Everydaystranger

29 May 2007
Bewared of Unplanned Works
Our midwife visit is tomorrow, in which we’re hoping to go over…well, to be honest, neither of us has a fucking clue what it is we’re supposed to go over. We’re supposed to go over something, anyway, possibly the early view of a birth plan, my weight, what topiary shapes I think will be in season in this year’s summer gardens, who knows. It’s on the schedule to visit le midwife between weeks 16-20, so visit le midwife we will.
My next scan is the anatomy scan, which is scheduled for the 20th of June. I’ll be past the 20 week mark then, but my guys are running a bit small anyway so perhaps it’s ok. We talked today-both of Aidan’s kids will be staying with us then, and he’s going to ask if they want to come in and see the scan, to sort of get to see what’s going on and be a part of it. This is only if they want to, and I swear we’re not usually that crunchy granola or anything, but we want to include them.
Actually, we’re pretty crunchy granola.
But we’re not going to be breast-feeding when the kids are in high school, decked out in their homemade hemp ware or anything trippy like that.
(We’re not going to be breast-feeding at all, actually. I had a radical breast reduction many years ago, and now although I can drive my two little chevys to the levy, well, you know how the song goes.)
Or at least I thought my next scan was going to be the end of June. Turns out life can sometimes be a little unexpected. I had no idea I’d wind up getting a scan today, because if I did I can guarantee you I wouldn’t be wearing The Ugliest Panties from my collection known as “The 1990’s-Early Fugly”. I also would’ve trimmed my hedges back because my God it looks like I made out with the business end of a Brillo pad down there. I’ve let the fields go back to the green, so to speak, as Aidan keeps enticing me with his promises to trim it in cute attrative shapes (I know I should wax, but him shaving it into shapes is way more fun than waxing). We both decided it wouldn’t be at all weird if the midwife were to do a check-up and see, say, a Nike swoosh there. I’m just saying-in this household Picasso himself decides what goes on I just act as the canvas.
So no-had I known that today I’d have an ultrasound on my abdomen and three fingers inside of me (and not in the “I want to get freaky with you” kind of way), then I can assure you, things would’ve been done differently.
At least I remembered to change out of my Conjunction Junction T-shirt, the one with the peach juice dribbled down the front. Thank heaven for small favors.
I’ve had a fantastically horrific cold for over a week now, complete with endlessly running nose, hacking cough, sneezing, and the inability to breathe without sounding like a Sleestack. I’ve been on a pregnancy-safe homeopathic concoction that Aidan makes for me to help with the worst of the coughing. Some cough syrups are ok while pregnant, but the ones that they do allow here have codeine in them and I’m allergic to codeine. So I’ve been toughing it out with this absolutely vile liquid that Aidan whips up for me, but which I admit works.
But this last bank holiday weekend, I started getting worse. The cough settled in my chest and stayed there. My throat is raw and I sound like a really sexy 10 pack-a-day smoker. I’m not enjoying this.
Cue to this morning, when I woke up. My right arm was fast asleep, the plugged nose meant I was drooling like I’d just been for a party time at the dentist, and my uterus was an extremely hard, painful ball hanging out on my stomach. It hurt like hell, and was the size and density of a basketball.
Throughout the rest of the day, I’ve had some pretty bad cramping, where it feels like my insides are squeezing up and then releasing. It’s not RLP, because I get that, too. It was getting to the point where sitting was uncomfortable.
I rang up the midwife.
I explained the cough, the uterus discomfort, the whole business.
Her response? “We’d like you to come in to the central delivery suite right now for a check.”
Always a good thing to tell someone that’s prone to nervous anxiety.
But to be fair, we were pretty calm. Aidan came with me. We stopped by the post office first and he bought me some Mike and Ikes, which I haven’t seen sold here before. We battle the parking garage at the hospital and head to the Labor and Delivery ward.
It’s completely quiet in there. They lead us to a room, bring us a cup of tea, and then blow my arm clean off take my blood pressure, which was normal. Then the midwife tries to take my temperature.
She can’t find the thermometer.
Aidan kindly points out he sees one on the wall behind me.
She goes to it. She battles to get it off the wall. She comes within moments of wrenching it and about 3 cm of plaster of the wall with it, when Aidan politely clears his throat and suggests that said device may actually be bolted to the wall, perhaps she just needs to remove the probe part to do my temperature?
“Oh,” she says, looking at the device. “You’re right.”
He winks at me.
Damage averted.
She also hooks up the Doppler and finds both heartbeats right away-one is up to the right of my navel, the other just above my pubic bone.
The nice doctor then comes in. He announces he’ll do a scan and check my cervix. He and the midwife wait for me to disrobe, and that’s when I notice I am not only wearing my granny panties, but that Cheetah has just swung out of the jungle of my pubic hair looking for Tarzan and Jane. I cringe. There’s nothing for me to do, it’s not like I can ask him for a Lady Bic and 5 minutes of trimming time or anything.
