My Blown Cover

As record snowfalls hit our area yesterday, Mark was lucky enough to have the day off. It's very rare that we all spend an entire day in our house together, as weekends are usually spent rushing around somewhere. Besides having another adult in the house for company, I was hoping that Mark would get a little taste of my day.

More often than not, my day goes somewhat like this:

"Mommy, I want orange juice."
"Mommy, get me chocolate milk."
"Mommy, I have to pee."
"Mommy, I have to poop."
"Mommy, get me my monster trucks."
"Mommy, I want to play downstairs."
"Mommy, I want to play upstairs."
"Mommy, mommy, mommy."
*cry, cry, cry*
*whine, whine, whine*

And that's all in the first five minutes of waking up.

And then he wonders why I'm exhausted and crabby when he gets home from work.

Game on, buddy. Now you get to spend a day in the life.

I don't know if the kids were hypnotized into real life snow angels by the falling flakes, but they certainly didn't live up to their Mamma's barbarian hype yesterday.

From the moment they woke up, they played so nicely and independently. No fighting, crying, whining. They shared. They spoke nicely to each other. They painted the dining room. Okay, that's a bit of an exaggeration. But they were little angels. They even took a 3 hour long nap. I had to wake them for supper.

"Wow, you have it tough here." Mark said, around 5PM, as we lazily laid around watching trash TV for a second hour.

"Really, it's nothing like this. Trust me." I pleaded.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah."

Way to go, guys. Thanks for blowing my "you-don't-know-how-hard-it-is-all-day" cover. Couldn't you have saved your angelic performance for a day when it's just Mommy?

Oooohhh, gotta run. Jillian's calling for her dolls and Max just took all the stuffing out of a pillow.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder...and the house a whole lot cleaner

Today I was lucky enough to have a day to myself, courtesy of my in-laws. I dropped the kids off at 9AM and as I sit here nearly 6 hours later, I'm exhausted from my whirlwind day.

Instead of jetting off to the spa or to the mall, I spent the day cleaning. It was much easier to clean without two little ones at my feet, or to stop to referee every 15 minutes, or to examine the loud bang in the next room. However, I miss the little buggers. Maybe I subconsciously planned this day to see how the three of us would do without each other for a day, in anticipation of my inevitable return to work. I called my mother-in-law three times today and each time she revealed what fun they were having. Meanwhile, I'm covered in dust-bunnies and have a scar from a battle with a non-cooperating tension rod.

Life at home with the kids is bizarre. There are so many days when I wish I could get a break from them, but now that I have the time apart from them, I want them here. There have been so many days when I wonder what it would be like if I worked away from the home full time, but I have to keep on telling myself that this situation is fleeting. But, for now, I'm thankful for an abbreviated break from the kiddos, but look forward to seeing their smiling faces in just a few short minutes. I think we'll all appreciate each other just a wee bit more today!

Pierced!

After months of gentle prodding by Jillian, and more than a few times of my backing out, Jillian finally got her ears pierced tonight.

She had been asking for this for at least a year. I told her when she was potty-trained we would get them done for her. She became potty-trained and I still wasn't ready, so I told her when she was three she could have them done. Since her third birthday has come and gone, and she still seemed more than eager for earrings, we decided tonight was the night. She, along with her big cousin Ava, made the trek to the mall for the big event.

Both girls did absolutely great. Neither one of them cried, or flinched even. And, they did each ear individually instead of both at the same time. She's so proud of herself and I'm proud of her too!

*******

I'm always chuckling at the things Max and Jillian say. It seems like they always have some sort of story to tell. The best part is that they love doling out compliments and I, of course, am always willing to take them - especially if they come from these two. Tonight, Jillian and I were cuddling in bed. She started stroking my eyebrows. She said: "Your eyebrows. They are so beautiful on you." Adorable, right? "They look just like Pappap's". Thanks a lot, kid. Needless to say, I'm going to find a place to get them waxed first thing in the morning!

