The Arrival

Jillian Elisabeth and Maxwell Mark made their entrance into the world on Friday night, January 12th. What follows is the best of my recollection of their arrival.

January 11th; 6AM --- we were scheduled to call into L&D to make sure they had a bed ready for us to come in for our induction. After a pretty restful night's sleep, we made the call. Unfortunately we were told to call back at 830AM to find out what time we should come in. Already dressed, showered, hair fixed and make-up applied (I figured I should look nice for the pictures later that day), I fell back to sleep for another hour or so until we called back in. They told us to come in at 1130AM to start the induction. I was a little dismayed at the time because I figured that the induction could take a few hours until it actually started working and I was worried I would miss the 1/11 birthdate.

January 11th; 1130AM --- we arrived at the hospital and entered our room. I immediately became overwhelmed as they already had the baby warmer in our room waiting for us --- it was labeled Baby A and I started to cry just at the thought of what's to come. In a few minutes I was checked to see how far along I was and to determine what type of medication they'd give me to start the induction process. Knowing that I was a fingertip dialated nearly 3 weeks ago, I was hoping that I'd at least be 3 cm dialated. Unfortunately, our first report should have been an indication of things to come --- I was still only a fingertip dialated. At this point we learned that the induction could take until Saturday! Never in my wildest dreams did I think the process would take that long.

January 11th; 130PM --- I was finally started on an IV of pitocin, a drug given to stimulate contractions. I immediately had a great reaction to the pitocin and started producing beautiful, consistent, strong (and I'll admit, not that painful of contractions). Throughout the day, the dosage was increased to help bring on the strong contractions that ultimately end up giving one the urge to push. I watched the clock all day and all night knowing that as the seconds ticked away, my chance for another reason why "11" is such a great number greatly fading away.

January 12th; 2AM --- I was checked again and learned that I was 3 cm dialated! Finally, some major progress. Just before 2AM I was given some pain medicine through my IV (not the epidural just yet). The pain medicine worked wonders, but the doctor who came in to tell me I was 3 cm dialated asked what I wanted her to do to get the ball rolling. Completely knocked out from the pain medicine, I told her that all I wanted was 2 McDonald's cheeseburgers. Unfortunately, she said it wasn't possible and she left my room, I think somewhat disappointed because she wouldn't have the opportunity to deliver the twins.

January 12th; 8AM --- 4 cm dialated. More progress! I spent the next several hours in various positions sucking on freeze pops and ice chips. Mostly I spent the day on a birthing ball rocking back and forth with the hopes of more dialation. Throughout the day, we watched and listened to our babies' heartbeats on the monitors. The thumping sounds were so relaxing to us; while all the other soon-to-be mothers (and fathers) had their televisions on, blasting throughout the ward, I couldn't even consider drowning out their heartbeats with the sounds of some lame talkshow. My contractions throughout the day were described by the medical staff as "perfect" and "textbook". They were off the charts (literally - the chart paper didn't register as high as they were); surely these perfect contractions would lead to some good dialation.

January 12th; 430PM --- they decided to break my water. After being checked another time and registering still at 4cm, the breaking of the water was meant to bring on heavier labor. I told them I wanted to have the epidural ready so that the second my water broke, I could have the epidural. My water - or as Mark likes to call it, Niagra Falls - was broken and within 5 minutes there was a team of anesthesiologists in my room having me sign consent papers, explaining the epidural process and then ultimately sticking the needle in my back. A slight pinch later, and the epidural was in and I was confined to my bed for the rest of the night.

