A tangerine dream. My oldest son asked me what it meant when I first started this blog. He thought it was a weird name. I know that it is and I am pretty sure that I made it up. It makes sense to me and I'm going to see if I can explain it right, here.
Picture a gorgeous orange tinged sunset. The breeze surrounding you smells of sweet honey suckle bushes on a warm summer night, washing over your whole body in gentle calming waves. Conditions are perfect. Although you feel completely content, you can't help but slip into an indulgent daydream. You know that your future is wide open and full of endless possibilities. The smallest twist or turn can send your fate off into another direction. You think of your wants, wishes and decisions. You dream of what could be and what you think might make you even happier. While staring out into the sky as it slowly darkens through shades of oranges and purples into blackness, you begin to see the stars more and more clearly. Anything is possible; you want more. All you have to do is reach for it. Make a decision and then reach for the stars.
I currently have, and have had, quite a few tangerine dreams. The world of possibilities has opened up and changed for me recently. Some of these dreams have been pushed farther away while others have come even closer to my finger tips. The first real dream I ever had for myself began when I was around ten or eleven years old. I knew for a fact that I wanted to grow up and be a rock star. No question. I was going to be a lead singer and rhythm guitar player for a kick ass band. I planned to move to Los Angeles right after high school in order to wait tables and attend Music Tech right off Skid Row. I knew it would be hard and a long shot at best but the world was mine for the taking. My parents were supportive and believed in me.
So, what happened, you ask? Well, January of my senior year, about a month after I turned eighteen, I fell for a guy. Pretty hard, I guess, considering we were together for seven years and had two children. At eighteen he quickly became my whole world; my life revolved around him, my axis. I was in too deep, too fast. There was no way I would move away from him and I gave up the idea of LA too quickly. I can not regret this decision because without it I would never have had my beautiful sons, Raul and Diego. I would not give them up for anything. I will dream of being that rock star until the day I die, though. It still haunts my mind and courses through my veins everyday. But it is no way to raise five children, for so many different reasons. It is no longer possible for me. Kay Sera Sera.
Back to reality, I have new dreams. I have wanted to write a childrens' book for a few years now. Ideas for topics have come and gone. An old acquaintance from high school recently found me on Facebook. I was looking through pictures of his artwork that he had posted and was immediately inspired to write it and have now finished my first draft. I made contact with him and he is interested in illustrating it for me. I am excited about this project but do not know how to proceed from here, just yet. I have some research to do.
I also had an idea for a girls clothing line about two years ago. I feel it is a rather unique one. So far it is just an idea and it would definitely take a lot of time to put into action. Time is not bountiful for me at the moment so this particular idea is on the back burner of my mind, for now. Yet another old friend from high school is an amazing seamstress and is interested in talking about this project when we can. Maybe it will come to fruition and maybe it won't. We will have to wait and see.
I have worked and supported myself since shortly after my sixteenth birthday. Now, at thirty five, I quit my job to stay home with my children. I am enjoying not going to work everyday but there is a little part of me that wants to do something more. I do not have to go back to work but I know that I want to do something else, too. I have registered with the IRS to become a tax return preparer. Starting with the 2013 tax year I can do peoples' taxes from home. I can set my own hours and be my own boss. Ever since I had my first child I wished that I could work from home so that I could be with him/them more. This was never a possibility until now. I am looking forward to this new venture and am hoping for the very best. This is my new job and it's starting out nice and slow, which is perfect for me because I need to learn how to juggle the five kids, the household, and my marriage all while working from home, with and without clients present. I feel I am up for the task.
Becoming a tax preparer has brought thoughts of college into my busy brain again. I tried college before back in 2001 and in 2006. It did not work out for me then. I think during my two attempts I accumulated about twenty seven credits total, half of which are now too old to transfer to anything. I was going to be a Registered Nurse. Between working full time and the Nursing Program available to me, I would have had to give up too much time with my sons. I could not bring myself to give that time up and financial aid just wasn't cutting it for me. I did not return.
I just discovered that the University of Minnesota offers a four year undergraduate accounting degree completely online. This tempts me. It seems like the classes offered in this degree could benefit me as a Tax Professional, although it is not required by the IRS. None of my children are in college yet, I do not have to go to work and as a family of seven with only one real income, financial aid and scholarships would probably be better for me this time around. Many signs point to this being a good idea but then I wonder. For example, I have been working on this blog post for hours now. I have had to set down the computer so many times to go deal with one of the children and their many different needs. If I can't sit down to write this post easily enough, what in the hell makes me think I could ever finish a four year degree? I don't want to start up and fail again. I don't want to sacrifice time with my children if it will not be worth it in the end. Not to mention any debt I might accrue if I'm not going to graduate or earn enough money afterwards to make it worth my family's while. I would really like to be a college graduate but I have a lot more thinking, planning and deciding to do if this dream is to come true.
I have always been a dreamer. I think big. I know that I am very smart and could be or do almost anything; a doctor, a CPA, a lawyer, a business owner, the mayor. I could do anything. I had my first baby at twenty years of age and this changed my priorities. I still know that I could do any of these things but if I did, than I would have to give up pieces of the mother I am and that is too high a price, for me. I will do my best to find something that fulfills me professionaly while remaining the mother I wish to be. I think I am on the right track. But that glowing tangerine sunset is always going to catch my eye.
Monday, January 28, 2013
Saturday, December 1, 2012
Big Daddy...Tribute
In preparation for the one year anniversary of my blog coming up, I went back and perused my previous posts. In doing so, I have come across a situation I would like to remedy. My blog is (mostly) about me and my journey as a mother and the other many hats I may wear at times. It is also about why I am the way that I am; where I have come from and where I wish I could be. This is exactly what I wanted the blog to be about but there is one very important person from my life that has not been represented because he is not a mother. So, Daddy, this one's for you.
When you are a little girl, your father is one of the biggest pieces of your world. He is magical and awesome. He is the smartest person you know. When you are with him you feel safe and protected, loved and adored. The hugs he gives are unmatched by anyone else. No one can mess with you as long as you have your Daddy; he can make all of your pains go away with just one kiss. He is your first true love and you will spend the rest of your life comparing the men you meet to him. Those can be some pretty big shoes to fill.
Unconditional love. This my father has taught me. As a parent, this is an important quality. When I was a teenager I began to withdraw a bit from my father. I know this is pretty typical teenage girl stuff and I can't tell you when exactly this began to happen. We both made some mistakes with each other but there was never ever a doubt in my mind that he loved me anyway, and I him. At that age there is usually going to be a butting of heads, I know. The reasons are unimportant. The important part was the unconditional love that we have for each other and being able to meet again on the other side. He was there for me.
