Life After the Second Line

Pictures, as promised!

2008-07-02T13:13:00.000-07:00

I can't figure out how to type anything above these pics, but anyway. There you go!

Eleven Months Later . . .

2008-06-25T07:54:00.000-07:00

And I'm back! Somehow, life got in the way. Who knows if this will be my last post for another eleven months -- it's quite possible -- but I thought it would be a good time for a little update, anyway.

First things first. None of my babies are really "babies" anymore. P & E are 3, and L turned 1 last month. Impossible to believe! They keep things pretty busy around here. L isn't completely walking quite yet, but he's well on his way, and I doubt it matters much anyway. He crawls at the speed of light, so how much more trouble can he possible get into upright? (I know, I know. Famous last words). He has a full head of blond curls, and the most gorgeous blue eyes you've ever seen. People comment on them everywhere we go. He says Mama, Dada, dog, and, most plainly "uh oh." And he's the happiest little boy you'll ever meet. Thank God for that -- what would it be like trying to handle the three of them if he was crabby?

P & E? Well, they're just hilarious. P has been potty trained for about six months, but E is just now starting to catch on. His daddy has taught him to pee standing up, and P is beside herself with envy. She recently asked me if we could ask God for "a girl p*nis. A pink one. Please?" She makes me laugh every day, and she makes herself laugh every day, too. If a chipmunk could giggle, she is what it would sound like, I think. E, too, is a crackup, though it's not usually on purpose. He is developing a flair for the dramatic, and when he really, really wants to catch someone's attention, he will make some big statement like, "I want to throw all my toys AWAY!" Or, "I want to give my cars away to somebody who wants them!" But when you try to actually do any of those things, he bursts into tears. No matter what, the two of them are best friends, and I feel sorry for poor L sometimes. He will always be outnumbered.

What else in 11 months? Oh! We moved across town. It was very spur of the moment, but we found a house we fell in love with that has more than enough room for the five of us. G & I's starter home wasn't really ideal for a family of five. Anyway, I rediscovered how much I HATE moving, and I plan to drop dead somewhere within these walls 60 years from now.

Right, that's the other thing -- I turned 30. Ouch. It still hurts to type that.

Hey, what do you know? Somebody's crying. I'll post pics if I get a chance, soon. Sooner than 11 months, anyway.

Birth Story -- Finally!

2007-07-24T12:18:00.000-07:00

In honor of little Luke's two month birthday(!), here is his birth story:

My C-section, as I mentioned previously, was scheduled for noon on Thursday, May 24. It was very surreal knowing the exact date and time that I would become a mom again. G and I took P & E out for dinner the night before, for our last outing as a family of four. That night, when we came home, we took out our rarely used video camera to capture that last night before everything changed. I have to say, I was feeling kind of sad. Don't get me wrong, I was very eager to finish being pregnant and to meet my new little boy. It was just weird knowing it would never be G and I alone with the twins again, and that they would never even remember those two years. The most beautiful and special two years of my life, up to that point.

I didn't sleep at all that night. G did, deeply, and he snored so hard that I doubt I could have slept even if I'd wanted to! Finally, at about 5:50, I gave up and got out of bed. I had about three hours until I needed to leave for the hospital, but we still ended up running late. By the time G's grandma got here to stay with the twins, I was pissy. I hate being late, and yet I nearly always am. Anyway, we kissed them goodbye and told them we'd see them the next day when grandma and grandpa would bring them to the hospital. Then we were off.

It's bizarre to check into the hospital when you're feeling perfectly fine. As I stood at the elevator, waiting to head up to the labor and delivery floor, a woman noticed my massive stomach. She said, "Whoa -- you're not in labor, are you? Shouldn't they get you a wheelchair?" I assured her I was fine. When we got upstairs and checked in, it turned out all of the usual C-section prep rooms were already filled, so they put me in a big recovery room with another newly delivered mom and a visitor. As I waddled in the visitor said, "Oh my goodness, look at that belly! Walk over here so she [the other new mom] can see. You've got to have a ten pound baby in there. And it's a boy, I can tell."

Next, I changed into a hospital gown and got hooked up to a fetal monitor. By this time I was feeling pretty scared and was wondering why I'd wanted to schedule the C-section in the first place. I could've been home watching The View! My mind kept racing with thoughts of how, when I finally got to go home in three days, I'd be a mom of three.

G was with me right up until it was time to go into the operating room, but then he had to wait outside until the spinal had been administered. I hated going in without him! I'd been warned it would be cold in there, and it definitely was. When I asked why it had to be so chilly, the anesthesiologist replied that the doctors get hot while they're working, and that when they get hot, they get bitchy. That made me laugh. Then he gave me the spinal, which felt just like it did when they started on my tattoo back in the day, and laid me back on the table. Before long, I couldn't feel anything and couldn't move my legs or feet. I swear, that is such a creepy feeling. Luckily, there was a radio playing in there the entire time, and at about that time "Little Wonders" by Matchbox Twenty came on. I like that song anyway, but I figured it was a good omen to hear it in the OR so near to when my baby was going to be born.

Right after that, Greg showed up, and the doctors got down to business. It was different than my C-section with the twins. During that one, they could've been operating on somebody in the next room for all I could feel. Not so much, this time. It didn't hurt, but there was all kinds of pressure and tugging. At one point, I remembered a line from the C-section information in "What to Expect." It said, "You may have the sensation of being unzipped." Yes. And I did not enjoy it one bit. I also had a burning sensation way up in my rib cage, near my chest, which I didn't remember at all from last time, but the doctors said it was normal. Meanwhile, they had both of my arms stretched out to my sides. My left hand fell asleep, and I decided to focus on that.

The surgery seemed to go on for a long time, much longer than I remembered with the twins. That's probably partly because my memory has faded, but also because I seriously couldn't feel anything the last time. It was much better that way. Greg kept trying to distract me by talking about what the baby would look like. Maybe he'll be a redhead, he speculated, since he does have a handful of cousins with flaming red hair. Anyway, while I laid there concentrating on my sleeping hand and trying to make idle chitchat with, the doctors and nurses started discussing American Idol. The finale had been on just a couple weeks earlier, and there was much controversy in the OR over whether Jordin had really deserved to win over Blake. Being an avid AI fan, I decided to jump into the conversation from my spot behind the blue sheet. I told everyone that I'd heard that first round auditions would be coming to a city near here in the fall, and that that figured, since this is the first year I am too old to try out. My doctor asked if I could sing, and I said no, but that I would've tried out anyway, just to say I did it. Who knows, maybe I could've made one of the bad audition shows?

Finally, when I thought all the tugging might never end, my doctor said, "Who said he was going to have red hair? Wrong!" I felt my stomach cartwheel. "You can see him? Does he have hair at all?" "Oh yeah, but it's not red. It's dark," she replied. And then Greg went down to check out the action, apparently getting there just in time to see Luke's head emerge from the incision. Yikes! He came back quickly and said, "I saw him. He looks good." Then, right after that, I heard the sound I'd waited so long for -- a strong, short, angry yell. "Waa! Waa! Waa!" It was nothing like the tiny cries P and E had managed to make. She held the baby up for me to see, and he looked HUGE. I guessed he probably was a ten pounder. His color was not very good; he looked pretty gray to me, but since nobody else seemed worried about it, I chose not to, either. I was shocked by all of his hair, because we'd seen almost none on ultrasound. Shortly afterward, they wrapped him in a hat and a blanket and set him up by my head so I could look into his eyes for the first time. I never got to do that with P & E since they were whisked away to the NICU so quickly. It was an amazing moment that I will never, ever forget. We'd done it. He was here and he was healthy. I couldn't speak, except to say, "Wow."

They did have to take him to the nursery for weighing and measuring and all that good stuff, but it wasn't long before they brought him to me in recovery. That was when I really believed that he was fine. Until that moment, there'd been a voice in the back of my mind telling me to brace myself for a NICU stay. But when he came in the room, wrapped in just his hat and blanket with not a monitor in sight, I felt a huge weight I hadn't even known I was still carrying lift off my shoulders. The nurse handed him to me, and I stared into his sleeping face, and I welcomed him into the world. Greg, who had gone with L to the nursery and then to give all the details to our parents waiting outside, arrived a few minutes later. As we looked at each other and then down at our new son, it was as if we were the only people on earth.

Introducing . . .

2007-05-29T13:22:00.001-07:00

Lucas Gregory H., born Thursday, May 24 at 12:24 p.m. He weighed in at a monstrous (for us, anyway) 6 lbs., 4 oz. and was 18 inches long. At today's doctor appointment he had already managed to shoot up to 6 lbs., 14 oz., so apparently breastfeeding is going better than I thought it was.

We are completely in love.

Edited to add: Apparently the lack of sleep is already catching up with me: Luke was born Thursday May 24, not May 22! Sheesh.

Go Time! (Almost)

2007-05-22T11:14:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I had my nearly 38 week appointment. The little guy looked fine, passed his NST with a little help from the buzzer and did all the appropriate things as we watched him on ultrasound. My amniotic fluid level was, however, still a bit low, despite me drinking oh, I don't know, maybe 500 gallons of water since last Tuesday.

My doctor was unconcerned. "We can hardly call this 'low'," she said. "'Normal' is anything 9 or above, and you've been at 8.8 and 8.9 the past two weeks."

But she was forgetting two very important points. First, I am a lawyer by training, and second, I am very, very tired of being pregnant. I spent the next few minutes pleading my case. Then I spent the next few minutes after that throwing myself on her mercy. Ok, fine. I was begging. A little.

"Well," she said, "I suppose an argument COULD be made for bumping up the delivery based on the amniotic fluid. But it's a pretty weak argument . . . are you sure you don't want to be pregnant for another week and a half?"

Needless to say, I was sure. So in the end, we compromised. She suggested this coming Thursday, May 24, IF there was an opening available. If not, we'd stay on for June 1. She called scheduling. I held my breath. And yes -- there was an opening! So, THIS THURSDAY morning I will report to the hospital at 9:30 a.m. with the C-section scheduled for 12:00. Baby boy will be 38w1d old, which is 5 full weeks older than the twins were at birth, so we are hopeful (and prayerful!) that he will be just fine.

Now, of course, I am scared shitless and doubting my decision. Am I really ready for this? How on earth am I going to take care of three kids age 25 mos. and younger? What happens when G goes back to work? (He has two weeks off). I'd counted on his grandma (who is very young and spry, seriously!) being available, but she and her husband have a camping trip planned for the second week of June. That should've been fine, as G would've still been off then, but now his vacation is starting a full week early, so that's the week he will be going back. That didn't even cross my mind yesterday as I was in my get-this-baby-out-asap frenzy, but it's too late to do anything about it now. I mean, will I be physically able to do this alone by then? Last time, my C-section recovery was very fast and very smooth, but I didn't have any kids or any babies at home for the first four weeks afterward. Oh my. I think I may be starting to hyperventilate.

And I keep staring at P & E, tearing up, thinking about how these are the very last days of our life as a foursome. They've been such special, amazing years for me, yet P & E aren't even going to remember them. At just over two years old now, they won't ever recall a life with no baby brother tagging along behind them. It's just weird to think about.

I'm just so overwhelmed right now. So full of love and fear and excitement and worry and nostalgia and hope. And all that in with the crazy pg hormones at max capacity and, well, I'm a little bit of a basket case. A happy one, don't get me wrong. But a basket case all the same.

18 Days

2007-05-14T14:33:00.000-07:00

Yup. 18 days until our newest little man is scheduled to make his appearance. On one hand, it's hard to believe, but on the other, I feel like I've been pregnant forever. I am so ready to have my boy in my arms instead of headbutting my bladder.

I had my nearly 37 week appointment today, and everything looked pretty good. In fact, for the first time, the nurse did not use that obnoxious buzzing noisemaker pressed against my belly in order to wake the young man enough to pass his NST. Only problem was my amniotic fluid was a tad low. Of course that freaked me out, but the NP assured me it was only "borderline", not horrible, and that I probably just needed to drink more. I was holding a water bottle at the time. She looked at it and said, "Four of those a day should do it." Four? That is 80 freaking ounces of water a day! Does she not realize that I am already peeing 24 times a day??? Argh. Then she added, "Try to get some milk and juice in on top of that." Good Lord. But, all for a good cause. I am now on my third bottle of the day.

I don't know this for a fact, but I suspect that, when I go for my next appointment a week from today, if the fluid is still running low they might go ahead and deliver him. I'll be nearly 38 weeks by then, and my doctor will be back in the office. (She is on vacation this week). I'm definitely going to take my husband and my suitcase to the appointment, just in case.