A letter to little tikes CEO, my hero

Dear little tikes CEO,

Thank you for inventing the little tikes bounce house. In just one day alone, you have brought peace to our family. No other toy has entered our house thus far and kept the attention of our twins for THREE WHOLE HOURS! Sure, the hum of the fan continually blowing air to keep the bounce house bounceable is mildly mind-numbing and my living room looks like Knoebels, but it's a price I'll gladly pay to avoid being the Gravedigger monster truck for the 7,943th time. Or to reenact the ending to Cinderella for the 9,241th time. As I write this letter, our twins are slumbering as they are completely exhausted from a morning of bouncing. I'm excited about the possibilities the bounce house will bring to our happy home. Maybe they can bounce while I read a book. Paint my nails. Make a quiche. Talk on the phone. Paint the downstairs. Okay, maybe I am getting a bit carried away, but I just love the brilliance of our own bounce house.

Keep up the good work,

Jenn K.

Seriously, what a fabulous idea we had for Max and Jillian's 3rd birthday present. While a bit enormous in size, this bounce house is an incredible occupier! While we have it set up in the house for their birthday today, it'll be great for spring and summer outside activities (and just test me to see if I won't keep it in the house just a wee bit longer).

Besides bouncing the day away, we did make time for our Kindermusik class this morning, where we shared birthday cupcakes with their classmates. Tonight, we'll have a little celebration with Mammam and Pappap, Grammy and Poppop, Auntie and Uncle Nate, Emma, Ava and Colton. Jillie is already asking if she can hold Colton and sing "Up on the Housetop" to him. Hopefully, her birthday wish will be granted.

We're back....

...wow! Three amazing years have gone by since I've added anything to this blog. But I've decided to resurrect it; I'm not a scrapbooker and feel a bit guilty that I don't have anything like a scrapbook to show the kids as they get older (the thousands of pictures I've taken and stored in albums and boxes do count for something, right?). But as I was preparing today for Jillian and Max's 3rd birthday tomorrow, I thought that now is as good a time as any to start bedarrest up again. The name of the blog "bedarrest" might not have relevance right now - though a mandated day to stay in bed and do nothing is certainly welcomed in my book! I hope this blog becomes a fun way to document our days and our milestones as the twins go from being toddlers to preschoolers.

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.

You Miss Me, You Really Miss Me...

...wow, I can't believe how many people have emailed to see where I've been since I haven't blogged lately. Things have been so quiet and uneventful that there hasn't been much to blog about. But since everyone seems to be missing me, I thought I'd blog about what I've been missing....(in no particular order)

diet soda
my feet
my waist (okay, some will argue it wasn't really there 8 months ago either but there was a time...)
walking
wearing nice clothes
sleeping on my belly
Malibu Rum and Diet Cokes
The King of Queens (this doesn't really have anything to do with my pregnancy, I realize, but I still miss my weekly helping of Kevin James. I do get plenty of old episodes running in syndication and joy of joys --- I saw that new episodes are starting next week on Wednesday!!!! Yey!!!)
going out to eat
shopping
putting up Christmas decorations
my nieces
my friends
my co-workers
my friends who used to be co-workers
going outside (it looks like this week was one beautiful week!)
my car
sleeping through the night (I know that won't be happening for the next couple of years!)

There are things I simply don't miss, though too:
cleaning the house
doing the laundry
driving to Harrisburg
getting up at 5AM

In other news, I think I officially "dropped" (which really doesn't mean much, other than the babies are headed downtown and getting ready for their exit). It could still be a few more weeks yet. I have a doctor's appointment on Tuesday, so hopefully we'll have some good news then. Anyone wanna take bets on how big the Buddahs are? I'm saying they both hit the 5 pound mark. Mark thinks they're around 4 lbs 3 ounces. What about dates? Who has a hunch on when they'll make their arrival? For some reason, I see myself in the hospital on Christmas -- not necessarily that I'll have them Christmas Day, but either that I'll be recovering or be laboring that day (and stuck eating hospital food).

Showers All Day

So, last Sunday we awoke to a rainy, miserable day.

"Showers all day," Mark said.

