Let's try this again

Because that last post was lame. :-)

I realize that first of all, what is needed here is more photos. Because to me, photos tell the story better than words so often. But my words last time were failing me, so I'm going to try this again. I'm not going to go back to the hospital stay that I hated, or how badly I felt for the first week when they were in the NICU. I have heard preemie moms talk about how experiencing the NICU can lead to Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome. While I don't think it was anywhere as bad for me as it was for other people, I still feel like the first week of my children's life wasn't the first week I was a Mom. I feel cheated out of the experience, and would change things if I could.

But there were high points, and I don't want to forget them either. The first moment I heard my daughter cry. She came out screaming and wailing, shrieking her indignation at the top of her lungs. She appeared briefly above the curtain for us to see her red and angry little face before being swooped off to get cleaned up and checked out. I remember my husband squeezing my hand and kissing me and telling me I did good. We laughed. We didn't cry, it didn't seem right to cry. I remember thinking something along the lines of "Oh my God, she's real. She's here. And she's breathing on her own." We did that, we made that, I nurtured that in my body for 9 months. She weighed in smaller than I was expecting, but had a good solid 9 on her Apgar. Good girl.

The time in between babies was brief. Our doctor works fast. I was more amazed at the weird half empty feeling in my stomach and the shift I could feel as my son stretched out and was pulled out. He also came out crying, but much quieter and less angry than my daughter. His cry was all baby, all sleepy sounding, and as predicted, deeper than hers. Again, the confused looking baby appeared above the curtain and was whisked away. Another 9 on the Apgars. My babies rock. Sometime during all of this, they handed Maggie to Andy. And then Ben. And so there we were, the four of us, a family. It was completely surreal, and it had nothing to do with the anesthesia.

The next few hours after they were born, we were in the recovery room, and in came all of the family assembled. The Moms, the Dads, the Sisters, the Brothers, the Aunt and the Grandma. There were tears, there were ear to ear grins, and these babies of mine were welcomed into the family by people who adored them. We took photos. Lots of photos. Marvelled over tiny hands and feet, and noses and lips. They were kissed and cuddled, and passed around.

My husband beamed from ear to ear. It reminded me of our wedding day, when everyone said that the two of us grinned all day long. His face lit up, he handled our babies like an old pro, but a proud new papa, and I fell in love with him all over again.

Once the babies were taken to the NICU, we had some highlights along with the parts I know I mentioned that were so hard. I wanted to share a few of those, the moments that happened between the every three hours on the dot feedings that we attended all but two or three of.

One of the nurses who turned out to be the first completely understanding one who realized how much I wanted to hold both of my babies together. For the first time (I think she was our third or fourth nurse) someone heard me, and easily moved the monitors they were tethered to so I could hold my babies. Thank you.

Watching Andy with the babies. He had more freedom of movement, so he learned to diaper, swaddle, cuddle for a tube feed, and bottle feed them. Everyday, a new sticker that said Daddy, and one who wouldn't leave his babies for longer than a few hours. Any feeding that I might have needed to sleep through, he went to. He took care of them and he took care of me. The first day we graduated to open air cribs. We stayed there almost the whole day, holding them, snuggling them, and dressing them up in real clothes. We also were able to wheel their little cribs together so we could put them together for the first time since the recovery room. They snuggled in nose to nose, and we took a million photos. They remembered each other, and it made our hearts melt that their days apart didn't affect their relationship. The night that Andy came back to our room and said that one of our favorite nurses was giving the babies the car seat challenge. This was after we had been moved downstairs to our new room, so I was able to walk right on down and take these photos at 1:00 in the morning. They looked so cute, and so big, and in their carseats it really hit home that these little tiny beings were going to be going home with us. And then on this day, Friday April 17th, this was the day we came home. Maggie looked so tiny in her car seat, and they both looked so freaking cute in the sleepers that we had picked out so many months before, the ones that had hung in the closet that we had looked at so many times trying to imagine what our children would look like in them. It was so much better than we ever could have imagined. They were adorable, and they were ours. Going home with us, finally, and starting our lives. And then we were home. In the glider I had been rocking in with them for months. They were hungry, we had a few other complications with our homecoming, but we were home. Margaret JaneBenjamin Andrew

And about half an hour after that last photo was taken, we had to leave them at home with their grandparents so Daddy could take Mommy to the ER. But that's a story for another day. :-)

Two weeks later. . .