So for now it's just a waiting game. Luckily I have P & E to keep me more than occupied. Mother's Day with them yesterday was just incredible, and I couldn't stop thinking about how blessed I was. I really get to keep both of them, and now I get another one on top of it? Try telling THAT to the Heather of three years ago whose first IVF cycle had just been cancelled. She'd never, ever have believed it. She still doesn't, sometimes.

Uncharted Territory

2007-05-02T12:25:00.000-07:00

35 weeks today. Can you believe it? Tomorrow I will be two full weeks more pregnant than I ever was with Peyton and Ethan. One more week until the high risk OB says I can stop taking my baby aspirin, because if my blood pressure creeps up after that point, delivering the baby should be perfectly safe and require no NICU stay. Did you hear that? NO NICU STAY!

I can hardly believe I've made it this far. I won't lie -- it's been a very long haul. After I had P & E, I used to daydream about maybe having another baby someday. It would be a singleton, I figured, and I would have a smooth and simple pregnancy along with a full term delivery. I would be all glowy and rosy, enjoying my status as a "regular," not high risk, mommy-to-be every single day. I would make sure the baby's carseat was installed before I went to the hospital to deliver him, confident that he would be coming home with me when I was released in two or three days time.

Well. It hasn't exactly gone that way. I mean, in part it has -- this pregnancy has been completely uneventful. Other than some trace blood in my urine at a couple appointments (which had disappeared by yesterday's) absolutely nothing out of the ordinary has occurred. My blood pressure has been fine, sometimes even good. The baby has consistently measured somewhere around the 50th percentile, and I've never had any reason to worry about his well being, as he has been very active since the first day I felt him move sometime around 17 weeks. And yet, I still sort of feel like I've blown it. I have NOT enjoyed this pregnancy and only partly because of all the vomiting and achiness and blah blah blah. No, for the most part, I haven't enjoyed the pregnancy because I've been freaking out the entire time. Rather than enjoying this wonderful surprise and the gift of a normal, routine pregnancy, I've spent pretty much every day waiting for the other shoe to drop. Now it's almost over, and I'm so relieved, but I also wish I could go back and give myself a swift kick in the ass. All this time spent worrying, and for what? Even if all the terrible things I obsessed about had happened, would the worrying have done any good? Of course not.

But I still think maybe it's not too late. I still have 4 weeks and 2 days to go until the little guy's scheduled appearance. We're putting the finishing touches on the nursery, and I did get all his clothes washed and hung because hey -- it looks like he should be able to come right home and wear them! The carseat is not installed yet, but it will be soon. Definitely before I leave for the hospital on the 1st. Because finally, with 30 days to go, I'm starting to believe that this might all work out.

For Peyton and Ethan

2007-04-19T12:05:00.000-07:00

Happy birthday, babies.

You're two years old today, and I can hardly believe it. The day you were born was scary for me. You were only 33 weeks gestation, and you were twins, of course, so I didn't know what condition you'd be in when you arrived. I only knew that the doctor said he had to take you, that it was more dangerous for you on the inside than it would be in the NICU.

By the time your daddy made it into the operating room, Peyton was already on her way out. We got to see her for only a moment over the blue sheet, so tiny, yet so perfect. Crying as forcefully as her little lungs would allow her. Ethan came next, and he was smaller still. He didn't look like a tiny baby so much as a very small, very old man. We'd never seen a baby so thin -- we could count his ribs, and we saw his little chest indent with every breath he took. He was trying to cry, too, but it was more of a soft mew. It was heartbreaking. Then, just like that, you were both whisked away to the NICU. I didn't see you again for more than eight hours.

I don't want to dwell on the time we spent in the NICU, though, other than to say that when I saw those tiny, fragile babies in their isolettes, I never could've imagined the beautiful, busy, thriving toddlers you would turn out to be. You run, you jump, you climb, you give big hugs and kisses, you make huge messes and get in loads of trouble, but you do it all with smiles on your faces. And how can that not make me smile, too? You love to play, with Daddy, with me, with each other, with the dog, with anybody who comes around, really. Neither of you knows a stranger. When Daddy or I ask, "Who does Peyton love?" you say "Mama?" or "Dada?" depending on who posed the question. Smart, smart girl. Ethan, you don't say much yet, but I know you're working on it. And you've got most of the important ones ("vrrrrroooom", "uh oh", "no!", "boom!", and "night niiiiiiiiight") down already. And that smile -- that smile just lights up the room. Both of you seem to have caught on to the fact that there's a little baby on the way, and when we ask you where he is, you push each other out of the way trying to get to my belly to kiss it. I know you're going to be a fantastic big brother and big sister. You've set an awfully high standard for the new little guy to measure up to.

There have been some hard moments, but these two years have been the fastest and best of my entire life. The two of you make my bad days better and my good days wonderful. Every day I wake up excited to be with you, to love on you, to see what you're going to do next. And ok, maybe, since you're two, you're not *really* babies anymore. But you'll always be MY babies, and I'll always be waiting for you with a big hug, or a kiss to make an owie better, or a shoulder to cry on, or whatever else you need. No matter how old you are.

Love you guys.

The Danger Zone

2007-04-05T12:15:00.000-07:00

31 weeks, 1 day today. Exactly three days before I was admitted to the hospital with P & E, hence the title of this post. I am trying to shake the feeling that this is all going to go to hell in a handbasket any day now, but it's tough. I just can't quite wrap my mind around the idea that maybe this reproductively challenged body of mine could get it all right this time.

I saw the doctor on Tues., and everything is more or less ok. The blood pressure was fine and there was no protein in my urine, so preeclampsia doesn't appear to be on the immediate horizon. That's the good news. The indifferent news was this: there is a trace amount of blood in that urine. Of course I freaked out when the tech told me this, even though she assured me it was, in fact, only a trace, not visible to the naked eye, and that such a small amount is totally normal for some pregnant women. The doctor then told me the exact same thing, adding that it was not the first time my urine had tested positive for a trace of blood this pregnancy; it was just that no one had mentioned it to me before since they don't consider it a cause for alarm at this point. She said they will continue to monitor it post-delivery, and if it persists past my six week postpartum appointment, THEN she will send me to a urologist, but not before. You probably just have an irritable uterus, she said. I then came home and consulted Dr. Google, who assured me that this can be normal and may be no more than a side effect of the baby aspirin I'm taking to ward off blood pressure problems. After all that, I was somewhat reassured, but I'm still hoping it disappears by the time I go back in three weeks.

In other news -- I have a C-section date! The big day will be June 1, assuming I make it that far. I was really hoping for a May date, just so I could say right now that the baby is coming next month, but June 1 will do. That's five days prior to his edd, and it's a Friday, which will be nice for anyone planning to visit while I hang out in the hospital for three days with the little guy. He's still nameless, by the way, but I think we've got it narrowed down to three. We'll just have to find out who he is when we finally see his gorgeous face in eight weeks and one day. Not that I'm counting or anything . . .

Memories . . .

2007-03-20T14:40:00.000-07:00

One day last week I said to G, "Isn't it weird how we know, practically down to the minute, when P & E were conceived, but with this one we have no clue? Don't you think there should've been some magic in the air that night that we would've noticed? I mean, it's not every day a formerly infertile couple with a firm, unfortunate reason for their diagnosis spontaneously conceives."

G said, "What are you talking about? I have a picture from that night! I know exactly when it was."

Me: "WHAT?"

G: "Look what happens when our home number calls my cell." *Hands over cell phone*

Me: Sees that, in fact, when our home phone number comes up on his caller i.d., a picture of my chest in one of the only low-cut shirts I own flashes on his display screen. Not a picture of all of me, mind you, only my cleavage. Such as it is.

G: "I took that the night we were out with [your friend] P for her birthday. That was September 12, right? And you told me, way back when you found out you were pregnant, that some online calculator you'd used said that based on your June 6th due date, you must've conceived sometime around Sept. 12. So, see? We may not have embryo pictures, but we have a momento!"

Me: Remembers the night in question and the many drinks involved. Realizes that, yes, G and I did have a very good time after we got home that night.

So it turns out that, in fact, we do have a momento from the night Baby Boy was conceived. But I don't think we'll ever be showing it to him.

Progress

2007-03-12T20:01:00.000-07:00

I had another doctor appointment today, this one being the last of my monthly visits. I go again in three weeks (well, aside from a "quick" 45 minute drive over there next week to do the glucose screen someone forgot to schedule for today's appointment -- grrr), and after that I will be seen bi-weekly for a while. You know what that means? It means I am getting closer to having this baby! WOOOHOOO! I am so over being pregnant it's not even funny. Don't get me wrong, I do love feeling my little man bouncing around in there, and I do love having big boobs for this brief stretch in my otherwise B-cup life, but aside from that? Blech. I know two women who say, with straight faces, that being pregnant was the best time of their lives. WTF? I don't know if they were just incredibly lucky for nine months and escaped a lot of the crap that comes the way of most pregnant women, or if they were just smoking some really good stuff at the time (it was the 70s, you know), but I can't identify. I'm thinking of doing a "Why I Hate Being Pregnant: Third Trimester Edition" post, but it has come to my attention that there may be a small number of active infertiles reading this, and because they've already had to put up with one bitching, moaning pg post, I will hold off on doing another for the time being. I think, though, that I will have to do the post eventually, for this reason: G and I are sure, at this point, that three children is the perfect number for us, and we have no intention of ever having another. For lots of very good reasons. But I know the time will come, probably a year or two from now, when it will occur to me that I'll never feel a baby kicking inside me again, never again feel the warm weight of my own newborn snuggled against my chest, never again have a reason to buy those tiny, tissue sized diapers. And I will be sad. I may even start entertaining the notion of trying for an even bigger family and contemplating sneaking some OPKs into the house just for kicks. It is then that I will need the "Why I Hate Being Pregnant" posts. They may save me from myself.

Ok, tangent over. The appointment today went well. I mean, aside from the fact that I am a complete nutjob. See, last month Baby Boy was measuring about five days behind schedule. His head was measuring behind by about eight days. This worried me enormously, despite the fact that the tech and the nurse practitioner both reassured me that they allow two weeks leeway either direction at that point, and hence, he was just fine. Nonetheless, I have spent the nearly five weeks since that appointment hoping and praying that he might at least catch up, if not start measuring a little on the big side. So what happens today? Baby looks great. I am 27 weeks, 5 days, and he clocked in at 28 weeks, 4 days. Fantastic, right? Just what I wanted! But alas -- no. Today I became worried that he had grown too quickly, particularly his head, which measured 29 weeks even. I know, I know. Ridiculous. After much reassurance that all of his measurements fell within the normal range, coupled with additional reassurance that, because of his position, getting an accurate head measurement was somewhat challenging, I am feeling better. But still. Can you even believe that? I get exactly what I've been praying for, and I let it scare the hell out of me. Anyway, everything looked great, and he now tips the scales at 2 lbs., 10 oz. Only 5 oz. less than little E was at birth. Amazing.

Since January, when I saw the peri, I've been taking one baby aspirin per day. Apparently there is some evidence that this can decrease the recurrence rate of preeclampsia. Today the peri told me to continue doing so until I hit 36 weeks and then to stop because if I develop hypertension at that point, they'll just go ahead and deliver the little guy. I did the math, and that means B-Day could potentially be as early as May 9. Yikes! I can't even think about how much there is to do between now and then. Maybe less than two months until I'm a mom of three???

Getting There

2007-03-02T11:57:00.000-08:00

It's official: I am now 26 weeks, 2 days pregnant, and since my doctor intends to schedule the C-section somewhere around the 39 week mark, I have made it to my third trimester! Time has moved very, very slowly up to this point, but I think things may start to speed up now. For one thing, the nesting instinct is starting to creep in, so I think we'll finally start making some real preparations for this little one's arrival. For another, it's March -- WOOHOO! I know winter is officially here for a few more weeks, and even beyond that we're likely to have a few cold patches, but November - February is over, and those, to me, are the most brutal months. Now it's time to think Spring.

To my complete disbelief, things are still looking ok on the b/p front. It's not fantastic, but it's not meds-worthy either, and it seems to be holding steady rather than creeping up like I'd feared. I'm already five weeks farther in than I was last time when I had to start meds. I guess, even though I've felt very much like I did while expecting P & E, it really is easier to carry a singleton than it is to carry two. Hope I didn't just jinx myself by saying that.

P & E's second birthday is fast approaching, too. Now that I can't believe. Seems like just yesterday I was trying to figure out where to hold their first birthday party, and now it's nearly time to do it all again? Yikes. I wonder how many years of co-parties I can get away with before they start demanding separate, gender specific festivities?