Odd choice of words, I thought. Why wouldn't he just say it's going to rain all day?

A few minutes later: "What time are you going to get your shower?" he asked me.

"Not sure. Why?"

Two more minutes pass: "I'm not sure what time I'm going to get my shower," he offers.

Not the usual Kehler morning banter.

A few more sentences were exchanged with the word "shower" in it until finally he said: "How about a baby shower today?"

YEY! My baby shower! I've been waiting a long, long time for a baby shower and it was finally here. Of course, Mark had to tell me that morning because the only way he would be able to (1) get me to shower (2) fix my hair and put on makeup (3) dress in clothes that actually cover my protruding belly and (4) leave the house would be to give me a really good reason to do so. And this was the best reason ever (next to my water breaking or contractions starting!)

It was a lovely event planned by my mom, with help from my sister and mother-in-law and Mark's aunt, held at my church just a few blocks down (remember, doctor's orders: I could have a shower, it just needed to be close by my house so I didn't have to be in a car for too long) and attended by about 50 close friends and family.

Everyone was so extremely generous. I couldn't believe all the gifts we received; it was an exhausting day just sitting there opening them all up. In fact, when my mom came over later in the week to wash the baby clothes before putting them away, I couldn't even remember opening up half the items!

We spent some time today putting everything else away -- the piggy banks we received as gifts on the shelves my dad stained for us; the Longaberger baskets in pretty pastel colors on the shelves; the 500+ diapers in the closet; the toys in (what else) a Longaberger basket; the picture frames stored safely away in a drawer just waiting for the first shots of Jillian and Max.

It all feels so close now.

I'm 30 weeks today. My midwife said she'd be happy if I got to 33 weeks; the high risk doctor said he probably wouldn't let me go much farther than 37 weeks if I didn't already go on my own.

I don't have a bag packed yet, although I feel like I should get that ready. Nor do we really have a game plan in place. We need to figure out who I'll call/what I'll do/how I'll get to the hospital if labor starts and Mark's traveling for work. We need to make a phone list of people to call to start sharing the good news of the twins' arrival...wow, so much to do yet...what am I doing wasting time here on this blog?

Bye, Bye BMW

It's a sad weekend in the Kehler household. Well, it's really only sad for me. We traded in the BMW for a twin-mobile. After putting together the double stroller, Mark tested (and I hoped beyond hope) that it would fit in the trunk of the BMW. It didn't. We knew what we had to do. I couldn't even bring myself to say good bye when Mark took it for its last, lonely drive to the dealership. I loved that car. That car made me happy when I drove it. It had heated seats. A sun roof. The mirrors adjusted on its own when I parked it. It was the "ultimate driving machine".

However, we're now the proud owners of a GMC Yukon XL. It is a beast of a vehicle. I think it seats 8 or 9. It has a DVD player. The third row of seats. Enough cargo space for a double stroller and groceries and the grandparents (they wouldn't go in the cargo area, silly. They'd go in the third row).

I negotiated the deal by proxy from my bedroom. Mark doesn't have a good history of taking my "negotiation direction" and getting us what we want. When we honeymooned in Jamaica, we visited this awesome jewelry store where I had my eye on a beautiful tennis bracelet and he lusted after a Tag Heuer watch. Making a long story short, I got myself kicked out of the store after the seller through a calculator at me because I was low-balling the deal way too much (hey, it's where you have to start, right). After asking the tour bus driver to hold up the bus for us, I gave Mark specific direction as to what to do to get us the prized items. Specifically, I said, "Go back in and offer them $2500 (or something like that - I really don't remember the exact costs) but know that I'll go as high as $3000". Not two minutes later, did Mark come out of the jewelry store empty handed (and a faint bruise from a calculator on his forehead?). "What happened?" I asked. "Well, I went in there and said, 'my wife really wants this bracelet and she told me to offer you $2500 for it but she said I could go as high as $3000'". If I had a calculator on me I would have hurled it at him at that point. "You never give up what you're willing to pay! Thanks a lot; you just cost me the most beautiful tennis bracelet in the world." We left Jamaica jewelry-free, but he's definitely made up for his fatal mistake every Christmas and birthday since.