So I disrobe.
I’m pleased to report that my cervix is nice and long and completely closed (this message brought to you by the letter “E”, the number “7″, and the product “KY”.)
Apparently this is a good thing, which will reveal to you just how completely clueless I am about this whole “giving birth” bit. The doctor seemed very happy about the long and closed cervix, and seeing as he was the one with his digits in the business end of my Cadillac of Love, I’m going to go with “this is a good thing”.
The scan revealed two babies looking not unlike the bad guy from Alien.
I’m further happy to report that all looked just fine in there-amniotic fluid was fine, the membranes were fine, the babies were fine. The babies were so fine that Lemonhead #2 was thoughtfully kicking its sibling in the head. Lemonhead #1 was vaguely moving its arms in return in a “Ger offffff!” kind of way, proving that my children will be active babies, possibly active babies with a Cockney way of dealing with conflict.
The end result was that I have badly sprained both of my abdominal muscles thanks to coughing. So Google? You listening, you fear-inducing pain in the ass? Tell people that are searching on you that excessive coughing while pregnant can apparently not hurt the babies, as according to the nice doctor, the one who fingered me and didn’t even give me a half-ass “I’ll call you.”. They just fuck up the mother a bit.
Tomorrow I’ll be making an appointment with my GP to see what can be done about my cold.
Posted at 06:58 PM in The Fetuses -Not Just a Rock Band (IVF#3(5)-Trying to Stay Pregnant) | Permalink | Comments (14) | TrackBack (0)

25 May 2007
Hangin’ Tough-Not Just an 80’s Song Anymore
So maybe you’ve been wondering what’s been up with me. Maybe you’re wondering how pregnancy is going. Or maybe you’re asking where the Cheese Doodles are (and if you aren’t asking that, shouldn’t you be?)
Last week, my stomach suddenly emerged. It popped out. Literally, it was overnight (I even remember the night-Icelandic hotel with crappy pillows and no fucking curtains so the midnight sun was streaming in all. Night. Long. I awoke that morning and was all: Hmm. I don’t remember leaving that here on my stomach.) I remain at my 7 kilo (15 pound) weight gain that I got in the first trimester (eating curbed the morning sickness, so that’s pretty much all I did.) I’m nearly 17.5 weeks, and I still haven’t gained any more weight than that original 7 kilos , but maybe that’s ok. Midwife visit next week, I’ll know more then. I have felt some kind of action in there once or twice, but it’s not regular and it’s not that strong.
And word came back on the full genetic panel of Lemonhead #2 from the hospital we had to go to to have the CVS done.
I’ve attached a copy of it here for you-the Lemonhead is fine, and it looks as though they have had a recent change in how they announce the test results to you.
The doctors, they always get the last laugh, don’t they?

Also attached-a photo of me which I’ll take down shortly. Even though I just told The Bedazzler that I would not be posting photos of me because I will roundly lose the “Awwwwww….isn’t she cute?” pregnancy pageant and I already had to suffer the indignity of short bus embryos, why lose out on the pregnancy pageant crown, too? But I changed my mind, because I’m pregnant like that, and I have attached an “artsy-ish” photo I took for a seperate photo project. Don’t laugh. I am feeling pretty crunchy granola these days, and have gone from being a prudish Victorian schoolmarm to fucking Demi Moore or something. Don’t be offended by the amazing lack of clothing (see: artsy-ish. See also: crunchy granola.) I don’t think I look 17 weeks with twins, but you can judge.
I’m hoping someone stops me before I paint a tuxedo on my body and count that as “daily wear”.

Posted at 11:26 AM in The Fetuses -Not Just a Rock Band (IVF#3(5)-Trying to Stay Pregnant) | Permalink | Comments (20) | TrackBack (0)

23 May 2007
Trucking
Two days of discussions (and still a budget talk to go, complete with Excel spreadsheet and a “This is why we can still travel” determination on my part), and we’re doing ok.
Some kind of turning point was reached the other night, when after hours of not speaking he came upstairs with a cup of homemade pregnancy-friendly cough remedy for me, as a cold I have threatened to remove my lung from its secure rib cage casing.
And when I saw the computer, he’d been surfing.
He’d been here.
And here.
And most touching of all, he’d been reading here.
I can’t tell you how much it meant to me. I can’t tell him that, either, because I’ll start to cry, but at least he’ll read it here.
And yesterday when I got home from work, I saw he’d changed our Skype profile picture and slogan. We use Skype a lot, to talk to friends and family in the States, Sweden, and across England. We take turns making up some slogan that takes the piss out of each other, as the slogan and the picture we use is visible to everyone on our contact list.