I worry about them a little bit because they just aren't saying much yet. I remember last year, at their party, I was thinking how they'd probably be little chatterboxes by the next year's event. Um. . . . not so much. P is saying *maybe* 20 words, including animal noises she knows, and E isn't even to that point yet. I'm hoping they're just late bloomers, especially since they are on target or maybe even ahead of schedule in their physical development, but I don't know when it's time to really be concerned. As of their 18 month appt., their doctor wasn't. He said twins tend to talk a bit later, and some singletons talk late anyway, and he figured they'd start talking when they were damn good and ready. Well, maybe he didn't say that in so many words, but that was the gist. So I guess I'll keep taking the wait and see approach for now.

Let's see, what else . . . oh! Names. Names, people. I know there aren't many of you reading this, but seriously, if you have any boy name suggestions, they would be most greatly appreciated. We've got NOTHING. Help!

It's Tough to Post When You Can't Find Your Blog

2007-02-15T06:38:00.000-08:00

Yes, that's right. I haven't posted in a month or so because my blog disappeared. I've been able to see it via links from other people's blogs, but when I tried to access my Blogger dashboard, it was nowhere to be found. This was, somehow, the result of my bungled attempt to convert to the new version of Blogger. I don't know how I screwed it up, but anyway, yesterday a much more computer savvy friend was able to help me out and locate the damn thing again. So anyway -- I'm back!

There hasn't been a whole lot to update lately, though, even if I had been able to find my blog. Things are, thankfully, moving along perfectly normally at the moment -- knock on wood that I didn't just jinx myself by writing that! I hit 24 weeks yesterday, so Baby Boy is now officially on the outer edges of viability. I know that's kind of a morbid thought, but somehow I can't help myself. I did the same thing while pregnant with P & E. Once I got past 22 or 23 weeks, I counted every week in terms of their increased odds of survival should they happen to be born that very day. Once I got to 28 weeks, I really felt like I had it made. I had no concept at that time of just how difficult the beginning of their lives would be arriving at 33 weeks the way they did, so in hindsight, I shudder to think about how relaxed I started feeling far, far too early. I know better this time around, so while another few weeks might give BB a very good chance at life, I really want to keep him on the inside for much, MUCH longer than that. Say another 12 or 13 weeks, bare minimum.

I'm feeling really good about the fact that I am not yet on blood pressure meds. It's been ok here at home all along, and at my OB appt. last week, for the first time, it was ok in the office, too! Not *great* mind you, but ok, and that's all I'm after. Here's how I see it: last time, I started meds. at 21 weeks. They worked well for between 9 and 10 weeks before I was hospitalized. I made it another two weeks in there under constant surveillance before P & E had to be delivered, so that's about 11.5 weeks total from beginning meds. to delivery. If that all happened again, the exact same way (and surely it wouldn't be any worse, since I'm expecting a singleton this time, right?) even if I started meds. tomorrow, BB might arrive at around 36 weeks. Not bad. Not bad at all. I realize, of course, that anything can happen and there is no guarantee that the meds. would work as well or as long this time, blah blah blah. But this makes me feel better, so I'm going with it.

We're trying to prepare P & E for the upcoming arrival of their new baby brother, but I really don't think they get it at all. We've asked them what we should name him, and P, without, I suspect, understanding a word we said, replied, "BobBob." So that's what we've been calling him around here, and when we ask P & E where BobBob is, they will point at my belly or come over and rub it. (Once, in a tooth achingly cute display after being asked that question, P walked over to me, put her head on my belly, and said, "Aaaaaaw.") But really, how can you prepare a couple of 21 month olds for the arrival of a brand new baby? I'm thinking it's going to be one of those things we just have to play by ear once he's here. In any case, I'm very thankful that they have each other. They've never had me or G to themselves, so they are already used to sharing our attention, for one. And also, I figure even when we are busy with the new little guy, they will still both have their partners in crime to keep themselves entertained. (Though we will, of course, make every attempt to ensure that their quality time with us isn't *too* disrupted by the littler one).

So -- anybody have any good name suggestions?

Halfway There

2007-01-16T13:01:00.000-08:00

Today I am 19w6d into this pregnancy. My doctor plans to schedule my C-section for the last week in May, provided I make it that far (please, let me make it that far!) so I guess technically I'm a little tiny bit past the halfway mark.

Now is when the panic sets in. Oh sure, I've been scared since day one. After two years of infertility prior to P & E, to get a surprise like this has seemed to good to be true all along. And yet -- I wasn't *really* scared. I figured, hey, my pregnancy with P & E was totally fine for the first half, so this one will be, too. Aside from the wonky b/p readings at the doctor's office which I've never replicated at home, it has been. But now, in my mind at least, everything changes.

With Peyton and Ethan, I got my first high blood pressure reading in the doctor's office at 19 weeks. She told me to get a good home monitor and to check it regularly until she saw me again two weeks later. I did, and the readings weren't great. Definitely in the meds.-necessary range. At 21 weeks, I started taking them. And they worked -- the lowest possible dose kept my blood pressure in the acceptable range for the remainder of my pregnancy. Problem was, in the end, it didn't matter. My blood pressure was still fine when I was admitted to the hospital at 31 weeks. Seems I had developed a cord blood flow problem resulting from the underlying blood pressure issues, and the fact that it seemed to be under control didn't make a bit of difference. Then, following the two longest weeks of my life in the hospital, I had P & E via emergency C-section at 33w1d. E spent 4 weeks in the NICU; P spent 7 and stil came home on oxygen.

I'm so damn scared now. What's to stop it all from happening again, only maybe earlier this time? My hospital stay and the twins' NICU stay were hell, but I did finally get my happy ending. Today they are beautiful, healthy, thriving. What if that doesn't happen again? If I do end up hospitalized, what will I do without P & E for whatever period of time must pass before I deliver? Even G won't be able to stay with me this time around; if I'm not at home, P & E will obviously need their daddy to be here.

I know this is the absolute wrong attitude to have. I know, at this point, that my odds of complications remain in the 5% range. But I keep thinking, so what? My odds couldn't have been much higher than that the first time around, even with my various risk factors, but that's what happened.

I hate this. I hate that I can't seem to enjoy being pregnant. After I had P & E, I kind of thought I'd like to have another baby in part so that I could do the whole thing over and do it right the next time. You know, have a healthy, full term baby and all that. Maybe that's exactly what will happen -- how I pray that is exactly what happens! -- but I still will not have enjoyed the process. So in that respect, even if I am blessed enough to get a perfectly healthy baby on schedule this time around, I will still feel like I've been cheated out of the "real" pregnancy experience.

I guess, though, that this is "real" for me. It's not easy, and it's not wonderful, but damn it, if the end result can be, that's all that really matters. Only 19.5 weeks until I get there . . .

The Results are In

2007-01-10T07:23:00.000-08:00

Baby #3 is most definitely a . . .

BOY!

I knew it! I actually clapped when the ultrasound tech made the announcement. I should note, however, that I knew even before she told us. As soon as she showed us the femur, I started scouting for boy parts or lack thereof, and I saw right then, plain as day, boy parts in all their 18w6d glory. G was proud.

Everything looked fantastic. Bruiser was measuring right on schedule, kicking and flailing around to his heart's content, weighing in at a monstrous 9 ounces already. (This does not account for my eight pound weight gain since last month -- but we won't discuss that anymore right now, as this is a generally happy post). His umbilical cord blood flow, which is what prompted my hospitalization and the twins' delivery at 33 weeks, looked wonderful. It's really too early for that problem to crop up again, anyway, but hey -- I'll take good news anywhere I can get it!

The bad news -- because there is always a little bit of that, isn't there? -- was my blood pressure. I had high hopes that it would look good yesterday, since I knew it wouldn't be taken until after the ultrasound. Since the ultrasound was very reassuring, I thought, hey, the b/p should be fine. Not so much. In fact, I got my worst reading yet. It was significantly higher than anything I'd gotten at home, even when I took it on my home monitor there in the office. Why on earth would I have been stressed out after a good ultrasound? I don't know, and maybe that means I wasn't. Maybe that means my b/p is just working it's way up again, like last time, and I will soon need meds. UGH. But for now, my doctor is not worried. She said one high reading is not cause for concern, and that I should just keep watching it at home. Only if I get two or three days worth of consistently high readings, she said, should I call her so we could discuss meds. And she's obviously not *too* worried about me, as she is not seeing me again for four weeks. I'm trying not to worry much either (easier said than done, of course) because I know the worst thing you can do for high blood pressure is to worry about your high blood pressure.

Overall though, it was a great appointment. Seeing my new little guy, and being told how great he is doing, was better than any of the Christmas presents I got a couple weeks ago. Now I just pray for that to continue until the last week of May . . .

Fun at the Peri's Office

2007-01-04T13:06:00.000-08:00

Today's appointment w/ the peri went surprisingly well. In fact, I may be in love with that man. He told me my risk of having a preeclampsia recurrence were only about 3 to 5%. 3 to 5%! Yeah, yeah, he was quick to add that if I happen to fall into that 3%, the numbers won't mean shit, but for the moment, that is excellent news. He went on to explain that, last time, I had several factors working against me. First, and most signifcantly, I was having twins. Second, it was an IVF pregnancy. (Side note: did anyone else know that IVF increases one's odds of pre-e? I most certainly did not. And they have no idea why that is the case). Third, I was a first-time mom. He said pre-e is typically a first timer's problem. "Ah, yes," I said, "but I've read numerous studies showing that a woman who develops pre-e the first time is more likely than others to get it in subsequent pgs, too!" He said that was true, which is why my risk was still in the 3 to 5% range rather than the 1% range he would quote to someone who had not had the problem the first time around. Still -- I'll take 3 to 5% odds anytime.

Now, he did go onto to mention that my blood pressure, thusfar, has not been ideal. (No shit). However, it has not reached the point at which meds. are required. If that happens, my odds of developing pre-e again will rise to 20%. Not great, but that's still an 80% chance that it won't happen. Look at me, being a glass-is-half-full girl!

That was basically that. Overall, it seems like I should have a much easier time of it this time around since there is only one baby, and said baby was not the result of a fertility procedure. He asked us about that, of course, and when we told him this baby was a surprise, he said, "Well, infertility is not sterility!" Don't you think that would make a good bumper sticker?

Next up: big u/s next Tuesday. FINALLY!

All is Well

2006-12-13T12:36:00.000-08:00

Luckily for the handful of you who read this thing, I am in much better spirits than the last time I posted. I'm still not in love with being pregnant, but the end result will be well worth it, and besides -- only six more months and I'll be done with it forever. I can handle that. I just hope it is a full six more months! (Well, 5 1/2 would do, but you get the point).

I had my second OB appt. on Monday. It was ok. My blood pressure was on the high end again, but I'd been monitoring it at home since last time, and it's always fine here. The doctor chalked it up to "white coat anxiety" for now, especially since, once again, they took it before finding the baby's heartbeat. (Why do they insist on doing that?) Actually, the appt. was better than I had expected because I got to see the little one on the portable ultrasound machine. They couldn't get a good heartbeat reading using the Doppler, which inititally freaked me out, but the nurse assured me that she kept catching it for a second or two, but never for long enough to count anything. Sure enough, when they brought in the portable machine, he/she was bouncing all over the place in there. No wonder they had trouble getting a good read! Anyway, my real ultrasound is scheduled for January 9. I am dying to find out the sex, but I'm very sure it's a boy (for no real reason), so in a way the suspense isn't as bad as it might be otherwise.

I will also be seeing the peri on January 4, just for a consult. My dr. thought it might put my mind at ease about everything. I hope she's right. I just can't quite wrap my mind around being "normal" this time around, particularly since my b/p insists on playing these stupid games.

Meanwhile, P & E are doing great, and G and I are doing just ok. We'd gone more than a month without seeing our counselor, and it was starting to show. It's amazing to me how easy it is for us to fall back into our old, bad habits. But we saw her again on Monday, so hopefully things will be on an upswing again for a while. Also, G has a week off coming up just after Christmas, and I think that will help, too. He works so, so much -- just having some down time with us should help mellow things out a little bit.

Aside from all that, not much going on besides the steady march toward Christmas, for which I am ridiculously unprepared. Should be wrapping right now, in fact, instead of typing this blog entry!

Confession

2006-11-29T12:31:00.000-08:00

First things first. As far as I know, there aren't any still-in-the-trenches infertiles who read this blog. But since there's no way to know who might happen by one day, let me give fair warning: if you are, in fact, still in IF hell, you should stop reading this post RIGHT NOW. Continuing to read will either make you sad or piss you off (and quite possibly both). So please, move along to one of the other lovely blogs out there and stop by to see me again some other day.

In fact, that may be good advice for anyone reading this post, currently IF or not. Because I'm warning you, this post is going to be chalk full of bitching and moaning and information no one really wants to hear.

