Where do they come up with this stuff?

For those of you who know me and who have met my boys, you know that despite our differences in DNA, we are a lot alike, especially in the way we talk and our shared, warped sense of humor.  And this new, pregnancy thing has long been fodder for their inquisitive minds.  

For example, just a few weeks ago, I was horfing in the bathroom.  (Well, that wasn't exclusive to a few weeks ago, but the rest of the story is.)  Mid-horf, I hear a little voice from the other side of the door:
"Mommy, awe you okay?"
"Yes, Benny.  I'm okay.  I'll be out in a minute."
"Okay.  Mommy?"
"Yes, Benny..."
"Don't fwoh up da babies, okay?"
"Okay, Benny.  I'll try not to."  

Then there was the question that Andy had for me.  It was Martin Luther King, Jr. Day and a clip of one of his speeches on the radio inspired a breakfast time talk.  After discussing the fact that the color of one's skin has no bearing on the quality of their character and that Dr. King's dream wasn't about fighting dragons or swimming in a pool  of spaghetti, Andy posed a question:
"Hey mom?"
"Yeah, Andy?"
"If the babies come out black like Dr. King, we're still going to love them, right?"

Yes, my older boy-child actually said this.

"Yes, Andy.  Your father might have some questions, but no matter what these babies look like, we're going to love them."

That was said, of course, after my face imploded upon itself from trying to contain the laughter. 

IVF/ICSI Graduate!

After just one round of IVF/ICSI, Jeff and I graduated with flying colors!  (We're fast learners, I guess.)  I definitely don't take that lightly though, considering the countless women and their partners who struggle through cycle after cycle and don't get anywhere closer to their dream than they were when they first started.

So after a great ultrasound (and seeing the babies MOVE!  Like, actually squirm around!!) I was released from Dr. Thomas' care.  I ended up switching OBs, too.  Not because I didn't like the practice I was at, but because I want to deliver at a hospital with a Level III NICU.  This is a good thing to have when expecting twins, or so I've read.  The new OB's office only deliver at Good Sam, which not only has a Level III NICU, but I've heard nothing but rave reviews about.  I had my first appointment with them on Friday and it went well.  The doc I saw was really nice and we hit it off.  I think the high point of the visit was during the exam, she asked if I had any questions.  I asked, "Yeah, when do my boobs get bigger?  I mean, if I'm going to be pregnant, I want huge melons."  I knew we were going to be friends when she snortlaughed.

Anyhow, here are the last ultrasound pictures from Dr. Thomas' office.  They actually look like real babies!  Heads and bellies and hands and legs and things!

 

Pretty neat, huh?

 

Pollyanna was kicked to the curb

Before I became a mother to my awesome man-children, before the Preggo Fairy decided to wave her magic wand over my lady-bits and before I had the honor of growing twins, I promised myself that I would never, EVER complain about pregnancy symptoms.  And so far, I have kept my word.  Any time I find myself bracing my arms against the bathroom wall or the shower stall, yakking up whatever stomach contents the twins do not approve of, I play the glad game.  


When I'm beyond exhausted, I'm glad about it because naps just make the time go by faster.  When I have to get my nightly injection of progesterone, I'm glad because I don't have to worry if my body is making enough of it to sustain my pregnancy.  When I'm red in the face from throwing up, I'm glad because that means there's plenty of hCG in my system, and that makes for a good, healthy pregnancy.


That is, I played the glad game until today.  As usual, I was up at four for my morning ritual of Frosted Flakes and Facebook.  I was zonked on the couch by 5am and then up for my 6:50am alarm.  I had to hold my breath while I made the boys their breakfast and poured their glasses of milk.  At one point, I resorted to hand signals and nods/shakes of the head to communicate with them because talking created vibrations in my throat, which triggered my gag reflex.


For those of you who've met me, you know how much I talk and that this could create problems.


I popped my morning Zofran pill and went along my nauseous business.  Because the Snow Gods hate me, our school district called a Snow Day.  By 9am, I was wiped out again and by 10am, I was in bed.  Yes, in bed while my children had free-reign of the house.  Smart, I know.  Finally exhaustion beat out nausea and I fell asleep.  By noon, I was downstairs, holding my breath again while I made the boys some lunch.


