Pregnancy whims

ave says I sometimes project my feelings onto the kids.  If I'm hot, I'll think they're hot.  If I'm hungry, I'll think the kids are hungry.  I've been conscious of this lately, as it could be problematic with all my pregnancy whims.  But, I don't think it's true.  I don't even like chocolate icecream with my pickles.

By popular request...

Several people have asked for belly shots.  I have to admit this is a little embarrassing.  For one reason, I don't have a cute pregnant belly; I just look fat.  But, I guess I'll do it.  I blog about Kate and Anna all the time, so this will be my way of blogging about the growth of the twins.

Here is my belly at 7 weeks pregnant, when Kate and a few other people noticed I was starting to show:

Here is my belly today, at 10 1/2 weeks, when I am definitely showing, and I don't fit into a single pair of my pants:

Here's a shot from my pregancy with Kate, when I just about the same size, and first outgrew my pants.  I was 18 weeks pregnant then:

Lucky Mo

I was feeling pretty sick yesterday morning, so I told the girls they could watch something.  Immediately, Anna began yelling, "Why! Why!" referring to her favorite show "Super Why," and Kate began arguing, "Dinosaur Train!"

"Why! Why!"
"Dinosaur Train!"
"Why! Why!"
"Dinosaur Train!"
"Why! Why!"
"Dinosaur Train!"

I had no recollection of who had gotten to choose last time, so I did, "Eenie Meenie Minie Mo." When I ended with "...mo" touching Anna's foot, I told them Anna had won, and I began working with the remote to turn on "Super Why." 

This caused so much fuss from Kate, that I made her take a time out to collect herself. 

When she returned she lay on the bed and watched "Super Why" with a furrow in her brow.  After about two minutes, just as I'd been lulled into thinking all was well, Kate exclaimed, pathetically, in utter frustration, "I wish I were Mo!"

Oh, my dosh!

I mentioned a while ago how Anna had picked up on the expression, "Oh, my gosh!" and tried using it herself.  It has since become her favorite expression.  I noted a few times she's used it recently:

The other day, we were all going out to eat.  Kate was upset that she didn't know the restaurant and began to cry.  Anna reported, "Mama, Tae drying [crying]."  I responded, "Yes, Kate's sad."  Anna commented, sadly, "Oh, my dosh!"

At the end of a long family meal out, I took Anna to the car while Dave and Kate waited for the check.  When I was putting Anna into her carseat, she became worried we'd forgotten Dave and Kate.  She worriedly exclaimed, "Daddy!  Tae!  Daddy!  Tae!  Oh, my dosh!"

That night the girls had an especially bad time sleeping.  After Kate had a particularly traumatic nightmare, I'd let her sleep in bed with me, since Dave was on the futon.  Later, when Anna had a nightmare, in which, I gather, Dave took her ball, she kept screaming about how she needed to get her ball from Daddy.  I finally brought Anna into bed, too, to calm her down.  When I set her down, Anna tried to crawl over to "Daddy," the person in bed beside us.  I explained to Anna that it was actually Kate, and she commented in surprise, "Oh, my dosh!"

The next morning, there was a present from my friend Katrina for Anna's birthday.  I said, "Anna, come here.  There's a present for you, and she excitedly shouted out, "Oh, my dosh!"

Anna's new seating arrangement

Anna has decided that she's much too mature to eat in a booster seat anymore, which is great, since she's so tall she can almost see her plate.

Mess

Last week, I was trying to get a glass of water when, for some reason, yet again, half the ice missed my glass and landed on the floor. Anna heard the commotion and, never one to miss anything exciting, came running into the kitchen.

She looked at the floor and said, "Uh oh, Mama, mess. See? Uh, oh! Mess!" Even after I acknowledged the mess, Anna continued to point out each ice chip on the floor, "Mess. See? Mess. See, here? Mess."