And although it doesn’t mean he’s come around, or it’s all 100% better, or that we’re not both still scared and nervous or that the world is back on its axis and we should stop worrying about the melting of the polar ice caps, I’ve been extremely choked up and moved by what he’s been up to.
And it’s not the hormones talking, either.
I can’t do this without him, and I don’t want to, either.
He’d changed it to this:

Posted at 11:05 AM in The Fetuses -Not Just a Rock Band (IVF#3(5)-Trying to Stay Pregnant) | Permalink | TrackBack (0)

21 May 2007
Party of One
Yup.
I’m freaking out a bit here.
The thing is, sometimes I don’t really feel like I can write down what I think. Sometimes I don’t even know what I think, so writing it down is a bit of a stretch. I used to have this remarkable ability to dissociate at will (or even not at will, my condition was pretty fucking arbitrary) but a whole lot of psychotherapy has cured me of that. Or cursed me by taking it away.
When I was in my early 20’s I had no doubt that I wanted to remain childless. Or, rather, I did want a child possibly, but I wanted to adopt that child. As a chick with an Asian background, I really saw myself adopting another chick with an Asian background. I’d name her Lily and together we’d rule the world.
Maybe that was the grown-up version of me playing Barbie dolls, I dunno.
I only realized I did want kids in my mid-twenties. I’d fucked up, see. I did want kids. Or, to be more specific, I wanted a child. One. Uno. In my mind’s eye, I was always the mother of one child only, and not in a creepy Psycho kind of way. It’s just all my imagination offered up.
I never met a man who was willing to adopt with me. I also only ever knew one man that wanted kids, and that was my ex-husband. My lovely boy Aidan, the one who’s the single brightest part of my heart…well, he didn’t want any more kids. He felt his kid hand was full, time to cash in the chips and head to the buffet. He agreed to try for a child with me for me, and although you read lots of blogs of Dads crying at scans and running home to give Mom a rub on her glowing pregnant belly for luck, I know there are others in similar situations to mine-the Dad, he’s maybe not so keen on having more. In fact, the Dad may be strongly angling in the “Look, honey, I already cashed my chips in” area. A guy I work with is in the same place-his Mrs. is still pushing through IVF and he’s also of the “been married before, done that kid thing before bit, too and now wouldn’t mind hitting up the buffalo wings and bleu cheese dip” mind.
Now that I’m pregnant, I’m very grateful. I personally feel that there will be many, many ups and downs. I think that the infant stage will be hard but will come to an end, probably sooner than I think. I think the toddler stage will be hilarious and aggravating I think once they start school, we’re in the zone with how the template of the rest of the childhood years will look. Not for one moment do I see things being so easy I could spend my time baking a cake and watching the raunchiest of soap operas at top volume. But then, I don’t do that now and I don’t have kids.
No, although he is a fantastic and very doting father, Aidan didn’t really want more kids. Specifically, Aidan is not a fan of babies. And to be blindingly honest, he always maintained that twins would probably end us. Uplifting, but it’s what he said. And I’m mindful of what he said. And it’s not that I dismiss it (because I don’t, it’s a rather serious thing) and it’s not that I think that he doesn’t know what he’s talking about. It’s as stupid as this-in the innermost place where I hold things dear to me that I know are true, that place where I store my love for Santa Clause, where I keep secret things that I never stop believing in, I hold the following: I love him more than I have ever loved anyone before, ever. I love him more than anyone else put together. In my little secret place, I think we can weather anything. Honest. And we’ve really done some weathering in the past.
And our lives are going to change. It’s true, I generally feel like my life has been very fluid anyway, and Ifeel like I’ll simply bubble around the child-shaped space that will be created. It doesn’t mean I think it will all be a cake walk, but I simply tend to go from one situation to another. Aidan and I currently take holidays together every few months. That will change, at least for a while. But once they’re older, it can come back again, thanks to the plethora of grandparents clamoring to babysit (his parents already do watch the grandkids when the parents – his brothers – go on holiday together). True, it may subside for a short while. But to me, to my stupid way of thinking, I’ll wait it out. Wherever we go will be worth it. The first two years especially will be hard from a financial perspective. I’ve been through harder. We can do hard. It’s not fun, but hard is never fun. Hard is a phase. It always is.
This is how I feel, anyway. And although I come across as a fucking Pollyanna, I really do think I’m pretty level-headed about this.
And then I think-I can’t believe in all of this on my own. I can’t look forward to the future, I can’t dream of vacations and bedtime stories and sleeplessness and yelling that they’re going to miss the bus and family holidays of all of us on a sunny beach together on my own. It all falls down when I rise up against the negativity. I think-I need us to be a team. I need us together. I need us to prepare for the bad AND the good. Are we going to do that together? Because I’m a pretty strong swimmer, but I need you to kick, too.