But, I must say, he did a great job parroting my words to get us this deal on the Yukon. Especially when he went to pick it up on Saturday and they wanted to charge us $100 more since the payoff on the BMW I had estimated was about $80 more than I thought. (I'm still trying to figure out why an $80 difference would cost us $100 more.) I was ready to walk at that point when he called from the dealership to relay the news. "I'll put a stop payment on the (downpayment) check and we'll forget the whole thing. If they're willing to let a sale go away for $100, then they don't want our business that badly," I said furiously. "Give me a minute," Mark said. I did and in that minute I called the bank to make sure that the check hadn't cleared yet and I was well within my rights of putting a stop payment on the check. It hadn't and I was. (Still hope for the BMW!) The phone rang a few minutes later. It was Mark: "You would be so proud of me. They're not making us pay the difference."

Darn right I was proud. Now for that second honeymoon to Jamaica and to scout out a new bracelet....

Chomping on Twizzlers....

...know why I am and can chomp on chocolate twizzlers? Cuz I don't have gestational diabetes!!!! Yey! I'm so excited....read on for other exciting doctor news.

So, today was my first day out since October 10th. The first day I wore shoes since October 10th. The first day I fixed my hair. Put on makeup. Rode in a car. Ate in a restaurant. It was bound to be a good day.

We started at 8:25AM with a fasting blood draw. I wasn't able to eat anything since 10PM last night (which actually turned out to be a lot easier than I thought). After the first draw, I had to down a syrupy sweet clear drink (think Sprite with 10 extra shots of syrup) in 5 minutes. After that gets down the pipe, they then draw blood every hour for three hours (still not able to eat or drink anything) to test how your body reacts to the sugar. Mark and I camped out in the waiting room for the three hours. Luckily, we found comfy couches and a spot to raise my legs. He played Texas Hold 'Em on his Palm Pilot; I read "So That's What They're For" (a breastfeeding book given to me by the local president of our La Leche League, my sister --- she's not really the president but she's very pro breast feeding). And I checked my Blackberry every few minutes for any major advertising emergencies.

As we're sitting in the waiting room, this girl looks at me and says "You look like you're having twins". Good thing I was, huh? How insulting would it be if I weren't?

After my last draw at 11:30, Mark and I headed out to grab lunch at BJs in Danville (a yummy steak and ribs place that we probably won't get to for the next 18 years now). They tried seating me at a booth, but unfortunately I couldn't fit in the booth and had to sit at a table. There was a table of ladies lunching across the dining room actually laughing out loud at me. I actually didn't react to them...normally I would have shot some dirty look or made some loud comment back.

Anyway, after lunch, we headed back for another appointment - this time with the midwife. Now, up until this point I dreaded my appointments with the midwives (at the hospital, they rotate you through the different midwives so you get to know all of them). However, I found my past appointments with them to be rushed and unimportant. They never measured me or listened to the heartbeat because their appointments always coincided with my ultrasounds with Maternal and Fetal Medicine (the high risk department) and I think they just always used that as an excuse to not do a full exam. Besides, with a twin pregnancy a midwive wodn't deliver the babies anyway. An attending physician and a team of doctors will. However, today, we got a new midwife to see who is 2 months old to the hospital; she spent the last 18 years at Johns Hopkins (sold me immediately; I guess I'm a sucker for brand names). She spent more time with us at this appointment than our past midwife appointments combined. She measured me; checked the heartbeats; gave me some signs to look for in case of early labor; talked about the doctors that would deliver and offered to set my next appointment with an attending doctor who would most likely deliver the twins. Plus, she told me some things about how I was taking my iron and calcium supplements (I'd been taking them both at the same time --- apparently, not the best idea - they could almost cancel each other out).