Suddenly Anna had an idea. She took off running toward the bathroom. She does the funniest thing when she wants to prove she's in a big hurry. She'll kind of huff and puff as she runs. She did that and, then she quickly returned, still huffing and puffing.

With a big smile, she held up her hand to me. "Here doh, Mama. I help you, Mama." I reached down and took about a third of a sheet of toilet paper from her hand.

In case I hadn't understood, she showed me once again. "Here, Mama." Wanting to show her I appreciated her help, I tried to clean up the ice with the minuscule piece of toilet paper, but I could only get a few pieces of ice before I had to take a trip to the sink.

Anna wasn't satisfied. She, again, began pointing out each remaining piece saying, "Mess. Here, Mama."

She didn't seem to mind the mess this day!

Birthday cake

Even something as benign as chocolate cake can make me feel nauseous these days, but I felt well enough on Thursday to make Dave a cake for his birthday. He wasn’t the only one that was happy about that!

Is it wrong to laugh at your child behind her back?  Because I love Kate's expression as she tries to help blow out the candles!

Incompetence

I just remembered something from a month ago that made me laugh.

For Christmas, Dave had given me a strap to connect my lens cap to my camera, so the cap wouldn't get lost.  He knows me so well!  The problem was, he was too late.  I'd lost my lens cap the week before, and I'd spent the entire week trying to find it, to no avail.

After I got my present, I confessed to the lost cap, and Dave and I both began to search for it as the girls played.  At one point, I remembered how I'd spent nearly a month searching for the plug from Kate's bank.  When I finally thought to ask her about it, she pointed to it in her doll house, where it had a made an ideal dog dish.  I decided to ask her about the lens cap.

I called to her upstairs, and she came to the top of the stairs.  "Kate," I asked, "have you seen a flat, round, black thing about his big?"

She smirked.  There's no other way to describe the expression.  And then she rolled her eyes just a bit and said, "No, Mommy, I haven't."

I didn't understand.  "Kate, why are you smiling about it?"

"Because, Mommy," my just-turned-four-year-old said, once again rolling her eyes, "I know what you're looking for."

There are now two members of the family who think I'm incompetent!  Hopefully Anna won't notice for a few more years, so that, if you count the babies, over half the family will have some confidence in me.

Cinderella's owie

One of the girls' beloved princess dolls is an amputee.  Poor Cinderella.  Not only did she lose a leg, but it's been lost for weeks.

A couple weeks ago, my friend Wendy was over with her daughter Ella, who's Anna's age.  Early in the play date, Anna had shown Cinderella's legs to Ella and explained, "Owie."  She then told Wendy the same thing, "Owie."  That always makes me laugh.  It's quite the understatement. 

Later when the three girls were playing with the princesses, Ella handed Wendy a blue shoe and a pink shoe and asked Wendy to put shoes on Cinderella.  Wendy began looking for a pair, discussing with Ella if she wanted to have blue shoes or pink shoes on Cinderella.  Just as Wendy and Ella came to the conclusion that they'd have one of each, we noticed Kate.  She had been sitting there staring at those two throughout their conversation.  Finally she said, with a dramatic pause, "Um.... she only has one leg."

Love to "twaw"

Kate absolutely loves to draw pictures.  She draws several pictures every day, and likes to doodle with a pen or pencil at other times.  In my completely biased opinion, she is getting really good.  One of my favorite pictures is one she drew earlier this week of me with a huge belly, titled "Twins," with a backward "s." 

Anna loves to be a big girl, so she always wants to "twaw, too, Mama."  I love this picture of her trying to copy Kate's picture at breakfast Saturday.

Bathtub theater

Since Anna had pooped in the bath the last two times I'd bathed her, I was keeping close eye on her as I gave her a bath on Saturday. 
We were playing a silly game where I would be the voice one of her toys, and I'd ask the toy that she was holding, "How old are you?"  She would answer, "Swee! [Three]" and I would act shocked, yelling, "What?" and jump up and into the water.