Ok then. Back to my confession: I don't like being pregnant. Sometimes I even hate -- loathe -- being pregnant. Some women are such wonderful mothers to be. They feel great and they glow and are content with life as a whole. I am not one of them. I feel like shit. I've been vomiting nearly every day since about 6 1/2 weeks, and I'll be 13 weeks any day now, but it's still going strong. Yesterday I vomited so forcefully that it splashed back and hit me in the face. Three times. My legs and hips ache, I can't sleep even though I'm effing exhausted, my heart is constantly racing and pounding, and my skin is hideous. And then there's, er . . . the discharge. What is this shit and when will it go away? I was a master of analyzing cm in my actively ttc days, but I've never seen anything like this. I don't think it's an infection -- it's not oddly colored and doesn't have a particularly offensive odor -- but it is copious. My pregnancy books say oral sex is perfectly safe and wonderful when you're pregnant, but are you kidding me?? No way am I letting G's head anywhere in that vicinity while this is going on. Sorry for the TMI. But I did warn you.

And all that is just what's going on physically. My head is a mess, too. I worry all. the. time. About the baby, about my health, about caring for 3 such very young children, about money, about G & I, about global warming, about Iraq, about EVERYTHING. Granted, I am a worrier even at the best of the nonpregnant times, but it is so very magnified now. Especially since, having gone through a difficult pregnancy and preterm birth not even two years ago, I know firsthand exactly how much can go wrong, and how quickly.

Basically, this is a miserable time for me. I know, thanks to P & E, that it will all be well worth it in the end. A couple months after this one is born, I won't even remember most of this stuff. (I know this because I had nearly all of these same issues while pg the first time, but I'd blocked them all out and only now have they come rushing back to me). But that doesn't make it easy now. G is unsympathetic, for the most part. His take on the whole thing is, what are you complaining about? You wanted this. And he's right, to a point. I did/do want another baby. But does that mean I have to love all the not-so-wonderful stuff that comes along the way? And you know, it's easy for him to say anyway. He doesn't have to experience any of it. He just feels sorry for himself because the house isn't as tidy as he'd like it to be while I spend these days/weeks/months in a perpetual state of nausea and vomiting. Still, I do feel guilty. Horribly guilty. I'm pregnant, by surprise, the old fashioned way -- the infertile in me keeps telling me what a stupid, ungrateful bitch I am to complain for even one second.

Argh. I don't want to wish time away because I don't want P & E to grow up too quickly. But it's hard not to think ahead to next June, when all this will be behind me.

To the OB -- finally!

2006-11-15T08:54:00.000-08:00

I am relieved to report that everything went well at long-awaited appointment number one yesterday. It's official -- if all goes well, come early June, we're going to have another baby! We got to hear the heartbeat (148 bpm), and that confirmed for me much more than any pee stick ever could that there really is somebody growing in there.

I am measuring in the 10-11 week range, which is what one of the online edd calculators had come up with based on the date of my lmp. I didn't quite trust that, though, considering that in the 18 years since my period started, I've never -- not once! -- had a normal, unmedicated 28 day cycle. Not until September, anyway. Go figure.

Of course, for me no doctor appointment can be entirely without incident. My initial blood pressure reading, before hearing the baby's heartbeat, was 150/82. Not exactly stellar. The nurse asked if I had a history of hypertension, and I felt a little sick as I recounted exactly where that history had taken me eighteen months ago. Anyway, then the nurse practitioner came in. There are five NPs in my OB's practice, and I'd never met this one before, but I liked her instantly. She was one of those people who just has such a gentle, peaceful presence about her that I couldn't help but relax. Anyway, she did the whole exam, told me how far along I was, gave me some info, gave me a blood pressure recording chart to fill out at home and bring back at my next appointment (ugh -- here we go again), and answered all the questions we had. Then she let us hear the heartbeat again. After all that, she said, "Hey, since you're still here, why don't we test that blood pressure again just to see what happens." She did, and it had dropped all the way down to 120/78. Perfect! So I'm still going to monitor it at home until my next appointment, just to be on the safe side, but it looks like the elevated reading was just due to my panic that there would be no heartbeat and this whole wonderful thing would be shot to hell. I am so, so thankful that didn't happen. He/she is in there, 10 or 11 weeks old, and doing just fine so far.

I go back on December 11. (This whole month-between-appointments shit is for the birds, but I don't want to complain *too* much since last time it was the blood pressure problems that got me weekly apointments starting at 22 weeks. Give me healthy person monthly appointments over sick lady weekly appointments any day!) Anyway, until then, I'll just keep hoping and praying for this miracle to continue.

Still here, still pregnant, as far as I can tell

2006-11-02T12:06:00.000-08:00

It occurred to me that I probably ought not drop a bombshell like the one I came out with here a few weeks ago and then not update for three weeks at a time. Sorry!

Ok, first off, thanks to all of you who suggested maybe I could call my old RE (aka Oz) to get in for an earlier appointment than my first scheduled prenatal. It is a good idea, and were my circumstances a bit different than they are, I would have absolutely done that. However, 1) at my clinic, the RE dept. and the OB dept. share the scheduling desk. This means that, had I called again to request an appt. w/ the RE, the same woman who I'd already spoken with twice would've talked to me again. She already knew my situation and had spoken with my OB about it, so I am fairly certain she would've stonewalled me. Second, and more importantly, was this -- Oz's former partner recently left his practice, leaving all his patients in Oz's care. That means Oz has a LOT on his plate right now, and I just didn't want to add to it. I kept thinking about my own long, fucked up cycle, and how much attention I required back then. It would've really pissed me off if I'd known part of the reason he was so busy was because he was trying to pacify paranoid former patients who were already pregnant. Make sense?

So that leaves me where I am now -- probably around 9 weeks along, with no way to know for sure, and another 12 days until my first prenatal finally rolls around. I've been feeling really sick though, and exhausted too, so I'm hoping everything is ok. The whole thing is just so surreal to me still. I can't even fathom how this has happened. (Ok, ok, I guess I do know "how" it happened, but you know what I mean). But when you couple the fact that I haven't had any ultrasounds or heard/seen any heartbeat (hell, haven't even been to the doctor!) with the fact that we had medical reason to believe this could not happen -- you can see why it all seems like a dream, or like it's happening to somebody else. If not for that test . . . ok, ok, testS (4) . . .

Right now I guess I'm about equal parts excited, disbelieving and terrified. Good thing I've still got another seven months to adjust.

The Story

2006-10-14T20:45:00.001-07:00

Forty-eight hours later now, and it still doesn't seem real, but being as I still haven't woken up and I have peed on another stick (positive again), I'm thinking it must be. Amazing.

Well, here's what happened: I'd been feeling sick for several days, but E had been in the hospital (croup gone haywire -- at home and fully recovered now) so I assumed it was stress. It seemed, though, that with each passing day I felt a bit worse instead of a bit better. Even more bizarre, food had started to taste and smell kind of odd. By Wednesday, I found myself on cycle day 43 and feeling queasy pretty much all the time. Now, the cycle day 43 business didn't seem overly important at the time. Ever since I weened P & E, my cycles have been insane, and it was not unusual for me to go 40 days or more between periods. Nonetheless, my long cycle was in the back of my mind Wednesday night when G and I got in bed. I said, "G, I've been feeling sick for days. All food makes me nauseous. The only time I ever remember feeling this way is when I was pregnant with P & E. Do you think I could be pregnant?" G replied, "Well, anything's possible, I guess. It's not like we've been trying to prevent."

That's true, we hadn't been. But that's because, two years ago after seeing my HSG films, Oz the fertility doctor had told us my chances of conceiving naturally were pretty remote. Much more recently (ten days ago!) at my annual exam, my OBGYN had told me that if you require IVF to conceive the first time, odds are very good you will require it to conceive again. If we decided at some point that we were ready to try for another baby, she told me, just give her a call and she'd send us straight back to Oz, pronto.

Which is why, Wednesday night, I was quite unconcerned when I asked G to stop and buy me an hpt on his way home from work the following day. I'd take one, I told him, just for shits and giggles. When I told a friend that I planned to test, I assured her that the odds of it being positive were, in my estimate, probably around .000001%. I think I compared the likelihood of it being positive to that of achieving world peace, or the Cubs winning the World Series.

Anyway, Thursday evening rolled around, and G showed up after work with the hpt. I didn't take it right away; it just wasn't on my radar that anything significant might come of it. It was my 29th birthday, and I was more concerned with fielding happy birthday calls and bemoaning the fact that this would be the last birthday I'd honestly admit to than I was with peeing on any sticks. But finally, around 8:00 p.m., I felt like I could go, and the test was sitting right there. I decided it was time.

The test line showed up immediately. In fact, it showed up before the control line. As I watched, I was thinking, "Huh. I thought the control line was on the other side. I must not have used this brand before." But then, after another 15 or 20 seconds, the control line began to darken, also. It was immediately apparent that I was seeing two lines. I ran out of the bathroom without even pulling my pants up and started yelling for G. I told him I needed him to get the instructions out for me (I hadn't been able to get the box all the way open and had only managed to pry open a hole big enough to slide one test through). He looked at the test and said, "Honey, there are two lines. What could you have done wrong? You peed on it, that's all there is to it. OMG. Are you kidding me? You're pregnant! I TOLD YOU MY BOYS COULD SWIM!"

And so they can. First prenatal appointment is still a month away (WTF?) so I'll be counting on all five of you who read this blog to keep me sane until then.

One Heck of an Update

2006-10-12T20:46:00.000-07:00

Right. So I haven't posted here since August, when I mentioned G and I would be seeking marriage counseling in the next couple weeks. A lot has happened since then -- first off, we went to counseling, and it has helped enormously. We're really learning to see things from each other's perspectives and to treat each other much more carefully than we have done for years. Things have been good. Really good. So good, in fact, that we've done a fair bit of "celebrating" our newly rejuvinated marriage.

And now I'm pregnant.

Yup. That's right. I, Heather, of the two years ttc + IVF babies, now find myself with a surprise on the way. I just found out tonight, and it doesn't seem real, and maybe it isn't. Maybe I'll wake up in the morning and this will all have been a dream. But I'm looking at the pee stick, and the test line is really, really dark -- much darker than the control line -- and I'm thinking if this isn't real somebody better pinch me pretty damn soon.

I can't believe it. I don't know what else to say. Story to follow later, when I can breathe.

Issues

2006-08-29T11:45:00.000-07:00

I don't write a whole lot about G here. That's mostly because, until the last several months, there wasn't too much to write about. Sure, we fought every now and then over stupid stuff, but there was never anything major. Things were normal, and as such, not worthy of comment. Then there's also the fact that I'm not entirely comfortable writing about anything that does come up between us because it's not just my business I'm sharing with the world -- it's his, too. I've always figured, since it's just my blog, I should only share my business here.

The thing is, though, that things have taken a turn for the worse over the past several months, and I really need a place to get everything out. And now I figure, well, there are very few people here reading anyway, so what's the harm?

G and I are heading to marriage counseling in a couple weeks. I made the appointment yesterday. I wish I could put my finger on what's gone wrong, but I just can't. Is it the kids? I don't know. They're 16 months old now, and the issues we're having now seem to have cropped up much more recently than that. We certainly can't blame them on sleep deprivation like we could've a year ago. It just seems like he and I are never, ever on the same page. Much of it has to do with the fact that I've been staying home with P & E, despite having very large student loans which are a long way from being paid off. He's been happy to have me home with them, and yet he hasn't been. He loves that they get to spend all their days with mommy instead of with a sitter, but at the same time, he's very resentful of losing several hundred dollars a month out of his paycheck to a student loan that isn't his own. Meanwhile, while I am an excellent mom (if I do say so myself) I'm not so much of a housekeeper. I spend all day, every day, playing with, reading to, changing, chasing, and feeding the babies. When he gets home, the house shows it. I try to keep up with it, I really do, but number one, I'm BUSY, and number two, I just don't have the same standards that he does regarding what constitutes a clean and orderly home. This adds to his resentment. He's working his ass off, paying my bills and his, and when he comes home, things are not as he envisions they should be. So then he spends any free time he has that he's not taking care of the babies cleaning up the house, and he has no free time whatsoever to do anything he enjoys. He rarely says anything to me, but then one day we'll have an argument over something completely unrelated, and that's when it will come out -- along with remarks about what I'm doing with HIS money. There are other things too, of course, but then this could turn into the longest blog entry of all time.

What it comes down to is, these days, we're fighting much more often than we're happy. I'm doing my best, and he's doing his best, but we're still coming up short. I didn't want to call a counselor. It makes me feel like a failure somehow. But I just didn't know what else to do. I don't want to raise P & E in an environment where mommy and daddy only communicate to snap and/or yell at each other. So I really, really hope the woman we see next month can help us. Right now, too often, I feel like I'm just about to lose it.

Updates

2006-08-15T06:53:00.000-07:00

Let's see. While there have been no major events happening around my place, there have been a few odds and ends.