January 12th; 8PM --- the attending physician visits my room with a short statement. "We're going to check you in 2 hours and if you're not any further dialated we're going to do a c-section." With that, my bed began to shake as my nerves overtook my body; I immediately got so scared after I heard those words. The entire 30 some hours I spent in the hospital in labor, I can honestly say I never thought about it ending in a c-section. True, throughout my pregnancy I always said I'd be okay with a c-section and at times even considered just asking for one. But the entire time I went through labor, I still felt I'd have them naturally. For some reason, after his statement and the initial shakes wore off, I fell asleep. I awoke at 9:30PM and said to the nurse: "Get the doctors in here to check me because if we're not any further along I want to have this c-section now. I don't want to wait any longer." Within the 1/2 hour, I was checked and learned I was no further. Five minutes later, a new team of anesthesiologists entered the room to give me the numbing medicine. I was prepped for surgery. Mark was whisked out of the room to get dressed for the surgery, but not before he ran downstairs to the waiting room to tell our family and friends what was happening.

January 12th; sometime after 10PM --- I'm wheeled into the OR. "Remain calm. Don't freak out." I told myself over and over again. The room was full of doctors and nurses. (We think there were about 16 in total). After they hurled me onto the table and everyone got in place, Mark was ushered in. I remember telling the doctors to make sure someone was in place to watch Mark because I wasn't sure he'd be able to handle being there without passing out. Mark held my hand and an extra doctor took our camera out of Mark's hands to take pictures.

A few minutes later, I could feel the tugging and the pulling and the pressure. It's such a weird sensation because I could feel everything they were doing, I just couldn't feel pain.

I remember the first baby being pulled from me and moments later hearing her scream. A minute later, the second was born and a sharp cry escaped from his lungs. My emotions flooded the room. I was happy, relieved, scared, overjoyed. You name it; I felt it at that instant.

"How big are they?" I kept on asking. It felt like an eternity afterwards until they gave us their weights --- Jillian weighed 7 pounds 10 ounces; Max weighed 7 pounds 7 ounces (we later learned from some of the old nurses on the L&D floor that they were the largest twins born there in 26 years).

The NICU doctors and nurses spent some time with them; Mark heard the doctor say, "I don't need to see these babies." What a relief. After months of praying that our babies would spend minimal time away from us in the NICU, our prayers were answered. They wouldn't be spending anytime in the NICU at all. After I was put back together (I don't even want to know what they had to do; I've asked Mark not to tell me what he saw), I, along with my precious babies, was wheeled back to my room to recuperate for an hour. After the hour passed, our family and friends were allowed to meet the babes.

So, now it's been two weeks since Jillian and Max made their way into this world. I'm so amazed by them that I could spend hours just staring at them. It's unbelievable to me that these creatures are here, and they're mine. They are so healthy. They eat well, they sleep well. They are alert and happy. They poop and they pee; I change a lot of diapers and I clean a lot of bottles. I don't wear makeup and I live in sweats. I don't fix my hair and I haven't left the house in 2 weeks. I sleep in 3 hour increments. This was exactly what I was waiting for. Life couldn't be better.

Reflections

As I enter my last 3 days of pregnancy, I find myself replaying these last 9 months over and over in my mind. At times it feels like the time went so fast; other times these months (always counted as weeks in pregnancy) seemed to have dragged on.

But it amazes me how clearly and specifically I remember things --- like dates, emotions, feelings, words said.

May 17th (early evening) - I took a home pregnancy test; it immediately came up positive. I, in turn, immediately called Mark on his way home from work. We were excited; but cautious. I had an appointment set for May 22nd for bloodwork to confirm I was pregnant.

May 20th and 21st - We went to a friend's wedding on Long Island. She knew I was trying and knew that any day now I would know if I was pregnant. "Well, do you know anything yet?" she asked at her own wedding. Mark shot me a glance, but I wasn't ready yet. "No, not yet." Later, he said "you should have told her." But I wasn't ready yet. I wanted the bloodwork to confirm.