When I saw a sign she might have to poop, I grabbed her out of the tub, a bath toy still clutched in each of her hands, wrapped her in a towel, and put her on her potty chair.

I tried to talk things through with her.  "Nonnie, can you put your poopies in the toilet?  You can do it!  Put your poopies in the toilet."

Anna looked confused, but said, "Otay, Mama!"  Then she reached up beside her to the real toilet and threw one of her toys into it.

I grabbed the toy out, putting it in the sink, shut the toilet cover, and tried to explain again.  Touching her tummy, I said, "No, Nonnie, not a toy, your poopies, in here.  Push them out.  Put them in the toilet."

Once again, "Otay, Mama." Then she took the toy she still held and squeezed it in between her legs into the potty chair.

I reached in her potty chair to retrieve that toy, I exclaiming, "Oh, my gosh!"  As I reached to throw that toy into the sink, I heard a little giggle.  After I washed her toys, I gave up and returned Anna to the tub, giving her the toys back.

As soon as Anna got back in the tub, she resumed her game by herself, being both characters.  This time, she changed the lines, just slightly:
Toy one:  "How old you?"
Toy two: "Swee."
Toy one, jumping up:  "Oh, my DOSH!"

Baby A and Baby B

We had our nine week ultrasound yesterday.  Both babies looked great. 

Each baby was each assigned a letter ("Baby A" and "Baby B"), which they will be for the next 6 or so months until they're delivered. Their very first "names"!  It seemed important, but it was assigned relatively randomly.  Generally the baby positioned more to the left in the uterus is "Baby A," but our babies are right on top of each other, so the ultrasound technician had to choose. 

I would have thought that Dave and I would have more say in the first names our babies are given!

Outsmarted by the one-year-old...again

Yesterday morning, I was pretty sick, so I tried to make up a game that Kate and Anna could both play while I lay very still on my side. 

For Anna's game, I took about 25 single cards from Memory, without the pairs, and spread them out, face up.  If she could tell me what they were, she could have them.  These words weren't a problem for her; she knew them all.  Getting her to cooperate was the problem. 

I thought I'd start with one of her favorite words.  I held up the card with a picture of a cell phone, asking, "Nonnie, what's this?" wanting her to answer, "Bye bye." When she didn't answer, I tried to coax her by threatening to ask Kate if Anna didn't answer.  Anna certainly didn't care, but Kate said, "Phone" so I gave Kate the card. 

I thought maybe I'd now shown Anna that she could only get the card if told me the word, so I held up the card with a monkey next, asking, "What is this?"  I'm not sure Anna is yet capable of rolling her eyes, but she certainly gave me an equivalent expression.  Then Anna walked away.  She walked around me to where box from the Memory game and the rest of the cards were.  She dug through the pairs a moment, came up with the other "telephone" card, and declared, victoriously, "Now Nonnie has bye bye, too!"

Yes, she sure did.

Belle

Anna loves to play with the Belle princess doll. This morning, that beloved princess went missing.  For hours, Anna shouted, "Where 'Ningle Bell all the way' go? 'Ningle Bell all the way' where are you?"

At one point, I told her, "Don't worry, we'll find Jingle Bell."  She looked almost confused, and then corrected me, "We find Ningle Bell all the way."

The girly girl wins again

Somehow, amidst my migraine on Friday, I promised Kate she could have nail polish. 

This is something she had been bringing up, on and off, for months.  I'd been really resistant.  Just chalk my resistance up to me not understanding "beauty" as well as Kate does.  The other day, I discussed it with Dave and we decided it was harmless.  I'd still intended to hold off a while longer, but Kate caught me at my weakest moment.

So, yesterday we went and I bought her a jar and she spent four dollars of her allowance on two more.  She was thrilled, and even in the car she explained she did not need any help.  When I tried to tell her about manicures and pedicures to explain that even grown ups get help, she was infuriated by what she perceived as my dishonesty, and told me loudly and clearly that she saw Aunt Jamie polishing her own toes when she was over there!  (Thank you, Jamie.  And, by the way, how did you have time to do that with my two kids and three of your own?)