A true believer. My biggest fan. My father is a very talented guitar player. His passion for music and his abilities were, thankfully, passed on to my brothers and myself. He supported me in my efforts with music. He gave me my first (and second and third) guitar, drove me to lessons, came to every concert and show. He had part of our garage converted into a music room for us and equipped it with all we could need. I was the first girl in my high school to be in her own rock band and this could not have been possible without him. He was there for us every step of the way. He even went out and helped us get t-shirts made up. He was a cool Dad to have.
My Dad is a trooper. He would do anything for me. I remember a time when I was in high school that he did me a favor I will never forget. It was shortly after he and my Mom had separated. I wanted my hair dyed and figured I would have to wait until I could get over to Mom's apartment. He offered to dye it for me. Now, I have a ton of hair and it can be quite a task, but he was totally willing. The best part about this story is that my Dad is not a small man and the gloves that come with the hair dye are definitely not made for hands like his. The gloves did not take their time to rip open but he just kept on going. My hair turned out beautiful and his poor hands were stained for a while. What a great Dad to do that for his only daughter. Another moment that I will never forget is from him at my wedding. He walked me down the isle, precious, and later played the guitar until his fingers bled. True devotion.
What is in a name? In my opinion, honor. All five of my children have a family name as one of their names, first or middle, and then their other name is one I just liked and found unique. One of my new twin babies received the middle name, James, in honor of my father. My father does not actually use this name for reasons which are his own and not my story to tell. I will say that his reasons are valid and I respect them. I asked his permission to use this name and am very glad he allowed me to. Now I have "E" James, and here is why...
My father is a good man. He is a wonderful father and has twelve, almost thirteen, adoring grandchildren. One of my brothers was named after my father, David. My brother passed this name onto his first born son as his middle name. So, in actuality, passing on "James" may not have been entirely necessary but it was still very important to me. Growing up I always felt like this name was almost a taboo. I feel my father deserves better than that. These grandchildren are part of his legacy and the future of this family. The future is ours to mold and I thought it time to turn this name into a positive. My son E will wear it with pride, as was the way I gave it to him.
My father is a big part of who I am even though he is not a "mother". He is one of the many influences I have had in my life. Without our relationship, I would not have turned out the same, and I kinda like how I turned out so far. Ha! We have had our ups and our downs but in the end I would not change a thing. These are all pieces of the puzzle that is me. I will parent my children using our past and our present as examples. I hope to offer my children the same level of devotion and unconditional love that my father bestowed upon me. I hope to support them through all of their endeavors and remain their biggest fan. Thanks for being there for me always, Daddy. I love you always and forever.
When you are a little girl, your father is one of the biggest pieces of your world. He is magical and awesome. He is the smartest person you know. When you are with him you feel safe and protected, loved and adored. The hugs he gives are unmatched by anyone else. No one can mess with you as long as you have your Daddy; he can make all of your pains go away with just one kiss. He is your first true love and you will spend the rest of your life comparing the men you meet to him. Those can be some pretty big shoes to fill.
Unconditional love. This my father has taught me. As a parent, this is an important quality. When I was a teenager I began to withdraw a bit from my father. I know this is pretty typical teenage girl stuff and I can't tell you when exactly this began to happen. We both made some mistakes with each other but there was never ever a doubt in my mind that he loved me anyway, and I him. At that age there is usually going to be a butting of heads, I know. The reasons are unimportant. The important part was the unconditional love that we have for each other and being able to meet again on the other side. He was there for me.
A true believer. My biggest fan. My father is a very talented guitar player. His passion for music and his abilities were, thankfully, passed on to my brothers and myself. He supported me in my efforts with music. He gave me my first (and second and third) guitar, drove me to lessons, came to every concert and show. He had part of our garage converted into a music room for us and equipped it with all we could need. I was the first girl in my high school to be in her own rock band and this could not have been possible without him. He was there for us every step of the way. He even went out and helped us get t-shirts made up. He was a cool Dad to have.
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| Daddy |
My Dad is a trooper. He would do anything for me. I remember a time when I was in high school that he did me a favor I will never forget. It was shortly after he and my Mom had separated. I wanted my hair dyed and figured I would have to wait until I could get over to Mom's apartment. He offered to dye it for me. Now, I have a ton of hair and it can be quite a task, but he was totally willing. The best part about this story is that my Dad is not a small man and the gloves that come with the hair dye are definitely not made for hands like his. The gloves did not take their time to rip open but he just kept on going. My hair turned out beautiful and his poor hands were stained for a while. What a great Dad to do that for his only daughter. Another moment that I will never forget is from him at my wedding. He walked me down the isle, precious, and later played the guitar until his fingers bled. True devotion.
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| Devotion in Action |
What is in a name? In my opinion, honor. All five of my children have a family name as one of their names, first or middle, and then their other name is one I just liked and found unique. One of my new twin babies received the middle name, James, in honor of my father. My father does not actually use this name for reasons which are his own and not my story to tell. I will say that his reasons are valid and I respect them. I asked his permission to use this name and am very glad he allowed me to. Now I have "E" James, and here is why...
My father is a good man. He is a wonderful father and has twelve, almost thirteen, adoring grandchildren. One of my brothers was named after my father, David. My brother passed this name onto his first born son as his middle name. So, in actuality, passing on "James" may not have been entirely necessary but it was still very important to me. Growing up I always felt like this name was almost a taboo. I feel my father deserves better than that. These grandchildren are part of his legacy and the future of this family. The future is ours to mold and I thought it time to turn this name into a positive. My son E will wear it with pride, as was the way I gave it to him.
My father is a big part of who I am even though he is not a "mother". He is one of the many influences I have had in my life. Without our relationship, I would not have turned out the same, and I kinda like how I turned out so far. Ha! We have had our ups and our downs but in the end I would not change a thing. These are all pieces of the puzzle that is me. I will parent my children using our past and our present as examples. I hope to offer my children the same level of devotion and unconditional love that my father bestowed upon me. I hope to support them through all of their endeavors and remain their biggest fan. Thanks for being there for me always, Daddy. I love you always and forever.
Friday, November 23, 2012
Who the Hell Am I?
Good question. I am evolving. I know that as people we always are but at this particular moment in my life I have been doing so rather rapidly. I have been pretty set in my ways until recently. Having the twins has put changes in motion that I may and may not like. I also know that some of these changes are necessary and I am not really fighting them. I'm rolling with them. As if there was really a choice.
I make my bed every day. Crazy, right? I have not done this regularly in as long as I can remember. I was always in such a rush during my mornings. Not anymore. Now I do it. It feels strangely nice. Sort of like getting dressed in the morning. I still consider walking right by it sometimes, old habits you know, but then I stop myself and take the few seconds and actually make it. I figure there is no longer any good excuses. I am here all day every day now. Why not make the bed?