May 22nd - I had my blood drawn in the morning and in the afternoon I got a dreaded call. Not from the doctor's office, but from Mark's partner at work. When I picked up the phone and heard his voice on the other line, my heart dropped. This was the call I was hoping I would never receive; I was convinced he was calling to tell me Mark was shot. "Mark's at the hospital," he said. "But don't worry; he just dislocated his shoulder." Relief. I left work immediately to embark on the 2-hour drive to the hospital. On the way, I got a call from my doctor's office confirming a positive on a pregnancy test. "Your numbers look great. Your first HCG is 848. We'll need you back in 2 days to confirm that the numbers continue to go up." That was my first clue that this pregnancy was bound to be different. First HCGs are usually around 200 or so. At that moment, I immediately wondered if there was more than one baby growing inside of me. I made it to the hospital; Mark was completely drugged up. He threw up in my new BMW on the way home he was so sick. "Oh, by the way, I heard from the doctor today and I'm definitely pregnant."

That week, despite what we had originally planned, we decided to tell my parents, mainly because with Mark's shoulder being dislocated and my pregnancy, I would need their help to do things like cut the grass, etc. They were excited, but cautious as well.

Two more appointments by the end of May confirmed this was a viable pregnancy; my numbers continued to rise as they should.

June 5th - We had our first ultrasound scheduled. We knew it was early and there was a chance that we'd be too early to see anything. Worse yet, we also knew that we could get bad news at this appointment. We barely spoke to each other on the trip to the doctor's. Neither one of us wanted to jinx the appointment with words of joy or excitement.

I remember the look on the doctor's face as she worked the ultrasound wand. "There's the two sacs," she said. I thought for a second she meant the yolk sac (how the early embryo gets nourishment) and the gestational sac. But she had a smirk on her face. "What do you mean 'two sacs'. Do you mean twins?" "Yes, there's twins in there," she said.

Mark, who was standing, somehow made it to a chair in the exam room. The look on his face was a combination of excitement and dread.

I don't know what kind of code they have in that doctor's office, but the second we emerged from the exam room, everyone started congratulating us -- the nurses, the lab tech, the receptionist. How'd they all find out so quickly?

We scheduled two more ultrasounds just to keep an eye on the pregnancy.

I called my mom on our way out of the parking lot. "How'd it go?" she asked, again very cautiously. "We got good news. In fact, we got doubly good news." She got it right away. "Twins!" she screamed. I told her I would call my dad to let him know of the results.

I told him the same thing. "What's the doubly good news?" he asked. Not as quick as my mom. "Twins!" I exclaimed. "Get out of here!" he said.

The drive back was equally as quiet as the way down. We were both so happy with the news, but still deep down knew that it was too early to get too excited. After all, we knew the complications - vanishing twin syndrome (where one twin just "vanishes" early in pregnancy); premature labor - Mark's cousins delivered twin girls fairly early as did our friends. We knew the heartache they endured having to leave their babies in the NICU because they were born too soon.

Future ultrasounds revealed that we had the "best" type of twin pregnancy --- they were both in different sacs, which besides meaning they wouldn't be identical, it also meant they wouldn't be sharing food or blood sources, so complications would be kept to a minimum.

At our ultrasound on June 19th, the technician cleared us for telling others, saying that the twins were developing right on target and that there was a 95% chance that the pregnancy would continue to be viable.

Over the course of the summer, we told more family and friends. I went "official" at work in early July. Earlier than I had originally wanted to, but my regular clothes weren't fitting. I knew I had to start wearing maternity clothes so I went public.

The pregnancy continued to be pretty uneventful throughout the summer. (The only time I threw-up was after a meeting with some co-workers in Philadelphia that summer. It was a warm day and I was feeling nauseous from the start-stop of the vehicle - darn Philly traffic - and asked to stop at a rest stop. The combination of already being slightly nauseated and the smell of the rest room caused my one and only "sickness" of the pregnancy).

In early August, right around my 16th week of pregnancy, my sister and I took my two nieces to Sesame Place. Two miles from the entrance of the park, we were involved in a minor fender-bender. I immediately worried about the health of the babies. I didn't hit my stomach at all, but I was worried about the jerk of hitting the vehicle in front of us. I had a terrible time at the park the entire day worrying about the babies. Luckily, I had an appointment the next day and it was immediately confirmed that everything was okay.