We finally came to an agreement where I said she could do her own toenails and I would do her fingernails. 

Kate did eventually swallow her pride in the name of beauty, and allow me to help her after she'd painted an entire toe and only two nails.  You'll notice that picture, I'm sure.

Bunk beds

We have two bedrooms for the kids, and by this summer, we'll have four kids. 

We thought we'd get a jumpstart on the situation and move Kate right into a bunk bed, where Anna can join her in July, instead of just a regular twin bed.

Another benefit...

This summer, we'd looked into different play structures for the backyard.  We went back and forth, and finally decided it wasn't in our budget yet.  No matter.  Now we have one right in the house.

Nonnie is a monkey...

In the car today, Kate asked me why Anna got to do something she couldn't do.  I can't for the life of me remember what the exact complaint was, but I'm sure it was along the lines of why Anna runs around and I make Kate stay by me.  I didn't feel like going into the whole "Anna is younger" argument for the fiftieth time, so, loosely quoting the end of every Curious George episode, I replied, "Anna is a monkey.  She can do things we can't do."  Both girls found this kind of funny. 

As I got Kate out of the car, she started to debate that Anna was not actually a monkey, "Does she have a tail?  Does a monkey only have hair on her head or all over her body?" 

When I got Anna out of her carseat, she said, "Nonnie's a ahhh ahhh, she do ding we can't do!"  When I laughed at this, Anna threw her head back and cracked herself up!

Anna's manners

Anna is beginning to use manners. 
Unfortunately, she usually doesn't use them when I try to remind her to do so, like when someone gives her something.  She'll sit there and stare blankly, like she's never heard the word "thank you" in her life. 

But, she is consistently saying, "No, thank you."  When we try to brush her teeth, she'll struggle, push the toothbrush away with both hands, turn her head to avoid the brush finding its way into her mouth, and politely say, "No, ank you.  No, ank you."  When we try to put her socks on, along with kicking the socks away, she'll politely say, "No, ank you.  No, ank you."  When Dave reminded her to use her spoon, rather than her finger, to eat her yogurt, she thought about it, then shook her head and said, "No, ank you."

Against "the point of the blog"

My whole point of this blog is to document the joys of being a parent, to focus on the beauty of life with kids, turning frustration into humor and trying to enjoy every moment.

I could extend that philosophy to pregnancy and try to focus on the joys of pregnancy, etc.  There is one problem with that, however.  I, for the life of me, can't find one joy at this point.  Okay, okay, there are two new lives growing inside me.  That is amazing; it truly is awesome.  The problem is, I can't see the lives; I can't feel the lives.  What I do feel is nausea and incredible pain in my head half the time, as well.  If you're not in the middle of nausea, it can seem kind of charming, "Oh, how exciting!  She's pregnant, so she's nauseous." 

Yeah, that's not what it's like.  In actuality, you lie in bed at night and debate if you should just go throw up, which is truly awful, so maybe you'll be able to fall sleep sooner, or if you should continue to suppress it and hope you eventually fall asleep.  You wake up in the morning and wonder just how awful you'll feel that day.  Can you make it to the bathroom without the bucket that morning?  When you get up, it's with cautious steps, not sure how long you'll last before you get end up getting sick.  You worry about what awful smell you'll encounter.  Will your baby's diaper make you throw up?  Will you catch a whiff of coffee that will set you off?  Dare you try to cook your kids a vegetable with their lunch?  If you do make it out of the house, what about the person at the grocery store who smells of weeks-old stale smoke?  Or, worse, something completely innocent might cause it... will your child, who you couldn't love more, breathe on you, causing you to wretch?  The constant feeling in your throat never lets you forget you're only one second away from what seems like the inevitable.