I have had to reschedule many appointments in the last eight weeks. This was really unlike me. Nowadays, it is just the way it goes. I have a nearly three year old girl and eight week old twin boys at home with me all day long. (The older kids are usually in school) Sometimes I just can not get somewhere. This bothers me a little bit but I know it is for the best and I have to remain flexible. It ultimately comes down to the kids well being, happiness and stress levels. I have to anticipate their moods and collective voices. I have to be kind to all of us and not push our limits unless absolutely necessary. I may have to reschedule sometimes but I will be forever punctual. If I am going to be somewhere, I will be there on time. This I can not let go of. Even with all the kids, I am pretty good at getting all of us ready and out the door on time. It is important to me. I really can't stand the feeling of being late. I avoid it as much as possible.
My laundry and dishes don't pile up anymore. These tasks, along with raising five kids and running our household, are all part of my new career, Stay-At-Home-Mom. My laundry baskets and sink are my new "Inboxes". I heard it takes 28 days to form a habit. I am not so sure. I have been home for eight weeks now and I still struggle a bit. I have to make a conscious effort every single day in order to stay on top of these things. Although, it could just be because I am at the mercy of five strange young beings I willingly share my house with. (wink)
I don't really sleep anymore. Apparently, I can still function surprisingly well with only a couple hours here and a couple hours there. It is not the most restful sleep either. I sleep with one eye open, so to speak, most of the time. I don't expect to be able to keep this up too much longer and should probably start finding ways to get a little more sleep soon. For the time being, I am hanging in there. I have always been one of those people that can fall asleep anytime and anywhere. I could sleep until two in the afternoon every single day if I had no responsibilities at all. Strangely, it seems with every new child I have I get less and less sleep at night. Imagine the odds.
I, admittedly, don't look quite my best lately. I was a working gal until the end of September. I wore nice clothes with all the fun accessories to match. I wore nylons and cute high heeled shoes. I did my make-up every morning and felt quite "put together". I took pride in my appearance at work. I am a firm believer in the saying, "Dress for the job you want, not the job you have." I lived by these words, most days. These days, I'm lucky if I even get to brush my hair. I wear comfy clothes and fuzzy socks. I think I have put make-up on three times in the last eight weeks. I'm sure this sounds nice at first but, trust me, it can get a little old. I want to be cute again. Ha, ha. I have somewhere between five and ten pounds left to lose and then all of my normal clothes should fit me again. Then the trick will be to find the time to put it all on. But, then again, maybe I would just use that time to scarf some food down quickly before somebody needs something else. Maybe I would even get a potty break. (smirk)
The list goes on and on. The babies might have to cry a little bit longer than I would usually allow while they wait their turn for a clean diaper or I prepare two bottles instead of just one. My daughter might not get a bubble bath every other night like I would prefer. I make more dinners in the crock pot in order to save myself time in the kitchen at night. My house is a little bit cleaner that usual. I was actually able to audition for a play, which is something I have not been able to do since I was a junior in high school. I don't get to run to the store as often as I would like to. And so on. This is all OK, though. I am in a transitional period in my life. Do not misunderstand this blog entry as me complaining. Think of it more as though I am just stating the facts with a hint of sarcasm. A little bit of venting to an adult audience, as I am surrounded by small children all day otherwise. I am so very lucky to have what I have. I love this new version of my life and will embrace each day as it comes. I am truly blessed and I will not take this all for granted. Here is to the new and ever changing me.
I make my bed every day. Crazy, right? I have not done this regularly in as long as I can remember. I was always in such a rush during my mornings. Not anymore. Now I do it. It feels strangely nice. Sort of like getting dressed in the morning. I still consider walking right by it sometimes, old habits you know, but then I stop myself and take the few seconds and actually make it. I figure there is no longer any good excuses. I am here all day every day now. Why not make the bed?
I have had to reschedule many appointments in the last eight weeks. This was really unlike me. Nowadays, it is just the way it goes. I have a nearly three year old girl and eight week old twin boys at home with me all day long. (The older kids are usually in school) Sometimes I just can not get somewhere. This bothers me a little bit but I know it is for the best and I have to remain flexible. It ultimately comes down to the kids well being, happiness and stress levels. I have to anticipate their moods and collective voices. I have to be kind to all of us and not push our limits unless absolutely necessary. I may have to reschedule sometimes but I will be forever punctual. If I am going to be somewhere, I will be there on time. This I can not let go of. Even with all the kids, I am pretty good at getting all of us ready and out the door on time. It is important to me. I really can't stand the feeling of being late. I avoid it as much as possible.
My laundry and dishes don't pile up anymore. These tasks, along with raising five kids and running our household, are all part of my new career, Stay-At-Home-Mom. My laundry baskets and sink are my new "Inboxes". I heard it takes 28 days to form a habit. I am not so sure. I have been home for eight weeks now and I still struggle a bit. I have to make a conscious effort every single day in order to stay on top of these things. Although, it could just be because I am at the mercy of five strange young beings I willingly share my house with. (wink)
I don't really sleep anymore. Apparently, I can still function surprisingly well with only a couple hours here and a couple hours there. It is not the most restful sleep either. I sleep with one eye open, so to speak, most of the time. I don't expect to be able to keep this up too much longer and should probably start finding ways to get a little more sleep soon. For the time being, I am hanging in there. I have always been one of those people that can fall asleep anytime and anywhere. I could sleep until two in the afternoon every single day if I had no responsibilities at all. Strangely, it seems with every new child I have I get less and less sleep at night. Imagine the odds.
I, admittedly, don't look quite my best lately. I was a working gal until the end of September. I wore nice clothes with all the fun accessories to match. I wore nylons and cute high heeled shoes. I did my make-up every morning and felt quite "put together". I took pride in my appearance at work. I am a firm believer in the saying, "Dress for the job you want, not the job you have." I lived by these words, most days. These days, I'm lucky if I even get to brush my hair. I wear comfy clothes and fuzzy socks. I think I have put make-up on three times in the last eight weeks. I'm sure this sounds nice at first but, trust me, it can get a little old. I want to be cute again. Ha, ha. I have somewhere between five and ten pounds left to lose and then all of my normal clothes should fit me again. Then the trick will be to find the time to put it all on. But, then again, maybe I would just use that time to scarf some food down quickly before somebody needs something else. Maybe I would even get a potty break. (smirk)
The list goes on and on. The babies might have to cry a little bit longer than I would usually allow while they wait their turn for a clean diaper or I prepare two bottles instead of just one. My daughter might not get a bubble bath every other night like I would prefer. I make more dinners in the crock pot in order to save myself time in the kitchen at night. My house is a little bit cleaner that usual. I was actually able to audition for a play, which is something I have not been able to do since I was a junior in high school. I don't get to run to the store as often as I would like to. And so on. This is all OK, though. I am in a transitional period in my life. Do not misunderstand this blog entry as me complaining. Think of it more as though I am just stating the facts with a hint of sarcasm. A little bit of venting to an adult audience, as I am surrounded by small children all day otherwise. I am so very lucky to have what I have. I love this new version of my life and will embrace each day as it comes. I am truly blessed and I will not take this all for granted. Here is to the new and ever changing me.