Somehow, in a blog that began with infertility, having a two week wait for a new post seems appropriate.

Otherwise known as I'm a Mommy now, and I have little time to do anything!

Andy and I did arrive as planned all packed and ready to go at the hospital. It was very weird to walk myself into labor and delivery carrying my camera bag and not having any contractions or anything. We met with the nurses, the doctor with the drugs (why is that so hard to spell?) and was prepped for surgery. My family all came in to wish us luck and my SIL even convinced the two very excited nursing students who were observing to take pictures for her. I'll spare you the gory photos, but I'm so glad to have them!

The actual delivery was. . .well, painful (just the part where they were getting me set up for painkillers - ironic, isn't it? And very disappointing. I hated the strapped down feeling, and not being able to see much of anything. Even when the babies were held up above the curtain, I had a hard time seeing, and when they brought them to Andy to hold, they were like behind me. I felt like I spent the first few hours of their life craning my neck trying to see my babies.

Margaret Jane was born at 12:24pm and weighed in at 4lbs, 8oz. Benjamin Andrew followed at 12:25pm and weighed 5lbs, 8oz.

We went to recovery, and had some time to introduce them to everyone. This picture is funny because it is actually our big boy Ben on the left and little peanut Maggie on the right. One of the nurses put a shirt on her like pants because she was having some temperature regulation issues. It was determined that both babies needed to go to the Special Care nursery to get their temps regulated and to be fed since they were too cold to nurse.

Margaret Jane

Benjamin Andrew
This is how I feel I spent most of our time in the hospital. They were always apart those first few days and I hated it because they had been together for so long, I couldn't stand seeing them separated. I truly feel they would have been better together, especially with the temperature issue. They spent a week in Special Care where things got better pretty quickly. They graduated to open air cribs after a few days, and were taking bottles by mouth and attempting nursing when they were discharged. Mommy was more of a wreck, but what we've discovered is that while I had a pretty great and easy pregnancy, I suck at postpartum.



I wish I had kept a list while I was at the hospital of all of our nurses. There were so many that I would love to thank for their understanding, and their help. There are a couple that I would like to kick if given the opportunity. This may be a whole post someday, but let's just say that the nurse who scoffed at my colostrum I had collected is going down if I ever see her again now that I'm stronger. :-)

And now we're home! Since I already am two days beyond when I started this post, I'm going to leave you with this, and hopefully get more pictures up from all that we've been up to at home. We are so head over heels in love, and these babies are our entire world.

Birthday Eve!

So. . .wow!

We have had weekly appointments on Thursday for quite a long time. The routine is that we go to the hospital for monitoring and then go to the doctor for weekly appointments. All day yesterday I had been feeling kind of off, and this morning I had been having contractions. Not a lot, but enough that combined with the funny feeling and tonight's full moon, I had a feeling something was up, just thinking I might be close to delivering.

But I wasn't expecting it to happen quite like this! We went to our NST and they had a hard time finding babies, and getting them to pass. Ben didn't pass today, but since we were going to the doctor anyway, they just sent us to him. They did a BPP (Biophysical Profile) and while he passed, things seem to be heading downhill in my uterus. Basically he said that the placentas are starting to show signs of deterioration and the fluids are low. He said that at this stage, he thinks it's better to just get them out.

He said that we can anticipate some short term breathing issues, but all in all, he thinks they will be better off if we deliver now. So he asked us if we were busy tomorrow, and my c-section is scheduled for noon! We're a little shocked for it to be going down this way, we have time to completely pack and finish getting some order around the house.

And tomorrow will be my day I will always remember as the day my babies were born.

In my head, I can put myself in the picture painted nicely in my pregnancy books of what to expect with a c-section. I see us heading to the hospital with our properly prepared bags, checking in at labor and delivery, being shown to a room, changing into a gown, being hooked up to the IV, getting the epidural, getting prepped, getting wheeled in. I know the procedure I expect them to follow, what to expect with a c-section, what to expect in recovery, and what I should expect from the first tests for the babies and everything else.

