Archive for the ‘Health’ Category
Today is a surreal and sad day. My grandfather, one of the most important and formative people in my life, passed away today. I immediately felt two strong emotions well up inside of me: the sadness, of course. How can I not be sad that my Paw Paw is no longer available for a goofy grin or a silly joke, or to ask me where I’m traveling to next and take pride in my achievements? But another part of me was instantly relieved. He has fought a long and hard battle with Parkinson’s disease that grew especially difficult and frustrating for him over the past two years. I know he was ready to go.
On Monday, fearing the end was near, the six of us loaded up the van and drove over to see him. Having lost control over most of his ability to communicate, I didn’t know what to expect. But I watched amazed as he perked up when I brought the twins to see him, smiled at Mark and me, and even managed a small wave as Norah boisterously shouted “Paw Paw” and wiggled her little hand at him.
That was my Paw Paw, always a man who loved children.
Over the course of today, I’ve been thinking about the huge role he played in my life and the lives of my sisters and cousins.
He led a big life. He was the Louisiana Secretary of Commerce, the grandson of a construction company dynasty, sat on numerous boards, co-founded a school and even climbed to the very top of Amway. But he was also “Paw Paw,” a man who dropped everything to spend time with his grandchildren, who he loved fiercely.
“Paw Paw! Let’s ride the airplane!” we’d cry, and he would load us all up in his Caddy and drive his car through the front yard in circles, narrowly avoiding magnolia and pine trees, bushes and ditches. We would squeal in delight and he would giggle right along with us. He would take us to his office after hours, and let us decorate white boards, dig through office supplies, use the old typewriter and raid the company snacks.
At the infamous family annual Christmas party, Paw Paw would don his well worn Santa suit and load up his sack with presents as we each begged for the chance to be his helper elf (which usually involved putting on a very tight white and green striped onesie with curled green shoes).
Our family has always loved to play games together, and he was always eager to jump in. Party Lines was a favorite and he was great and coming up with lines that got the whole family laughing with tears pouring out of our eyes.
Ever the sports fan, Paw Paw kept diligent notes about sporting stats and encouraged us all to take up a sport. I remember many a summer spent at LA Techsters basketball camp while Paw Paw rubbed elbows with the coach and visited with everyone – after all he knew everyone who lived in Ruston.
One day, my grandfather and I sat talking when I was 16. He asked me if I could travel to anywhere, where would I choose. New York City was at the top of my list. A couple weeks later my parents received a phone call. My grandfather had a business trip that would be taking him to NYC and would I like to go with them? Together we sat down and made a list of all the things and places we wanted to see and go to. When the time arrived, he took that list with us to New York and made sure we did every single item on the list, crossing each off as we accomplished them.
Together, my grandparents and I traversed the entire city, eating at Tavern on the Green and Sardi’s, going to the top of the Empire State Building and visiting FAO Schwartz. We saw The Lion King and Les Mis on Broadway, and I even remember venturing out to Hard Rock Cafe late at night with them just to cross it off the list.
My grandfather lived to bring joy to others. Each year he would foot the bill for all four of his children and their families to go to the beach together. Inevitably the kids would get tired of just sitting outside, and he and my uncle Mix would load all the children up and take us to the Big Kahuna water park while the other adults enjoyed the peace and quiet. Another day, they would take us down to the Holiday Inn where we would sneak in through the side door to use their swimming pool and enjoy the arcade. He certainly encouraged a us to have fun, even if it meant a little mischief.
My sisters and I went to visit him and introduce him to the twins a couple of weeks ago. In a rare moment of clarity, he looked up when we came into his hospital room and said, “Let me see that baby,” and grinned when I brought Luke over. He also spoke my name. I’m so glad that we got to see him at the end, and even introduce the twins to him.
Dear Paw Paw, I’m so glad you’ve found peace, but so sad my children will never know the way your face lights up when you see your children and great grandchildren, how you always have a funny joke or well-timed wit, or how much and unselfishly you loved with your whole heart. I am so thankful that you always encouraged me to be a better person, and to travel and be successful. I am so blessed and so grateful that I had 30 years with you. Thirty years to love you and bask in the glow of your smile, to hug you and kiss your cheeks.
Going through some old things tonight, I found this letter he wrote to me after our trip to New York. This was everything he was to me in a nutshell.
I love you Paw Paw, and I miss you terribly. I look forward to the day we meet again on the other side.
Mark and I will readily admit, as first born children, that we did not fully understand the plight of the middle child.
Of course you always hear how middle children are treated differently: they are overlooked, ignored or given harsher punishments and as a result they act out and do crazy things to nab that so-longed-for attention.