Sunday, October 14, 2012
One Last Check...Priceless
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| Image from: http://www.tomcopelandblog.com/2011/10/should-you-have-a-business-checkbook.html |
On Friday, September 21st, I wrote out the final check to my daughter's daycare provider. It was a typical Friday afternoon. As usual, I pulled into her driveway at around 5:00 P.M. on my way home from work. I sat in my car for an extra moment and wrote out the check for the following and final week of daycare service. (My daughter's last day actually ended up being Thursday the 27th, because I went into labor that night and gave birth to my twin sons on the Friday. That is a story for another date though.) While writing out the last check I actually started to tear up and I cried.
I was surprised at myself. I pulled myself together quickly but sat and thought about it for a moment. Why did I cry? Wasn't it a good thing that I didn't have to spend that much money each week anymore? Isn't it nice that I get to stay at home and take care of my children for myself from now on? Hadn't I come to terms with this new arrangement of my life months ago? The answer to these three questions...Yes. Absolutely. I cried because I love my daughter's daycare provider and knew a chapter was closing in our lives, possibly forever, and it made me sad.
My daughter had been going to this in-home daycare since she was seventeen weeks old. This was the only provider she had ever known and her whole experience was a wonderful one. When I found out I was pregnant with my daughter, I knew that this daycare was the only one I wanted her to go to and called to get on the list right away. I had known this woman since my twelve year old son was in kindergarten. He is best friends with her son of the same age. My two older sons went to her daycare after school for a couple of years before they became old enough to stay home alone. I trust her more than almost anybody else with my children and that is saying something. I know I can be difficult, controlling, particular and opinionated when it comes to my children. In the past, I have been compared to a tiger when it comes to the well-being of my "cubs", and I am quite okay with it. I never had to worry about them when they were with her. I am now, and will be, forever grateful.
But how do you thank someone enough for this service? How will I ever be able to let her know how much I appreciate her? Are there even words in existence that will mean enough? She looked after three of my children day after day. She fed them, loved them, played with them, taught them and nurtured them. She gave them a safe haven when they could not be with me. She woke up early and stayed up late to prepare for them. She took personal time when the daycare was closed to shop for the supplies required to accomplish all of this. She was open when she was exhausted or sick or had personal things going on. She greeted them each and every day with a smile, even if she may not have felt like it. She never ran out of hugs. The children were never bored and always had something to tell me about their day when I picked them up. She respected and cooperated with our parenting style. She was thoughtful and kind and accepting of their individual personalities. We are so lucky to have had this woman as a part of our lives.
Now, I know some of you may be thinking that this is her job, she chooses to do this for a living, what is the big deal? The big deal is that there is nothing in this world more important to me than my children (and Husband). To be able to hand them off to someone else each day for up to nine hours and not need to worry about them...that is priceless. Of course there is an actual budget we have to live by and I could only afford a particular amount each week for the daycare service itself, the peace of mind she gave me was truly priceless and I was so lucky to have found her, known her and lived so close to her.
So, I hope that by writing this blog entry she will understand, at least a little bit, about how I feel. I hope she gets a chance to read this and know that I mean each and every single word from the bottom of my heart. I hope I never loose touch with her. My childrens' lives have been greatly enriched irreversibly just by knowing her. Hayley, I love you very much and thank you, for everything. Thank you for being you. Thank you for loving my children. Really, truly...Thank you.
Saturday, August 18, 2012
When Push Comes to Shove
I have the workout of my life coming up soon. I have some hard decisions that I hopefully get to make. I have been through this situation three times before and I still have no idea what to expect. There are too many variables, too many possible problems and different outcomes. I mean, obviously, the final outcome will be two adorable baby boys being introduced into my world. What I am saying is that between now and that moment I can hold them in my arms for the very first time, a whole lot can and is going to happen.
Rewind almost fourteen years ago, I was twenty years old and in labor with my first born son. When I went into labor, at first, I did not know that I was in labor yet. I was at a party being thrown for my Ex and myself. Our last big Hoorah before being grounded for life. Everyone was having a good time; touch football, beer, food, friends. I sat at the picnic table outside and crocheted while chatting with the ladies. I started to feel just a little off, sort of sick to my stomach with a little lower back ache. No big deal, I could just go inside and lay on the couch for a bit. I was fine. Hmm.
Lucky for me, the friend who was throwing us the party has a mother who was an RN. When she came in to replenish the party food, she saw me laying there in her living room and started in with the questions. She then quickly got her mother on the phone who suggested I get to the hospital as soon as possible because I was obviously in labor. Also, we were partying in Buffalo, MN and our hospital of choice was in Fridley, MN. A little bit of a drive. I was two weeks away from my due date and caught off guard. Needless to say, we were on the road within minutes, shortly after 7 PM. Around forty five minutes later we arrived at the hospital. My Mom had arrived too, my rock. The doctor quickly determined that my stubborn son was in a breech position, sitting cross-legged over the exit, so to speak, and my contractions were coming much faster and harder. They were going to have to do an emergency C-section but I had eaten dinner at the party only a couple hours earlier so they wanted to hold off as long as possible. You are not supposed to eat for twelve hours before major surgery with anesthesia because of the increased risk of vomiting and then choking on it. Glamorous.
Just before midnight, they could not wait any longer for the sake of the baby and I was rushed to the operating room. Bright lights, people in masks everywhere, stainless steel glinting, big blue curtain thrown up in front of my face to block the view, completely numb from the shoulders down, throwing up into a little plastic tub, the Father of my child staying close but with fear in his eyes, constant commotion...and then...the baby cries out. Sweet relief, but only momentarily. He is quickly held up to my face for a look-see. Then he is just as quickly taken away for a bit while I get stitched, stapled, cleaned up, poked and prodded, sick a little more and, of course, Morphined. I had told his father to go be with him, I would be fine. The baby needed one of us there.
Once we were back in our room it was much more calm and quiet. Thank goodness. Family trickled in through the wee hours to see the first grandchild/nephew. It was very nice and we were so proud and in love with our new bundle. Everything was great, everything except for the itching. Oh my God, the itching! I could literally have scratched my face off. Hold my hands down and tell me to stop scratching. But it itches so much!...I learned that I was allergic to Morphine that night. Good to know.
In the weeks to come, my incision became infected and I had to be put on antibiotics. Kind of a scary thing though; sitting in bed, reading a book, minding my own business and then I look down and see blood spreading on the front of my shirt by my abdomen. It all worked out OK in the end but I was freaked out for a bit. I had a few anxiety dreams after that of my insides falling out and I could not get them back in for the life of me. Shudder.