And I haven't even begun to explain the migraines.  The intense pain, throbbing with each heartbeat, that makes you wonder if you can make it through the next two minutes, not to mention the next two months.  Where each breath you take only makes the pain worse, making you wonder why your body insists on taking in air.  The pain makes you more nauseous, and throwing up worsens the pain you thought couldn't possibly get worse.

My wonderful doctor called me in my own personal pharmacy of medications yesterday.  But, as I've found with most things about this pregnancy so far, the meds are laden with irony.  Although, I now have two pain killers for the migraines, the one that I can manage to stay awake with only takes away some of the pain, the other takes away most of the pain, but knocks me out completely.  And, ironically, both increase the nausea.  I have four anti-nauseas.  One does nothing.  I've always thrown it back up.  The other works, but, ironically, gives me a headache.  And the other two are class C's, which aren't proven to be safe in pregnancy, so I'm too scared about the babies to actually take them.  If the irony holds true,  I assume those would be the two that would work really well for me.


Note:  I'd intended this to be an explanation for why there have been, and will likely be, a lot less blog posts for a while. I got a little carried away, but I've decided to publish it anyway, in hopes it may help someone else who goes through this or help others understand what it's like for others.  Someone said to me last week, "I mean, it's just pregnancy; people get through it."  That got in my head, and I wondered for the last week if I was sick and also crazy.  I finally feel better about that, thanks to a great talk with a wonderful woman yesterday, who also suffered from severe morning sickness.

My poll

I'm shocked that three people have picked the first choice.  I had no idea I had so many male readers...who came here in time machines from the 1950's!

Kidney beans

Every week, I get something emailed to me describing the babies' development.

Last week, it told me that the babies were about the size of blueberries.  Kate loved this, and announced this information to most anyone who'd listen.  Also excited by this, I peeked ahead to see what size they would be the following week.  When I learned they would be the size of kidney beans, I told Kate.

She thought that was really exciting, and turned to pass the information on to Anna, "Nonnie, next week the babies will be the size of kidney stones!"

Kate's error tells us something  First, it's a little bit of a tribute to my friend Jamie who suffered through painful kidney stones last month.  But it also tells us how inedible I find kidney beans that my daughter, who loves vegetables, is way more familiar with an incredibly painful malfunction in the human body than a good healthy food.

My daughter, the fashionista!

As a former tom-boy who recently (and not for the first time) bought seven shirts of the same style because I liked them and they were cheap (my number one and number two qualifications for clothes purchases), it's really hard for me to understand my daughter's need to always dress "beautifully."

When she started to refuse to wear anything but dresses last spring, I was sure it was a phase.  I guess it was a phase, because now she will wear only certain dresses.

A few weeks ago, after one particularly frustrating clothes battle, I rolled my eyes and mumbled about the little "style-queen."  She was evidently very flattered, because she now braggingly refers to herself as a style-queen.

A few days ago, inspired by Anna's toy that says,"Hello, Gorgeous," Dave and the girls were joking around, discussing who in the family was "most gorgeous."  It was reported to me later that my Kate, who loves me dearly, said it couldn't be me who was most gorgeous, because I never wear beautiful clothes.

The other night is another example.  I'd spent weeks looking on line trying to pick out quilts to buy for the girls' new bunk beds. I was very happy with the ones I'd found. The colors were perfect, pink, yellow, purple, even some orange to match Kate's walls, the price was right, and the patchwork was a good classic design.  Since we'd purchased the beds earlier that day, I was about to order them.  Excited, I showed Kate, and she said, "I don't like them."  I was shocked and asked why.  She said, quite specifically, "They look like raggy old dresses."

7 weeks... and showing

Last week, I was lying in bed reading books to the girls, when Kate, right in the middle of a paragraph, commented, "Your belly's kind of big."  I tossed the book aside, grabbed her, and, while tickling and kissing her, teased her that her belly was kind of big.

I didn't think much more about it, even a few minutes later, when Anna reached over and pulled my shirt farther down over my pajama pants.

Later that day, when I tried to wear a pair of pants with a real waist, I realized those munchkins were probably right, but I grabbed a stretchy pair of pants and didn't admit a thing.