I didn’t think we would struggle with any of those things with Norah. Prior to the arrival of our twins, Norah was our love bear. She loves to snuggle, sit in our laps and love on her silky blankies. Our oldest and first born, ever the independent stereotype, wanted nothing to do with any of those things and so we especially loved cuddling our Norah Bean.We thought her loving demeanor would transfer over perfectly into mothering the new babies.
I should have known things would be tough when she started getting very daring near the end of the pregnancy. She put her climbing skills to the test often, and we were constantly after her to “get down,” or “stop doing that,” or “spit it out.”
On one fateful night, she climbed up to the top of the bunk bed stairs, cartwheeled off the top and hit the floor, knocking herself unconscious. She stopped breathing for about 30 seconds and her eyes rolled back in her head and she started convulsing. Those were the worst 30 seconds of my entire life as I did everything I could to bring her back while panicking. Sarah, feeding off my energy and witness to the whole thing, also started panicking. After beating on her back several times, she took in a gasp and came back to us. We went to the ER where they did a CT scan and reassured us that her minor concussion was nothing to worry about.
I was traumatized. Sarah was traumatized. So much so that I couldn’t talk about it for a while. Together Sarah and I kept an eye on her climbing, Sarah tattling when Norah would start to get into something she wasn’t supposed to. Norah was pissed off that she had a security detail on her at all times, and began to make a game out of going where she wasn’t supposed to.
And then poor Norah was completely thrown off with the arrival of her twin siblings.
All those loving feelings I had dreamed of? Ha! Once we brought the twins home Norah started her campaign to hurt the twins whenever she got a chance. She would scratch their heads, hit their heads, pinch their feet, pull their skin… it was a nightmare! We sought out our pediatrician’s advice in desperation. She suggested time out, which we were already doing, and making a concerted effort to spend one-on-one time with her. We did. And when we did she was so happy, but with four small children it’s impossible to give her all the attention she wants. Still though, that is slowly getting better and just these past two weeks she’s been dolling out kisses instead of pinches to the babies.
There have been many other attention seeking behaviors. Everything from unrolling entire rolls of toilet paper and getting her legs stuck between the crib bars to covering herself from hair to toes in Vaseline. All of those, fortunately, have been relatively minor. So I should have known something big was brewing.
Friday night their grandparents offered to keep the big girls overnight so we could get some much needed rest. While there, in the blink of an eye, Norah fell off the bed, hit a nightstand and split her lip open. And I’m talking about all the way open until we could see the inside of it. I wasn’t there to witness it, but Sarah was and it sent her into a panic attack. The injury was horrible. Enough to make me light headed and nauseous. Back to the ER we went. We were so fortunate that the place was nearly empty when we arrived though, and they got us back in short order. They had to consciously sedate her this time, which, let me tell you, is super freaky to see your baby with eyes wide open, staring at nothing, laying still while they stitch her back up. I couldn’t watch, but Mark held her hand the whole time as the doctor lined her lip back up and gave her five stitches.
I was so upset that my little thumb sucker wouldn’t be able to self soothe or eat. Ha! She sure showed me. She was sucking her thumb by the time we put her to bed that same night and ate like a champ the next morning.
We took her for a follow up appointment this morning. Even her pediatrician cringed when she saw her lip, but all is healing up like it is supposed to and she is going to be just fine. Even in the pediatrician’s office she took a nose dive in the hallway and hit the floor. My poor clumsy kid takes after her mother and, it seems, is due for a lifetime of upsetting her parents and sister and injuring herself.
Despite all that though, Norah certainly has a certain sparkle that draws people to her. Maybe it’s her cheesy grin, or the way that she snuggles up to people she just met, but people meet her and love her instantly. Now, if only we can get her to play up that part of her personality to gain attention instead of all that other crazy behavior.
My poor, sweet middle child. I hope she realizes how much we really do love her despite bringing two more babies home.
One month is truly a celebration for all of us. We have survived! We have thrived! We are exhausted.
One thing I didn’t experience with my single pregnancies was how worrisome and difficult it would be to get our babies back up to birth weight after their initial normal weight loss. This month has been a struggle and put my strength of will and determination to breastfeed to the test. Breastfeeding is hard with a single baby, but with twins the word hard doesn’t quite cut it. Toss in premature babies, one of whom is a lazy eater and the other who wouldn’t latch for a while, and I wasn’t sure we were going to make it.
But, guess what? Together, the three of us are doing very well with it now at the one month mark! Vera is latching and Luke is slowly being weaned off his supplement and getting everything he needs from nursing!