That was my first time. My second was quite a different experience. I was twenty two years old and now had a twenty month old son. I woke up at 7:00 in the morning, as usual. I knew immediately, this time, that I was in labor. My sons' Father was at work already and I proceeded to wake up my toddler and get him ready for daycare. I called in to my work and explained that I was having my baby today so I, of course, would not be in that day. I was very calm and not scared at all. This felt right. The contractions were normal and spaced out nicely, not too painful yet. I packed up my son into the car and drove him to daycare. I called my Ex from there and told him to meet me at the hospital, this was it. The daycare lady thought I was a little strange for driving myself but I assured her that I was just fine.
I arrived at the hospital at around 8:30 AM. Their Father and my Super Mom were close behind. All was normal. I hung out in the room, sipped on broth, rocked in a chair and watched reruns of The Cosby Show. Once my labor became more active, I agreed to some pain medication. I think it was something that started with an N, although I do not remember for sure. It burned like crazy going up my arm and into my blood stream. Within minutes I was knocked out cold and drooling on my pillow like some kind of zombie. I woke up during the stronger contractions and then fell right back into unconscious sleep. This was not really the experience I had had in mind. The majority of my day was lost to me. Later on in the evening I came to and gave birth to my second beautiful son. I had an epidural and was able to deliver him by Vbac, vaginal birth after cesarean. He was born around 7:30 at night, about a twelve hour event. Not bad, time wise, I just wish I had been conscious for more of it. Oh well. Should of, would of, could of.
The day I gave birth to my daughter in 2009, another Vbac delivery, everything went perfectly. At around 9:00 AM I knew that I was in labor. Slow and steady. I was having small contractions every twenty minutes all throughout the day. It was New Year's Eve and we had no big plans, no reason to rush. I took a long relaxing bath and braided my hair. I painted my nails nice and did my make-up, nothing fancy, just enough to make me feel pretty. I sat in the recliner for most of the day and rocked slowly. I watched Romancing the Stone and reminisced of the night my husband and I had our first kiss while watching the same movie years before. Nostalgic. My husband was supposed to be at work by 4:00 PM. My contractions were not any closer or stronger yet so I assured him I was fine and let him go. My sons were home with me and plenty old enough to call someone in case of emergency, but I felt just fine anyway. At about 4:45 PM I had some quick changes in my contraction intensity and proximity and realized it was time to get up and get to the hospital. I calmly told my sons that they needed to go brush their teeth and pack a bag of entertainment because it was time for us to go to the hospital. They were surprised and stared at me for a moment, then they realized that I was serious and they got excited and ran upstairs. They did not take very long. I, meanwhile, warmed up the car. We were having a record cold winter and this night was no exception. I called my husband and told him to meet us at the hospital, too bad he drove all the way to work for nothing. I could feel his excitement through the phone. I then called my Mom and told her to meet us at the hospital too. By 5:30 PM, we were all set, the boys were in the waiting room with other excited family members. I elected to have another epidural but absolutely none of the other drugs. I would not miss any of this birth. I wanted to be awake. I wanted to remember. And I do.
She was born at 9:30 PM. Nice and short delivery. No complications. Everything went smoothly. There was a Blue Moon hanging in the sky that night. I will never forget the moment my sons came in to meet their baby sister. The love in their eyes was indescribable. The were practically vibrating from the love and excitement radiating from their bodies. Melted my heart.
In the next six to nine weeks I will be back in the hospital doing it all over again. I do not want a cesarean birth again. The time it takes to heal and all the restrictions to follow are not as easy once you have more children to take care of. I do not want to be out of commission for that long. I also know that I may not have a choice. At my last appointment the babies were both head up, or in breech position. The doctor assured me that there is still plenty of time for two busy babies to flip over and face head down. I know he is right but I can't help thinking about how little space that they have compared to a baby in there all alone. Only time will tell.
My doctor mentioned that with twin pregnancies they usually schedule the cesarean delivery for 38 weeks, two weeks before the regular anticipated delivery date. At first this made sense to me but the more that I think about it, the more I don't like it, deep down in my gut. I have done some research and came across a documentary called The Business of Being Born made by Ricki Lake a few year ago. It was very eye opening and it really got me thinking about my wants and wishes compared to the motives and rules of modern medicine, hospitals, insurance companies, etc. I know in my heart that I do not want to be cut open again if I do not have to be. I need to have a long talk with my doctor at my next appointment.
This will be my last birthing experience. I am older, stronger and wiser. I will not endanger the babies but I will also not be pushed into something I do not want to do. There is a part of me that feels like I may be able to handle giving birth naturally without any drugs or interventions. I have not decided this for sure but it is rolling around in my brain at the moment. If the babies are breech and I have to have a c-section, so be it. I get it and their safety comes first. I do not want to schedule it at 38 weeks though. I want the babies to stay inside me as long as possible. The longer they stay in, the healthier and more ready for the world they will be. The longer they stay in, the better their chances are of flipping head down and allowing a vaginal birth. Sure, it might suck for me physically, but that is not the point. A couple more stretch marks, big deal. A couple more weeks of swollen ankles and restless nights, so what. Worth it if it is for them.
My husband is not so sure about the "no intervention" child birth experience and I understand why. It has to be so hard to stand by while someone you love is in pain and there is nothing you can do to make them feel better. Maybe that person actually yells out and says stupid or mean things to you unintentionally while you stand by and try to be supportive and helpful. Were I looking in from his side, I can kind of see it. I still think I might be strong enough, given the chance. This is my last opportunity to try. I feel that if I am so lucky that both babies flip over head down and there are no other unforeseen complications, that will be my sign. That will be my sign that I should go ahead and give natural child birth a shot. The chance to make this special and unique. A chance to prove to myself that I am strong and I can make it, stay awake for it and see it through in a completely different way. A way that used to be the only way. The only way for thousands of years before my time on this earth. I will be in a safe place. Should any complications arise, I will be in expert hands. I may even chicken out and beg for the epidural in the end. I just don't want the choice taken away from me. I want to be in the driver's seat. I want the chance to decide. This will be a memorable experience no matter the outcome. I am not scared. I am almost there. I have my amazing husband and my Mom at my side. I think I can do this.
*** The sequel to this post about the birth experience of my twins is here: I Pushed & They Shoved
Rewind almost fourteen years ago, I was twenty years old and in labor with my first born son. When I went into labor, at first, I did not know that I was in labor yet. I was at a party being thrown for my Ex and myself. Our last big Hoorah before being grounded for life. Everyone was having a good time; touch football, beer, food, friends. I sat at the picnic table outside and crocheted while chatting with the ladies. I started to feel just a little off, sort of sick to my stomach with a little lower back ache. No big deal, I could just go inside and lay on the couch for a bit. I was fine. Hmm.
