Scheduled

At today's 31 week appointment with Dr. K, things were going so well that we are now scheduled for the date we will have the cerclage removed: May 26th, only a month away! Can you believe, after all these months of weekly checks to make sure the stitch was still there, still doing its job playing back-up to Cedric's lead, we are now talking about removing it. This feels like a major milestone.

The stats on everyone are great this week: Baby A is weighing in at 3lbs 6ozs while Baby B, who clearly has her Mama's metabolism, is weighing a whooping 4lbs 3ozs! The girls sailed through their NST's with flying colors, assisted by Mama and Tata who said yes to the proffered juice box right away this time and then chased A and B around Mama's belly with the monitors to make sure all their little mountains were captured. Family teamwork!

Cedric and The Stitch (possible band name?) are holding beautifully at 2.7, and Dr. K remains incredibly proud of his handiwork. Mama's uterus is measuring 45 weeks pregnant (for those of you keeping score at home, that is 5 weeks past term for a singleton), and apparently is on track to break the perinatologist office's record for the year. Wow.

So, Ursula is positively improbable, which explains her irritability and occasional contractions. But Dr. K says he isn't worried, hence the scheduling of the cerclage removal.

I've spent most of my life being over scheduled, and have spent the last 8 weeks on bed rest being profoundly and purposefully under scheduled. And now I'm just plain scheduled. And it feels just right.

Singing

Ever get a tune stuck in your head and you can't figure out why?

This morning, while I was lying on my back calculating the area of an isosceles trapezoid in preparation for a student this afternoon (yeah, yeah: I know), I found myself humming a song. After a few bars of it, I identified it as "They Were You" from The Fantasticks. I haven't thought about this musical since 7th grade, when we sang excerpts of it for chorus. I couldn't figure out why it would have popped into my head, until I googled the lyrics. Take a look at the last verse:

"Every secret prayer,
Every fancy free,
Everything I dared for both you and me.
All my wildest dreams
Multiplied by two
They were you.
They were you.
They were you."

Happy almost 31 weeks, everyone.

Week 30

Wow. Week 30. Wow.

Was with Dr. R this week and although the appointment itself was a bit of a drag, the results are all good and that is what I am focusing on.

The appointment began with an NST: a "non-stress test", and the name is just a big fat lie. It is a highly stressful experience, atleast for me and Bruno. And I have to guess the girls weren't too keen on it either because they kept trying to kick off the monitors. That part, anyway, was kind of funny to watch and to feel.

They have me lie on my side on the hard examination table, then they goo up my belly and attach three monitors: one to monitor contractions and the other two to monitor the heart rates of the girls. That is the concept anyway. But my girls didn't like being monitored and so they alternated between trying to kick the monitors off (image: stomach as a big pink Jiffy Pop), and simply squirming away from the monitors (image: big game of intra-uterus baby Marco Polo).

This went on for an hour, before the OB staff finally gave up, unstrapped me from the world's itchiest polyester straps and told me I'd need to go to the hospital to get the test repeated. Oh goody, 'cause Bruno and I are just full of warm fuzzy memories of hospitals and pregnancy.

At this point, Mama needs some food, so with me reclined all the way in the front seat of the car, Bruno drives to a local Mediterranean joint, picks up a roasted chicken, tabouli and baba ganoush, pulls off on a side street in a beautiful neighborhood so I can have a view of green tree tops, and we have the world's most bizarre picnic, Bruno feeding me bits of pita-wrapped chicken. It was actually fairly romantic.

Feeding accomplished, we now head to the hospital. The valet parking guys are great and have us stop right in front of the main entrance, where they take the car and offer me a wheelchair. I get registered and up to the maternity ward and a lovely nurse takes my stats and hooks me up to a much more high tech, much less itchy monitor and off we go again. She explains to us that what we are looking for is for the contraction line to stay quiet, and the lines representing the girls to make little mountains as the girls heart rates surge and settle back down. Apparently these small mountains show that the girls are healthy and receiving what they need to from the placenti.