That same appointment, we found out what we were having. Up until this point, everyone was asking what we wanted. I always responded with "I don't care." In fact, I didn't and I was glad it was the one decision I wouldn't have to make along the way.

The ultrasound tech said to us, "okay, if I can tell what the babies are, do you want to know?" "Yes," we said. She put the wand on my stomach and almost immediately she said, "Baby A is a girl." I was so shocked. I mean I knew it was a 50/50 shot that Baby A would be a girl, but that it was announced so quickly and with no drumroll or fanfare was a little disappointing to me. Immediately, I started crying but also started praying. "Please God, let Baby B be a boy for Mark." Let me preface this by saying, I truly believe Mark will be a great father to a girl - he's got two nieces that he adores - but something inside of me thought Mark should have a boy.

After a few minutes of probing around, the tech announced, "Baby B is a boy!" I was so overwhelmed I began crying even more. I probably would have had the same reaction had she announced two girls or two boys, but I thought life couldn't get more perfect.

This appointment was also the time we first met with the high risk specialist; since we were having twins we were immediately classified as high risk. It was at this appointment that we learned I'd be put on precautionary bedrest starting at week 24. The shock of it all - knowing the sexes and knowing how life would change for both of us once I went on bedrest was overwhelming.

We stopped at my mom's job (she works minutes from our hospital) to share the good news. Early on, she had said she hoped it was one of each. I called my dad and Mark's mom to share the news. On the way home, I blackberried everyone I knew.

And then, we prepared. We shopped for cribs, for furniture, for bedding; we registered; we agreed on names; we went out to dinner with friends and "dated" each other for the next 8 weeks, knowing that bedrest would limit our social life and once I emerged from bedrest, we'd be changed forever. We'd be parents. We would be responsible for two lives. We'd be a family. No more Saturdays or Sundays sleeping in. No more worrying just about ourselves. No more shopping sprees or weekend getaways on the spur of the moment. Our nieces would have cousins to play with. Mark's parents would finally become grandparents; my own parents would have 2 more to add to their collection.

And now we wait. The bedrest worked. It's intent was to limit my activity so that the chance of premature labor would be kept to a minimum. Now considered term, I'm anxiously awaiting the signs that labor is coming.

If you've read this far, thank you. Thank you for caring enough about me and for Mark and for our two little Buddahs growing inside me. The next time I write will be to share the birth story of Maxwell Mark and Jillian Elisabeth. Wish me easy labor vibes resulting in two healthy babies.

Jazz-alicious

Look out, world. Jennie's got a Jazzy. There I am at my first trip to the grocery store since October.

Feeling quite stir crazy on such a beautiful December day, I took my mom up on the offer to go grocery shopping. I told her I felt like I should walk the aisles, as doing so may help to bring on labor. Unfortunately she insisted I use the Jazzy. And so I did. (Please note, that I did scan the place first to make sure there wasn't an elderly person in need of the Jazzy more so than I.)

After a few minutes of practice, I was rolling down the Weis' aisles like no one's business, swerving in and out of end displays, beeping the horn when an obstacle presented itself. It was a fun hour out of the house, plus two of Weis' famous "Helping Hands" helped us load our car. I think it was my outfit and my tree trunk legs (as is evidenced above) that attracted them to me. I still got it at 70+ lbs heavier.

Oh yeah, that's right. I've gained 70 lbs so far. My goal was to keep it at 50 lbs total...and up until three weeks ago I had only gained 38 lbs, so I felt my goal of 50 was totally attainable. So, at our last appointment on December 26th, imagine my utter shock and dismay when I stepped on the scale and it read 32 lbs higher than when I weighed in just three weeks earlier on December 5th.

"That's impossible," I said to the nurse. "That's more than 30 lbs since the last time I was here."

"Well, get off and try it again," she suggested.

I did and sure enough the same reading came out on the scale.

We went back to the examination room where Mark was waiting for us.