After our appointment with her we met with the hyperactive lactation consultant. Wouldn't you think a lactation consultant would be calm and reassuring and mom-like? Not this whack job. She came through the door like Kramer on Seinfeld and didn't stop talking -- well she did for a few minutes, only to let me get out some of my concerns about the viability of me breastfeeding twins? Since I'm a little freaked out about the concept of breastfeeding but understand fully that "breastmilk is best", I told her of my concept to pump exclusively. "Well, let me play Devil's Advocate," she said. Oh here it comes, I thought. "You'll still have to clean bottles." That's the best she has? I'd still have to clean bottles versus having babies hanging from me every two hours? hhhhmmm...let me think about this.

Our last appointment was our ultrasound and consultation with MFM. My mom met us for this appointment as she was anxious to see an ultrasound. Well, our ultrasound techs (as well as our babies) put on a show for my mom. I knew that they wouldn't get any still shots of Max because he literally has not stopped moving for two days. He is constantly moving (oh yeah, they want me to do fetal movement counts where if I don't get 10 movements in 2 hours, I need to call them...I can get 10 movements off these babies in 3 minutes). Jillian cooperated quite nicely and we got a lot of great profile shots of her and they turned the 3D machine on so we could get the 3D view! That was amazing. She has the chubbiest cheeks!

Of course, since Mark and I compete on everything, we had a bet on how much they would weigh. My estimation was 3 lbs (which I thought was overly optimistic); he said 2.4 lbs (which is right on track for how far along we are). Drum roll, please. Jillian weighed in at 3 lbs 13 ounces and Max weighed 3 lbs 5 ounces. The techs and the doctor were absolutely amazed at their size. They said they've never seen twins this big this early. I'm measuring 3 weeks ahead of where I should be. For singletons, Jillian is in the 90th percentile (that means that only 10% of single babies at this gestational age are bigger); Max is in the 75th percentile. They're off the charts, of course, when it comes to twins.

So the weight is good, but we still need to keep them cooking a few more weeks yet. The lungs really aren't fully developed until 32 weeks, so while they may seem big enough for life outside the womb, there's still a lot of development that needs to happen so we can take home big, chubby, healthy buddah babies (oh yeah, the doctor gave us his Buddah cheer --- yelling "Buddah! Buddah! Buddah! once he saw the size).

Anyone taking part in the Pavone Baby Pool? Think December.

The Joy of Pregnancy Hormones

So a few weeks ago, Mark got a new cell phone and he gave me his old one to use. His old phone still has all of his contacts' phone numbers listed in it. I really haven't had the energy or desire to delete them, so they remain in there. I should also preface this post by saying that at one point he also used this phone as a work phone so many of his "clients" as well as co-workers have this number. I found that out a few days ago when I answered the phone to hear the raspy voice of one of his "clients".

And, I'm sure many of you reading this will remember that Mark was away for about 6 weeks back in the Spring for his job, at which point he made friends with many people all around the country. He stays in touch with many of them (both male and female) because they all share the same profession. No big deal here.

Well, yesterday morning, hell hath no fury like a pregnant woman on bedrest with a 51 inch waist (that's right...51 inches; we just measured). So, "my" cell phone rings at 11AM on Saturday morning. The caller ID shows that it is "Lindsey" one of the fine gals Mark spent 6 weeks with in the Spring. I, of course, jump at the chance to answer this call, not really knowing or anticipating anything....just wanted to answer it.

Lindsey: "Mark?"
Bedrester: "No, it's Jennifer" (uuumm, I know that I'm huge now and all, but I didn't think my voice deepened that much that I could be mistaken for Mark).
Lindsey (in a loud, suspected drunken voice): "Are you ready for some Tequila shots?"
Bedrester: "Excuse me?"
Lindsey: "Who is this?"
Bedrester: "This is Jennifer. Who are you trying to reach?"
Lindsey: "Jennifer, what are you doing answering Mark's cell phone?"
OH. NO. SHE. DIDN'T.
Bedrester: "Um, Lindsey, this is my phone. What do you want?"
Lindsey: Click.
OH. NO. SHE. DIDN'T.