1) I haven't heard anything yet from fender bender lady. Maybe that's a good sign, but maybe it just means she's taken her car to the body shop and isn't going to bother calling me. She'll just send me the bill in the mail.

2) This weekend G and I took our first overnight trip out of town without P & E. We went to wine country with another couple and had a FABULOUS time. I'm wondering why no one introduced me to this beautiful beverage in college, because it seems that no matter how much of it I drink, I always wake up feeling fine the next morning. The same cannot be said for vodka, rum, or Bud Light, which were the staples of my undergraduate and law school years.

3) Next week I officially start babysitting for the two little girls I've mentioned here before. My trial run with all four kids (babies, really -- the oldest among them isn't even 3 yet) went well, so I'm not too worried about it. Really, the only worrisome thing about the whole situation is that I don't yet know how much I'll be getting paid. I'm starting in six days, so you'd think this is the sort of thing we'd have hammered out by now, but we haven't. I guess I'm just banking on not getting screwed based on the fact that they don't have a backup plan in place. If I bail because they're not paying enough, what are they going to do?

4) P & E are no longer walking. They are running -- everywhere, all the time. They're climbing, too. You would think, then, that I might actually be losing weight trying to keep up with them and keep them from hurting themselves. You would be wrong. Instead, to my horror, I've discovered that I have already gained 11 pounds since the height of my nursing days. Yes, that's right. 11 pounds in about 6 months. Yikes!

Oops

2006-08-03T13:45:00.000-07:00

Got into a fender bender today. I am so pissed. Of course the car I hit was both 1) white (mine's black); and 2) brand new.

Just exactly what I needed. *sigh*

And then I realized I've become the most boring person alive

2006-08-01T06:56:00.000-07:00

Had a friend in from Washington DC this weekend. We've known each other since college -- had a blast together for all three years we knew each other back then. She was one of my bridesmaids back in the day, too. Since then, though, our lives have taken very different paths. She moved from Smalltown Illinois to DC where she found a job she loves. She's been married and divorced and has no plans, at this time, to EVER marry again, let alone have any kids. She's grown to love the big city life, too, and will never consider coming back to live in a tiny dot on the map like this.

I, on the other hand, married my high school/college sweetheart and then left town for law school only to discover that I HATED the big city and didn't want to spend one minute longer there than was absolutely necessary. Moved back to Smalltown with G, worked for two years, then quit to become a babysitter and later a SAHM. And, of course, had two kids who are basically my only company all day, every day. Looking at these two paragraphs, it's obvious to me which is more exciting. Aside from the divorce part, hers is the life I kind of thought I'd lead back in college. But I'm happy. I'm almost ridiculously happy most of the time.

It's just that this kind of happiness, brought about by days at home with my darling babies, doesn't translate to much of anything interesting when I come in contact with anyone who doesn't also stay home with their kids. It occurred to me, this weekend, that I've become one of those women who drove me CRAZY when I didn't have kids myself. I really don't have much of a life, or much of anything to talk about, besides them. And that feels strange.

I know I only have a handful of readers here, but for those few of you who are out there -- any thoughts on this? What can I do, outside of getting a job and rejoining the "real world" to become interesting again?

Ok, get this

2006-07-17T05:43:00.000-07:00

Not sure whether I've already mentioned this here, but I've agreed to go back and babysit this fall for the couple whose daughter I watched while I was pregnant with Peyton and Ethan. Aside from P & E's arrival, the other new challenge is that the couple has also had another child in the 15 months since I was last there. What that means is, this fall, it will be Me vs. 4KidsUnderAge3. We're doing a trial run today -- wish me luck!

Anniversaries and other stuff

2006-07-04T05:41:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was G and I's 7th wedding anniversary. We met in high school, more than thirteen years ago now, and last night at dinner we were talking about how crazy it would've been if we could have known way back then what the future would hold. Seven years of marriage and counting with fourteen month old twins and two dogs waiting at home? That would've been a lot to contemplate at 15. Anyway, we've definitely had some rocky times over the years so far, but I spent yesterday just being thankful that neither of us blew it somewhere along the way. You do an awful lot of growing up between the ages of 15-17 and 28-30, and I feel very blessed that we've been able to stick it out togther.

In other news -- if you can call it that -- my doctor's office called yesterday. My period returned when P & E were three months old, but it's been crazy ever since then. Eighty days one cycle, twenty six days the next; there's been no rhyme or reason to it whatsoever. I've got one horomone level, prolactin, that's been screwed up for pretty much my entire life, so the doctor and I just assumed it was still the problem. We figured I probably just needed to get back on the medicine I was taking prior to getting pregnant, and then my cycles would regulate, no problem. But of course, nothing can ever be that easy. For the first time ever, that I can remember, my prolactin level came back completely normal during an unmedicated cycle. WTF? On one hand that's good, I guess, but on the other hand, it just means there's some other problem jacking up my cycle. My temps. indicate that I am almost certainly not ovulating, so I don't know what the hell is going on. Doctor is not worried about it at this time. She says give it a few more months and see what happens, because some women take longer than others to regulate after breastfeeding. You might know I'd be one of those, right? I'd rather not go on the Pill, just because it seems assinine to pay for birth control after everything we've been through, but if that's what it takes to normalize things, I might just have to do it.

And speaking of everything we've been through, yesterday I found out about the brand new oops pregnancy of a friend of a friend who had her first baby just a few days after P & E were born. I can't help it; I'm still a little bitter. She cried (NOT tears of joy) when she found out about this one. Woman, you got pregnant with no shots, no dildocams, and most importantly -- no money spent. What's to cry about?

Nice to know SOME women's bodies normalize with no problems, isn't it?

Hello? Anybody out there?

2006-06-19T12:13:00.000-07:00

Yeah, I know, it's been more than a month. Again. I've said it many times before -- this is why I had to get a free blog! Nobody would pay for this kind of shitty posting record.

Let's see. When you are a slacker who allows this much time to pass between posts, it's hard to know where to start. I guess with P and E. They are the main things I have going on anyway!

My babies. They are huge. They are walking and feeding themselves, pointing at things and saying, "Whassis?" They are playing together and fighting with each other and doing a lot of both of those things with our dogs as well. I have seriously loved every day with them, and I do miss the days of the tiny baby clothes and hours of snuggling in my arms. But now they are so. much. fun. Watching them explore the world, learning how things work, laughing at what I can only assume are some sort of toddler inside jokes -- it's a blast.

They'll have some company this fall, when I return to babysitting for the couple I worked for while I was pregnant. They have two girls now, ages 2 1/2 and almost 1. So it'll be me and 4 kids under 4. Yikes! Still, it was an offer I couldn't refuse. Only half days, P & E will be right there with me, and it'll actually be cash that I earned, not bummed off of G. I still feel weird about that sometimes.

Speaking of G, though, his new job is going well. Only hitch is, this is his fourth week there, and he hasn't gotten paid yet. That'll happen tomorrow, but even that will only be for 4.5 days. It'll still be another 15 days before he gets a full paycheck. Argh.

And finally, last and probably least, tomorrow I am off to see my OB/GYN about getting on some sort of something to regulate my now completely insane cycle. Ever since I weened the babies, it could be 25 days, it could be 65 days. I'm thinking this is a problem. We still don't know if we'll shoot for more kids, but IF we do, I'm sure she'll want us to try on our own for a few months, right? But something is clearly wrong here, so I'm thinking, let's fix it now while I'm NOT hormonal and psychotic about not being able to get pregnant. Because let's face it. Should we decide to ttc #3, the psychosis will undoubtedly come soon enough.

Good news!

2006-05-15T11:16:00.000-07:00

It's official. G accepted the new position he was offerred, and as I suspected, our new insurance DOES cover IVF. Yeah! This is not to say that we will actually do IVF again -- G is only at probably 50/50, maybe 60/40 in terms of wanting another child -- but it feels fantastic to have the option. Now we can make the decision the way everybody else does. We'll think, and talk, and pray, and weigh the pros and cons, then at some point down the road we'll decide whether to go for it or not. That's so different from where we've been up to now, which is basically knowing that there won't ever be a third baby because we straight up can't come up with $11,000 or so for the procedure.

And of course I know that, even if we do decide to give it another whirl in a year or two, it might not work. Hell, statistically, it probably won't work, at least not the first time around. We got lucky on our first complete attempt with P & E; I'm not crazy enough to assume we'd hit the jackpot like that again. Still, all that aside. As of today, whenever someone asks if we're done having kids I can reply in all honesty, "You know, we haven't decided yet."

Stay tuned.

To hell with it, I can't think of a title

2006-05-04T06:28:00.000-07:00

Well, first off, I guess I didn't quite get around to writing my mushy, ultra-sappy birthday post. I think that's ok. P & E received much mush and sappiness in real life on both their actual birthday and the day of their party, so I think that's more important.

Speaking of their party, it went off without a hitch! We had the most beautiful weather that day; I couldn't have scripted anything more perfect. It was April 22 in central Illinois, yet warm and sunny enough to strip the babes down to their diapers and roll them right out onto the deck in their high chairs to eat their cake. Sooooo cute! They were both their usual drooly, smiley, happy selves all day long, despite the fact that they had nearly 40 people staring at them the entire time. They were angels. They ARE angels. What can I say? They make me so proud.

Which is why, despite my vow last April when I was hospitalized that I would never attempt to have any more biological children, I now find myself so tempted to try it. It won't be anytime soon -- hubby is far from convinced it's a good idea -- but the more I think about it, the more I feel like I'd love to do it. I was talking to a friend of mine just last week about this, and I told her I was waiting for a sign. "If G or I get a job that covers IVF," I said, "that will be sign enough." Well, wouldn't you know it? Yesterday G was approached about taking a full-time supervisory position with the facility that is currently his second job. I don't know this for a fact, but I think insurance through this place would, in fact, cover IVF. (In Illinois, insurance coverage for IVF is mandated albeit with several exceptions, one of which exempts his current employer). Interesting, huh? There are still a lot of "ifs" and "maybes" involved, so I'm not getting my hopes up yet, but it's intriguing just the same.

Of course, there's still the whole thing about how I feel guilty about both thinking and blogging about possibly shooting for a third child when so many are still longing for #1. But that's enough for a whole other post.

One Year

2006-04-19T08:21:00.000-07:00

I'll write the long sappy post soon, but for now this will have to do:

Happy first birthday, my precious angels. Thank you for giving me the best (and fastest) year of my entire life. I love you to pieces -- but you knew that already.

And another thing

2006-04-08T16:50:00.000-07:00

When I published the last post, I saw today's date. April 8. It was exactly one year ago today that all three of us were admitted to the hospital in hopes the twins could stay put at least until May. (Their due date was June 6). We didn't make it, but we didn't do too bad. Still, it was the longest two weeks of my entire life, by a long shot.

Damn it

2006-04-08T16:31:00.000-07:00

We'd been doing so well. Nearly ten months had passed since P, the second twin to graduate from the NICU, had come home from the hospital. We hadn't had to so much as see the doctor for anything more than your everyday, run-of-the-mill sniffles. Until Wednesday, that is.

On Wednesday, I noticed that P had developed a bit of a cough in addition to the runny nose she'd had for the previous couple days. E had been sick for a week and a half -- bronchitis, it turned out -- and had been on antibiotics since the previous Friday. He was feeling great by that point, but I wasn't surprised to see P finally coming down with the same thing. I called the pediatrician and reported that P had all the same symptoms E had exibited when he first started to get sick. The doctor said this happens to just about all of his twins, and said he'd go ahead and call in a prescription for P on the assumption that she'd contracted E's virus. If she didn't seem to be getting any better by Friday, he'd go ahead and see her. We didn't make it that far. By Wednesday night, P had a terrible, awful cough and was wheezing with every breath she took. I called the after hours number and reported the new symptoms. Not surprisingly, the doctor wanted me to bring her down to the ER, just to be checked out.

Right. Four hours later, when four rounds of breathing treatments hadn't made a dent, she was admitted to the hospital. I kept trying to remind myself that this wasn't the same as before, that she was sick, yes, but no longer a 33 week preemie with immature lungs. Still, I couldn't shake all the NICU flashbacks, nor the knot in my stomach and the voice in the back of my head telling me we were probably checking in for the next seven weeks, just like the first time. It was awful -- especially when they told me she needed oxygen and taped that damn nasal cannula to her face. Fucking cannula. I saw enough of that thing last April through June to last a lifetime.

Early Thursday morning, we got a diagnosis. Pneumonia in both lungs. The doctor said it had probably progressed more quickly than it would have in most other babies because P's lungs had undergone so much stress during her first few months of life, leaving her immune system not quite up to par and her lungs particularly vulnerable.