Lucky for me, the friend who was throwing us the party has a mother who was an RN. When she came in to replenish the party food, she saw me laying there in her living room and started in with the questions. She then quickly got her mother on the phone who suggested I get to the hospital as soon as possible because I was obviously in labor. Also, we were partying in Buffalo, MN and our hospital of choice was in Fridley, MN. A little bit of a drive. I was two weeks away from my due date and caught off guard. Needless to say, we were on the road within minutes, shortly after 7 PM. Around forty five minutes later we arrived at the hospital. My Mom had arrived too, my rock. The doctor quickly determined that my stubborn son was in a breech position, sitting cross-legged over the exit, so to speak, and my contractions were coming much faster and harder. They were going to have to do an emergency C-section but I had eaten dinner at the party only a couple hours earlier so they wanted to hold off as long as possible. You are not supposed to eat for twelve hours before major surgery with anesthesia because of the increased risk of vomiting and then choking on it. Glamorous.
Just before midnight, they could not wait any longer for the sake of the baby and I was rushed to the operating room. Bright lights, people in masks everywhere, stainless steel glinting, big blue curtain thrown up in front of my face to block the view, completely numb from the shoulders down, throwing up into a little plastic tub, the Father of my child staying close but with fear in his eyes, constant commotion...and then...the baby cries out. Sweet relief, but only momentarily. He is quickly held up to my face for a look-see. Then he is just as quickly taken away for a bit while I get stitched, stapled, cleaned up, poked and prodded, sick a little more and, of course, Morphined. I had told his father to go be with him, I would be fine. The baby needed one of us there.
Once we were back in our room it was much more calm and quiet. Thank goodness. Family trickled in through the wee hours to see the first grandchild/nephew. It was very nice and we were so proud and in love with our new bundle. Everything was great, everything except for the itching. Oh my God, the itching! I could literally have scratched my face off. Hold my hands down and tell me to stop scratching. But it itches so much!...I learned that I was allergic to Morphine that night. Good to know.
In the weeks to come, my incision became infected and I had to be put on antibiotics. Kind of a scary thing though; sitting in bed, reading a book, minding my own business and then I look down and see blood spreading on the front of my shirt by my abdomen. It all worked out OK in the end but I was freaked out for a bit. I had a few anxiety dreams after that of my insides falling out and I could not get them back in for the life of me. Shudder.
That was my first time. My second was quite a different experience. I was twenty two years old and now had a twenty month old son. I woke up at 7:00 in the morning, as usual. I knew immediately, this time, that I was in labor. My sons' Father was at work already and I proceeded to wake up my toddler and get him ready for daycare. I called in to my work and explained that I was having my baby today so I, of course, would not be in that day. I was very calm and not scared at all. This felt right. The contractions were normal and spaced out nicely, not too painful yet. I packed up my son into the car and drove him to daycare. I called my Ex from there and told him to meet me at the hospital, this was it. The daycare lady thought I was a little strange for driving myself but I assured her that I was just fine.
I arrived at the hospital at around 8:30 AM. Their Father and my Super Mom were close behind. All was normal. I hung out in the room, sipped on broth, rocked in a chair and watched reruns of The Cosby Show. Once my labor became more active, I agreed to some pain medication. I think it was something that started with an N, although I do not remember for sure. It burned like crazy going up my arm and into my blood stream. Within minutes I was knocked out cold and drooling on my pillow like some kind of zombie. I woke up during the stronger contractions and then fell right back into unconscious sleep. This was not really the experience I had had in mind. The majority of my day was lost to me. Later on in the evening I came to and gave birth to my second beautiful son. I had an epidural and was able to deliver him by Vbac, vaginal birth after cesarean. He was born around 7:30 at night, about a twelve hour event. Not bad, time wise, I just wish I had been conscious for more of it. Oh well. Should of, would of, could of.
The day I gave birth to my daughter in 2009, another Vbac delivery, everything went perfectly. At around 9:00 AM I knew that I was in labor. Slow and steady. I was having small contractions every twenty minutes all throughout the day. It was New Year's Eve and we had no big plans, no reason to rush. I took a long relaxing bath and braided my hair. I painted my nails nice and did my make-up, nothing fancy, just enough to make me feel pretty. I sat in the recliner for most of the day and rocked slowly. I watched Romancing the Stone and reminisced of the night my husband and I had our first kiss while watching the same movie years before. Nostalgic. My husband was supposed to be at work by 4:00 PM. My contractions were not any closer or stronger yet so I assured him I was fine and let him go. My sons were home with me and plenty old enough to call someone in case of emergency, but I felt just fine anyway. At about 4:45 PM I had some quick changes in my contraction intensity and proximity and realized it was time to get up and get to the hospital. I calmly told my sons that they needed to go brush their teeth and pack a bag of entertainment because it was time for us to go to the hospital. They were surprised and stared at me for a moment, then they realized that I was serious and they got excited and ran upstairs. They did not take very long. I, meanwhile, warmed up the car. We were having a record cold winter and this night was no exception. I called my husband and told him to meet us at the hospital, too bad he drove all the way to work for nothing. I could feel his excitement through the phone. I then called my Mom and told her to meet us at the hospital too. By 5:30 PM, we were all set, the boys were in the waiting room with other excited family members. I elected to have another epidural but absolutely none of the other drugs. I would not miss any of this birth. I wanted to be awake. I wanted to remember. And I do.
She was born at 9:30 PM. Nice and short delivery. No complications. Everything went smoothly. There was a Blue Moon hanging in the sky that night. I will never forget the moment my sons came in to meet their baby sister. The love in their eyes was indescribable. The were practically vibrating from the love and excitement radiating from their bodies. Melted my heart.
In the next six to nine weeks I will be back in the hospital doing it all over again. I do not want a cesarean birth again. The time it takes to heal and all the restrictions to follow are not as easy once you have more children to take care of. I do not want to be out of commission for that long. I also know that I may not have a choice. At my last appointment the babies were both head up, or in breech position. The doctor assured me that there is still plenty of time for two busy babies to flip over and face head down. I know he is right but I can't help thinking about how little space that they have compared to a baby in there all alone. Only time will tell.
My doctor mentioned that with twin pregnancies they usually schedule the cesarean delivery for 38 weeks, two weeks before the regular anticipated delivery date. At first this made sense to me but the more that I think about it, the more I don't like it, deep down in my gut. I have done some research and came across a documentary called The Business of Being Born made by Ricki Lake a few year ago. It was very eye opening and it really got me thinking about my wants and wishes compared to the motives and rules of modern medicine, hospitals, insurance companies, etc. I know in my heart that I do not want to be cut open again if I do not have to be. I need to have a long talk with my doctor at my next appointment.
This will be my last birthing experience. I am older, stronger and wiser. I will not endanger the babies but I will also not be pushed into something I do not want to do. There is a part of me that feels like I may be able to handle giving birth naturally without any drugs or interventions. I have not decided this for sure but it is rolling around in my brain at the moment. If the babies are breech and I have to have a c-section, so be it. I get it and their safety comes first. I do not want to schedule it at 38 weeks though. I want the babies to stay inside me as long as possible. The longer they stay in, the healthier and more ready for the world they will be. The longer they stay in, the better their chances are of flipping head down and allowing a vaginal birth. Sure, it might suck for me physically, but that is not the point. A couple more stretch marks, big deal. A couple more weeks of swollen ankles and restless nights, so what. Worth it if it is for them.