Maybe I’m just a fucking idiot.
It’s likely that.
And often I feel alone-I’m scared about all kinds of things, but I have no one to talk to about it. Sometimes Aidan does say positive and kind things and they are enough to put me back on track. But I won’t be the one with the husband telling me how beautiful I look while pregnant. No one will reach out to feel the kicking. And then what happens if once they arrive the 5th sleepless night occurs and I look up hoping to see a look of “we’re in this together”, but instead see a “you fucked my life up big time” look? What happens if there are no good times? What happens if I really have fucked everything up, and it all goes to hell?
I remember my mother once telling me that one thing she regretted was not having a partner to enjoy her pregnancy with her. My father apparently hated pregnancy. My father didn’t like or want kids, and didn’t want any more of them. Now he tells me he regrets so much of it all, he wishes he had been there more. But that sentence lingers on my mind-regretting not having someone to enjoy it with.
Maybe that will be my regret, too.
I hate feeling like that.
I hate knowing my mother will read I feel like that.
I hate feeling sorry for myself, so I’ll quit now.
PS-comments are closed, mostly because I don’t want any remote kind of Aidan backlash (because he really is someone I very much care about and in so many ways, he is my rock. I like to think he’s made of slate. Sparkly slate Aidan), and I don’t think I can currently handle the usual smatter of “Life will change! But having babies will be great! You’ll love it! He’ll come around! Free My Little Ponies for all!” Closed comments isn’t code for “comment on another post to get it out there” or “email me to berate him” or anything like that. Maybe it’s the hormones. Don’t take it personally. I just thought maybe if I write it out, it will ease my mind for a moment.
Posted at 09:09 PM in The Fetuses -Not Just a Rock Band (IVF#3(5)-Trying to Stay Pregnant) | Permalink

15 May 2007
16 Weeks and Life to Go
Still hanging out. I’m still not really showing that much-by evening, when the water retention kicks in and I’ve been moving around all day the stomach starts to show more than in the morning. When I wake up, I basically look like I did before I was pregnant and my stomach is a very hard knot (some mornings things move around a bit once I get up. It kinda’ freaks me out, it’s as though I’m packing an exotic parasite or something). Since gaining 7 kilos by week 11, I haven’t gained any more weight at ll. In fact, at one point I was losing weight which I don’t really understand since I eat constantly, albeit my snacks are very healthy. Maybe I’m one of those that just wont’ show until last minute and then I’ll look like the McDonald’s Grimace character and will simply resemble a purple roadmap of stretchmarks. According to some books, I should have gained much more weight than I have. According to other books, I’m ahead of things. We see the midwife next week, I’ll ask her then. When I compare shots of me to other bloggers who are roughly the same stage as I am with twins, I look like a fraud.
But I used my Doppler this morning and for the first time was able to catch both their heartbeats, so I must not be too much of a fraud.
(I swear, this was only the second time I’ve used the thing. I’m not an addict. I can quit anytime.)
We toured another nursery today. This one is a private nursery, and the price reflects it-£1900 a month for both. The truth is, we really liked the place, as they have a constant focus on education and interaction, plus they take the kids (even the babies) on field trips (to visit the local stables when they’re little, and the older ones get to go to places like Sainsbury’s to learn how to bake bread, which I thought was pretty cool.) We’ll likely join their waiting list too, because by now we’ve learnt that all places around here have a waiting list, and we’ll decide on which place they’ll go to when the time comes. We’ll let twins hit our monthly budget first and then work from there.
As far as how I’m feeling, well…I’m ok. The migraines are still bad but getting more manageable, and in fact Tylenol and a cup of coffee seems to kill them off ( yes I still drink coffee. Based on advice from my consultant, I’m allowed 300mg a day of caffeine, and I never exceed that, even when I really want to.) I don’t nap as much, but I sleep like the dead and there’s a minimum amount of sleep that’s needed-last night bedtime was about 8pm because I got up early yesterday morning. The nausea still exists first thing in the morning, but on a whole I feel much, much better. The palms of my hands itch constantly, though, and I still really struggle with restless leg syndrome.
I don’t seem to have a lot of the other symptoms that other pregnant women have. I do not seem to have much of a glow going on. I also do not have the hot pregnancy hair. In fact, my body seems out of control in that area. Chunks of my hair were falling out in the shower (seriously. Chunks. I would rinse the conditioner out and just tug and I’d feel 10 strands or so at a time come out.) So I went and cut my mid-back length hair off to just below my shoulders, and that does seem to have slowed the hair chunking. On the other hand, a fine layer of downy hair has sprung up on my stomach, and I can’t tell you how gross I find that . The good news is, it’s blond and thin and blends in. The bad news is, only lumberjacks and Popeye should have hair on their stomach. So I’m losing hair on my head and gaining it in a finely-woven pelt across my midriff.
