Ah, yes. Wednesday weekly update time!
Thirty five weeks. Isn’t that crazy? Wait, don’t I say that all the time? I’m still kind of baffled by the fact that I’ve made it this far. I remember early in my pregnancy when I put a note in my calendar on each Wednesday, marking the progress with a count for each week. And I remember how hard it was for me to fill in those weeks that fell past week 24. Would I really make it to viability? And I just noticed as I was filling in the next couple of weeks worth of appointments that I hadn’t bothered to label past 37, because 37 is ONE FULL WEEK past average twin delivery dates, and surely, I would not go past 37 weeks, right?
HAH. Yeah, well, who knows? I suppose I could go into labor at any point now, but there is the definite chance that I will go to 38 weeks. But the good news is that at Monday’s OB appointment, we went ahead and put the paperwork together for a scheduled caesarian to happen on the day I turn 38 weeks. So at the very most, we’ve got three weeks until we meet the boys.
Surreal. So. Completely. SURREAL.
It’s weird to me, because I thought that as probable delivery time approached that I would begin seeing the OB weekly, but he’s confident at this point that I don’t really need to be seen that frequently, especially since I’m having twice weekly non-stress tests. So, as I left Monday’s appointment, I scheduled what will 99.9% surely be my last OB visit and last ultrasound in two weeks. I will be a hair shy of 37 weeks at that point. Unless of course I go into labor before then.
There’s really not much news to offer from Monday’s appointment. As I like to say, tick, tick, tick. Things just flow along normally! I asked about prescription medications while in the hospital, because (1) after my last stay at this hospital, I was denied what I knew to be fairly essential drugs (allergy/asthma meds, and metform.in) because the nurse wouldn’t bother to speak with my doctor about it and (2) after my brief stop in L&D where I was charged THIRTY DOLLARS for two vico.din, I hate to have to pay for drugs I already have. So I asked my OB about this, because even a day or two without Singu.lair wreaks havoc on my lungs. And I’ve been taking met.formin throughout this pregnancy in an effort to give myself the best chance at nursing success* , so obviously after taking it for nine months, I really don’t want to suddenly stop taking this drug after I deliver right as I need to start actually producing milk. But anyway, my OB said that I could bring my own drugs and that they would be sent down to the hospital pharmacy to ensure that they are what they say they are and I would be allowed to take whatever I wanted while in the hospital. Which is good.
I know. I worry about the weirdest things. But I spend enough time awake in the middle of the night worrying about even stupider things (like whether or not the water in the hospital will taste gross, like all the other tap water in my city. And whether or not it will be totally weird to bring my own filter pitcher. And whether or not I can get an unending supply of ice and whether or not that ice will be the little crushed pellets of ice or cubes or the weird “D” shaped cubes. Seriously. 1 1/2 hrs of those exact thoughts rolling through my head in the middle of the night last night) that these ones that actually make it to the surface during daylight actually seem pretty normal.
Physically, each day with this pregnancy gets harder and harder. I’m tired. I ache. Moving from standing to sitting, or sitting to lying down, or any movement requiring any sort of gross motor coordination is downright painful at this point. I had a form that I needed to sign and send (seriously. online forms, people. technological revolution is upon us– why do I still have to mail in this physical form? stupid.), and it was almost blackout level pain to hold a pen and sign that stupid piece of paper. My feet are beyond comical in their dented swollenness, even though I keep them elevated for as much of the day as I can. I feel like I’ve been generally a pretty positive person throughout this pregnancy, but my attitude is quickly deteriorating. I think I’m still pretending that I can wait a few more weeks, but in truth, my body is DONE. This morning, I actually accused H of not trying hard enough to convince me to do an elective single embryo transfer (Um, yeah, even though I was the one who convinced *him* to be okay with transferring two…). He chuffed and reminded me that he had, in fact, been the one to repeatedly ask whether this was what we really wanted to do. Yeah, yeah. I told him he should have grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me while screaming, “MAY AND JUNE!! MAY AND JUUUUUNE!” when I suggested the transfer of two embryos**, but in truth, he knows (as I hope all of you do) that I am blissfully happy with our decision, and blissfully happy to be expecting these two boys and I couldn’t imagine it any other way at this point. My head and heart are so very, very happy, but my body is still kind of wondering WTF I was thinking, and whether or not this whole pregnancy thing was a good idea in the first place!
Feh. I’m just feeling like a real cranky-pants lately. I need to get over myself and just hunker down for these remaining days/weeks.
Oh, and it took 35 weeks, but I finally exhausted the capacity of existing stretch marks (one of the benefits of having been even fatter than I am now at some point in my life is that there were already stretch marks there to accommodate the growing belly), and I now have seven fresh angry red lines across the top of my belly. Sexxxy. Good thing I really, really don’t give a crap about my physical appearance. Vanity runs thin in my world (though I used to have beautiful feet. I really did. And now, they are horrid and misshapen. Here’s hoping they go back to something resembling normal or at least lose the swelling eventually…). Oh, and also in the world of pregnant oddities, I was getting out of the bath the other night and pressed on my boob a little too hard I guess, because there was a thin watery goo-ish substance that came out of my nipple. I tried it on the other side, and lo and behold– stuff. From my boobs. Weird. I mean, I know that it is to be expected, that it just means that the breasts are doing their job getting ready by making colostrum for the kiddos, but still. If you’ve never had stuff come out of your boobs before, it’s just a little bit weird that first time. I’m still in awe of the way all of this stuff is working out. It’s just… weird!
Ooh, and I did actually manage to begin packing, too. Denial, no more! There is a suitcase at the foot of my bed, and it has reading material, a nursing tank, a robe, and my travel bag of toiletries in it. Eventually, it will have more stuff in it (obviously), but the important thing is that I have actually started putting stuff together. I have a list that I am making my way through, piece by piece, and hopefully, before I go into labor, there will be some semblance of useful whatnot put together for my journey to the hospital. Per your advice, I will bring a pair of undies that I don’t care too much about and perhaps a gown, too, but I won’t get upset if I decide not to use them. As with all things for a preparer like me, I’d rather have something with me and not use it than to be sitting in the hospital really wishing that I would have brought whatever thing, or having to send someone back to our house to dig through my belongings to find whatever missing thing will complete my post-c-birth life.
And now, because you have all been so patient, here’s what you’ve all been waiting for, what you’re really here to see:
The Belly of Doom! As my friend, CC, said, “I can’t believe you’re still standing!” Hey, me, either!
So. That’s all the news that’s fit to print on my end of things! What’s up in your world???
*There have been a couple of studies that show that women who have PCOS have increased breast milk supply and thus increased overall success rates with the breastfeeding relationship if they manage their condition with metfo.rmin throughout their pregnancy and after.
**of course, given the shared placenta and chorion (and with that the increased chance of them being identical), I suppose the fact that there are now two babies could have been out of our control anyway.