In celebration of Thanksgiving, the boys got to try sweet potatoes!
The past few days have been a little rough. Around a week ago I started noticing I was having a few more contractions than usual. I knew I’d been contracting for a few weeks because my nurses had always pointed it out during my nonstress tests, but I hadn’t been able to feel it, and they didn’t seem worried about it. When I asked my doctor about it he said to come in if I was having contractions too strong to talk through for over an hour, and otherwise not to worry about them. I was a little surprised by that, but I know how to follow straight forward directions, so I appreciated that. So I already knew not to worry about feeling a few more contractions than usual. But come on. It’s me. I couldn’t completely ignore it. Part of me started wondering if we’d have these babies for Father’s Day. But then I remembered how early they’d be and their risk of NICU time, and I thought it’d be alright if they didn’t come quite yet.
Monday was our next appointment. That morning I woke up at 6:30 am to go to the bathroom and lost what I thought might be part of my mucus plug. Afterwards I noticed walking was a little more difficult. Of course I couldn’t go back to sleep. The appointment started about two hours later, and I just lay in bed wondering if today would be the day. We started with an ultrasound and the tech asked how dilated I was. I said I didn’t know. I hadn’t been checked. She said, “Maybe they’ll check you today.” Read More
Nightmares are pretty common to parents after child loss. For weeks after Liam died my nights were mostly filled with nightmares. For the first three weeks K and I would stay up until 3 or 4 am watching Friends and sleep in until 1 or 2 pm. For some reason that seemed easier. Maybe it was waking up from nightmares to a bright room.
I am so ready for these babies to come.
I’m huge. I can’t see my feet. When I sit my belly rests on my legs and my boobs rest on my belly. And heaven forbid I drop anything in either of those crevices because I will never find it. Read More
After losing Liam, my perspective on baby showers changed completely. I had never thought about it too much before–it was just a nice tradition, kind of a given, that I knew would be part of my path to motherhood. I remember preparing for Liam’s gender reveal party and being a little peeved that we were planning on holding it almost an hour away from home, closer to K’s family but farther from my friends. But I figured I would get to include my friends in the baby shower, and that would make it all even. Read More
Tomorrow I’m getting maternity pictures taken. I’ve been looking forward to this for weeks, but I’ve also put off any planning related to it. I still have no idea what I’m going to wear, or how I’m going to do my hair, or even where we’re going to get he photos done. And it’s making me anxious.
And now it’s nearly 1 am, and I feel the anxiety in my chest and the babies aren’t moving, and I can. Not. Handle it.
So I pray that they’re okay and wonder how long I can try to wake them before telling K we need to go to labor and delivery, and then I poke a prod and play music and shine flashlights until finally I feel a flutter. And then a kick. And then one of my little lumps comes out and pressed into the palm of my hand. But I can’t let my breath out yet. Not until I know they’re both okay. So I keep poking and the lump pokes back, and so does another lump, and I keep poking until I’m sure the two lumps aren’t connected. And then both lumps push their little backs against my skin and for the first time in a long time I know exactly where they are, and I place a hand on each of them and breathe a sigh of relief.
I keep playing the music and let myself calm down, but I hope the babies don’t. Not for a little while longer. If I could fall asleep to the lullaby of Snow Patrol and baby feet, that would be heavenly.
And I don’t really care what I wear tomorrow. I just want these babies to stay alive. I just want to know I’m not tempting fate. And that I’m not selfish for wanting beautiful pictures when our family has been through so much ugly. And that my family pictures can still be beautiful even if they aren’t perfect–even if someone is always missing. Because it’s my family and no one else’s, and that makes them perfect. And that it’s okay to smile about these boys even though I miss Liam. That celebrating the good things doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten the bad. Or that Liam is any less important to us. I just need to know that’s all okay. And I need my babies to kick a little longer until my heart tires out of this anxiety and sleep comes.
This week is hopefully going to be our first week since finding out about this pregnancy that we won’t be seeing a doctor. This was supposed to happen 4 weeks ago, but I ended up in labor and delivery (but still haven’t finished writing a post about that! 😩) because I was having trouble breathing at night and my nurse wanted to be on the safe side (everything was totally fine. I just have baby feet on my lungs). So, the bad news is that means no pictures this week. Which is super hard. I love seeing the babies.
The good news is that because we’ve made it this far, the babies are very active, so I still sort of get to see them. Read More
I had an anxiety attack today. It’s been a good long while since I’ve had a real attack, but this morning one got through. For the most part, the farther along I get carrying these babies, the more relaxed I feel. Or at least, that would make sense… Right? In reality it’s not all that linear. Read More
I’m definitely preoccupied with the weather and Easter candy reminding me of the first three weeks after Liam’s death and with the twin’s growth scan tomorrow and viability date on Wednesday, but I could never forget today was my third due date, and there’s still part of me that aches for that third pregnancy and the baby we thought there was.
On Wednesday I will be 24 weeks pregnant. This is a huge milestone, as 24 weeks is generally considered the “viability” milestone, or the earliest a baby has a chance at surviving on his own. Most doctors will not attempt to resuscitate a baby born at less than 24 weeks gestation. Every week after 24 only gets better. K and I have been holding out for 26 weeks, because by that point a baby has a 80-90% chance of survival outside the womb. Read More