By the time these kids are born I’m going to have the body of a yeti and the head of a 70 year-old man.
So we’re off tomorrow to Iceland for a few days of rest and relaxation. I cleared it with my midwife that as a 16 weeker with twins, I’m allowed to go in the warm hot springs, just not the hot hot springs, albeit I should take it easy. I will. I’m not interested in boil in a bag babies, so don’t worry. We’ll take it easy.
So I’ll see you Monday then, at which point I’ll be nearly 17 weeks on. It seems amazing to me that I’ve even made it this far. I’m nearly halfway there now, which startles, amazes, excites and frightens me all in one go.
Kinda’ like nurseries do.
And motherhood.
And that pelt I’ve got growing on my body.
See you Monday.
Posted at 04:36 PM in The Fetuses -Not Just a Rock Band (IVF#3(5)-Trying to Stay Pregnant) | Permalink | Comments (17) | TrackBack (0)

11 May 2007
Bits and Bites
We viewed a nursery yesterday. It’s just a few minutes away, and run by the county. It’s in an absolutely hideous building on the outside, but the inside is a riot of color and childmade projects-sparkly leaves, fingerpainted posters, and pint-size toilets. It charmed the pants right off my ovaries. Then it was shoes off as they showed us around. The infants room, where our little ones will be, was quiet and the lights were low. Strung throughout the nursery were baby items I’ve been eyeing up for a wish list, and everything was in good condition.
We viewed the rooms for the kids 2-4, and the room for pre-schoolers. Depending on what time of the year you’re born, in this country you either start school when you’re 4 or 5 (our kids will start half-day school at 4, then turn 5 one month in to full-time school.) The nursery was well stocked with all kinds of things, and we were pleased to see that the only TV the school had was a small, plain TV for the preschoolers, where they had a row of educational videos. The emphasis at the nursery was on hands-on activities and daily outings, regardless of the weather. The kids there were singing, laughing, and working together in all corners of the place. We approved whole-heartedly.
The bad part was signing them up. I’m only 4 months pregnant and we’re not looking to place the twins until next March, and already there’s a waiting list. We will be fourth on the waiting list, although as we need two places, it makes things harder.
Fourth? FOURTH? This is March 2008 we’re talking about. This is a nursery school, not Harvard! Jesus, I thought we were way jumping the gun looking at placing our kids, turns out I should’ve been signing them up while they were baking away in the petri dish! So fingers crossed that we get in. We’re looking at two other nursery schools in the area, but they’re private schools and cost considerably more. Whereas the county school will cost us about £1200 a month, the private schools are running to £1900 a month, which is a budget buster for us. Plus I prefer the quiet sweetness of the county nursery, honestly.
We’re looking at nurseries for practical reasons, really. As we both work from home, we know that having someone watching the kids in the home would be too overwhelming for us-we’d want to be a part of it, to join in. A live-in au pair isn’t practical, as we haven’t built our extension yet and so don’t have the space, but we also feel uncomfortable with someone living with us. Full-time nannies bust the budget by a long-shot, and a day nanny has the same problems as earlier-although we are sure a day nanny would be great, since we work from home we worry we’d try to interfere too much (which must be very frustrating for the nanny!) We thought about day care, where one person handles a few kids, but we felt an environment with a lot of kids, Ofsted regulations, and activities are best. We both see nurseries as being important for socialization, which will be a problem-there are no other young children in our area right now, and I can’t seem to find any local play groups. Nannies and au pairs are definitely great ideas, but we just think that as we work from home, it won’t work in our house.
Can I just tell you how incredibly weird it was filling out nursery forms for babies that aren’t even born yet? The form said “Child’s name:”
I debated. Bob? Should I write Bob, just as a joke? Lemonhead #1? Will that get child protective services called on us?
In the end I wrote “—– Dumbledore.” Dumbledore is clearly not Aidan’s last name. The kids will have Aidan’s last name, but it’s a pretty unique name and I’d rather not slather it all over the internet.
So we’ll see. We hope our kids will get in to the nursery in March or April, otherwise we have a problem.
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I have a confession to make.
*sigh*
I bought a Doppler.
But-but….I had a good reason! Really! After panicking so much over nuchals, CVS, etc, I needed peace of mind! And even though later in my pregnancy I get scanned every 20 seconds or so, this part of my pregnancy I don’t get scanned again until end June. I got panicky.
Ebay, it reached out to me in my time of need, and for £29 it sent me a Doppler via first class post.
Who am I to deny Ebay?
So yes. I hooked it up. I found that if you don’t use enough gel you blow your eardrums out with the sound of skin on Doppler, but with a bit of searching, I can easily find Lemonhead #2’s heartbeat. Lemonhead #1, my quiet anterior baby, is a bit harder and I didn’t expect to find it, but Lemonhead #2 was there, heart beating merrily away.