Mark: "What was that all about?"
Bedrester: "Why don't you tell me? It was Lindsey calling to see if you wanted some tequila shots. What's that about?"
Mark: "Are you sure that's what she said? I'm sure she's just calling to tell me she's pregnant. She was inseminated about a month ago."
Bedrester (loud, annoyed voice): "I highly doubt she was calling to tell you she was pregnant; she was drunk; where does this slut live anyway and why would she be calling?"
Mark: "She lives in Iowa and that's like a four hour time difference so maybe she's just coming in from the night and yeah, she drinks a lot."
Bedrester: "Well, I hope she isn't calling to tell you she's pregnant because she was drunk. Now, I want you to sit here on this bed and call this whore back and I want you to tell her that she does not call my cell phone and hang up on me. This is my house and I am your wife and I can answer any phone that I want. If you don't call her back right now I will."
Mark: "I don't know why you're acting like this. But I'll call her."

So, he calls back and leaves a message --- something about "you just called my wife; she thought it was a client (ah, no I didn't) and just checking to make sure everything was okay."

She calls back in a few minutes and I can hear her drunken voice on the other end.

Drunk Lindsey: "Please tell your wife I'm so sorry. We're tailgating at the Iowa/Northwestern game and I was calling my friend Mark who's supposed to meet us here. Please tell your wife I'm sorry." And then a few more times I heard her say "I'm sorry."

Of course, after he hung up the phone, we had a good laugh because it was a really good display of pregnancy hormones in action (I'm never a jealous person) and we're still joking about it today.

And, by the way, in case anyone cares, Iowa is not 4 hours behind us. They're a mere 1.

Catching Up

I've heard from so many people over the past week or so wondering when I'd post again...truth is, I just felt I had nothing really interesting to say so I opted to just not post. It's pretty hard to come up with something smart and worthy of people's time when I'm really experiencing very little from my bedroom.

Does everyone really want to hear about the sleepless nights? Well, that's a bit of a lie, I guess. I do sleep every night. I get up about every two hours to shift my body. My stomach is so large and it is putting so much pressure on my hips that I wake up in such pain that I have to get up and move my whole body to the opposite side. It's a process, though, requiring about a good 5 minutes to perfect the next position - propping all pillows in the correct places, moving Mark if I need to, drinking some water. Luckily, though, I do fall back to sleep rather quickly after all adjustments have been made.

Today is an exciting day for me though. I'm getting a pregnancy massage. It was a birthday gift from a friend who arranged her masseuse to actually come to my house to give me a massage. I couldn't be more excited --- and I'm not quite sure if I'm more excited to have all the pains in my back, legs, arms, hands, and feet rubbed out or if I'm more excited to see someone besides Mark, my mom and dad, my sister and nieces and my friends that have visited over the past few weeks.

Tomorrow marks my 28th week of pregnancy which is a milestone that, so many months ago, seemed so far off. Early on, we learned that 28 weeks was the minimal goal as both babies would have a 95% chance of survival if they were born at 28 weeks. Luckily, we've had no complications (thank God!!!!) so we're confident we'll far surpass the 28 weeks.

Then, I get to counting. At first, the high risk doctor said it was his goal to get us to 34 weeks. 34 weeks!!!!! That's only 6 weeks away! Even if I go beyond that to 37 weeks (he said he probably wouldn't let me go much farther than that), we're still in single digits. Only 9 weeks! So hard to believe but yet I'm so anxious to see the babies. (And for those not in the holiday spirit just yet, my 35th week is Christmas Day...so Christmas is just 7 weeks away!)

Mark and I were talking about the babies this morning. I asked if he thought they had hair. Because I picture them both coming out with nice, thick dark heads of hair. Mark said he likes bald babies and hopes they're BOTH bald. I'd compromise and have a bald boy but a girl??? Really, I hope she at least has hair.