We watched our girls steadily beat along, but no real mountains appeared on the print out. While the nurse had set me up, she had been remotely monitoring another patient in another room. Her line was still up on the screen, and she had these beautiful mountains, several on the screen at once. I couldn't help but feel a little intimidated, looking at our disconnected, humpy little line. After 20 minutes, the nurse returned, and told us that babies go through periods of being asleep and being awake, and we might just need to wait a while. And she left.

Now we were starting to get worried. Why weren't our girls creating mountains? I drank some juice, and the girls woke up and started their hide and seek game again. Bruno came over to my bed and started chasing them with the monitors. He'd hiss every time I'd scratch or shift, saying he was just on the verge of capturing one of them making a mountain. I lay as still as I could, holding in sneezes, focusing on the computer read-out.

And then it started to happen: we'd hear one of their heart rates suddenly become clear and start to accelerate. We'd watch the number rise and rise: 140, 147, 156, 161! And as the heart beat slowed again, we'd see the beautiful little mountain appear on the screen. It was like being at the races: "There goes Baby B! Go, sweetie go! ('Don't move!', Bruno would hiss!) 171! That was the highest one yet! Oh, Oh, here comes Baby A! Go A, you can do it!"

Twenty more minutes and the nurse came to declare that both babies were doing just what they were supposed to. We were free to go, at last. After four hours at Dr appointments, armed with the news that my cervix, while shorter than before, is still holding strong, that the babies are thriving, and that my doc's are predicting I will carry to 34 weeks and beyond, I am delighted to be complaining about the inconvenience of a long Dr appointment instead of about feeling mortal fear.

We've come a long way, babies.

Status

My Facebook Status:

"Lisa Morse has started using her belly as a Magic Eight Ball: 'Should Mommy buy the super expensive, super adorable loveseat glider for your nursery?' Two kicks means 'Yes'; absence of kicks means 'No'; one kick means 'Maybe'; and if I fart instead that means 'Ask Again Later' "

Well

Things are going well.

As soon as I write that, I feel a compulsion to erase it, just in case. But, no: I'm going to stand firm and say that things are going well. I'm 29 weeks and 4 days pregnant, have accomplished 6 weeks of strict bed rest, 1 week without Mama Ratka, and I'm doing well on all fronts.

How cool is that.

Before it gets too far away, I have to take a moment to express how extraordinary it was to have Mama Ratka living with us and caring for us for a month.

I'll be the first to admit that I had my apprehensions. I'm East Coast American born and raised, and we ascribe to the guest/fish theory of visitors: after three days, they both sort of stink. So I was a little nervous about having someone live with me for a month. However I have to say that I feel absolutely transformed by the experience. I am so profoundly grateful to my mother-in-law for giving up her entire life for a month, traveling across an ocean and then a continent to cook our meals and do our dishes, and help me stay fed and horizontal and constantly cared for during the most frightening part of this pregnancy. She distracted me by forcing me to speak and think in Croatian, she kept tensions low between Bruno and me by removing many of the tasks that would have otherwise fallen to Bruno, she got wrapped up in the TV show Lost just like we did. I am ashamed to say that I now know the verb "to iron" in Croatian, although I only have a passing acquaintance with this verb in English. And the day she washed our windows I actually scolded her and told her she had to stop or my husband would no longer love me. And we both laughed.

And now that she has returned to her home, my parents and friends have taken up the torch. Someone stops by daily to fix me lunch, move my tutoring materials into the living room, clean up the dishes or help me straighten the room by proxy. Every morning around 8am, Mom calls to check in and ask what I need. Last week, I vicariously shopped at Costco by talking Dad through the various aisles and products as he collected our groceries. Monday, my darling friend Ellen came by with her newborn daughter, and while Ellen heated up lunch for us, her daughter successfully inaugurated one of our four bouncy seats. Mom was by the next three days in a row taking the mid-day duties, with a little fun with designing a nursery thrown in. And today, Dad manned the stove while I called out instructions from the living room: an hour and half later a beautiful Shepherd's Pie was assembled for dinner.

I am filled with awe and gratitude for the wonderful friends and family I have in my life. And for the fact that I continue to lie here day after day feeling the punts and squirreling and punches and wiggles of this bag of cats I call my belly.

Yup. It is undeniable. Things are going well.