I can so quit anytime I want. I swear.
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My doctor prescribed me iron pills the other week.
Iron pills.
For a pregnant woman who’s already constipated.
I’m never going to poop again.
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My brother-in-law once again tried to recruit me for his company.
There I was, sitting back and popping cheesy biscuits into my mouth. My dress clearly showed a bump that has, over the past week, become obvious.
“Come on, Vanessa, you know you’d like the job,” he coaxed.
“Oh yeah,” I replied, cheesy biscuit just missing my mouth. “If I were interviewing a 4 months-pregnant-with-twins woman I’d totally hire me, too.”
“You know according to employment law, they’re not allowed to take that into consideration,” he countered.
I stopped feeding my addiction for cheesy biscuits long enough to fix him with a calculated stare.
“Yeah, you’re right,” he deflated.
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I’ve been dreaming about the lab report we should get any day now for Lemonhead #2. In it, I always read that Lemonhead is a boy. I’m convinced Lemonhead #2 is a boy, I don’t know why.
Will make for an interesting mystery.
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A few days ago I was sitting on the couch, debating the idea of cutting my head off to spite my migraine. If I didn’t have a head, it couldn’t fuck with me so much, could it? The migraine would, by definition, have to be gone, right? I had images of chasing my migraine around the living room with a frying pan, like a good Itchy and Scratchy cartoon. It didn’t help.
As I sat there, I felt something funny inside. A kind of small bubble feeling, and then the mental image of the back of a goldfish turning just under the water. I felt a few more small movements, and then it stopped.
“Oh, hello there,” I said, putting a hand to my stomach.
And even though the Itchy and Scratchy migraine continued, I was extraordinarily humbled that someone like me would get to feel something like that.
Posted at 10:23 AM in The Fetuses -Not Just a Rock Band (IVF#3(5)-Trying to Stay Pregnant) | Permalink | Comments (26) | TrackBack (0)

07 May 2007
Just an Update-y Kind of Post
This week we’re looking at neighborhood nurseries for the twins-I’m very worried about the cost of putting two infants in nursery, and it looks like we’ll be paying about £1500 and up a month, but we’re keen on nurseries as they’re Ofsted checked, they are only closed on dates when we have off work, too, and we think the socialization with other kids is important. I had a bit of a dust up on my other blog about our choice for me to return to work, but the truth is we feel it’s best for our family. We don’t want to move from our very safe and secure neighborhood, we don’t want me to be dependent on him as the sole breadwinner (and we don’t want him to have the stress of being a sole breadwinner of not only our two kids, but of his two kids as well). Our kids will be lucky enough (we think) to only have day care several days a week, so we’re looking for a nursery that will allow the flexibility to let us keep them there Tues-Thurs, and they’ll be home with me Monday and Friday (my boss has agreed to this flex working schedule and I’m very grateful). So please-no lectures. Being a stay-at-home mom is a great choice, going back to work is a great choice, it’s all up to the individual as to what they’d rather do. For us, we’re going back to work.
This morning I was laying in bed, curled up in the warm spot left behind by the furnace known as “man” as he went to walk the dog, and I felt my stomach do something strange. The whole thing got very, very tight, peaked, and then sort of shifted in one go, settling back into the bathroom sink known as my hips. I don’t really know what it was (it didn’t worry me though) but it was a reminder that I am truly in a Sigourney Weaver film.
This past week my stomach has suddenly emerged. I have gone from a poofy paunch to having some evidence that I am packing an infant in me. I’m not truly obvious still, which is strange, because I see pictures of women carrying just one baby at 15 weeks and they’re twice the size I am, how is it with twins that I’m only barely showing? Although in some ways I’m happy – it will be nice to stop worrying now that a well-intentioned passer-by will lean over and recommend a good gym I should join – I’m only nearly 15 weeks into this. I have another 22 weeks to go, and if I’m now showing then it’s all just going to get bigger from here.
I keep dreaming that I feel them move, and in truth that should be any day now. Although most women with singletons and on their first baby don’t feel the baby until after 16 weeks (and our ultrasound tech suggested they feel them more like 22 weeks), apparently with twins they’ll make an appearance earlier, especially since one of them is hovering just under the surface of my stomach. Our consultant suggested that I should soon feel at least one of them, so I keep wondering if and when. The truth is, I’m not going to have a clue what’s what in there unless one of the kids pops a hand out of my navel with a sign that says “Hey! Ma! THAT was a kick, ok?” My insides are so bizarrely out of the normal range of what I know that for all I know I could be hosting hamster races inside of there. I feel like my body’s completely out of my control these days, I have no idea what’s going on and there’s a new sensation all the time (and not in the Beach Boys kind of way).