We have our next appointment - actually appointments - this coming Tuesday. I go in at 830A to do my 3 hour glucose test to test for gestational diabetes (and I'm so not confident I'm going to pass; I really have a feeling it's going to turn out positive that I have it). Then, I have an appointment with our high risk doctor at which time we'll have another ultrasound. We've invited my mom to come with us to this appointment so she could see the twinners on the big screen. It really is exciting to see. Then, we have an appointment with the midwife after that. So, at least I get out of the house for the day...it just sucks that I have to spend it in the hospital. So, look for an update Tuesday night on our appointment.

The Downstairs Is Overrated

Remember a few weeks ago I was so excited that my doctor decided to let me go downstairs once a day? Well, last night I decided going downstairs ain't all what it's cracked up to be.

I'm not sure if I'm getting too wide for my couch or what, but I'm way too uncomfortable down there to spend any amount of time downstairs. Did you ever see those shows on The Discovery Channel about the 1000 lb woman? The one who has to have a crane to get her out of her bed? That's me every night. I literally have to start rocking back and forth to get up enough steam to get out of the couch. Once I'm out, it takes about 5 solid minutes to get my balance and to take the few steps back upstairs. Plus there's a whole bunch of heavy breathing going on to that makes this process both a visual and audio spectacular. So, that's it. I'm done going downstairs for a while --- unless I have a large group of visitors coming at once (which will probably be tomorrow night - my sister, brother in law and nieces are coming over for pizza).

One of our mattresses arrived today. Mark's mom and dad bought us one from Babies R Us and a friend from work is giving us one his sons' had used. Which brought up a question -- which one of the babies gets the new one and which one gets the used? I wanted to flip a coin --- I thought that would be the only fair way, but Mark insisted the girl get the new one. He said the boy needs to learn to be tough. First, I'm sure we won't even be able to tell the difference between the new and the used mattress. Second, I think Mark thinks that just because we're having a boy, he's going to come out ready to suit up for the Denver Broncos. Third, and what worries me the most, are we going to raise a princess?

Now, contrary to what many of my co-workers may think (those that affectionately - I hope - termed me "princess" early in my career at the agency), I don't believe that little girls should grow up thinking they're princesses. They just turn into women who think they're princesses and there's nothing worse than a 30-year old woman who pouts to get her way with her boyfriend, husband or - worse yet - her daddy. I'd rather have a daughter who knows how to work hard and fight for what she wants and doesn't think the world should be handed to her on a silver platter just for the simple fact that she's a girl.

A Life I Could Get Used To?

So I'm starting week 3 of my mandated bed rest, and now I'm really worried. Worried that this is a life I could get used to. What happens if after I'm cleared of bed rest (ie after the babies are born), I don't feel like doing anything? What if all I want to do is lie around in bed? And have food brought to me? And have someone do my cleaning? My cooking? My laundry? My shopping?

And I'm worried that I'll forget how to do all those things. Is driving really like riding a bike? What about fixing my hair or putting on my makeup? What about putting on normal clothes and shoes? Will I have a sense for what's in style?

On another note, our nursery is coming together quite nicely. We put some of the bedding on and Mark finished setting up the closet. The closet in the nursery is a nice sized space, considering this house is almost 100 years old and most homes this age don't have big closets. Anyway, Mark (with some help from my dad) added an extra pipe to hang the babies' clothes on --- Mark painted one of the pipes pink and the other pipe blue and we bought pink hangers and green hangers(we didn't like the blue ones) to separate the clothes. Mark washed some of the baby clothes we do have and my mom and I spent some time folding them and sorting them by sex and size and started to put some of them in drawers. I can't believe how many sleepers and onesies we have already. All mostly hand-me-downs from a friend and my sister (how ironic, the poor thing spent her life getting all my seconds).

The babies remain very active -- which I just love. I was reading a book earlier today and was resting it on my stomach and the kicks were so strong (I think it was Max's) that it actually moved the book off my stomach. And, the movements I'm feeling are actual movements and not just kicks. If I keep my hand on my stomach, I can actually feel them flipping around or moving positions. It's such an odd feeling. Mark will keep his hand on my stomach enough to feel a kick but then he gets freaked out by the alien-ness of it all that he removes his hand quickly. I think hearing me talk about the kicks and movements is enough to satisfy him.