Dave told me that one of his partners commented, "I think Kristal's already beginning to show!"

When I was making dinner that night, Kate sat across the island watching me.  She didn't say anything for a minute until she finally blurted out, "Well?  Does your tummy look big to you?  Look down!"  I laughed and she continued, "If we go visit someone who doesn't know you're pregnant, they'll notice..."

Of course I was thinking this whole time that absolutely nobody, no matter what pregnancy, twins or not, shows at 7 weeks.  I finally gave into my curiousity yesterday, and stepped on the scale, just to make sure I hadn't gained something like six pounds already!  I remember thinking, "I couldn't have gained too much weight; I've been too sick to eat!"  Well, I'd actually lost a few pounds.  So, because of that fact and the fact that I'll be eight weeks tomorrow, I've decided just to embrace this incredibly fast growing belly!

Ta da!

Our "Nonnie," as Anna calls herself and we've taken to calling her, likes to make a big production out of just about everything.  She's a bit of a drama queen, and she's definitley the family clown.  If it's the metaphorical molehill, Anna will generally make it a mountain, and if something gets a laugh, she'll do it again and again... and again.

As I've mentioned before, Anna likes to announce "Ta da" when she does something she wants others to notice.

This morning, while I was on the phone with the insurance company, Kate called for me, "Mom, Nonnie's on the train table." 

When Anna heard me coming, she scurried down and by the time I came in the playroom, she had both feet firmly on the floor.  She held her hands up high and announced, "Ta da!"

When this got a smile from me, the "Ta da!" was repeated a few times.  When the lady from the insurance company asked about it and Anna heard me explain, that really got Anna going, throwing her hands up repeatedly and shouting the "Ta da!" even louder! 

If only she knew how to take a bow.

Tuesday

For some reason, Anna has a special fondness for the word, "Tuesday."  We can't pinpoint a reason, but she loves it.  If she hears the word, she will repeat, often yell, "Duesday! Duesday! Duesday!" continually for the next five minutes.

It's hilarious.

But, it did make my phone conversation this morning a little difficult when I called to try to schedule a doctor's appointment for "Tuesday."

Accusations

When we were playing in the snow yesterday evening, Kate was pretending that Anna was her husband, that they had twins (two dolls), and that they were taking the twins to grandma's house.  To get them there, she'd bought a sled from me, the shop lady.

After a while, Anna grew bored with the game, and she wanted to walk up and down the driveway with me, holding my hand.

As we walked, Kate followed behind.  After a couple of minutes, I overheard Kate say to her dolls, "I don't know why your father is walking with the shop lady."

I shook my head and chuckled.

Then she ran up behind me, touching my sleeve, "Excuse me, shop lady," she said, "why are you walking with my husband?"

"Babies in bath, too."

Yesterday was a little rough. 

I had promised the kids they could play outside in the snow, but I was too nauseated to even get them out there until after five, when it was already dark.  They still had fun, as you'll see.

Anna, enjoying the snow.

Given the fun they had, I don't know why Anna had to get her revenge. 

When we came in, I let them take a bath to warm up.  That's when it happened... 

Let's just say, the very last thing I felt like doing last night was sifting poop out of a bath tub while Anna attempted to play in it, trying to get my kids out of the water without poop clinging to their legs, not to mention picking poop out of the hair of the mermaid doll they had in the tub with them!

After the incident, I decided to have a talk with Anna.  I told her that if she had poopies, "babies" as she calls them, that needed to come out when she was in the bath, that she should tell me, so we can put the "babies" in the toilet.

Her response wasn't reassuring.  She just laughed and walked around for the next ten minutes saying, "Babies in bath, too!  Babies in bath, too!"

Don't read beyond this point, unless you're a parent and one with a strong stomach:
At one point, I was just laying down on the carpet, waiting for the worst of my nausea to subside.  Anna walked by, chanting her new mantra, "Babies in bath, too..." and I replied, "You're not having corn again until you're potty trained!"