But there are moments in your life you cannot be prepared for.

I am trying to picture seeing my daughter for the first time, seeing Andy see her for the first time, as she will be the first one out. Seeing my husband become a father. What his face will look like, what kind of awe and wonder I will see in his eyes. Will he cry, will I? I try to imagine hearing her first cry, seeing them hand her off to a nurse, hand her to Andy, and what she will look like. Will she look like me, like him, like a smushed up little gnome who is ticked off that she is on the outside? And then while we are still in awe, hearing my son crying, surely a different cry from hers, being bigger, being just a little louder than her, surely. Having him in my arms, having both of them, and knowing that from that moment on, I am their Mom, I am their world, I am the person they will look up to, and look for in crowds, and kiss, and then curse and lie to when they get older. Knowing that Andy and I (and a whole team of doctors) created these two little beings.

I'm also trying to be prepared for a non-perfect delivery. Being early, needing oxygen, or needing to be whisked off to the NICU. I've been prepared for that possibility and I know that it can happen that way too. And that either way, I have to expect everything to be fine.

I think of all the people who will be waiting patiently to meet them. The grandparents, the aunts and uncles, everyone who will be part of their lives. Seeing them holding them. Seeing the tears in their eyes, the joy on their faces. Watching our parents become grandparents, holding our tiny little bundles.

Then we fast forward, and I'm trying to picture breastfeeding. Actually nursing my babies, actually just holding them, feeling their weight in my arms, their squirminess, their neediness, their sleepy faces. Staying in the hospital with my new family.

And seeing my husband officially become a Dad, settle into the role of protector and champion. They will always love him, this I know. He will always be patient, he will always be the fun one, and he has such a way with babies.

And I try to picture our life, from here on out. Because this is the last night we are just us. The last night we can lounge around just hanging out with nothing else to do, or stay up late just watching TV. The last night we will have done nothing but worry about ourselves and our comfort and our needs. Tomorrow we are Mommy and Daddy. We will be a party of four, the frazzled looking parents of twins. We are a team, we will need to remember that and not let them divide us, or beat us.

For a long time, I've had a picture in my head of us with a baby. Now, my picture involves two babies, but still, it's about as far as I get. What will it be like when they learn to walk, or go to preschool or skin their knee for the first time? What will it be like when she wants to get her ears pierced and he has his first t-ball game? What will they be like, what will they like to do? Can we do this? Will we mess them up?

I totally had this meltdown awhile ago, but this is what I want. I want us to raise nice kids. I want them to be kind. I don't care if they are smart, or athletic, or artistic. I want them to be the kids who say please and thank you, to be kind to old people. To be the kids who will stand up for someone who's being bullied. To have empathy and sweetness, and to understand people. Starting tomorrow, it is up to us.

Happy Birthday Eve, my babies. We will do our best to get all of this right. We love you so much already, and have been waiting for a long time to meet you. I am scared to death, and worried, but you will learn this about your mother. I am a worrier. It is what I do. It is what I'm good at. I come from a long line of worriers, and we all came out okay. But the thing is, I worry because I care so much. I worry because I want more than anything, to do this right. I have wanted to be a mother forever. And starting tomorrow, for better or for worse, I will be yours.

Our last belly shots:



35 Weeks36 Weeks and 4 days- April 9, 2009.

35 Weeks and Waiting. . . .

So 6 days ago, the doctor told me that he would guess 7-10 days until babies the got here, and he would be doing cartwheels if I made it to 10. So for the past 6 days, I've felt like we're just waiting. And waiting. Waiting for what? Who knows. Will my water break, will I start spotting or bleeding? Will I have contractions? I don't know. But I do know this.

I'm a survivor of infertility. And I'm used to waiting.

I started thinking about this and realized just how much waiting became what having a child meant to us. When we got married, I already had babies on the brain. We weren't getting any younger, but we wanted to wait at least a little while. I went off the pill. We waited a couple of months to actually start "trying" to let my body recover. I started charting. We waited month after month for the temperature to spike, or the CM to be just right, or the OPK to have a line that was just darker than the control line. Then of course the dreaded two week wait. Month after month, waiting, wondering, hoping, analyzing symptoms, making myself crazy. Peeing on the stick, waiting for that second line, waiting the 10 minute time period hoping it would appear.