At one month out, we are very nearly back at birth weight, shy by just a few ounces each (Vera was 5lbs 10oz and Luke was 7lbs 60z at birth). And both babies are getting very long.
As we round out the end of this month, both Luke and Vera are starting to hold their heads up.
Luke, ever my lazy boy, takes things at a snail’s pace, but we are learning how he works. He has to get really grumpy and angry before he will eat well, for example.
Vera is a determined little thing and has much more patience than her brother, who gets angry and red when he is not being held or sleeping.
Vera also loves to look around and take in the world around her. Both babies enjoy looking at lights and are starting to be awake more in the day time hours.
Sleep is another battle we are continuing to fight. I think, perhaps, the best piece of advice I’ve been given as a multiple mama is that when one wakes up at night, wake the other one up. Over the course of the past few days, the babies are finally starting to sync and get on a nighttime schedule, allowing me to sleep 2-3 hours in a stretch. I’m still exhausted of course, but the predictability is easier on my body and makes for better days and nights.
Luke struggles with hiccups after feedings, which can make nights miserable when they keep him from falling back asleep. Without fail he’s always my first to wake and demand to eat and takes the longest to eat and get full.
At this point we think Luke looks just like a boy Sarah and Vera is favoring my husband’s side of the family strongly, especially Mark’s sister.
While both babies enjoy napping together sometimes during the day, due to reflux problems, we have them sleeping in separate Rock and Plays to keep their heads elevated. Both babies love their beds though and seem to sleep the most soundly when they are there.
We have been working hard on establishing a schedule and routine with cues so babies know when it’s night and when it’s day. I think sometimes following the routine is tougher on me than them, but like all things that take hard work and persistence, it seems to be paying off.
The big girls are slowly adjusting, Sarah much more quickly than Norah, but I think that whole topic deserves a post to itself.
Really, I’m just so proud and yet so humbled by this past month. We are so happy, but so tired. I can’t believe a month has blown by already.
People often tell us they don’t know how we’re doing it, and truthfully I don’t really know how we are either. We have had such an amazing village of people helping us, praying for us and feeding us, and I think that has been our biggest blessing. We are in survival mode, but we do still have small slices of time to take a breath and smile. We are making it.
Happy one month Vera and Luke!
Day 1 in the hospital, for all the chaos with Luke being whisked away, turned out ok in the end. We had him in our arms by the end of the day and both babies were nursing and happy to snuggle together.
Day 2 though, Vera started acting strange. Suddenly, my tiny, feisty little baby no longer wanted to latch or nurse, despite her first successful day in doing so. I tried not to let it bother me too much at first, after all, newborns are lethargic and it just happens that way sometimes. But the hours went on with no luck and I began to worry.
I had successfully exclusively breastfed Sarah and Norah for a year each and figured that this time would be like the past two times. I wrote off the lactation consultants when the first offered their help – I was a pro now after all. And Luke was just like Norah, he latched the first time like he had been doing it for months and ate with an appetite that suited his big size. Vera though, was just giving up all interest in even trying to eat. She started losing weight and turning yellow and I knew her jaundice numbers would be creeping up.
I finally cast away my pride and called for the lactation consultants. I was fully expecting to know everything they had to tell me already, but I was in for a pleasant surprise. Both women were absolutely amazing. They comforted me and gave me hope, taught me new techniques for helping baby learn to feed, and together we began to work on Vera. For two solid days they would come in my room and work with us both patiently. They reassured me that this was fairly normal with smaller babies and that she would come around. And although we had a few successful feedings, they were not enough as her weight continued to drop.
Our pediatrician came to visit and she was worried. We talked about options and there was a strong possibility that Vera would have to be admitted to the hospital after we were all released. I had one more day in the hospital covered by insurance, so she suggested we stay and work even harder – waking her up and force feeding every one to two hours. With the help of the consultants, I pumped and we began to force feed her with syringes. I remember sitting with one of the consultants, crying as I watched my little girl struggle to swallow what we were forcing down her. Angela, the consultant, was so positive and kept me focused, so proud of the work I was doing, how much I was already able to pump and how I was handling my babies.
By the time discharge day came, our pediatrician showed up and said the numbers had slowed enough that she was comfortable with Vera going home with us that evening, but we had to bring her to the pediatrician’s clinic first thing the next morning. I remember as we were getting ready to leave, crying and hugging the lactation consultant. I may have taken her by surprise, but she really sustained me through those tough couple of days and I don’t know what I would have done without her.