My husband is not so sure about the "no intervention" child birth experience and I understand why. It has to be so hard to stand by while someone you love is in pain and there is nothing you can do to make them feel better. Maybe that person actually yells out and says stupid or mean things to you unintentionally while you stand by and try to be supportive and helpful. Were I looking in from his side, I can kind of see it. I still think I might be strong enough, given the chance. This is my last opportunity to try. I feel that if I am so lucky that both babies flip over head down and there are no other unforeseen complications, that will be my sign. That will be my sign that I should go ahead and give natural child birth a shot. The chance to make this special and unique. A chance to prove to myself that I am strong and I can make it, stay awake for it and see it through in a completely different way. A way that used to be the only way. The only way for thousands of years before my time on this earth. I will be in a safe place. Should any complications arise, I will be in expert hands. I may even chicken out and beg for the epidural in the end. I just don't want the choice taken away from me. I want to be in the driver's seat. I want the chance to decide. This will be a memorable experience no matter the outcome. I am not scared. I am almost there. I have my amazing husband and my Mom at my side. I think I can do this.
*** The sequel to this post about the birth experience of my twins is here: I Pushed & They Shoved
Wednesday, August 1, 2012
Waiting Patiently
Thank you all for waiting so patiently for me to get back into the swing of things. I have also been waiting patiently, as that is all I can do at this point. I am now 28 weeks into my pregnancy with fraternal twin bouncing baby boys. The proverbial dust has settled since our shocking and life altering discovery of their existence in my practiced womb. Our three children are on board and excited for new siblings to arrive. The entire family that surrounds us have been so supportive and it feels like we have our own personal cheering section. We are ready...as ready as we can expect to be at his point.
I have the basic necessities. Diapers, clothes, blankets, etc. I am not stressing to have all the superfluous items at this point. I am in no condition to be stressed out. I have been down this familiar road before and now know what I will need immediately and what kind of things that can just wait. For example, I have two cribs, two swings, two activity bouncers and another high chair available to me but I have decided not to worry myself with getting these things home and set up yet. I realize that the babies will be quite small and that my play pen and breasts will suffice until I am ready. When the babies come home, I realize I am going to have nothing but time to set up my nest. I have no reason to hurry this process. This will be my last dance with newborns of my own body and I am going to relax and absorb the whole experience. I am going to enjoy it.
Changes are lurking around every corner for us. We have a lot on our plate and are staying focused on some goals. We already handled the car-is-too-small-for-a-family-of-seven problem. I traded in my Aztek for a Yukon and we are extremely happy with this decision so far. I was determined not to drive a mini van. I know that there are many of them out there and to each their own but I am just so not "that girl". I am still a wanna-be rock star at heart and a mini van would cramp my style. Ha!
Our house is quite old and in the current market we know that we could not sell it as fast as we need to or for nearly as much as we would want to. We are in the middle of a refinance instead with the hopes of keeping and renting our home so we can move on to a bigger and better one. Three bedrooms won't cut it for long with five kids. We have always been interested in owning rental property and this may be our first chance. Unfortunately, we are on quite a time crunch and I am waiting patiently for the results of the refinance. My last day at work is at the end of September, as long as the babies stay put. In order for this whole plan to work out we need both our incomes to qualify for a second mortgage. If it doesn't work out we will, of course, remain in our current abode, it will just be a tight fit. Plenty of families live with as little or less and we will be fine if it comes to that. For our plan to work we just need to find a house, make an offer, get it accepted and then close on the new house within the next nine weeks or so. What? It could happen, right? I am staying positive and on track. It is all I can do.
I recently gave my notice at my job. I will not be returning to work after my maternity leave. I have given up my career for an indefinite length of time to stay home with the children. Lucky for us, my husband graduated last December and found a great job just minutes from our home. We could not be happier with his choice of employer and it could not have come at a better time for us as a family. Without the cost of daycare any longer, we will survive. We do not live extravagantly and are very practical people. We have lots of love and each other. We are aware that it will be hard at times but it will all turn out okay and we will only grow closer from the experience. This will be our next chapter.
Summer is fast coming to a close and we have a child beginning High School this September. We just finished with our sons' baseball seasons a few weeks ago and Fall baseball is beginning in less than three weeks. August will be full of preparations for school, buying supplies, going through the kids clothes, orientations, summer camp and more. It has been the hottest summer in recorded world history and I get to be pregnant for it. Something for the babies to hear about and enjoy, at my expense. Completely worth it, though. In a month we will be back into the routine of homework, baseball practice and games, band events, other extracurricular activities the kids throw at me, volunteering for the school as I can and then, you know, giving birth and all that. Nothing I can't handle. As long as I can stay off bed rest.
I have the basic necessities. Diapers, clothes, blankets, etc. I am not stressing to have all the superfluous items at this point. I am in no condition to be stressed out. I have been down this familiar road before and now know what I will need immediately and what kind of things that can just wait. For example, I have two cribs, two swings, two activity bouncers and another high chair available to me but I have decided not to worry myself with getting these things home and set up yet. I realize that the babies will be quite small and that my play pen and breasts will suffice until I am ready. When the babies come home, I realize I am going to have nothing but time to set up my nest. I have no reason to hurry this process. This will be my last dance with newborns of my own body and I am going to relax and absorb the whole experience. I am going to enjoy it.
Changes are lurking around every corner for us. We have a lot on our plate and are staying focused on some goals. We already handled the car-is-too-small-for-a-family-of-seven problem. I traded in my Aztek for a Yukon and we are extremely happy with this decision so far. I was determined not to drive a mini van. I know that there are many of them out there and to each their own but I am just so not "that girl". I am still a wanna-be rock star at heart and a mini van would cramp my style. Ha!
Our house is quite old and in the current market we know that we could not sell it as fast as we need to or for nearly as much as we would want to. We are in the middle of a refinance instead with the hopes of keeping and renting our home so we can move on to a bigger and better one. Three bedrooms won't cut it for long with five kids. We have always been interested in owning rental property and this may be our first chance. Unfortunately, we are on quite a time crunch and I am waiting patiently for the results of the refinance. My last day at work is at the end of September, as long as the babies stay put. In order for this whole plan to work out we need both our incomes to qualify for a second mortgage. If it doesn't work out we will, of course, remain in our current abode, it will just be a tight fit. Plenty of families live with as little or less and we will be fine if it comes to that. For our plan to work we just need to find a house, make an offer, get it accepted and then close on the new house within the next nine weeks or so. What? It could happen, right? I am staying positive and on track. It is all I can do.