I have been having round ligament pain, which, if you read the books or check wikipedia it sounds like an inconvenient little stomach cramp that you have when you sneeze, then you laugh a tinkly laugh, point your fairy wand at the door, and float to your next appointment. The truth is, round ligament pain (at least in my world) feels more like someone’s reached in, scrunched up your uterus in a fist, and then twisted. It’s worse when you switch position, say from sitting to standing. The pains don’t last long but they are powerfully unpleasant. If this is even a fraction of what labor pains feel like, then get me the epidural now, because I’m not fucking around with cramps like these.
I still get nauseous when I wake up if I don’t eat right away, but the constant rolling feeling of feeling pukey has passed for the most part. I also still need a lot of sleep but I don’t spend my afternoons partying on the couch with the sandman and syndicated episodes of Charmed anymore. I wouldn’t say I’m ready to solve world peace but I do have more energy, although it’s still less energy than I had pre-pregnancy. I have really, really vivid dreams at night, so vivid that half the time I wake up convinced it really happened. I do suffer from mind-numbing, debilitating migraines. The consultant says mothers of multiples are at higher risk of severe headaches, although he assured me that the headaches should subside soon, only to return just before they’re due.
Something to look forward to then.
My weight is fluctuating wildly, so it looks as though I go anywhere from 5-7 kilos in weight gain (12-15 pounds). I don’t have any of those amazing food craving stories to tell, there’s nothing that I crave per se, but when I’m hungry I have to eat right now, and if I don’t eat I could easily turn cannibal. I am eating more than I did pre-pregnancy, but I wouldn’t say I’m eating masses. I’m tempted to put marshmallow crème in everything that Aidan eats, because if the day comes that I weigh more than he does, then just hang your head out the window because I don’t doubt you’ll hear me screaming from there.
So I hang out and wait. I wonder what’s going to happen next. It’s kind of like a roller coaster, only I’m wearing a blindfold so I can’t tell what’s going on with the tracks.
Finally, for the mothers of multiples, I’ve found our new mascot.
Posted at 11:56 AM in The Fetuses -Not Just a Rock Band (IVF#3(5)-Trying to Stay Pregnant) | Permalink | Comments (14) | TrackBack (0)

03 May 2007
Shhhh! I Only Have a Moment!
OK. God. I only have a second here, if I get found out then no doubt they’ll put me in maternity overalls and paint my house in Mickey Mouse “Welcome Baby!” colors. No no no! Keep your voice down! If they hear us, they’ll drag me to a Babies ‘R Us, and I don’t have the intestinal fortitude to handle that now.
OK. When we had the ultrasound with the heartbeat they made me swear and sign a piece of paper. This is part of the secret ritual, a kind of “is it decaf or is it real?” Folger’s challenge. So even though I am sworn to secrecy, I cannot keep this to myself. If you’re still reading here, chances are I consider you a friend, and this secret is too vital to the well-being of the community to keep to myself.
You ready?
God, the pregnant women are going to kill me. Especially the Secret Pregnant Pact Patrol. They’re so scary. They make elephant-sized tampons look like welcome wagons.
Pregnant women have been lying to you, people. LYING. They tell you that pregnancy is some big miracle of life, blah blah blah, but how it’s so hard and the only redeeming thing is you can have cheese biscuits in your mashed potatoes for dinner and no one bats an eye, not to mention that whole “I get a baby at the end of his business”. Oh no. It’s a ruse. Pregnant women actually have the single greatest thing in the whole wide world, ever (and no, it’s not that “baby at the end of this business part”). Pregnant women act like pregnancy is so hard, but really, they have found the golden chalice. Pregnant women have signed a pact to hide it from the general public. But I’m going renegade now, mostly because I care but also because I love living life on the edge (hence the reason I’ve taken to wearing boy shorts instead of trimming my hedge.)
So here it is, the secret I have been sworn to keep from the general public:
Maternity clothes are the most amazingly comfortable clothes in the whole wide world, ever.
SHHHHHHHHHHHH!!! Don’t shout at me like that, the Secret Pregnant Pact Patrol have ears like bats! For Christ’s sake, I’m lucky they didn’t hear me open that box of Thin Mints I’ve hidden in my freezer.
I’m telling you this because I care. With regards to wearing the maternity clothes, it doesn’t matter if you’re pregnant, not pregnant, male, or an Anarctic penguin. Go buy a pair of jeans with that stretchy waistband. You want the cheese plate after dinner? You got the maternity pants on? GO FOR IT. Fancy another beer during the game? Put on the stretchy pants and booze away. That black forest gateau looks exquisite on the dessert cart? Why say no, if you’re wearing maternity pants?
I know! I know! You wouldn’t believe it, would you?