"How'd you do?" he asked. I should preface this by saying that before every appointment we make a bet on my weight. He usually guesses I'm like 10 lbs heavier than what I weigh in at and I've always been right on the money. This time, however, his guess was lower than what I had anticipated...but both of us had never expected this number.

Poor Mark. When he heard that number, I can only guess what went through his mind. What happened to the 118 lb girl I used to pick up with one arm and carry around on my shoulder? She's long gone, Markie. Long gone.

Anyway, the nurse took one look at my swollen tree trunk legs and gave me some hope that the number wasn't a true reflection of weight gain, but rather water weight. Because I am no longer able to sleep on my side (see past posts on labor and delivery trips) and am now sleeping upright, my uterus (which by the weigh is measuring 52 ; for a "normal" pregnancy, it should only be measuring about 36) is stopping the circulation. So as a result, my legs - from my thighs down to my toes - are swollen about 3 times their normal size. There's no harm to the babies they explained, it's just discomfort for me (yeah, no kidding).

With all that complaining aside, we do only have 11 days (OR LESS) left until we meet the babes. While I'll admit I was secretly hoping for an '06 baby, I'm excited about knowing they'll most likely be here on the 11th. Just praying for a painless labor and delivery and that they'll both be born healthy and Buddah-like.

1/11/11 - you're invited

You're invited to the twins' 4th birthday party to be held on 1/11/11. (A friend pointed out several months ago that if I went on the 11th, their fourth birthday would be on the alliterated date of 1/11/11).

We had our doctors' appointment today. Today was the day that we would "make some decisions" as the doc put it 3 weeks ago. And the decision was made for our twins' birthday - anyone knowing me well enough knows my love of the number 11 and since we were given a choice of dates three weeks away I just had to pick it.

Why the love of the number 11?

Simple.

I was born on the 11th.
Mark proposed to me on the 11th.
I had my bridal shower on the 11th.
We were married on the 11th.
Good things generally happen to me on the 11th.
So, we might as well have babies on the 11th.

Beyond the love of the number 11, I have a thing for numbers divisible by 3. Few people know my obsessiveness among looking at numbers and figuring out if they're divisible by three (I try to keep some neuroses to myself). And, 1/11/2007 is certainly divisible by 3. If you're interested, I learned in the 8th grade that the quick way to figure out if a number is divisible by 3 is to add all the numbers together and if that number is divisible by 3, then the whole number is divisible by three. Sounds confusing when I write it out, but trust me...I've read thousands of license plates during my 8 year commute to my job 50 miles away and its a great way to keep busy. Try it for yourself: 1+1+1+2+0+0+7 = 12. 12 divided by 3 = 4! (I do this with any number I see - a digital readout of time, a paystub, my weight, a grocery store receipt...really any number that I've seen since the 8th grade).

Enough of the math lesson and onto the babes.

We had our last ultrasound today. We don't have to go back to the high risk doctor ever again. If we went into labor now, things would be fine, and they wouldn't do anything to stop it. (However, just in case I don't go on my own, they wanted to give me the induction date before I got too far).

Jillian weighs 6 lbs 3 ounces; Max weighs 5 lbs 14 ounces. That's huge for twins. Most twins born don't weigh that much. And, they're growing at a rate of 1/2 pound a week, so there's a good chance that if I wait until the induction date, I'll be delivering 8 lb babies. (Okay, so I said I wouldn't do any more math, but that's 16 lbs of babies, plus the weight of the placentas - 3 lbs total - amniotic fluid - an additional 4 lbs, that's a lot of extra weight to be carrying around!)

We've had so many ultrasounds throughout this pregnancy, that I don't even get nervous anymore that they're going to tell us something is wrong. Of course, early on, I was worried they wouldn't find a heartbeat, or that they'd be able to detect a marker for Down's or other birth defects. But since all other ultrasounds have been good, it's just a good time for me to sit back and relax and watch the babies.