Anyway, long story short, we're home now, and P is doing much better. She didn't come home on oxygen this time -- WHOOOOOHOOOO! A good friend of mine who works at the hospital had already explained to me how differnet things would be this time. When I told her how long it had taken P to be weaned off the oxygen last summer and how they'd had to lower it in such tiny increments, she said, "Oh, they won't do it that way this time. They'll probably just come in and shut it off altogether and see how she does." She was right, and thankfully, P did great. She'd just needed a little help for 48 hours or so. We are still doing breathing treatments at home though, and that will go on through Monday at least. No biggie. Hopefully, when we go back to the doctor on Tuesday she'll get a clean bill of health. Or mostly clean, anyway. Anyone know how long it typically takes pneumonia to run its course?

So, there you have it. Another April, another hospital admission. But next year is going to be our year. I can feel it.

Well, that's settled. Kind of.

2006-04-04T11:23:00.000-07:00

So, about P & E's birthday party. We decided to keep it small and intimate; immediate family members only. That is, until I mentioned it to my best friend, who reeeeeally wanted to come. So fine, we invited her. But then she mentioned it to another of our good friends, who brought it up at girls' night a few weeks ago in front of everyone. And so on, and so on.

We've invited 46 people.

There's no way on God's green earth we can fit 46 people into our 1450 square foot house. Maybe we'll be able to go outside, but for a party to be held on April 22, I'd say the odds of the weather cooperating are maybe 50/50. There are a number of community buildings in the small towns around here that you can reserve, rent free, but we didn't really want to go that route either. They're just so blah. And sometimes a little rundown and dingy. (Although, to be fair, I think the one in our own tiny town is at least fairly new and clean). Anyway, long story short, we've decided to have the party at G's parents' house. They have a huge, sprawling ranch with big rooms that should allow plenty of space for everyone to spread out. They also have an enormous deck overlooking their pond, should the weather happen to be nice that day. I think it'll be ok. Now, the main thing I'm worried about is whether P & E will be up for the festivities, particularly when the festivities may involve this many people. E still loves pretty much everyone, but P has turned into a mommy's girl to the extreme. I'm guessing I'll have her in my arms for most of the day, but hopefully she'll at least let me put her down so she can get her hands on her cake!

Milestones

2006-03-27T06:33:00.000-08:00

P & E's first birthday is coming up. That blows my mind. To underscore the fact that they are big kids now, they have officially outgrown their infant seats and moved on to their big kid side-by-side stroller. Don't get me wrong; they're still pretty small for being eleven months old. E tips the scale at 17 pouds, while P weighs in at 19.5 (the poor girl is already destined to have her mom's "svelte" thighs, it seems). Still. That makes E nearly six times his birth weight, and P nearly five times hers. It's amazing. And difficult, now, to remember just how small they really were. When they were born, the only way to convey to people who lived too far away from the hospital to come visit how truly tiny they were was to compare them to ourselves. (i.e., when Peyton grabs my finger, her entire hand only covers the first joint on my index finger). We're thankful now for having done that, because now it's the only way we can remember it ourselves.

Anyway, about the first birthday. We're not really sure what our obligation is here, partywise. We assumed, since they won't remember a thing about it, that it was probably meant to be just an immediate family thing. But then everyone started asking us about the party, and saying things like, "They'll only have one first birthday, so you have to do it up right!" Well, shit. What does that mean? Am I supposed to invite the neighborhood? Should there be food and drinks? Is plain old cake and ice cream not enough? I better figure this stuff out soon. I've got less than a month.

Less than a month. Unbelievable.

What the ???

2006-03-15T20:45:00.000-08:00

Ok. While it's true that my own laziness is mostly to blame for the 6 week delay since my last post, I do have one small defense: I've wanted to post here several times in the past couple weeks, but whenever I logged into Blogger, there was no link to this blog. My only option was to create a new blog. The whole thing was truly bizarre, because I could access the damn thing no problem by linking through other blogs. Not that anybody's been exactly beating my door down demanding a new post, but still. Aggravating.

Not a whole lot going on around here. P & E are both crawling now, and if I removed E from the stairs once today, I must have done it 50 times. I know that he knows I don't want him on the stairs, because what I've noticed him doing is watching me over his shoulder as he begins the climb. When he sees me coming for him, he starts to haul ass.

Their birthday is next month. It's impossible to believe they will be a year old already. They've changed so, so much from those tiny little things hooked up to all the monitors and wires in the NICU. It's been amazing to watch. They're doing so well, in fact, that I've started to entertain the option of trying for another one someday. Not soon, but someday.

When they were born so early and had to stay in the hospital all that time, not to mention the two endless weeks I spent in the hospital beforehand, you couldn't have convinced me those memories would fade enough to allow me to seriously contemplate doing it all again. People asked me all the time if we were finished having kids since we'd had our boy and girl the first time out, and I always said I wasn't sure. That was true, because whenever I tried to think about it, my brain would just shut down. There would be all these images -- my doctor telling me I was to be hospitalized immediately until the babies arrived, hopefully at least a month from that point, me crying for hours every day, alone in the hospital room, the high risk OB telling me the babies were in trouble and would have to be delivered within the next few hours, my first glimpse of the babies, so small and helpless, looking less like babies than aliens or baby birds. Then I wouldn't be able to think about it anymore, so the prospect of trying for baby #3 never became real to me.

Now, well. I still have all those memories, but time has taken the edge off, at least somewhat. It helps enormously, of course, that P & E are absolute pictures of health now. They have not, thankfully, suffered any ill effects from their early entrance into the world. And they bring so much joy into my life, so much love and peace and happiness. Being their mom is so much more than I ever imagined -- so now I'm thinking, why on earth wouldn't I try to do this again?

My husband is not on board with this yet, primarily because of the sorry state of our finances. IVF's expensive, and raising kids is even more so. Sure, he says, three would be great if we were rolling in dough, but we're far from that. Instead, he figures, we should just devote our resources to the two we've got, consider ourselves blessed (which we certainly are) and call it a day. I don't know. Maybe he's right.

But I'm still thinking about it.

Odds and Ends

2006-01-31T10:44:00.000-08:00

Nothing major going on today; I just really wanted to get a post up to continue my excellent January updating streak.

Our financial situation continues to be perilous. In fact, after I move money over to make our house payment tomorrow, we will have about $50 in our savings account. Can we all say, "Holy shit"? This is taking the whole living paycheck to paycheck thing to a whole new level. I may HAVE to work from home, whatever my feelings on that subject. There is good news, though. First, G gets paid Thursday, so the $50 situation is temporary. (Not that it will be a whole lot better after we pay all the bills, but it should be marginally so). Second, today G has a meeting with his boss's boss about getting a raise -- hopefully a signifcant one. If it doesn't pan out, he is willing to look elsewhere. G is, luckily, in a field where there are far more open positions than qualified people to fill them in this area. Anyway, I've been praying. Hard.

I wish someone would hire me to do research from home. I am an excellent researcher, if I do say so myself. More than once I was responsible for finding just that perfect, obscure little case that helped my old firm win its arguments. I even enjoyed it, to a point. Right now, though, I'm just not sure how to find a position like that. Or if such positions even exist.

In reading this, I've realized that I never even needed to go to law school. I should've just been a paralegal and called it a day. Would've saved me about a $100,000 if that had occurred to me 6 years ago.

Argh. Depressing.

Thirteen years ago today . . .

2006-01-29T11:55:00.000-08:00

sitting in the back row at the most romantic movie ever made ("Alive" -- yeah, the one where they ate each other) my husband asked me to be his girlfriend. In a moment like that, what's a girl to do? No way could I resist!

Happy anniversary, G.

Worst Mom Ever

2006-01-26T12:05:00.000-08:00

Someone is going to call DCFS on me, I'm sure of it.

The day started off with me going in to get P & E out of their cribs. They were so happy to see me. E was already standing up, holding onto the side of the crib, smiling as I came in.

That would change soon enough.

I reached in and took him out of bed, then headed downstairs with him in my arms. The next thing I remember, I was holding onto him for dear life, watching my mismatched slippers soar through the air out in front of me, as I bounced down the steps on my ass. When we came to rest at the bottom, I was still gripping E, but he was sobbing. He looked ok to me, no obvious bumps, bruises, scrapes, broken bones, etc., but he just wouldn't stop crying. That's not like him. I changed his diaper and gave him a bottle, but through it all, the crying continued. Finally, maybe a half hour later, I called the doctor. He assured me that since I had not let go of E, he was most likely fine, but there was still a chance he could've broken a wrist or an elbow or something. He told me to give him some Tylenol, then keep an eye on him for the next couple of hours to see if he resumed normal activity and stopped crying. If not, then I would need to bring him to the ER.

Well, luckily, within an hour or so of the Tylenol, E was acting completely back to his old self. Scooting around, chasing P, stealing her toys, laughing -- the whole deal. He'd even gone back to pulling up on anything and everything in sight. I started to relax a bit, and by lunchtime I was feeling ok about the situation again. Our kitchen is attached to the living room, so I figured it would be safe to run out and make a sandwich. I figured wrong. In that two minutes or so, E decided to pull up on the coffee table. He does that frequently, and had been no worse for the wear up to this point. Only today, for whatever reason, he didn't just pull up and then fall back down on his well-padded diapered butt. No, no, today, he fell face forward and hit his face on the damn thing. What happened? Black eye. Yes. Nine months old, and my son has his first official black eye. It is the most pitiful looking thing I have ever seen in all my days.

So, there you have it. Worst. Mom. Ever. They're in bed right now, safe, but I do have to get them up again sooner or later. Do I dare hope we all get through the rest of the day unscathed?

Update, already?

2006-01-25T19:44:00.000-08:00

Finally, a new record I can be proud of. Only two days since my last post -- I'm hoping this is the start of something good.

Today was P & E's nine month appointment. The doctor pronounced them both "excellent." Doesn't get any better than that, does it? They're both still on the small side, with E not being on any chart at all except for head size (5th percentile) and P hanging out at the 20th and 25th for head size and weight, respectively. (Nothing doing for height yet, apparently, but that probably has more to do with being my daughter than with being a preemie). Anyway, after all the weighing and measuring was done, the kids got one shot and were sent on their merry way with instructions to come back at one year. Wow -- one year. When I think back on how long a year felt when we were trying to get pregnant, and how quickly 3/4 of a year has passed since they arrived, it's impossible to believe that time is moving at the same speed as ever. Back then, every month was an eternity. Now, two months go by without me even having time to update this blog.

On another subject, I was very excited to have a comment on my last post. Visitors here are rare (that'll happen when you're as lazy a blogger as I am) and comments are even more so. Anyway, I appreciated the suggestion that maybe I could find some way to practice law from home. I did primarily estate planning and family law before I quit to come home, so I probably would be able to do some work drafting wills and such if I were so inclined. But here's the problem: if I want to practice law, I need to keep malpractice insurance. It doesn't come cheap. I just don't know if I'd even have enough business to pay my premiums in the beginning. And I think I'd also be concerned about getting things done in any sort of timely fashion. P & E keep me so busy, especially with my husband working such long hours, that I'm not sure how quickly I could realistically get things together for my prospective clients. Last but not least, there is the tiny detail that I didn't much like practicing law when I was doing it. Nonetheless, it's still comforting to remember that it's something I could do if I absolutely had to for us to make ends meet.

I do think, once in a while, that it would be nice to have something to do besides take care of P & E. Especially on nights like tonight, when I get into a fight with my husband and he references me spending "his" money. There is something about being entirely dependent on someone else, even a husband I've been with for more than a decade, that is unsettling. I guess I'm just still undecided at this point about what I should do -- if anything -- to change the situation.

A new record!

2006-01-22T19:47:00.000-08:00

Ok, this -- this -- is why I shut down my old blog. It has been a ridiculous, unheard of, absolutely asinine (I just learned how to spell that today!) amount of time since my last post. More than two months! Here at Blogger, that's no big deal. No harm done. On Typepad, however, these two plus months of silence would have cost me $10.00. Granted, that's not an enormous amount of money, but when you're living on one salary now and trying to feed two hungry new mouths, every little bit counts.

Where do I even begin? P & E have changed sooooo much since I last wrote. I don't know exactly how big they are, but I'll find out on Wednesday at their nine month appointment. Nine month appointment! Where has the time gone? Well, suffice it to say, they're big. Relatively big, anyway. No, not as big as your typical nine month olds, most likely, but big nonetheless. We were just looking at their newborn pictures today, all stuck full of needles and tubes in the NICU, and it's hard to believe they're the same babies.