I recently gave my notice at my job. I will not be returning to work after my maternity leave. I have given up my career for an indefinite length of time to stay home with the children. Lucky for us, my husband graduated last December and found a great job just minutes from our home. We could not be happier with his choice of employer and it could not have come at a better time for us as a family. Without the cost of daycare any longer, we will survive. We do not live extravagantly and are very practical people. We have lots of love and each other. We are aware that it will be hard at times but it will all turn out okay and we will only grow closer from the experience. This will be our next chapter.
Summer is fast coming to a close and we have a child beginning High School this September. We just finished with our sons' baseball seasons a few weeks ago and Fall baseball is beginning in less than three weeks. August will be full of preparations for school, buying supplies, going through the kids clothes, orientations, summer camp and more. It has been the hottest summer in recorded world history and I get to be pregnant for it. Something for the babies to hear about and enjoy, at my expense. Completely worth it, though. In a month we will be back into the routine of homework, baseball practice and games, band events, other extracurricular activities the kids throw at me, volunteering for the school as I can and then, you know, giving birth and all that. Nothing I can't handle. As long as I can stay off bed rest.
Thursday, May 10, 2012
The Clouds Begin to Part
After my doctor's appointment yesterday morning I am feeling a whole lot better, mentally that is. The heavy gray clouds that have been floating above my head like Eeyore's for the last thirteen weeks are finally dissipating. Some people very dear to me have been worried about me and I am sorry for that. Others seem to think that I was/am not happy that I am pregnant. This is truly not the case. I am very happy to be pregnant one last time. My husband and I planned to do this together one last time. I have just been extremely afraid and on edge lately. I tried not to let it show but apparently I sucked at my attempt. Oops.
When I was pregnant with my three previous children I was happy the whole time. Of course there was the feeling sick times and the feeling tired times, but all around I was quite happy. Last fall I became pregnant and was so very happy. My last baby was on it's way. I found out on a Thursday morning in November and was, as usual, instantly in love. It is almost indescribable how quickly I fall in love. Two days later, on a Saturday night, I miscarried. I had only known about the baby for two short days but it hurt me deep down to lose it just the same. I try to keep my experience in perspective. I know that my measly two days are nothing compared to the experiences other mothers have had to endure. I did not realize how much it had hurt me until February when I became pregnant again, with my amazing, yet shocking, twins. Not only am I at a little higher risk of complications due to being blessed with twins but I now had this little dark cloud in my mind about the very realistic possibility of it all coming to an abrupt end.
Since February I have felt scared to become to attached to them. I have been hesitant to think to far into the future with them for fear of losing them. It was not quite as fun to think of names yet. I was made to wait six weeks between appointments this last time because I am doing just fine medically. Six weeks was far too long for my constant worrying brain. From weeks ten through weeks sixteen of the pregnancy we were still in a big danger zone. Miscarriage is more likely in the first trimester and Vanishing Twin Syndrome is not that uncommon up to around week twelve, something I came to find out after much research on my part. By week sixteen it is very normal not to really feel the babies move much yet. All of these facts were sitting right smack dab in the middle of my head. It has truly been a long six weeks for me. And I was already tired, to boot.
Yesterday morning, my husband and I went to my sixteen week appointment. Since I am having twins, my wonderful Doctor likes to do an ultrasound to check the babies heartbeats in order to tell them apart easier, which means I get to see them every time I go in. Yesterday, the moment I saw the first beautiful thing on the screen, it gave a little wiggle and brought a tear to my eye. Very quickly, the Doctor moved onto the next sweet little being and I saw that one wiggle too. A huge weight was immediately lifted from my weary shoulders. They are still in there and they are just fine. They are alive and kicking, literally. I will begin to feel their tiny ninja moves very soon. They are truly breath taking and they are all mine. Sigh of relief. Ahh.
Last night I was able to sit down and really write down a list of possible baby names, which is always super fun for me. I feel like I slept a little more sound. I am feeling so much more relaxed and am jonesing to garage sale like a crazy person, tee hee. I know that things can still go wrong because I am realistic. It is possible I could have pre-term labor, complications of all different kinds and even get stuck on bed rest while trying to raise three great kids at the same time. I just feel a whole lot better about the whole situation and am thinking positive thoughts. I feel happy and content. I am still tired, which is to be expected, and my appetite is finally starting to appear full throttle. I know it is going to be a long, hot and busy summer...but I am actually looking forward to it.
When I was pregnant with my three previous children I was happy the whole time. Of course there was the feeling sick times and the feeling tired times, but all around I was quite happy. Last fall I became pregnant and was so very happy. My last baby was on it's way. I found out on a Thursday morning in November and was, as usual, instantly in love. It is almost indescribable how quickly I fall in love. Two days later, on a Saturday night, I miscarried. I had only known about the baby for two short days but it hurt me deep down to lose it just the same. I try to keep my experience in perspective. I know that my measly two days are nothing compared to the experiences other mothers have had to endure. I did not realize how much it had hurt me until February when I became pregnant again, with my amazing, yet shocking, twins. Not only am I at a little higher risk of complications due to being blessed with twins but I now had this little dark cloud in my mind about the very realistic possibility of it all coming to an abrupt end.
Since February I have felt scared to become to attached to them. I have been hesitant to think to far into the future with them for fear of losing them. It was not quite as fun to think of names yet. I was made to wait six weeks between appointments this last time because I am doing just fine medically. Six weeks was far too long for my constant worrying brain. From weeks ten through weeks sixteen of the pregnancy we were still in a big danger zone. Miscarriage is more likely in the first trimester and Vanishing Twin Syndrome is not that uncommon up to around week twelve, something I came to find out after much research on my part. By week sixteen it is very normal not to really feel the babies move much yet. All of these facts were sitting right smack dab in the middle of my head. It has truly been a long six weeks for me. And I was already tired, to boot.
Yesterday morning, my husband and I went to my sixteen week appointment. Since I am having twins, my wonderful Doctor likes to do an ultrasound to check the babies heartbeats in order to tell them apart easier, which means I get to see them every time I go in. Yesterday, the moment I saw the first beautiful thing on the screen, it gave a little wiggle and brought a tear to my eye. Very quickly, the Doctor moved onto the next sweet little being and I saw that one wiggle too. A huge weight was immediately lifted from my weary shoulders. They are still in there and they are just fine. They are alive and kicking, literally. I will begin to feel their tiny ninja moves very soon. They are truly breath taking and they are all mine. Sigh of relief. Ahh.
Last night I was able to sit down and really write down a list of possible baby names, which is always super fun for me. I feel like I slept a little more sound. I am feeling so much more relaxed and am jonesing to garage sale like a crazy person, tee hee. I know that things can still go wrong because I am realistic. It is possible I could have pre-term labor, complications of all different kinds and even get stuck on bed rest while trying to raise three great kids at the same time. I just feel a whole lot better about the whole situation and am thinking positive thoughts. I feel happy and content. I am still tired, which is to be expected, and my appetite is finally starting to appear full throttle. I know it is going to be a long, hot and busy summer...but I am actually looking forward to it.
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