Bouncing

There are four bouncy seats in my living room right now. Well, I think a few of them vibrate too and play music, and it is possible one of them also does the dishes. I'm not sure. But there they are, all lined up in the living room, waiting to be put into action.

Today was an important day in our household: it was the day we began collecting stuff. So far we've been too frightened of invoking the wrath of the VooDoo Gods, but today, egged on by my sister-in-law irrepressibly sending me e-mails about local baby sales, we decided to stick our toes into the world of baby stuff. And wound up in up to our necks.

I shouldn't say we. I stayed home in bed, fielding phone calls from my frantic husband (the one who came home with four bouncy seats) about whether a dresser could double as a changing table (yes) or whether a plush recliner would do instead of a glider (no).

And even though I was the one who sent him, and begged my mother and my sister-in-law to go along with him to keep him from freaking out, I found myself having a strange reaction to the whole day.

My sense of malaise was only heightened when he came home from the sale so invigorated by having broken the stuff barrier that he decided to, with the help of my mother-in-law, move all the furniture out of my office and create an empty space to start the nursery. As he happily moved desks and filing cabinets and printers, calling out about his progress, I lay in my bed and sobbed.

I had no idea I was going to feel this way, but I guess I had always imagined that I would be part of this process. That I would be the one proudly walking the aisles of the mommy group sale, sporting my big belly, accepting congratulations and exchanging phone numbers with other new Moms. That I would be there to ensure that, if we were going to take home four bouncy seats, that at least one of them had some pink in it. That I would be the one supervising the clearing of the space.

I lay there in my bed, bouncing between overwhelm that we were actually doing any of this preparation at all and despair at being entirely outside the process. I wish I could say that I suddenly understood how Bruno felt about not carrying the pregnancy inside his own body, but that parallel only occurred to me now as I write this post and remains an intellectual idea, not a heart felt insight. No, instead I lay there and had a big old pity party, pitying myself for having to lie in bed, pitying myself for all the experiences and innocent joy I've lost. And not remembering at all how lucky I am to still be lying in bed carrying two twin girls into safer and safer waters every day.

Now, at the end of the day, my bouncing has reached its limit and I am returning to sanity. I love looking at the living room line-up my husband brought home because they represent his belief that we will be bringing little beings, with their own personal tastes in bouncing and vibrating, home from the hospital. I love the fact that a clean slate of a room now exists in our house. I have been full-on bitten by the stuff bug, and look forward to hours of pointing and clicking at frivolous pink things to fill the space, to fill the hours, until I can welcome my daughters into our home. And I am resolved, once again, to letting go of all the things I need to let go of in order to make that happen.

My Cervix is a Work of Art

That's what Dr. K exclaimed at today's 28 week appointment. What a beautiful thing to hear!

It seems that despite all my fears and superstitions and crying and worrying, and even despite my sneezing with such violence that I produced blood, things are continuing well.

My cervix was measuring 3.2 today with 8mm above the stitch, even with applied pressure (and let me explain how fun applied pressure is...) That is the longest and strongest it has been since I took to my bed. Yahoo!! And the babies are growing right on track, with Baby A logging in at 2lbs 7oz and Baby B weighing a whooping 2lbs 13oz. Fluid levels look right, and although the gals were camera shy today, their heart rates and the rest of their measurements are squarely in the normal range.

Hooray for normal!

shh...we've passed 28 weeks....

So, yes, I did go ahead and make myself "come out" on Facebook to celebrate this milestone. Changed my profile pic to a big, round, beautiful belly shot and everything.

But otherwise, we tried to slide surreptitiously past this important date without awaking the wrath or jealousy of the Voodoo gods.

I keep waiting for the moment when we stop fearing or feeling superstitious. It hasn't come yet. Maybe it will after tomorrow's appointment in SF with Dr. K. Bruno is liable to be a wreck getting us there, but perhaps we'll get some kind of news or statistic which will put our minds at ease, at least for a while.

Meanwhile, we continue to vacillate between tension-induced spits and spats, and quiet moments of joy over the strength of a kick felt or the lop-sided evidence of our girls cuddling up together on one side of my belly.

Oh! And I'm knitting hats. Little fuzzy, fugly hats in preemie sizes, which I'm praying our girls will be too big to use and I'll donate to the hospital.