The next day at the pediatrician’s office, Vera had dropped weight again, bringing her original 5lb 10oz weight down to 4lbs 12oz. Her Bilirubin numbers were creeping up too. By that point any milk we could get down her, she was throwing right back up. After asking us some questions, her pediatrician determined she had reflux and immediately started her on medication to help. My poor, sad, little yellow baby was breaking my heart.
Our doctor gave us one more day. It was the “make or break” period for a hospital stay. We started the medicine that night and baby girl managed to keep all of her food down!
On Saturday morning we showed up to the clinic, prepared for whichever doctor was on call to check our girl’s numbers. To our great surprise though, we learned that our pediatrician had come up to the office on her day off just to see us that morning. Vera’s weight had finally stabilized – no gain, but no loss. We had a talk about why Vera was at a high risk with her jaundice (being pre-term, losing weight, etc) and what our plan of action would be based on her lab results that day. We went home and waited for the phone call. That afternoon, our pediatrician called us directly to tell us Vera’s bili numbers had also stabilized (going neither up nor down), and that we wouldn’t be checking her into the hospital that evening after all. With a great sigh of relief, we powered through the rest of the weekend, laying her out in the sun, giving her medicine, feeding her constantly and doing everything we could to naturally heal our baby.
We were back on Monday and to our huge and great relief, our tiny little pixie had gained an ounce and her bili number was down two points! The scary period was mostly over and we were allowed to go home with instructions to spend more time in the sun and continue frequent feedings.
In the days since then, our mighty little warrior princess has rallied. She has suddenly decided that she likes to nurse after all, and we’ve been able to put aside the syringe feedings completely. She now eats with a fierceness that puts her much larger brother to shame. I have watched over the past few days as her cheeks have filled in and we can no longer see her tiny rib cage through her skin. Her yellow tinge is fading and her eyes actually look white now. She cries out for food on her 1-2 hour schedule and makes no complaints unless we don’t feed her quickly enough.
I’m so proud of my little girl for fighting with us, coming around and allowing us to avoid a hospital stay. Hopefully her numbers on Tuesday will reflect all our hard work. Three cheers for Vera!
Most twins don’t make it to term for delivery. The mother’s body runs out of room, or her uterus gets too big and gets confused and labors early, or or or… So many things in twin pregnancies mean an early delivery, which is why when we found out we were expecting two babies, we immediately had to start seeing a high risk OB in addition to our regular OB.
I quickly learned that I was one of the lucky ones. I was tall, relatively young and in good health and my babies were fraternal, not sharing a placenta. We monitored them as the weeks went on and watched as our Baby B got bigger and bigger. He was above average in size, while his sister paced along hitting her slightly below average milestones. Baby B was also awash in fluid, swimming in what Mark dubbed his “pent house.” As the time grew closer, they recommended that we deliver between 36 and 37 weeks.
I was huge, very uncomfortable and often in a lot of pain, but I really wanted to make it to 37 weeks for the health of the babies. My regular OB agreed that we could try for 37 weeks and we tentatively scheduled their delivery date for April 13, right on the nose of 37 weeks. I hoped and prayed we would make it. My OB was going out of town the whole week before and she and I have been through a lot together. I really wanted her to be the one who delivered them.
My body though, started to get other ideas. At 36 weeks I started having regular contractions. I was monitored and eventually put on medicine to slow the contractions. Over the course of the week I battled the contractions and several times we nearly went to the hospital when they got strong and regular. But, by a lot of prayers and miracles, we made it to 37 weeks and showed up for our scheduled c-section. When they hooked me up to the monitors upon our arrival at the hospital, I was having contractions every 5-7 minutes. It was baby day whether we wanted it to be or not, which eased my guilt about scheduling their delivery too soon.
I was nervous about the c-section, despite my previous one. There’s something so creepy about being awake during surgery. I had a great anesthesiologist though, and he really attended to me and how I felt. Because there was so much weight and pressure on my body with two near-term babies, their placentas and all the extra fluid in my body, when I was on the operating table, they had to keep rotating the table side to side to keep me from passing out. The spinal block was particularly tough this time. It made me feel so sick and I just wanted to quit and not do it once it was started, but, as these things go, I had no choice. I tried to control the shakes and nausea and was so happy when Mark was finally allowed into the OR.
The surgery itself was quick. The same doctor team who delivered Norah was there to deliver our twins. Mark even video recorded this delivery (and without much gore!) so I could watch our babies be delivered later.
