So, I ran out of things to say because what has been dominating our lives is something we didn't really tell people till recently. Actually, it is kinda obvious to the people who can actually see me. Yeah, I am pregnant again. It's actually kinda' a funny story.
I knew I was pregnant so I went in to a dr that a friend swore by (yay for good friends with good recommendations) and when she heard that I had been taking clomid, she decided to take a peak. So out came the sonogram goo and she poked around, there it was, one very happy, egg, newly implanted in the uterus wall. There was no heart beat, but she said it was too early, to come back next week when there would be one and then we could decide whether or not this was a pregnancy that was going to stick around. So I went in next week with Chris in tow; I don't think he believed that I was actually pregnant yet and he needed a little more convincing. They pulled out the ultrasound goo again and watched the screen. Chris gasped 'That's not what I think it is' but it wasn't a question. His hands went instantly sweaty and I smiled to myself 'I knew it,' I thought. The doctor confirmed, almost sheepishly, to Chris, 'yes, it looks like twins.'
We must have been a sight to behold as we checked out, the doctor telling us congrats and that she would want to see me again, Chris saying rather loudly that we might not: 'every time we come in, there's another one in there.' I was oscillating between smugly satisfied (I had told him I thought it would work that time and that I thought it was twins about 15 days in), hysterically giggly, and paralyzed.
|not my twins, but twins at about 5 weeks|
That was about six weeks ago. Chris and I seem to now take turns being completely overwhelmed or blissfully happy. It is mostly the pregnancy that has us panicked, really. Somehow having one set of twins hasn't scared us enough, I think. It seems perfectly natural to have four kids, the oldest being three. The reality is that we are too scared of the pregnancy to really worry about it. The bottom line is that miscarriage is the unspeakably horrible and watching your preemie baby struggle in a nicku is only marginally better.
The redeeming light in this whole thing has actually been my in-laws. When we told them they were so excited for us and graciously offered to help however they could. They meant it, too. Already they have sent cleaning ladies to scrub at my house. Two professionals for six hours, yeah, your house would glow, too. And, I have always had clean toilets, but I have never been so grateful to see it gleam as when my face is buried in it. I would eat off that thing, which sounds gross until you see how clean the thing is. That alone made me the envy of the relief society but then they sent someone to clean my miserable carpets. I don't know where they found that guy, but I doubt that they have been this clean since they were installed.
And yet, somehow there is more. I will have to have a cerclauge (sp?) put in come the first week of April, and who do you think is coming to take care of my family as that happens and during the recovery? Yeah, my mother-in-law. Before it is all said and done it might be five days. When these people say they are here to help, they take it seriously. I am so grateful.
We also have had all sorts of support from friends here. Just this morning Ann Broadbent came and watched my kids, at my house for about 4 1/2 hours while I went to a pre-op 45 minutes from my home. There are so many other women who have also offered and insisted on helping in babysitting and other things. I am so lucky. I know that few people are in as good a position as we are for this.
Anyway, now you all know. Pregnant with twins. let the bodily fluids flow where they shouldn't and get stuck where they should... oooh, I was on my way to this pre-op thing this morning and I thought I had barfed my fill for the morning when I had to grab an old water bottle and puke in it - Chris was driving and watching me with concern written in every line of his body, especially as he got out for work and I had to take the driver's seat, barfing on the pavement in the garage of his work as I walked around the car. He was so sweet, he offered to empty the water bottle containing my vomit for me, but I declined... I might still need it.
|not actually my twins, but this is about where they are.|
Fast forward about 30 min later, stop and go traffic on Hwy8, my windows were down, but I was listening to the radio... some horrible thing about gourmet hamburgers came on and they featured the sizzle of the beef patty in the background... I already had one hand on the steering wheel, the other holding the lid on the water bottle - to keep it open for emergency, but to keep the lid over it enough that I could not still smell the milk and corn chex I had puked in it earlier. I couldn't turn down the radio without disaster so, to the prelude of sizzling burgers and the calming voice of PBS radio talk hosts, I puked into that water bottle, eyes still glued on the road, violent heaves carefully controlled not to disturb my gas foot or the hand on the wheel. It was gross, but a little empowering. Yeeeeah, I can puke and drive at the same time.