And here’s a clincher-if you want cheap maternity clothes, go to America. Go to an Old Navy in a place where pregnant women are the bane of society, where they stand out like Pavarotti in a Weight Watchers clinic. I chose Miami Beach when we were last in the States, because really-if you have cellulite, they usually run you out of town. I only just managed to outrun them when I was spotted eating a grilled cheese sandwich, French fries, and a chocolate milkshake. Their looks of horror will forever be etched in my memory.
I went into an Old Navy that was liquidating their maternity section in a desperate attempt to rid their clothing racks of that infection known as “knocked up” and although the maternity pickings were slim, I found a pair of maternity jeans in the Super Clearance Oh My God This Shit is Ugly rack. And while the jeans – whose stretchy belly band is a fleece covered with ice cream cones or some other weird kind of happy Holly Hobbie shit – are not the most beautiful things in the world, when I put them on in the dressing room I nearly wept for joy. I saw a world with the little baby Jesus singing and dancing in a ring with the Smurfs and a couple of Monchichis. I saw visions of a Paris Lohan Ritchie-free life, and it was good. I saw much cheese in my future.
When I went to pay for my newest most bestest friends in the world, I chose well, my friends. I chose the register with the teenager who looked the most bored. My jeans didn’t have a tag on them, so he turned around to his fellow cashier, a woman I’ll call Anorexic Annie, and asked her about them. He handed her them. She took in the ridiculous ice cream cone stretchy band.
“GOD,” she said, her lip curling in disgust (and I’m not embellishing this part, it really did happen). “These are maternity. We don’t sell maternity anymore.” She handed them back and looked like she wished she could burn her hand off where it touched the offending Big Girl Pants. She stared at the concave expanse of her navel, which could clearly be seen next to the outline of her liver and small, shriveled intestine, to make sure the Pregnancy Bug wasn’t catching.
“You obviously do sell them,” I replied sweetly. “I found them on the clearance rack.”
My I-Can’t-Be-Bothered cashier bleeped some buttons uselessly for a while, until by some miracle a price came up on the register. “They’re $24.99,” he said, bored.
“Fine,” I replied. “But they’re on the clearance rack, so they’re at least 30% off, and I want my 30%.” I am such a whore.
Useless Cashier Dude vainly bleeps more buttons, and it’s obvious he hasn’t a fucking clue what he’s doing. Presently, he drops my jeans into the bag of the other clothes we bought. We pay and leave, and when I checked the receipt, I saw he hadn’t bothered to actually charge us at all for the jeans. They’d proved too much of a hassle, so he’d simply given them to me for free. This did make me start to regret not picking up more of the empire waist shirts they had, but then pregnancy has not given me super psychic powers to view the future or anything.
But see? This is why maternity clothes are meant to be. Meant to be for everyone. I now wear maternity clothes full time (when I’m not in pajamas, that is. Just call me Roseanne.) and fuck it, once I’ve given birth and am no longer pregnant I’m still wearing these pants to every cheese buffet I ever come across. I’m here to spread the word. It’s important the secret gets out. If you’re a guy, a chick, single, married, pregnant, not pregnant, into late night oil-based martial arts, it doesn’t matter. You NEED maternity clothes, you’ll never be more comfortable than-
Oh God.
That sound.
I think I heard the sound of the freezer opening. And…oh my god, yes, that’s the sound of the Thin Mints package opening. They’re on to me. The Secret Pregnant Pact Patrol knows I’ve blown the ultimate vow. They found me. I don’t know how, but they found me.
Run for it, Marty!
Posted at 08:56 AM in The Fetuses -Not Just a Rock Band (IVF#3(5)-Trying to Stay Pregnant) | Permalink | Comments (29) | TrackBack (0)
01 May 2007
Dialing it Down
Just been back from the consultant. Although he wasn’t too keen, he did a very quick scan for us. Both twins are alive and well (although it did take a minute to find the CVS twins’ heartbeat, and for once the CVS twin wasn’t re-enacting the Night Fever scene from Saturday Night Live, but the heartbeat was there and the doc said the baby was just sleeping and in an awkward position, that it all looked fine and there is loads of amniotic fluid cushioning both Lemonheads. I’ll go with that.)
So a recap.
IVf cycle – passed.
Lowest number of eggs in the history of lowest number of eggs – passed.
Pregnancy test – passed.
First scan and the drama thereafter – passed.
Second scan and continuing little dramas – passed.
Nuchal scan – passed.
First trimester – passed.
CVS – passed.
Miscarriage risk post-CVS – passed.
I am now – honestly, for better or for worse – going to calm down and try to go with the flow of this pregnancy. I’m aiming for boring. Boring will be nice.
I’m so, so grateful for all of your comments and wishes. Thank you.
And now, time to relax for a good long while.
Posted at 10:52 AM in The Fetuses -Not Just a Rock Band (IVF#3(5)-Trying to Stay Pregnant) | Permalink | Comments (17) | TrackBack (0)