Kate and Sarah

When Sarah, Kate's friend of the same age, arrived just before lunch, I brought her into the kitchen and sat her in between Kate and Anna.  Kate was slightly manic in her excitement of having Sarah over, and began pounding Sarah with details of her life, an account of every new toy she'd gotten for Christmas, and an overwhelming number of options of what they could play after lunch. 

Trying to help Sarah get a word in edgewise, I interrupted Kate, explaining that Sarah has a new baby at her house and prompting Sarah to tell Kate whether it was a brother or sister.

After Sarah managed to say nothing beside the word "brother," Kate exclaimed, "Guess what!  We're going to have twins in the summer!" 

Not getting much of a reaction, Kate tried again, "Sarah, that means I'm going to have two new babies in my house!" 

At that, Sarah nodded and replied, "Oh."

Kate desired a much more enthusiastic answer, so she prompted Sarah, practically yelling, "Aren't you excited!?"

Sarah gave Kate a very underenthused, "Yeh."

Kate didn't know what to do.  She sighed and then, rolling her eyes, said to me, out of the corner of her mouth, "She doesn't seem excited!"

Trying not to laugh, I slipped out of the kitchen.  From the hall, I heard Kate continue to add, "Not one new baby, Sarah, two.  Two new babies!"

So far, so good...

We haven't told a lot of people yet, but you all have to have some priveliges as my loyal readers, so...

Shhh, but...

I'm pregnant! 

We told only a couple people at first, because we'd had a miscarriage a few months ago, and we didn't want to get too excited about things again. 

We were planning on telling people after our first ultrasound, which was supposed to be this Tuesday.  I'd been having a lot of cramping, though, so they moved the ultrasound up to last Thursday.  That day was filled with one emotion after another.

On the way to the ultrasound, we hit unexpected traffic, so we were running about 5 minutes late. I’d called and let them know, but when I got there I was told, “Just so you know, Dr. Robb had to leave. He had to catch a plane…” I thought I’d have to wait until Monday. But she continued, “So, Dr. Strawn will scan you.”  I said, “Oh, that’s fine…as long as someone scans me!”

We had to wait quite a while, probably because Dr. Strawn had another patient and was squeezing me in. Anna was with us, and she was being… Anna. Dave asked if I thought he should go walk her around. I joked, “Well, don’t you want to see them?” I’d been telling him all week that I was so sick it must be twins. He looked confused, so I added, “The babies.” He rolled his eyes, and replied, “I told you; I’m not at all worried about that.”

There really wasn't much of a reason for him to think it was twins.  We’d started this whole journey five years ago with 27 embryos. We’d transferred one embryo, not gotten pregnant, transferred two embryos a couple months later, not gotten pregnant, transferred two again for our third attempt, and I’d finally gotten pregnant with Kate. When we were trying to get pregnant the second time, we transferred two embryos, and got pregnant with Anna. After Anna, because many embryos had died during thaws and during the process of growing to be blastocysts, we only had 9 embryos remaining. When we went in a few months ago, they thawed four and transferred two (the other two had died in the thawing), so we had five remaining. I did get pregnant then, only to miscarry very early. Then, when we went in about a month ago, they had thawed the remaining five, but only two had survived, and one didn’t look good. So, what Dave was saying made perfect sense. We’d gone through 25 embryos and had two kids. Of our last two embryos that were transferred for this pregnancy, only one was a grade A. Really, it was surprising I was even pregnant.

When Dr. Strawn scanned me, he measured the baby and looked at the heartbeat a moment. He said quietly that the heartbeat was about 100. I'd read on the internet it should be between 100 and 110, so I said, “That’s ideal, right?” He shook his head sadly and said it was too slow and that the baby was significantly small. The implication was that things didn’t look good for a continuation of the pregnancy.