Mark, on the other hand, still drives the technicians nuts. He's constantly asking them questions: Does his head look normal size? Does her leg look normal? Is his stomach the right size? I, on the other hand, had the technician look for hair on the Buddahs today. (You may remember from an earlier post that Mark expressed his desire for bald babies; I asserted my desire for babies with full locks). She said they have some hair; not an overabundance, but there's still time to grow more. Mark was appalled that I would even consider asking such a thing during an appointment. Heck, a mom has to know if she needs to stock up on cute barrettes, right?

My Day Laborers

Six days into my semi-paralysis ordeal and I've landed myself my own personal day laborers. They come in early in the morning, ask what needs to be done during the day, grab my walker when I need it, prepare my meals, and then they leave when it's dark. And they work for cheap.

My day laborers are my family and close friends since at this point I am still unable to be home alone. My mom spent Sunday here and out of the deal I got:

a beef roast
a pork roast
mashed potatoes
7 dozen pizzelles (a yummy Italian cookie-type treat)
chicken breasts
ravioli
meatballs
rigatoni
for those of you wondering, I did not eat all of this in one day; this represents our meals for the week
all laundry completed
my hair washed
a ride in my wheelchair around the 'grove (it was 50 degrees on Sunday after all)


Today, Mark's mom and aunt spent the day. Their day duty included:
cleaning the downstairs bathroom
cleaning out the refrigerator
dusting the entire house
cleaning the upstairs bathroom
fetching me Quiznos, potato chips and chocolate covered pretzels

My friend Tammy offered to come down later in the week to help me. I'm hoping she doesn't read this blog before she comes down; she'll surely back out once she sees what's expected of her (just kidding, Tammy).

My only worry now is how do I repay these Day Laborers of mine? Hopefully they'll take the payment in the form of cuddling with cute, healthy Buddah Babies.

Not One - But TWO - Trips to Labor and Delivery (Warning: May Contain TMI)

I was worried I wouldn't get the chance to meet the doctors who would deliver the twins since the policy at my hospital is whoever is attending that day or night will deliver. My chances are good now that I have already met the doctor who will deliver Max and Jillian since I have now met 5 new doctors in 2 days due to my emergency trips to Labor and Delivery.

It all started late Tuesday after my big day out at my doctors' appointments. After I got home, I felt a little - well, sore - but thought nothing of it and attributed to actually being out and walking around. I took a nice, warm bath and hoped that the aches would subside in the morning.

They really didn't and I was pretty uncomfortable all day Wednesday. At about 530PM, right before Mark was due home, I got up from my bed to go to the bathroom. I couldn't make it. No, I didn't pee myself...I literally couldn't make my legs move to walk to the bathroom. I knew something just wasn't right. I called Mark and asked him to get home as soon as possible; I called my sister to see if she had similar symptoms during either of her pregnancies (yes, she had said - it was difficult to walk towards the end); I called labor and delivery to see if this was "normal" (yes, they said, take two extra strength tylenol and get a good maternity support belt).

Mark got home and saw my condition. He agreed that even though it was considered normal by those who heard my symptoms over the phone, that something just wasn't right. He helped me to "shimmy" to the bathroom...literally had to swish my feet to get to the bathroom; still could not lift them up to move them. After about 3 hours of major pain, another phone call to labor and delivery, and a phone call to my own personal l&d nurse (one of my oldest friends who, up until a year or so ago was an l&d nurse where I'm delivering), I decided to go in. (To put into perspective how bad the pain was, I missed the entire 2nd episode of the new King of Queens while I tried to get to the bathroom from the bedroom again for another pee break. We were smarter that time around and used our desk chair to wheel me from the bedroom to the bathroom). We started getting ready to leave at 9:30PM. We didn't make it into the car until 10:15PM; it took 45 minutes for me to walk down the stairs and out the door, that's how difficult each step was.

So, we make it to the hospital and up to L&D by about 10:45PM; they put us into an exam room - which consists of a regular exam table (guys reading this probably don't know what I mean, but ladies know that it's not the most comfortable of beds --- especially for someone who's already in a lot of pain). They hooked me up to the monitors - one for each baby's heartbeat and then another TOCO machine to measure contractions.