Well, I suppose this isn't that different from the way I've experienced many of the positive moments along this journey: I've invited you, my dear reader to start the party, while I myself make a fashionably late arrival.

Culture Clash

I think I just got criticized by my mother-in-law for the very first time in our relationship.

And, yes: I realize exactly how lucky I am.

Now Bruno swears that in his culture what occurred isn't a criticism, but rather, is a common utterance, like saying "good morning" or "what's up"

The basic gist of the critique is this: Mama Ratka is unsatisfied with the lunch I chose today, feeling that it is not enough food to feed three.

I asked for two eggs, scrambled with cottage cheese, and some tomatoes, cucumbers and red peppers.. And this is after a first breakfast of whole grain toast, nut butter and jam, a glass of milk and a glass of freshly squeezed pink grapefruit juice, and a second breakfast of dried apricots and cheese.

I feel that nutritionally and caloric-ally, I am doing just fine for it only being noon.

It seems to me that this moment is somehow a rite of passage, a moment where Ratka is taking our relationship to a new level. Where she feels comfortable enough to tell me what she really thinks. And I think I'm ready for it. I mean, it has been wonderful to have no conflicts, to skate on the surface and generate all kinds of good-will through our attempts to overcome our language difficulties. But perhaps the time is right to...

Bruno breaks my musing with a phone call in which he laughs at me and states that a Croatian Mama telling someone to eat more is the same thing as a Croatian Mama breathing in and breathing out.

And as I hang up the phone, Ratka appears at the door, asking what else I'd like to eat.

To keep the peace, I tell her I'd love some whole grain crackers. She says, "Samo crackers?" ("Only crackers?")

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Just the Facts, Ma'am: Week 27

That's right folks: week 27!!! Week 28 is just around the corner.

This week's appointment was with Dr. R, my OB. The trip there was even more miraculous than when I last saw the outdoors two weeks ago: the rose bushes in front of our house are all green with new growth, and the hydrangea is becoming full again. The azaleas seem to be on their way out, but all the trees in the neighborhood have that beautiful young green color about them. And my neighbor's freesia are blooming in full beauty. Wondrous how the world changes in two weeks.

Wondrous too what a great job bed rest is doing of keeping our girls safe. This week my cervix, after funneling, still measured 3.2, gaining another 3mm above the stitch!! I know bed rest is a controversial prescription and that I myself have railed, on this very blog, one mere post ago, about some of the rotten side effects that come with it. However at this point I think I'd have to place myself firmly on the side of believing its positive effects well outweigh its negative ones. And I have a guess, too, as to why there isn't hard scientific evidence to back up its efficacy: it's because no woman in her right mind would agree to be part of the control group, the group that, upon hearing that her pregnancy is in jeopardy, would agree to remain upright and walking around for the duration and just see what happens. I fear that the helpfulness of bed rest will never be statistically proven, and will always require a leap of faith on the part of practitioners and hopeful parents alike. But isn't that just the beginning of the lifetime of leaps that parenthood demands?

At this appointment, I did, however, look the basic nature of my incompetent cervix full in the face, and it was a little sobering. When Dr. R started the cervical ultrasound, my cervix measured 4.5cm!! Insanely long!. And then we watched as I had a small contraction, so small I didn't even feel it, and on the screen before us we witnessed my cervix unzip, the dark v-shape growing and filling with amniotic fluid ominously swirling into the void. It opened, wider and deeper, the darkness filling the screen, and when it finally stopped, I had lost 1.3cm in length, landing at 3.2cm. And that was with a small contraction. How much length is lost, how much pressure is placed on the stitch itself with a large contraction. Or when I sneeze, or stand to walk to the bathroom, or, or, or....

So this is what it is to have an incompetent cervix, and this is why we chose to have a cerclage, and this is why I am willingly embarking on my 5th week of bed rest. But it made me feel like all these numbers (4mm above the stitch, 7mm above the stitch, nothing above the stitch) don't really mean anything. And that made me sort of sad. I like having numbers I can lean back into and feel accomplished about and comforted by.

I'll just have to look to other numbers to comfort me. And I think I'll start by taking 27 weeks and 3 days and wrapping it around me, to keep me warm these early spring days.