There is a show on Discovery Health or TLC or some channel that I watch way too frequently these days called “Jon and Kate plus 8.” Now, I’ve never seen that show in its entirety, but the premise is that there is a couple – Jon and Kate – and they have 8 kids. Six year old twins and two year old sextuplets. Jon is Asian and Kate is your typical whitey. Anyway, the kids look nothing like Kate. In fact, at first I thought, oh, look, Kate has adopted 8 Asian children. But no, they are, in fact, the fruit of her loins.
Then last night I was watching Discovery Health “Special Delivery” (there should be a warning on that show “not suitable for viewing by hysterical women with complicated pregnancies”) and there was a woman named Ebony, who was African American, and she was married to a white guy and they had a baby and named her Ivory. Ivory is white. Not as white as Michael Jackson’s kids. But, her name suited her well.
So, this led me to think about our babies and what color they will be. I am sort of brown. Darker than an Italian, but lighter than Indian. You know, like regular Afghan coloring. Husband is white. So, what color will our kids be? Will they be white? Will they be brown? Will I have kids with white skin and blue eyes and if I do, will I recognize them as coming from me? And, what would be even more bizarre is if one of them was white with blue eyes and one of them had dark skin with brown eyes. Would husband love the one who looked like him more than the other one? And, would I feel the same? Or, would we not even notice, like parents of ugly children who think their kids are the cutest in the world.
Does Kate wish her babies looked more like her, and does Ebony wished the name Ivory actually had some irony to it? They don’t ask them those questions on TLC or Discovery Health. They should. That’s the stuff that this hysterical woman with a complicated pregnancy wants to know.Share on Facebook
It’s so exciting to see the changes that have been made to blogger since I’ve been away. The little blurb on the bottom now informs me that “Now blogger saves your drafts automatically!” Wow! In six months, technology has increased by leaps and bounds so that when I write a fifteen paragraph long post it won’t get lost in bloggerland? I feel like Rip Van Winkle!
I’m sure there is a lot going on in the world that I don’t know about. You’d think with all this time on my hands I’d be reading newspapers, gathering information, writing a book. Nope, none of the above. I even think knitting is too thought provoking for me right now. I mean, man, that is HARD. It has its own language and everything. Hats off to you hipster knitting chicks. I mean, its almost like rocket science. Almost.
I am now 28w3d pregnant. Since these are IVF babies, I know the exact date of conception, 11/25/2006. I even have a picture of the embryos. There were three of them. We’ve decided, as a little joke, we’d share that picture with the twins at some point and ask them “okay, now which one of you ate your brother” I mean, life is all about trauma inflicted upon you as a child, right? How many folks can say their parents accused them of in utero cannibalism?
I neglected to tell you all about the single childbirth class that husband and I went to. First of all, I am scared to death of getting these babies out. I mean, I know that they have to come out, but labor scares the crap out of me. C sections are also scary because I watch a lot of Discovery Health and I don’t know how I feel about being awake and alert while having major abdominal surgery. Anyway, someone who has a primal fear of childbirth should not take a childbirth class when they are barely 20 weeks pregnant, even if they are pregnant with twins and are soon to be bedbound. It is scary. They show you things you shouldn’t see. I mean, scary things. I won’t go into details. But, suffice it to say, we never went back.
So, there we are watching the video on different positions for labor — oh, you know that yoga/exercise ball you use? Yeah, now its called a ‘birthing ball’. Or you can walk around or get on all fours. Uh huh. You are supposed to make moaning sounds too like “ohhhhhh” “ahhhhhh” (however, they do not encourage you to yell “make it stop!!! Oh dear LORD!!!! What the Fuck!!!! MAKE IT STOP!! Like the woman in the birthing suite next to mine on one particular hospital trip. But that’s a story for another day.) Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, apparently one of the suggested methods of labor is called ‘slow dancing’ whereby you hold on to your labor partner and sway side to side a la the junior high dance. Apparently, the music of choice in laboring this way is Michael Bolton. Yes, you heard correctly, Michael Bolton. I am supposed to birth my babies, these precious beings we worked so long and hard to conceive, that I protected with all of my being, that I stayed in bed for for three months – I am supposed to propel them into the world and the first sounds they are to hear are. . .Michael. . . Bolton???
So, yeah, we never went back.Share on Facebook
Oh me oh my (yeah, now that I’m going to be a mother, I say crap like that) where to begin. I cannot believe it has been almost 6 months since I’ve updated this blog. I wonder if anyone will even notice that I’ve posted again. My four readers have probably left me, and I don’t blame them.
So, here is the shortened version of life these past few months. As you know, I found out I was pregnant with twins. I think I went into a state of shock, I really couldn’t do much except the minimal amount of work necessary to make sure I wasn’t leaving anything undone. Other than that, I was fraught with anxiety. I heard about things (thanks to stupid Google) that I’d never heard of before: vanishing twin syndrome, incompetent cervix, discordance, nuchal cords. I mean, the list is never ending. I thought I would feel less anxious after 12 weeks – ha! Fat chance. Things were progressing nicely, alhough my 5ft tall frame was not happy with the excess weight being put on it so I had to severely limit my activity at around 17 weeks. That worked out great until about 21 weeks when I stared contracting (hmm, what does a contraction feel like? they all tell you you’ll know when you feel it, but um, sometimes you don’t know and you take Gas X cause you think that’s what it is)
Anyway, I have been on bedrest for the past 7 weeks and have not been at work at all. I am not yet in preterm labor, and the dr. wants to avoid that so I lie here in bed all the time.
What do I do? Who knows. Netflix is great and I’m on season 3 of the sopranos. I try to do work but I get contractions and get distracted. I write 2 or 3 thank you notes a day to folks who gave gifts at my showers. I have visitors once or twice a week. I look forward to my shower since that is the longest I am upright in a day.
Mind you, I’m not complaining, not right this minute anyway. But you know how the bar exam is hard and cumulative finals are hard and like, general life is hard? Well, being afraid of losing babies is hard. Being in bed counting contractions is hard. In fact, I have never in my life done anything harder than this. After this, I don’t know that there is anything I can’t do. Seriously. Honestly. This is a true test of what one is made of. Turns out, I’m not as wussy as I thought I was!
The other thing that happens is your priorities start to shift. While work is incredibly important, it has now been resigned to the third row seat. I don’t know how or when that happened, but it did. The only thing that matters to me now is getting these babies here safely.
In other news- we have not found out the genders and will wait until they are born. In still further news, um, yeah, there isn’t any. See, I told you this blog was about to get lame!Share on Facebook
Yes, it is. In fact, it is going to get so lame that I don’t even know what the point is anymore.
For example, today, I want to understand the stigma behind owning and driving a mini-van. Why is it so different from an SUV? Why does husband have a fit every time I say the words “mini-van”.
I think I already have pregnant brain. If there is such a thing. I heard that being pregnant makes you dumb. I’m sure there is at least one woman out there who reads this who has been pregnant who can confirm or refute this myth.
Maybe if its true I’ll have it even worse because yesterday we saw two little fluttering heartbeats.
You read correctly. Two. Dos. Ummm. . . I don’t know how to say it in any other language. But there were two.
And that, dear friends, is why I’m thinking mini-van.Share on Facebook