They're both army crawling, and E can pull up. And let me tell you, pull up he does. On anything and everything he can get his little hands on. Nothing is safe. It's just that he hasn't quite mastered the art of getting back down, so his injury total is mounting by the day. By the hour, even. Tonight he got his first tiny goose egg, having let go of whatever he was holding onto and crashing down onto his ball popper -- headfirst, somehow. After spending sufficient time loving him and simultaneously berating myself for being a bad mom, I distracted him with baby lasagna. Ah, a new delicacy. He loved it! This was our first forray into stage 3 food, and it went off without a hitch. I was scared out of my mind that one or both of them would have a scary choking incident, but they both handled it like little champs. I was so proud. Hell, who am I kidding? I'm always so proud. They went through so much there in the beginning, and now they're 100% healthy, happy, and beautiful on top of it. What's not to be proud of?

The only downside, which I mentioned earlier, is the money issue. Things are tight. Really, really tight. Law school didn't come cheap, but it didn't bother me at the time when I assumed I'd come out with a big, fat salary to pay off all those loans. Problem is, even when I was working, that salary wasn't anywhere near as fat as I thought it would be. It was kind of pathetic, really. And now, of course, there's nothing. My poor, dear, husband is working his ass off, and we're getting by, but just barely. I live in constant fear of any sort of emergency that might arise. I don't have the slightest idea how we would handle it. For now, I just hope for the best and am thankful every night that another day has passed without anything bad happening. All that being said, though, I wouldn't trade one minute I've spent with my babies. I know how corny it sounds, but it has been and continues to be priceless.

Besides, even if I was working, do you have any idea how much it would cost to put two infants in daycare?

Still here, sort of

2005-11-10T19:50:00.000-08:00

I wish I was better about updating this blog. Really I do. I honestly don't know where the time goes. I mean, obviously two six month olds (six months old already? holy shit!) will keep anyone busy, but when I go to bed at night and think back over the day, I really can't say where my time has gone. It passes in a blur, often with nothing particularly significant having been accomplished, yet almost every night -- almost -- I fall asleep happy. That's soooooo not like me. I've always been a resolute glass-half-empty kind of gal. But really, how could I ever look at two such beautiful little faces sleeping so peacefully as I tiptoe out of the nursery, and not feel that way?

Yeah. They've turned me into a big 'ol softie. It's probably good I don't work at the law office anymore, as it is possible I might not be even be able to flip the bitch switch as quickly and confidently as I could before. Oh, who am I kidding? Of course I could.

Well, anyway, about the kids. They're growing, growing, growing. P has, in fact, shot up to the 10th (tenth!) percentile in weight as of her last checkup. For a true six month old, that is. For her adjusted age, she's probably even a wee bit on the chubby side. Alas, E hasn't made it onto the chart yet, but I truly believe that is only because he moves so much. The kid is a FAST. He can't crawl yet, but he can scoot like nobody's business. And the rolling. My God, the rolling. Who knew that could be such a quick and efficient way to move from point A to point B? We haven't babyproofed the house yet, but being as we live in a tri-level and spend most of our time on the main floor right now, that's going to need to happen real, real soon. That's an assload of stairs for delicate baby bodies to go tumbling down.

Uh oh, someone's crying. See, this is why a month goes by between my posts these days.

Reunion

2005-10-09T19:36:00.000-07:00

Today was the fertility clinic's annual reunion picnic, or as I told G, Oz's annual opportunity to stand amid an adoring mass of grateful women and think, "I got every last one of these chicks knocked up." I said as much to him. Well, almost as much. What I actually said was, "So, it must be a real trip to look around and know you're personally responsible for every single one of these kids, huh?" To which he replied, "Honestly I try not to think about it. It's daunting." Then he told me that his oldest success story just turned 19 and graduated high school last year. He attended the ceremony. I thought that was nice. Aside from that, it was great to see all the nurse practitioners I got to know so well and to have an opporutnity to tell them all how much they kick ass. It was also great to hang out with both babies among all those people and know that not a single one of them was going to ask, "So, do twins run in your family?"

The funny thing, though, was how much time we spent today talking about whether we'd have any more kids. Now, it kind of annoys me when most people ask that question, given what we went through to have these two and also the fact that they are only five months old in the first place. Um, hello? A little time to breathe, maybe? But it was different with the crowd today, because they've all been in the same place. They all know it's never going to be as easy as throwing away our box of condoms and fucking like bunnies for a month or two. That if we ever want to have another, we will have to REALLY want to have another. And the answer, in case you're wondering, is that we don't know. It's still way too soon to decide. Besides, we know better than most people that, even if we were to decide we'd like another, it certainly doesn't mean we'll have another. For now we're just thankful -- so very, very thankful -- to have P & E that it seems almost greedy to even consider trying for any more.

Speaking of which, however -- my best friend called today to tell me she is pregnant with #2. Ugh. Does it say something awful about me that I really wasn't all that thrilled for her? I mean, logically speaking, yes, I'm happy for her. I know she wants a houseful of kids, and I certainly wouldn't wish infertility on her. It's just that, well. . . why does it have to be so damn easy for her when it was so damn hard for me? This was her I think second (maybe third) month of trying. She never even figured out how to use her OPKs, but it doesn't matter because bam! She's already pregnant. I guess I just wish there was some way to make things more fair. Say, EVERYONE has to try for six months, but that's it. At the six month mark, everyone gets pregnant. That way, everyone tries long enough to be thankful rather than an insensitive whiny asshole when it happens, but nobody has to endure two, three, four (or more!) years of misery.
What do you think, God? Do we have a deal?

Lame

2005-10-08T19:31:00.000-07:00

That's what I'd call a supposed "blogger" who has let nearly a month go by without so much as one solitary new post. There's not even a good excuse for it. I'm lazy, plain and simple, and I cannot so much as breathe a word about my lack of readers/commenters, because who the hell would even bother to keep checking a blog updated as infrequently as this one? Argh.

Well. I feel like I've been so busy and there's been so much going on, but I guess most of it has been that day to day stuff that just keeps me running in circles. The babies are doing great, although I should report that we've all officially survived our first illness and non-well baby doctor visit. Just a head cold, he said, and the only one who required antibiotics was me. I was dismayed to learn, though, that the babies do not qualify for the RSV vaccine. Seriously -- what the fuck? They were born 7 weeks early, weighed in at less than 3 and 4 lbs., and still weigh less than 13. P was on oxygen for 2 1/2 months. And NONE of that qualifies them? Apparently not. The doctor says I should be happy. "They're doing too well!" he says. Yes, and I'd like to KEEP them doing well, thank you very much! Unfortunately there's not a damn thing I can do about it though, so it seems they will be vaccineless after all.

Also, I got them baptized last weekend. This was something I'd been putting off, primarily because I had no earthly idea who to ask to be their godparents. Finally got that problem solved, so about a month ago I called the church to schedule it. I requested October 2, but then I said, "I am flexible on the date; I'd just like to do it when Pastor W is available." (There are three pastors at our church, so if you don't specify who you want, it's a roll of the dice). Pastor W handled G and I's premarital counseling, officiated at our wedding, baptized G, and taught the class we had to take to join the church. He is wonderful. We've had no dealings with the other two pastors whatsoever. Anyway, the person I spoke to said that Pastor W would, in fact, be preaching that day, but he would not be at the church's main location. Rather, he would be at the outreach location at the community college across town. Did we mind the baptism taking place there? "No, that's totally fine," I said. "In fact, that is preferable for us because that's where we usually go."

So last Sunday rolls around. The four of us, along with the FOURTEEN other people in five different cars, haul our happy asses to the community college and sit down. The babies are breathtakingly adorable in their white christening outfits. We sing a couple opening songs, shake hands with everyone around us, and then the pastor walks out. Only it's not Pastor W. It's Pastor T. And I only know that it's Pastor T because 1) he has begun preaching; and 2) I asked P & E's godmother-to-be. I'd only ever seen him once before.

So I'm sitting there thinking, "Huh?" What happened to Pastor W? At first I assume he's sick, and Pastor T is filling in. But then I realize that Pastor T is yammering on and on, and he hasn't once mentioned that there would be a baptism that day. And yet, there it is announced in the church bulletin for all the world to see. I start to get a sinking feeling in my stomach.

Long story cut very, very, very short, it turned out that they were, in fact, expecting us across town at the main church. Waaaaaaay across town, where church had already begun and the three front pews that had been reserved for all of us had since been filled by stragglers. So all 18 of us pile back in our cars and show up there, way beyond late, and have to be squeezed into whatever random spots here, there, and everywhere that the ushers can come up with. By the time we made it up front for the ceremony, I must admit that I was thinking some extremely unholy thoughts. If there's one thing I can't stand, it's looking like a disorganized ass, and though none of this was even remotely my fault, that's exactly what it looked like. Is it a big deal in the grand scheme of things? No. Did the baptism finally get accomplished in spite of it all? Yes. Yet here I sit, 6 days later, still pissy. I need to get over it, I think.

Other than that, though, things have been pretty good around here. Funny how frequently I used to update One Pink Line, where I was generally pissed off, versus this blog, where I'm generally pretty content. G tells me sometimes that I like to bitch -- do you think this means he's right?

Time Flies

2005-09-14T15:17:00.001-07:00

Nine days since my last update. Nine days! Where has the time gone? I think a lot of it has to do with how all my days are exactly alike now. Monday is the same as Thursday is the same as Saturday. Which is how I forgot the nurse from the health department was coming out today.

When P & E made their appearance nearly two months early and weighed in at less than 3 and 4 lbs. each, they automatically qualified for certain screening and assistance programs through the county health department. I could've opted out of these, but I figured that would be stupid. Who am I to pass up on anything free? So the nurse came out to see them shortly after P got home from the hospital, when they were just over two months old, and then she called me two weeks ago to set up their four month evaluation. Well, I can't remember to brush my teeth in the morning, let alone a random appointment with a nurse I barely know and haven't seen in two months. So imagine my surprise when the doorbell rang at 2:00 this afternoon as I washed bottles in my pajamas.

There is no way to convey the destruction that was my living room at this point. There were four half empty glasses on the coffee table. One plate of Pop Tart crumbs. Two Boppy pillows in the middle of the floor, and two bouncers sitting side by side facing the ceiling fan in the next room. Five sections of newspaper strewn to hell and back because the dogs had been wrestling on them. A dirty diaper that hadn't made its way to the trash can yet. Not to mention the various rattles, bibs, books, and assorted fun stuff the babies can't make it through the day without. There were maybe four points in the entire room where you could actually see the carpet. The couch? Forget about it.

I apologized profusely. She said it was fine, that she wasn't there to look at my house, but she didn't waste any time in starting to discuss babyproofing the place.

Then it was time for her to evaluate the babies themselves. Keep in mind, these are babies who babble, who scoot, who bat at the toys over their playmat, who watch with interest anything or anyone who moves. Not today though. Alas, today they were content to lie still and stare straight ahead, ignoring the rattle, the bell, my voice, her voice, the dogs barking, everything. And did I mention the lying still? These are the kids (well, one kid anyway) who scooted off the couch more than a month ago. Almost two months ago, in fact. Today? Scooting? Nah. Today I guess they were playing, "Let's see who can do the best mummy impersonation!" And on and on it went.

Finally, as I was losing all hope, we had an idea. The nurse headed off into another room, leaving me alone with P & E. She was peeking around the corner, but they couldn't see her. Wouldn't you know it? They both came back to life and acted like their usual, happy, rowdy selves. I was so relieved. She said, from what she could see, they appeared to be right on target. Right on target for 3 month olds, that is -- they're not at the same place most nearly 5 month olds would be -- but right on target nonetheless. They're also getting very, very big. 11 lbs. 3 oz. and 11 lbs. 11 oz. That is a 200% size increase for P since birth and a more than 300% increase for E.

I'll admit it. By the time she left, I was very, very proud.

My, How Things Have Changed

2005-09-05T21:27:00.000-07:00

It's been a long weekend. An old friend from law school came to visit from out of state, one who hadn't met P & E yet. She's single and doesn't have any kids, so she's spending this time focusing on 1) her career; and 2) having fun. It was great to see her, but I have to admit, her visit totally stressed me out.

She just didn't understand how much my life has changed since the babies arrived. She still wanted to drink, go out, go shopping, stay up late, go out to eat -- you name it! That's all well and good; those are all things I love to do. Unfortunately, none of them are so easy for me anymore. Whether I have company or not, the babies still need to eat every three hours, still need to nap several times a day, still need to be played with and loved rather than left to swing for hours on end, still will (loudly) voice their displeasure if left in their stroller for too long while I window shop.

And then there were all the things that need to be done around the house. In my normal day, whenever the babies fall asleep at the same time or are otherwise engaged simultaneously, I seize the opportunity to pump, wash bottles, do laundry, pick up toys, etc. I couldn't do that ALL weekend. (Well, I did pump, obviously, but none of the rest of it). In the brief moments when the babies didn't need my attention, she wanted me to be doing something leisurely. (See above list). She didn't get that there is no time for leisure right now. Ugh.