Our girl, Vera Margaret, was head down and delivered first. She arrived into the world with a squeaky little scream and weighed in at 5 pounds and 10 ounces. Her brother, Luke Anthony, was not so accommodating. He was lodged up high in the right side of my ribs and breech. It took one doctor pulling on his feet and another shoving him from the top of my ribs to get him out. My doctor knocked the breath out of me in the process, but as soon as he was out, I could breathe again. His cry was much more gurgly, and I barely got to see him before they whisked him away. Mark followed and recorded them being weighed and cleaned up for me while I was being stitched up. Luke weighed in at a whopping 7lbs and 6oz – huge for a twin or even a singleton, especially at 37 weeks! As my pediatrician said, he was stealing all her groceries.
They quickly discovered that Luke was having trouble “transitioning.” They put both babies skin-to-skin on me, but when Luke’s oxygen levels wouldn’t regulate, he had to be whisked away to the nursery and put under an oxygen hood.
My tiny Vera was right as rain though, and got to stay with me.
It was hard not having my son with me that first day. It was very surreal – after all it had always just been me and one baby girl after delivery before and there I was again in the same situation. I missed him though, bone deep. I don’t know what I would have done without his sister to hold on to and keep me stable. The nursery was great though and called down every hour or so to give me updates. My family and husband went to the nursery regularly to check on him, and bring me pictures and updates. Our pediatrician even texted me photos of him.
We went through a “wait and see” period with him all day. Finally and miraculously, that evening they were able to bring him to me.
Vera is a petite little pixie with huge eyes. We got to spend a whole day bonding together, just the two of us, mostly skin to skin.
Luke was a big boy who seemed to favor his mother in looks and was (and still is) most content in his mama’s arms.
The thing that was most spectacular about having twins was watching them together. They shared a bassinet in the hospital, and when one would get inconsolable, we could lay them next to the other and they would immediately quiet down.
And Sarah was so keen on meeting her new siblings that she faked an ear infection and pain at school, had the front office call me in the hospital and got out of after school play practice. When mom picked her up and asked her about her ear, she informed mom that it really didn’t hurt that bad after all, it was just was a little warm. When she got to the hospital, I still only had Vera with me, and Sarah was so concerned and kept asking me where her brother was. She was (and still is) so so so good to her siblings. She climbed into bed with Vera and me, snuggled up to her sister and said, “Oh, you’re so cute like an itty bitty unicorn.”
And she immediately did the same with her brother when we finally got to have him in our room.
Norah, however, did not know what to think about mom holding a new baby. She wouldn’t come anywhere near me until I handed Vera off to someone else, then she immediately climbed into bed with me and held on for dear life.
Mark was a champ throughout the whole day. He stayed strong, watched after our Luke man and took care of all of us despite battling off a sinus infection and having to sleep on that awful hospital couch.
And I would be remiss if I didn’t mention how amazing the hospital staff was that day and every day we were there. Everyone from the doctors and nurses to the team who worked and checked on Luke to the lactation consultants made everything so much easier and less stressful.
The rest of our hospital stay was kind of crazy, especially as Vera started to run into her own set of troubles, but that’s a story for another post.
Their birthday was eventful, and sometimes scary, but beautiful in its own right. I am so very thankful that we were able to make it to 37 weeks, a milestone most twin moms don’t get to reach, and that we got to have them with us in our hospital room most of the time. Happy birthday my sweet sweet Vera and Luke.
This is it: the last day before our twins arrive.
I am a huge whirl of emotions that range from extremely excited to positively terrified. How am I going to do this?
Today was not what I imagined it would be. In my head, I pictured my last day as a family of four, snuggled up with my kids, playing games with them, sitting outside while they played as the four of us basked in our last calm and peaceful day together before the babies arrived.
The reality was… well it wasn’t that.
The girls know something is up and they were acting out. Sarah literally clung to my body all day. If I dozed off on the couch, she would jump on my legs or back immediately to get my attention. If I tried to maneuver myself off the couch, she would clutch onto my arm with a death grip and hold me down. I love to snuggle with my kids, but this all consuming clingy thing was overstimulating. Everything on my body hurts, from my hips and back to my skin and hair. Just touching me was enough to make me want to scream.
Norah woke up in a terror. She was screaming for “”PANCAKE! PANCAKE!” from the moment she woke up. She clung to her daddy, hovering between his legs while he attempted to make the requested pancakes, our traditional weekend breakfast. She did cheer up some after she ate, but was still into everything: yanking cups full of water off tables, throwing her cup and smashing her sister’s toe, crying over having her diaper changed. Time out, our go-to miracle worker, had absolutely no effect on her today.
Oh, and did I mention that Mark has a sinus infection on top of all of this? He had to go to Quick Care with fever yesterday morning, where they promptly gave him antibiotic and steroid shots, the latter of which kept him up all night last night. And of course I don’t really sleep anymore either. So we were both exhausted and cranky and generally feeling bad.