Anyhow, the day went on like this, naps, nausea, naps, nausea and sometimes a handful of hormones that brought me to tears, thrown in.  I was rescued when I invited the three of us over to a dear friend's house.  Her brother took the kids sledding and she gave me cinnamon muffins and let me whine.  I am beyond blessed to have family like this.


Fast forward to now and I have managed to throw up dinner, snapped at the boys more than once, cried to Jeff on the phone and am sitting here, wondering how I'm going to get through yet ANOTHER Snow Day, tomorrow.














And it just hit me.


I'm still glad.  I had every intention of breaking down to all of the internet and all 12 of my blog readers and saying that I was officially complaining.  But as I've been typing this all out, I still can't help but feel that glow of gladness.  Yeah, this part isn't so fun and I'm not looking any more pregnant than I was last week, but week seven means two new pairs of limbs, brain cells that are being generated 100 per minute, and two precious mouths and tongues are starting to form.  


If that's not worth a ton of puking, emotions on the fritz and insane amounts of fatigue, then nothing in this world is.


For this pregnancy, I am glad.

Food porn

This was one of many mornings I've had where I woke up before 5am to, what I'm calling, "Food Porn".  Although my food aversions have definitely outnumbered my food cravings, the cravings definitely have the best side effects.  I'm gently roused from sleep by the sight of a bowl of dry, frosted flakes topped with fresh, sliced bananas.  Barry White-esque music starts playing as ice cold milk is poured, in slow motion of course, all over the flakes and fruit, splashing in dramatic fashion.

I would say it's safe to assume that this is my body telling me that a bowl of frosted flakes and sliced bananas would make the twins happy.  And because lately it's rare that I have any desire for any specific food, I always take the suggestion of the food porn movie and consume what it tells me to.

The other, often played food porn is of a giant glass of ice cold orange juice, complete with beads of condensation dripping down the glass.  Always with some sort of swanky, boom-chicka-wow-wow music playing, of course. 

And now, at minutes from 9:00 in the morning, I shall reheat a slice of pizza from last night's pizza party.  Yes, there is food porn playing in my head now.  Stringy cheese that droops slightly from the crust to a pair of lips.

Yes, I am aware of the fact that I am just not right.

"But Charlie, don't forget...

...what happened to the man that suddenly got everything he ever wanted:  He lived happily ever after."

And that, folks, sums up today.  My husband and I are proud parents to a fantastic 7 1/2 year old, a wonderful 4 year old and today, we found out that we are expecting twins.  AND we saw heartbeats.  Like from actual, beating, still forming hearts.  We hadn't expected that at all.  We knew it was early, but our IVF office accommodated us with an early ultrasound because Jeff is leaving the country for a month, and wouldn't get to be at the first ultrasound, otherwise.

We were beyond thrilled when we saw two sacs, but were brought to tears when we saw slight flickering of movement from what would be two, perfect little hearts.  I am shell-shocked and a deer-in-the-headlights, while also having it finally feel real and tangible.   This is absolutely unreal and looking me in the face all at once.  My head is soaring in the clouds and my feet are firmly planted on the ground.

For one of a handful of times in my life, I'm speechless.  Since there are no words, I'll share some pictures:

One of many firsts

Today is the day that I get to hold my husband's hand while we both stare, with great excitement, at a black and white monitor and, for once in my life, don't see a barren wasteland staring back at us.  One of the wonderful, white-coat-clad IVF office staff is going to move an ultrasound probe (I hate that word, by the way) across my belly, and then stop to show us the life that we created (ok, so really it was Chuck the lab tech), staring back at us.

This is one of the things that I craved so badly throughout the past decade.  The experience of looking at life on an ultrasound screen, and then glancing over to my husband, and seeing that familiar look of when he sees his children for the first time.  He had it with Andy and Ben, and both times, that event left an image that is forever burned into my soul's memory.

This is stuff you carry with you into the next life.

Anyhow, I have to hop into the shower, get my teeth cleaned (I hope I don't throw up on the dental assistant...I should warn her of the invisible gag threashold near my back molars) and then meet my husband at the doctor's office.  As soon as I have access to the webbernets, I can post the ultrasound picture.

Today is a great day for one of many firsts.