I know it's not her fault. We used to have so much in common, and I guess I'm no better than her as far as failing to realize how different our visions of the weekend would be. She was crazy about P & E, sure, but she didn't want to spend every one of their waking moments with them the way I -- without even realizing it! -- have begun to. I realized I've turned into the beyond-annoying woman I always bitched about in my old blog. You know her: the one who is incapable of doing or talking about anything that doesn't involve her kids. I feel, in some way, as though I've gone over to the dark side.

I'm guessing that as P & E get older and don't need me quite as much that more of the old me will come back, and I'll become interesting again. The question is, will any of my old friends wait around that long?

A Couple Things

2005-09-01T14:33:00.000-07:00

First, as if I don't have enough problems getting people to read and/or comment on this blog, I've now turned on the "word verification" option. That means, for the eight of you out there reading this, that if you want to comment, you'll first have to look at one of those fuzzy images of letters and type what you see. This should help me weed out the spam comments I've been swamped with the past couple posts. Not that I don't find comments regarding penis enlargement helpful or profound, but I don't want G getting a complex.

In other news, I got a darling new haircut today. Now, I'm a person whose always had issues with hair cutting, owing to a surgery I had when I was seven years old and had to get my head shaved. Since then, I feel almost physical pain with every inch I lose. Not today though. My hair had become a pain in my ass. Who has time for styling when there are four month old twins in the house? So, as of about four hours ago, I've been bobbed. I feel liberated!

Yeah, I'm a Slacker. A Big, Huge Slacker

2005-08-31T13:55:00.000-07:00

See, this is why I so unwisely deleted One Pink Line. My posts had become so infrequent that I just couldn't justify the $4.95/month. At least here, where it's free, I don't have to feel quite as guilty when an entire week goes by without me putting up a new post.

Anyway, all's well around here. The babies have just slept through the night for the second time -- not second straight time, but second time, nonetheless! -- so I am feeling better rested than I have for months. Also, I've stumbled on a new and improved method for handling their middle of the night feeding when they still need it (which is usually). Ever since the babies were born, I've been hesitant to nurse them. It just didn't feel right -- there was no way to see exactly how much they were eating, it was very messy, and I just couldn't figure out how on earth to do the two of them simultaneously the way I can with the side-by-side Boppy technique using bottles with expressed milk. But finally, more than four months into this whole mommy thing, I've realized that none of those reasons justify not nursing ONE of them for that middle of the night feeding. So here's what we've been doing. Whenever one of them starts crying at, say, 3:00 a.m., G goes in and gets him/her and brings him/her to me in bed. I whip out the boob, and that baby goes to work. The crying is halted immediately. G then goes downstairs to warm a bottle for the remaining, sleeping baby, who he then awakens to feed when the bottle is warm. The whole process takes maybe 25 minutes, and then everybody's back off to dreamland. Even better, we've eliminated the whole issue of the shrieking, inconsolable baby while waiting for the bottle(s) to warm. And finally, in this whole process, I never have to get out of bed! It is 100 million times better than the old technique, wherein we would be awakened by a screaming, hungry baby and have to listen to said screaming during the entire bottle preparation/warming process to then feed both kids by bottle -- after which time I would have to sit up alone in the dark pumping for the next feeding. You'd think I might've figured this out earlier but alas, I am not the sharpest tack. I am especially not the sharpest tack following four and a half months of grossly interrupted, minimal sleep.

In other news, the twins have their first playdate next week. I'm taking them over to visit the little girl I used to babysit (she'll be two next month) and her new baby sister, who was born at the end of July. I should add that the new baby sister weighs precisely 7 ounces less than E, who is 4+ months old. I AM feeding the kid, I promise! Anyway, the girls' mom is staying home with them this year, but she'll go back to teaching next fall. At that point, she said, I'd be more than welcome to have my old job back (bringing P & E in tow, of course). It's an interesting idea. I'd be dealing with four kids between the ages of 1 and 3, but then again, they paid very well. We'll see if I'm up for it. Going back to practicing law might be easier!

One last thing: how much time is *too* much for a baby to spend in a swing? Honestly, sometimes (like yesterday) it is the only place where these two are happy.

Great news

2005-08-24T11:53:00.000-07:00

P & E had their four month checkup today. Everything looked perfect! Granted, they're both still awfully tiny for being four months old, with Ethan not registering on the chart at all and Peyton slipping into roughly the third percentile for weight (but tenth for head size -- clearly she's going to have a huge brain like her mother), but I have to keep in mind that they should only be about 2.5 months old. For that age, they're about average. Besides, the important thing is that their growth curves look normal, which they do.

We're not allowed to start cereal yet though, which is a downer. I would kill -- kill! -- to get a full night's sleep at this point, and I've convinced myself that cereal is the magic bullet. One more month, the doctor says. Argh.

Aside from that, though, it was all good. The doctor said both babies look great and seem to be developing just fine, so unless they get sick, he won't be seeing them again until they hit six months. Works for me -- I saw more than enough doctors the first seven weeks of their lives!

And on an unrelated subject, having a "new" blog sucks ass. Granted, this blog is mostly for me, so that I'll have a record of P & E, but it was nice to have readers back at the old place. And nice to get a few comments once in a while. Then again, it is my own stupid ass fault for deleting the old blog, so I'll have to take my lumps. Nonetheless, if you know anyone who wouldn't be offended by reading a baby blog now and then, send them my way, would you? Please?

Four Months Ago Today

2005-08-19T14:11:00.000-07:00

Happy Four Month Birthday, Peyton and Ethan.

Four months ago today, at this time, I hadn't seen you except for the instant they held you up for me to get a quick glance before they whisked you out of the operating room and down to the NICU. I knew you were beautiful, but I didn't know you yet, then.

Ethan, I didn't know that you would turn out to be my easygoing, busy little man, the one who would always have a smile ready for anybody. Especially anybody who happened to be female. That you would love, love, love your brightly colored toys and would be able to spend ages (in baby terms, at least) batting at them and laughing. That you would be obsessed with light, whether natural or artificial, and that the ultimate state of nirvana for you would be to lie on your playmat in the sun. That you would always wake up when I tried to lay you down in bed at night, no matter how soundly you'd been sleeping in my arms just minutes before, or how hard you would fight to get out of the swaddling everyone at the hospital had assured us you'd love. Or that, when you finally did break loose of said swaddling, you'd fall asleep immediately with a tiny smile on your lips -- victorious at last. Or how, when I go in to get you out of bed, you would curl your whole body into a tiny little ball and snuggle into my chest, with your head buried in my neck, and fall asleep all over agin.

Peyton, I didn't know you'd be the more emotional one, the one whose feelings would get hurt so easily if anyone dared enter the room without smiling and talking to you immediately. That your smile would be harder to come by than your little brother's, but that it would light up your entire face -- the entire room! -- when you decided the time was right. That you'd be a bit of a mommy's girl, always seeking me out in the room no matter who was holding you, and that you'd always settle down when you realized I was close by. I didn't know how interested you'd be in interacting with people rather than things, and how you'd bypass any toy to "talk" to anyone willing to listen. Or that you'd be everyone's favorite little teddy bear, always content to snuggle in someone's arms for as long as they'd have you -- which, as cute as you are, is usually quite a long time. I didn't know that you'd be the one who would have a harder time making it out of the hospital, but that finally, four months later, you'd be a happy, healthy ten pounder who will never remember how long you spent hooked up to oxygen and monitors.

These four months haven't been the easiest of my life -- not by a long shot. But because of you two, without question, they have most definitely been the best. You'll never understand how much I love you, but I promise I'll try to show you every single day.

Return to the NICU

2005-08-17T20:29:00.000-07:00

I mentioned in my second post that Peyton had an appointment with a pediatric cardiologist. That was just last week. The appointment was back at the hospital where I was imprisoned for two weeks, and where the twins were subsequently born. I hadn't been there since June 8, the day we finally drove home with both babies in the back seat.

It was so hard going back. Driving that all-too-familiar route, pulling into the parking garage, making the endless trek up to the fourth floor -- it put knots in my stomach. I felt like crying. All the fear, all the uncertainty, all the heartache I thought I'd put behind me when P finally came home turned out to still be there, lurking just beneath the surface.

As I said, though, we ended up getting great news at P's appointment. She's a healthy little baby girl now, and when my husband asked if there was anything we needed to do from here on out, the doctor said, "Yes, enjoy every minute with her. She's perfect." Hearing that was a relief greater than I can put into words.

I also felt sad that day, though, because while we were there I ran into another NICU mom whose baby was born about two weeks after P & E. She's still there, with no hope of going home anytime soon. And I guess it just made me think, again, of how unfair life is. But also of how much my definition of "lucky" has changed over time. Why was I the lucky one whose babies got to come home, healthy? But can I consider myself lucky in the first place, considering that, unlike the vast majority of newborns, my babies had to spend time in the NICU at all? Why was I the lucky one who had a successful IVF attempt the first time out? But how can that be lucky, when 95% of the world never needs IVF at all? In how many other ways am I "lucky" right now that don't even occur to me because I've never had to think about them?

Anyway, after the appointment, we took all of P & E's preemie clothes and donated them to the NICU. I have no idea if I'll ever have any more children, but I'm hoping, superstitiously, that by not keeping the preemie clothes in the house, I'm helping assure that any subsequent babies around here in the future won't need them. Future, full-term babies? Here? Could I be that lucky?

Can Anybody Help Me?

2005-08-15T08:55:00.000-07:00

I can't figure out how to create a blogroll here.

A Few New Things Since the Tragic Demise of One Pink Line

2005-08-15T07:45:00.000-07:00

1. P & E have both started smiling. A lot. I am so in love with them, I can hardly stand it.
2. E has fallen off the couch. Yes, I am the worst mom ever for allowing that to happen, but in my defense, I did not know he was mobile yet at the time. Lesson learned.
3. I have learned I am not an ideal person to have on hand in case of an emergency. When said couch falling incident occurred, I became an incoherent, sobbing wreck in the 90 seconds it took the pediatrician to return my call. True, E fell probably about a foot, onto carpet, but it took at least a week for me to really convince myself he had not suffered any brain damage.
4. I got my first pedicure. It was heaven. My toes look great even when the rest of me looks like hell. Which is usually.
5. I've started my period. What??? I'm exclusively breastfeeding twins. I was sure I was in the clear for a few more months, anyway.
6. I've taken the babies for their first "real" pictures. They were little angels and caused me to spend far, far more money than I'd intended by looking so dang cute.
7. P has been evaluated by a pediatric cardiologist and been given a clean bill of health. Yay!
8. I've worked (and by "worked" I mean "nursed") my way back down into a single digit pants size. Will wonders never cease? I've been recommending breastfeeding as a weight loss tool to everyone I know. Men included.

I think that about covers it.

Déjà Vu All Over Again

2005-08-15T06:41:00.000-07:00

I'd like to start this blog by providing a link to my old blog. This is, after all, a continuation of the same story. That, unfortunately, will not be possible, because like a dumbass, I deleted it.

The original blog was called One Pink Line, and it told the story of the world's longest single IVF cycle (May through September!) and the twin pregnancy that finally resulted from it. The babies, Peyton and Ethan, were born on April 19, 2005 at 33 weeks. After a four week NICU stay for Ethan and a seven week stay for Peyton, I finally got both babies home on June 8. Following that, I kept the blog going for another month, but then, in an exausted haze, I decided to shut it down. If I had any free time, I figured, I would want to spend it sleeping, not getting online to babble incoherently for $5/month. So, I cancelled my Typepad subscripton and rode off into the sunset. The blog was deleted immediately.

About two days after I did that, a friend of mine said, "Oh no! You shouldn't have just deleted it. You could at least have downloaded it so you'd have a personal copy of everything you'd written. Damn, I wish you'd called me before you'd done that."

I, being the borderline computer illiterate that I am, had no earthly idea I could've done any such thing. Still, what she'd said got me thinking. By hitting that damn delete key, I'd erased the record of my infertility (which was ok) but also the record of my pregnancy (which was not). How could I have just erased the post from the day I FINALLY got a positive pregnancy test? Or the day when, to my complete joy and amazement, I found out I was having twins? Or when I found out they were boy/girl? Or how about the day they were born?

You get the idea.

And that's why, just more than a month after my "last" post, I've started a new blog. I may have deleted my pregnancy and birth experiences, but the twins are not even four months old yet. I figure, if I restart a blog now, I'll still eventually end up with a wonderful record of their babyhood. And the kicker: here, at Blogger, I'll end up with that record free of charge! (Yeah, I'm that cheap).

So welcome, everyone, to My Blog, Part II.