By 10am, I was frazzled. We were all sitting on the floor in Sarah’s room and I was trying to pack the girls’ bags for their grandparents’ houses. The girls were more interested in ignoring everything I said and making their big mess into a giant mess. It was overwhelming. How could I possibly handle four children when I was barely keeping it together with two? I had to leave the room freak out and ugly cry for about 30 minutes.
Shortly after that, my friend Kelly came over and brought communion. I don’t think she was expecting to walk in and see me in tears, but she hugged me and immediately started consoling me. By the grace of God, the girls let the three adults pray together and receive the host without interuption. Immediately I relaxed and so did Mark. It was truly what we needed in that moment.
After Kelly left, we fed the kids, got Norah down for a nap and Mark got a chance to rest while Sarah and I colored My Little Ponies together, just the two of us, for almost an hour. Then Mark and I traded out and he got to spend the next 45 minutes building Legos with her, enjoying the one-on-one time. About the time Norah woke up from a nap, Nana showed up to get Sarah. We said our goodbyes to her, then got to spend some quality and happy one-on-one time with Norah. She loved dancing and clapping with us. My mom came to collect her a short time later, and she was thrilled to go with her Mimi.
My sisters came over around 4:30 and put in a solid two hours of cleaning my house for me and provided some much needed conversation and distraction. My friend Stephanie showed up with two lasagnas for our freezer and big hugs and well wishes.
After they left, Mark and I decided Mexican food sounded excellent, so we picked it up, brought it home and got to have an entire conversation uninterrupted in a quiet house – an unexpected date night that we desperately needed.
And now here we are. It’s 9pm and we have to be at the hospital at 5am. I didn’t know if we’d make it to goal day. I had three days this past week with regular contractions that had to be stopped by medication. It’s had me on pins and needles, adding an additional level of anxiety. But, by the grace of God, we have somehow made it to goal day.
I have had so many people call, text and message me to check on me today and tell me they are praying for and thinking about us tomorrow, and that has meant more to me than anything. I’ve done this c-section thing before, but I’m still extremely anxious about it. I worry about the babies and hope their lungs are developed enough and we don’t have to go to the NICU. I pray that everything will be perfect. How many twin moms are lucky enough to make it to 37 weeks? Most are not. Even at the OB’s office I started getting cheers and proud congratulations every time I made it to another appointment.
We are here. We are at the finish line. It doesn’t seem real, but my body says otherwise.
I am so excited. I am so worried. I am so happy. I am so anxious.
We can do this. We will do this. This is it. Whew.
We appreciate all your love and support throughout this whole pregnancy, especially through delivery tomorrow. Please pray for the three of us, or really the six of us. We all need your love and positive support now and over the coming months. It’s going to be wild and it’s going to be wonderful.
Ok, here’s the thing, I could gripe and complain some more about modified bed rest, but I’m going to try to stay away from that negative state of mind and be thankful that I’m not on full bed rest, still pregnant and able to drive to work and back every day.
In that spirit of positivity, I’ve figured out, over the past few weeks, a few ways to entertain my young children without driving them all over town, keeping pace with them as they run, or attempting to jump on the trampoline. It’s been a learning curve for all of us. Sarah’s request of, “Mama, come see the tea party I set up,” isn’t met with much enthusiasm or energy when it takes Mama three solid minutes to go from laying to standing to walking into another room (which I probably don’t need to be doing anyway).
So here’s what we’ve come up with in an attempt to make everyone (mostly) happy.
First, let’s get real, Mama needs coffee. I know you’re not supposed to drink caffeine when you’re pregnant, this ain’t my first rodeo, but I warm up a glass ¾ full of milk and add some real coffee anyway. I’ve asked, it’s fine and it makes everyone in the house happier. So after Daddy makes coffee and I pour up a small cup, we can choose our activity.
Option 1: Outside is always the first option. It’s the perfect opportunity to sit and observe while they run all of their energy out. And while Sarah was disappointed that I refused to get on the trampoline a few times, she has now taken it upon herself to design and set up an obstacle course around the perimeter of the yard which involves jumping over multiple stools and a torn up inflatable pool, dashing through leaves, making circles around the tire swing and avoiding stepping in dog poop. She runs this course at top speed multiple times around the yard while I cheer, “Bravo!” from my perch and help Norah throw the ball for the dogs, thus effectively entertaining and exhausting two kids and two dogs at the same time.
However, it has been awfully rainy out lately, so we have a few inside options as well.