Hearing the steady heartbeats was a relief; we knew that the babies were fine. In fact, they were so active that they kept on coming off the monitors.

About an hour later, another preg-o and her entourage entered the same exam room; she was having contractions and was definitely in pre-term labor (and, didn't make a sound...for having contractions, I would have thought there would have been some moaning and groaning...there sure was plenty from my side of the room).

Next the fun part...they decided to do several "exams" on me --- to see if I was dilated; to see if I was in pre-term labor; to see if labor was imminent. Let's just say there's no really delicate way to do these procedures and soon I was yelping more so than the lady who was in labor. They told us it would be an hour or so until the results from those tests came back.

So, fast forward to about 1:30AM. By this point, I found a way to have the monitors make a loud whoosing sound. If I sort of jiggle my massive stomach and the babies move at the same time, the monitors make this deep whoosing gurgle that just made us laugh (we were definitely majorly punchy by this point). I'm sure the couple who were separated by just a curtain found us equally as entertaining.

At about 2:30AM, they finally came back with our results: I'm not contracting (I knew that); I'm not dilated (I sort of thought that); and labor is not imminent (within the next few days). Their diagnosis: The pain is coming from my pelvic bone which is slowly moving out to make room for the deliveries. The burly doctor, after putting her full weight on my pelvic bone while pushing down, explained that it will only get worse and to put on a good maternity belt. So, I knew no more at 2:30AM than I did at 6:00PM when I made my first call. I was in no less pain, just more irritated and more tired and violated. As we left, we thanked the nurses for their help and Mark said, "See you in a couple of weeks."

We made it home by 3:30AM and somehow, someway slept for a few hours. Luckily Mark was able to stay home with me on Thursday because it was still impossible for me to function at all on my own. Not only did I need him to wheel me with our desk chair to our bathroom, but anytime I needed my legs moved into another position from them resting on the ottoman, he had to reposition them for me. Anytime I needed to shift in my seat, he had to lift me to do so.

Thursday night, my parents brought down a wheel chair so I didn't have to use our desk chair to get from place to place and Mark's mom and dad brought down a "potty" and a walker to help as well.

Friday, my parents both already had the day scheduled off so they spent the day with me. I needed their assistance in everything. My dad for his strength to move me (I'm no lightweight, that's for sure); my mom for the food runs. At about 4:30PM, with the pain not getting any better (okay, I know the doctor said it would only get worse, but I'm still not believing this is "normal"), I decided to call my regular doctor to see if there's anything they could do. At this point, I was hoping they would admit me. Not to take the babies this early, but because I would be in a more comfortable bed, with a bathroom 5 feet away, and a full staff of people trained to take care of these situations. His nurse said, "Get to labor and delivery" and I thought for sure my wish would come true.

I called Mark at work; told him we're headed over again. My mom, who was making dinner in the kitchen at the time, cleaned up, and we got suited up to head out to L&D for the second time in 2 days.

Mark was waiting for us at the entrance doors with a wheelchair and we went right up. They were waiting for us - not in an exam room - but in a real room with the comfy bed that moves positions, a private bath, a TV, VCR and DVD player. The nurse looked at me and said, "Don't worry, you won't be staying here tonight." Oh, if she only knew that I was hoping I would.

After getting dressed in the gown, one of the nurses we had the other night came in to get me hooked up to the monitors. She found Max right away but Jillian kept on moving around; she couldn't get her to sit still. After about 20 minutes of trying, she finally found her strong, steady heartbeat.

The doctors came in pretty quickly. I explained my situation and begged them to let me stay. I explained that I can't have everyone keep on taking off work to stay with me; that there's no way that I could function on my own. I needed the constant help. They were very blunt and said they didn't think it would happen. I still wasn't contracting; they would check to see if I was dilated at all. (Yey! Another exam!).