After that… yes, after he'd said that, mind you, he verified I was 7 weeks pregnant. I told him, no, that I was 6 weeks, 2 days, and that I’d come in because I’d been having so much cramping and have a history of pregnancy complications. That changed everything. The baby looked perfect for 6 weeks, two days. He told me we should come back next week.

Then, just as I thought we were done, as I was about to sit up, he said, “Oh, well, look at this… you have twins.” I laughed and began to cry and laughed some more. In less than two minutes, we’d gone from having what looked like a failing pregnancy to a twin pregnancy. I couldn't have been happier.  He measured the other baby, called it a “big bruiser,” and recorded the heartbeat at 103. I was kind of in shock. I said, “But, remember, one of the embryos didn’t even look good; it was barely a B.” He said, “They both look great now!” He then began to sing, as he checked things out further, “You’re having twins. You’re having twins.” The doctor printed us some ultrasound pictures, and he printed a couple for Anna, too.

As he told me my due date, I asked what the chance was that things would continue well. He said we had a 95% chance now. I asked, “Even though I’m only 6 weeks, 2 days?” He said, “Yes, with a heartbeat of 100, it’s 95%.” I asked, “What about with twins?” He, once again, repeated there was a 95% chance.

I was thrilled. But over the next few hours, after listening to Dave panic, I began to panic a little, too.  Like I said, there were a lot of emotions that day.  But, over the last few days, aside from wishing I weren't so incredibly sick, I’m extremely grateful for this unlikely blessing.  I couldn't imagine anything better! Dave will come around, too.

Friday morning, we told Kate and Anna about the pregnancy. When we told them there were twins, Kate started giggling and repeated “Twins.” Then the first thing she said in response was, “We’re going to have four kids.” Dave said, “Yes, that’s what I’m trying to get used to.”

I then showed Kate the fuzzy ultrasound pictures. First one of the first baby and then one of the second. Finally, I showed her the one of both of the babies. I thought it was pertty ridiculous that I was bothering to show her the fuzzy whitish gray lumps, but Kate loved it. She responded, “Aww, they’re so cute!”  Yay!  I thought that only I thought so.

Our twins at 6 weeks, 2 days

We had another ultrasound this morning, and Kate was going to be there, too.  I had gotten a little nervous last night, and I told Kate that sometimes God takes babies back instead of letting them keep growing, but things will probably be fine.  We have to pray and wait and see. 

After the ultrasound today, Kate, most likely with this thought in mind, exclaimed, "Well, so far, so good!"

Our twins at 7 weeks, 2 days

Her own girl

 

Okay, seriously... my kids are so different. 

Even when I actually get Anna to draw on paper, she still has to do things her very own way!

Look at that ridiculously cute little butt, all up in the air...

Compliments

Last night I’d gotten Anna’s pajamas on and had just sat down on the chair with her to read her some books. She reached up and touched my nose and said, “Nice nose, Mama.”

This is something she started doing a few weeks ago, she’d usually begin by petting my hair and saying, “Nice hair, Mama.” From there she’d go on to say, “Nice eyes,” “Nice nose,” etc. We don’t know if it stems from us telling her to be be nice when “touching” (a.k.a. hitting) Kate or if it comes from Kate complimenting Anna and me with “I like your hair.” One way or another, it’s a pretty cute habit.

So, when Anna said, “Nice nose, Mama,” I smiled and thanked her. The next thing she did was reach up toward my nose again and says, “Nice buhber in you nose, Mama.”

Art gallery

I've been a little less attentive than usual the last few days.  This has brought out extra creativity in my girls, each in their own way.

The following is a collection of artwork from Kate this past week:

Anna's collection isn't all pictured below, because, thankfully, ballpoint pen comes off LCD T.V.'s with rubbing alcohol.  But here is another of Anna's materpieces:

I'm now attempting to redirect Anna to a more appropriate medium... paper.  She thinks of body parts, shoes, coffee tables, and T.V.'s on her own, but never paper.  I'm making her use it, but it doesn't seem to enthuse her nearly as much.