Option 2: Crafts. Now, this one requires a little more stamina on my part and Norah either needs to be napping or out on an errand with daddy because I quickly discovered that I cannot bend to the floor to clean up the paint that Norah so wishes to paint our tile with. I really like doing this with Sarah. First we get the iPad and go to Pinterest. She picks the theme of the craft and then we search until we land on something that she both likes and we have all the supplies for. This past weekend the theme was “Easter” and all we needed was some paper, paint, crayons, glue and scissors. It was quite the success and allowed Daddy to get away with only taking Norah to the grocery store while we played at home.
Option 3: The Performance. My kids love to dance and sing and perform. We’ve cleared off the fireplace hearth, tune Pandora into their choice of music (usually the Disney station), let them dress themselves in costume and perform to their hearts’ content. Both kiddos actively participate in this one and wear themselves out.
Option 4: Bring the game to Mama. We moved our kids’ picnic table back into the living room, thus providing the perfect setting to play tea party / restaurant / birthday party, all while Mama gets served up a variety of delicious Lego foods from my perch. It’s almost like breakfast in bed!
Option 5: The Van. I love my new minivan so much. And when the days started to get super rainy and dreary and the kids couldn’t go out, Mark suggested loading everyone up in the car and just driving. Sometimes we put on a DVD (we just bought 101 Dalmatians!), sometimes we listen to music, and sometimes we just stare out the window. We go and pick up lunch, or just drive and hang out. Norah always gets excited about this particular activity and loudly screams, “GO! GO!” and runs to the door if we even mention the word car.
Option 6: Let them go to their grandparents’ if their grandparents are willing and available. I think this one’s self explanatory.
Now, here’s to hoping this Spring weather is here to stay, or we are going to be in for a lot of long car rides with four little ones in the van in about a month or so.
“How are you doing? How are you holding up?” are the two questions I get most these days while people eyeball my growing belly.
“Really good all things considered,” is my usual response.
And it’s true. By 32 weeks, many women with multiples are already on bed rest and in so much misery that moving or breathing is a task. My OB always tells me how lucky I am – how being tall makes things so much better. And she’s right. I asked her last time what short women with multiples do, and she quickly replied, “Get put on bed rest and sometimes in the hospital.”
So luck, if that’s what you want to call it, has been with me.
This morning I went to visit my high risk OB. I love their office. The doctors are so great and laid back and they get you in and out so quickly. I see them so often now that I feel like I’m getting to know them pretty well.
Dr. B came in to see me this morning and picked up the ultrasound wand. “Let’s take a look at all that extra fluid around Baby B.” Baby B, it seems, has double the amount of room to swim around in than his sister and is outpacing her in size by a pound or so. That’s not a bad thing for the babies though, they are both are getting plenty of nutrition and are well within the sizes they should be, but Baby B is just a big boy.
The problem is all that extra fluid. It doesn’t hurt the baby in any way, but instead of feeling like I’m 32 weeks pregnant with twins, it feels more like I’m 35 or 36 weeks pregnant with twins – therein lies the risk. When my uterus hits a certain size, it may think it’s “go time,” even if we’re not quite there yet. Not to mention the fact that my ribs, hips, lower back and bladder are all paying the consequences as well. Sleeping has become a joke, as the dark circles under my eyes can attest, and this limited mobility thing is so hard for me to abide by.
At any rate, I got myself landed with an elevated risk diagnosis this morning and I now get to visit my friends at both OB offices once a week now: aka, I’ll be at the doctors’ offices at least twice a week from here on out.
I don’t want to sound ungrateful or unhappy – I’m not, just worried. I know so far we have been abundantly blessed and, despite the elevated risk, there is still a good chance that we can make it to that longed-for 36 week mark. Please keep our entire family in your prayers as we soldier on into the end of this pregnancy. I know the NICU here is an amazing and great place, but if we can avoid it or spend minimal time there, that would be my ultimate wish. I already love these two little ones so much and want them to be as healthy as possible. I can fight through the discomfort, after all it’s Mark’s job to sit there and listen to me complain without judging me, just as long as we are all ok in the end.
Snow in Louisiana is a rare and funny thing – especially when A) the forecasters are actually right and it happens and B) it lasts more than one day. Both of those things happened last week and I noticed that people’s reactions were something like this:
Day 1: SNOW! SNOW! SNOW! (ok, so it’s mostly ice) but cancel all the things and let’s stay home and party. No school! Yay! Also let’s take a million pictures and go outside in inappropriate clothing because none of us are prepared for this! Also, let’s update everyone and let them know where it’s snowing!