They pushed down on the same sore spots and all concluded the same diagnosis as the docs the other night did. Then, the worst news of all (WARNING: TMI); the nurse came in to say my urine sample was contaminated so they'd have to catherize me. I warned her I am a big baby and I will scream if she hurts me. "Go for it," she said. And I did. I said to her, "how am I going to push these babies out if I can't even handle something like that?" "With an epidural," was her dry response.

We waited the hour for our results to come back to make sure there wasn't an infection. There wasn't and I was cleared to go. My wish did not come true...they wouldn't keep me. Another doctor came in to see me before I was ready to leave (the 5th and final doctor I met during our 2 visits to L&D). "You can't stay here because you don't have an infection. I know it hurts, but there's so many diseases and infections running through this hospital that you will be more prone to getting something and the babies getting something if you stay." Her rationale made sense to me and I gave in and had Mark help me get dressed for another ride home from the hospital. They did give me a prescription for Percocet that was meant to help with the pain (and to help me sleep, too). In the meantime, Mark's parents and my dad were headed back down to our house with one of those lift/reclining chairs for a better place to sleep and an easier way to get out of a sitting position.

So, we're back home and not really feeling much relief at all. My house - which up until 3 days ago was looking so cute with all the baby necessities (a pack and play, two bouncies, a swing) - now looks like a Medical Supply Store. We've got the lift chair, the wheelchair, the potty, the walker all cramped into our downstairs. My "dorm room" upstairs, which had become so functional for me, is now completely off limits. I can't walk from chair to chair in my living room without assistance; the steps would be like climbing Everest for me.

In all of this, though, I have to keep on reminding myself that the longer the twins stay in me, the less time they'll have to spend in the NICU. And, I'd rather be in pain for the next couple of weeks than to have to watch them struggle to breath in the NICU. Wow, I'm really sounding like a mother, aren't I?

Circus Show Freak

That's me, a big ole circus freak....everytime I go to the hospital, you would not believe the people that comment on my size. It's not even in hushed voices. As my name got called today and I struggled to get out of my chair, this woman - from at least 20 feet away - says out loud: "Look at how uncomfortable she is." Another one made a comment to her husband, "Look, honey, I could be that big right now." In fact, as we were sitting in the waiting room waiting to be called for our second appointment, we heard the familiar clang, clang, clang of a chained, female inmate being escorted in by two prison guards for an appointment. Maybe everyone was just being polite, but I know she didn't get as many looks and comments as I did.

So, our appointments went well today. We found out both babies are weighing 5 pounds each (for those non-math majors, that means I'm carrying 10 pounds of baby around with me right now)! When I asked the tech to tell me what that means in terms of how far ahead I am, she said "You know that won't change your due date, right?" I responded: "Yes, I know. I just like to know what kind of overchievers they are." So, they're both measuring about one week ahead.

I took my "birth plan" into the midwife today to review with her to make sure I wasn't missing anything. Most birth plans are written by those soon to be mothers who want to really, truly experience the birthing process. Their birth plans say things like: don't offer me pain medicine; I don't want an epidural; I want all measures taken before you have to do a c-section; I want the baby put right on my chest right after he/she comes out; my husband will cut the umbilical cord; under no circumstances should my baby be given formula - I will breast feed immediately.

Not ours. We start out by saying (and I'm not even kidding here) - the second I get in my room, I want the IV started to give me the drug that "calms me down" (there is actually something they can give you to "take the edge off"); I want any and all anti-nausea medicine; if both babies are not head down, I don't even want to try a vaginal birth - cut me; I want both babies completely cleaned off before they are handed to me or my husband; neither my husband nor I will cut the cord, please don't ask us to that day; we have already made our decision that I will not breastfeed, please don't send in a lactation consultant during labor or after delivery to talk me into breastfeeding; please try to give me all pain medication through the IV as I have problems swallowing pills (really, I'm still not even kidding); I want the epidural the second it is available.

The midwife had a good laugh; I'm sure she's thinking is this gal really ready to be a mom? Oh, but I am. I just want the gross stuff AND THE PAIN to be kept to a minimum.