeclampsia, and the doctors are certain that at some point either my blood pressure or the lab work will show something completely out of whack, and I'll have to deliver. One OB estimates that I have another one to two weeks left, and my primary OB simply states that we will no longer let me go past 37 weeks. I asked him the odds of that happening, and he said that a couple weeks ago, given my blood pressure readings, he would've given me about no chance. But there's something magically relaxing about the hospital. Although my bp readings haven't been "normal," they've been significantly lower than at home or at his office, so he thinks I very well could make it that long. And if I do, the babies are practically guaranteed to go home with me.
So that means two more weeks of confinement to this room. I try to work but sitting up is terrible for my bp, so I'm trying to work on my side. And my sides hurt. I miss my family who I only get to see every other day because this hospital is an hour away from home with no traffic -- during rush hour, fuhgetaboutigit. And it takes forever to open an email, and sometimes, the internets don't work at all (hence the lack of blog posts despite my abundance of free time).
But again, mom is home holding down the fort and taking care of my boys when I'm not there, so I don't have much to worry about except for her flight back home on Tuesday. I'm trying not to think about that. I'm also trying not to think about being at home in my own bed, and at least getting to listen to Zachary's ramblings. He had started sitting down at the bottom of the stairs and yelling up to me in my room to tell me about his day. During the last such conversation, he was telling me about his new ambulance, and that there were no buttons on it. When mom called him to eat, I could hear his little footsteps as he ran over to her to object and tell her, "I'm talking to mama!" He ran back and continued to talk to me from the bottom of the stairs.
Over the weekend, I overheard this conversation between The Husband and Zachary:
Husband: Do you want to go poo poo in the potty?
Zachary: Yes! Potty!
Zachary gets situated on the potty. There are conversations. There are at least 5 books read. There's a little bit of silence, and then there's
Zachary: Its. Not. Weerrrking!
The poo occurred about 10 minutes later in his diaper. Oh well.
Okay, I know I've crammed a lot in here. I'm going to try to attempt to connect to this more often so I don't need to write overwhelmingly long, boring posts. Stay tuned.
So I've been here, lying around with crappy internet access since Monday. I've now been diagnosed with mild preeclampsia, and the doctors are certain that at some point either my blood pressure or the lab work will show something completely out of whack, and I'll have to deliver. One OB estimates that I have another one to two weeks left, and my primary OB simply states that we will no longer let me go past 37 weeks. I asked him the odds of that happening, and he said that a couple weeks ago, given my blood pressure readings, he would've given me about no chance. But there's something magically relaxing about the hospital. Although my bp readings haven't been "normal," they've been significantly lower than at home or at his office, so he thinks I very well could make it that long. And if I do, the babies are practically guaranteed to go home with me.
So that means two more weeks of confinement to this room. I try to work but sitting up is terrible for my bp, so I'm trying to work on my side. And my sides hurt. I miss my family who I only get to see every other day because this hospital is an hour away from home with no traffic -- during rush hour, fuhgetaboutigit. And it takes forever to open an email, and sometimes, the internets don't work at all (hence the lack of blog posts despite my abundance of free time).
But again, mom is home holding down the fort and taking care of my boys when I'm not there, so I don't have much to worry about except for her flight back home on Tuesday. I'm trying not to think about that. I'm also trying not to think about being at home in my own bed, and at least getting to listen to Zachary's ramblings. He had started sitting down at the bottom of the stairs and yelling up to me in my room to tell me about his day. During the last such conversation, he was telling me about his new ambulance, and that there were no buttons on it. When mom called him to eat, I could hear his little footsteps as he ran over to her to object and tell her, "I'm talking to mama!" He ran back and continued to talk to me from the bottom of the stairs.
Over the weekend, I overheard this conversation between The Husband and Zachary:
Husband: Do you want to go poo poo in the potty?
Zachary: Yes! Potty!
Zachary gets situated on the potty. There are conversations. There are at least 5 books read. There's a little bit of silence, and then there's
Zachary: Its. Not. Weerrrking!
The poo occurred about 10 minutes later in his diaper. Oh well.
Okay, I know I've crammed a lot in here. I'm going to try to attempt to connect to this more often so I don't need to write overwhelmingly long, boring posts. Stay tuned.
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