Day 2: A much more muted celebration, yay – no work, no school, but really I’m tired of being stuck inside with my kids, can’t we all get back to normal tomorrow?
Day 3: Real snow! It’s beautiful! But seriously, I’m over it. Please melt and go away and bring me 75-degree weather. Grumble grumble, complain, complain.
My take? I loved it – all three days of it from ice, to slush to real snow. I loved being at home with my family. Yes, it had its trying moments, but there is something so wonderful about an unplanned vacation. Perhaps it’s the homebody in me, or maybe getting outside long enough to watch Mark and Sarah pelt each other with snowballs and build a giant snowman satiated my need to get out of the house, but I was in heaven.
The stay at home gave me some much needed time to move Norah’s things into Sarah’s closet and get the twins’ things set up in a closet together – a big task that I had had no clue when I’d be able to accomplish. (And don’t worry, I mostly stayed off my feet, sitting in the closet organizing, folding, stacking and yelling for Mark to come move heavy boxes for me). We also cleaned bedrooms (in the same sitting and directing fashion).
But, most importantly, whenever I felt tired or worn out, I could crawl onto a couch and put my feet up. And guess what? I had very minimal contractions and physically felt so much better.
The girls played church, put on elaborate dancing and singing performances and generally enjoyed the heck out of themselves. I lounged on the couch and drank coffee while I watched them perform.
Of course it wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows, but the unexpected break was a blessing. And when Sarah told me Thursday morning that she was ready to get up, get dressed and go see her friends that day, I applauded her good attitude.
“Stay off your feet as much as possible.”
Those are words you might think would be wonderful to hear – and perhaps they would be if it were vacation and I had a handy dandy foot servant to tend to my needs, but the reality is something much harder.
A few weeks ago I started experiencing Braxton Hicks contractions – not something unfamiliar to me. I recognized the cramping and tightness for what it was, but it still made me uneasy with my high risk for premature labor. I asked both my high risk OB and my regular OB about them. Good news is that they aren’t active contractions – my cervix is just fine – which is great! The bad news is that they are triggered when I’m on my feet or bending too often and lots of contractions still aren’t a great thing to be experiencing when we are hoping to make it at least seven more weeks before we deliver.
My regular OB told me she didn’t want to put me on bed rest for a number of reasons, but the primary one was how stressful something like that is for a family: loss of income, the burden of everything falling on one partner and the kids without easy and constant access to Mama creates chaos. So, she didn’t put me on bed rest – yet. However, I have been threatened with it if I don’t “stop and sit down already.”
I am very fortunate that my job allows me to sit most of the time, and the parts of my job that require me to be on my feet – namely photography – are slowly being handed off to other capable hands for now. In fact work has proven to be the best thing for me right now. I can arrive, sit at my desk and work, slowly meander to the bathroom across the hall on occasion (or really LOTS of occasions), and just be.
Home life, however, has proven to be much more difficult. Having two children, ages 3 and 16 months who are still very dependent on their parents makes staying off my feet extremely difficult and nearly impossible. There are so many things I have taken for granted that are now an obstacle to overcome. My husband has risen to the occasion valiantly. Where we once both shared cooking responsibilities, he has taken over almost all of them (though I still offer to sit and peel and chop veggies!) The grocery shopping, which has always been my chore, has had to be passed off to Mark as well. I can still fold laundry, but not rotate it.
Oh, that must be so nice, you think, having someone take care of all that for you. Well, here’s the problem, I like things done the way and on the time frame I’m used to doing them on, and I feel bad nagging my husband once he finally sits down to get up and rotate laundry. Not to mention there are so many things I want to do that are no longer an option. I really wanted to go to the Mardi Gras parades this past weekend, but my OB said, “If you’re thinking about going, just don’t.”
My girls want me to get up and play. Sarah is always begging me to dance with her or go to another room to see her latest creation. My 16-month-old is constantly digging into and climbing on things she shouldn’t be, and when daddy is trying to man the cooking and dishes, it falls to me to try to keep an eye on her ever-busy body. And that little toot has figured out that she can run from me and I can’t give chase! She will scoop up a penny or an ink pen and take off, laughing as she watches me try to hurry after her.
Just last week Mark was sick in bed with a 103 fever and Norah was super sick, too. In the process of trying to take care of everyone, I had a round of regular, scary contractions. Any time I think, “Oh, I’ve got this, just a short amount of time on my feet,” it backfires.
I know complaints from pregnant women can be annoying, and I am so very thrilled and blessed to meet these twins, but man, oh man, never did I think “taking it easy” would prove to be so hard.
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