I had told Andy that I didn't think it would happen immediately. He was way more confident in our fertile capabilities. I did talk him into starting a couple of months earlier than we had planned using my "the school district builds in extra days just in case we have snowdays" theory, and we started trying even though it wouldn't be ideal timing. Oh, if we only knew.

I spent months looking at my charts, looking at the inconsistent patterns, knowing something was wrong. Or knowing our timing was perfect, but not getting those two lines. . .but we just waited for it to happen. Waited for our month. Waited for the BFP that would come because we loved each other and we wanted desperately to start a family. Because we were doing everything right, and we would make good parents.

Waiting until the nurse practitioner who saw me at my OB looked at my charts and recommended we go to see a RE since she agreed something didn't look right. Getting up the courage, calling, and waiting for our first appointment. Walking hand in hand to that office, not knowing how long our struggle would continue, or how much heartbreak and how much joy we would find there. The first time my husband got to see me in stirrups, but certainly not the last. The first time we sat at the doctors big desk hearing the words and the terms I had researched and feared.

We had tests, and of course there was waiting. Finding out bad news, more bad news, and percentages month after month that looked more dismal. Trying to hold out hope, trying the protocols recommended, and again waiting for results. Clomid with IUI's, injectables with IUI. . .in reality, waiting for more bad news. That was what I kept thinking month after month. Wanting to be hopeful, trying to be positive, but in reality just waiting for the news to get worse.

I started this blog when I was starting the IVF process. The first part of our journey is captured on paper, and going back through it every time, I'm amazed at how much we didn't know was to come. At the beginning of my blog, I think I covered all the waiting that goes into IVF. Waiting to start, waiting for stims, waiting for egg retrieval, waiting for the fert report, waiting for transfer, waiting for beta. . . .

And then I was pregnant.

And everything that was supposed to be wonderful and hopeful and bright turned into worry. I very recently realized just how long I spent waiting for the other shoe to drop. How most of this pregnancy was filled with disbelief and fear. Now I'm a worrier by nature, so who knows how I would have reacted to pregnancy that came about without the journey we took?

But I know how much IF has affected me. I got my BFP at home, but still waited anxiously for first and second beta results. I peed on a lot of sticks, just waiting for one to tell me it was all a dream. I spent weeks (hell, months) holding my breath before checking the toilet paper for blood. I worried over miscarriage and waited for it. I worried for our first ultrasound that we might have empty sacs, or that all three embryos would be going strong. After our first ultrasound when we found two babies, but one heartbeat, I waited for bad news at the next. I waited to find out we had lost a twin, or that something was wrong with one or both of them. I kept waiting for bad news, but none came.

We entered the second trimester and I started worrying about delivering too early. We hit 26 weeks and all I could think about was viability. Every week that went by became another week closer to everything being okay. But still, I waited for something to go wrong. They would come early, they would be too small, they would be weak, they would spend months in the NICU. I was waiting to be put on bedrest. I pictured tiny helpless preemies, and worried.

And yet despite all this, I'm sitting here, 35w3d and thinking. . .now I'm just waiting for my babies. I don 't know exactly when hope crept in to replace the doubt, the worry and the fear, but here we are. I think this is why all of a sudden, I'm a little freaked out about the babies actually being here. Because suddenly they are real. They are no longer just a dream, or just something to constantly worry about losing. I have babies inside me, people who are going to come out soon, and need to be fed, and changed and cuddled and loved, and I feel like we've made it. I know there are still possibilities of things going wrong. But for the first time, hope and positive thoughts have taken over the worry.

All I am waiting for now, is the arrival of my two precious bundles of joy, our children. And all the waiting, all the worry, all the struggles are going to be worth it. If it had been easy, I don't know if I would have been as grateful. If we had been fertile, and not had to go through the testing, and the failed cycles, would we appreciate this as much?

I'm going to be a Mom.

34 weeks in that photo. . .and just waiting. And I know that Mommyhood is going to just bring more worry, more waiting, more hope and fear, and everything else that comes with it.

I can't wait.