Jenn's Journal

Worst Vacation Ever

Not the one we just got back from, that was actually kind of nice if you forget about the 80mph gusts of winds and the fact that the boys would. not. sleep. when we first got down there and cried until 1:30am.  But I've been hit with a bad case of blogger's block and realized that I've referenced The Worst Vacation Ever, but never actually told the story.  Without further ado:

The time was 1998.  Or 1999, I think I blocked it out.  The place was Ocean City, Maryland.  The participants were myself, my mother (who had just broken up with her second husband), my sister (who was 17 or 18), and her boyfriend who was 11 years older than her (and coincidentally 11 years younger than my parents) and will be referred to as Old Man.  My mom thought it would be nice for us to get away for the weekend so we headed to the beach.  My mom went down early in the day and I drove my sister and the Old Man (whom I did not like one bit) down later on.

As per our usual family Curse, the weather was terrible.  There was a hurricane rolling up the coast naturally.  Not ones to be deterred by a minor weather disturbance, we still went.  We decided, geniuses that we are, to venture into the outdoor hot tub.  We thought it was a little chilly for a hot tub, but thought maybe it just needed to warm up for a bit, turned it on, and hopped in.  Well, after about 15 minutes of sitting in chilly, swirling water, we realize it's not getting warm.  And the wind is picking up.  Yet, the wind was blowing so hard that none of us wanted to get out of the water and expose wet flesh to the elements.  So our band of Merry Men stayed submerged up to our necks in the cold, bubbling water until hypothermia set in and we made a run for it back to the hotel.  At the desk someone decides to inform us the hot tub is broken.  Thanks, Captain Obvious.

We head back to the room to warm up and go to bed.  I had no trouble going right to sleep, which means that everyone else did.  I snore.  Loudly.  They spent most of the night hitting me and rolling me over.  I think they made this part up.

The next morning we head out on the Boardwalk.  Hurricane force winds + sand = digging sand out of my scalp for the next week after we got back.  We stopped to play a game, one of those things where you shoot the water pistol and try to make the balloon pop.  We lined up Mom, Old Man, Sister, then me.  Old Man won.  The game attended shouted, "Dad won!", thinking he was our father.  He handed the prize to my sister who said, "Thanks, Dad!" thereby ensuring Old Man was in a bad mood the rest of the trip.  We pressed on, being sandblasted as we walked to some benches to look out at the ocean.  My mom just cried the whole time, being upset about the upcoming divorce. 

Weepy, Grouchy Old Man, Increasingly Grouchy Sister, and myself trudge back through the sandstorm to the hotel for the night.  Another sleepless night (for them).  We get up and just decide to go home.  I go into the bathroom to get dressed and drop my last pair of clean underwear into the toilet.  Grouchy Old Man and my sister decide to drive home with my mom, leaving me to drive home alone.  I head out to my car and notice the door is ajar.  Someone broke into my car, threw my CDs around, and stole the faceplate off my radio.  Not the whole radio, just the faceplate.  They can't use the faceplate alone and I can't use my radio without it.

So now I'm alone for a three hour drive without any music.  Great.  I stop about an hour into the ride to get gas.  I fill up and go to get in my car just to find that I've locked my keys in the car.  Of course the nearest locksmith is in the next town over, so I wait and wait and finally get my car unlocked.  $50 later, I'm on my way again.  Then I miss my exit and end up on the DC beltway and not the Baltimore beltway.

Roughly six hours later, I return home from what should have been a three hour drive, $50 lighter, no faceplate to the radio, feeling somewhat violated from having my car broken into, wearing yesterday's underwear since today's were wet with toilet water, sand embedded in my scalp, to find that my pet goldfish, that I'd had for eight years, had died.

And that was The Worst Vacation Ever.

Tit for tat, so to speak

Up until the last two weeks or so, I nursed the boys to sleep every single night.  It was our wind down, end of the day, one-on-one (except in the beginning when I'd tandem nurse) time.  They would either fall asleep or at least let me know they were ready, and I'd kiss them on their head, tell them goodnight and I loved them, make sure binkies, lovies, and bears were accessible, and lay them down to sleep.  It was a good routine.  I like it. 

Now we have a new routine.  They get their baths, get their jammies on, then the four of us climb into our bed and we read some stories.  We read one or two books then end with Goodnight Moon.  Then we say goodnight to everything we see on the way back to the nursery, then goodnight to each other.  I kiss them, tell them I love them, put them down and Dave and I walk out.  It's also a good routine.  I like it too, even if I can't get Christopher Walken's voice out of my head while reading Goodnight Moon.

I like that Dave and I get to put them down together.  It's a nice way to end the day.  But I can't help missing nursing them to sleep.  I have a feeling it's always going to be like this, discovering new things with them, but missing the old.  When a door shuts, a window opens, right? 

Poo-tastic

The world at large will be happy to know that our poo problems are no more.  After about a week of getting prunes at every meal, they started going pretty regularly.  Then I ran out of prunes.  By the way, prunes are a pain in the ass (no pun intended) to make if you make your own baby food.  They are sticky and need to by put through a strainer after you puree them.  Pain.

But anyway, I ran out of prunes and Nicholas got backed up again.  Once again we delved into the wonderful world of rectal temperatures.  Works like a charm, but I really don't want to get him dependent on that.  So back to the store, whipped up another batch of prunes and we were back in business.  Except they worked a little too well and both of them ended up with an episode of diarrhea.  I was worried it was the Evil Stomach Virus finally getting them, but that doesn't seem to be the case.  Luckily they escaped that.  (Hooray for breastfeeding!)  So no more prunes.

Thankfully, even though there is now a prune moratorium, everything seems to be moving right along.  Nicholas has developed a knack for starting to go as soon as I begin changing his diaper, treating me to an up close and personal view.  Lucky me gets to hold his legs up and cheer him on as he becomes a Play-Doh Fun Factory.

I think part of the problem was we just started solids too early.  I don't think their digestive systems were mature enough to really handle it.  Now that they are nearly six months old (!), they seem to be doing better.  Next time, if there is a next time, I think I'll wait till closer to six months to introduce solids.  They do seem to enjoy it though.  Even spinach.

And the winner is...

I didn't forget the contest!  The winners were:

1. What day will the babies be born? Laura!  She guessed August 1 and was right on.
2. How many minutes apart? Kristen!  She guessed 6 minutes apart and they were 40, but she was closest.  Kristen however decided to pass on the water bottle, so the next two closest guesses were five minutes made by Joanne and Tammy. 
3. How much will Arnie weigh? Shelley!  She guessed 6lbs 1oz and William, The Beastie formerly known as Arnie, weighed 7lbs 0.2 oz.
4. How much will Barney weigh? Sheri!  She guessed 5lbs 7oz and Nicholas, The Beastie formerly known as Barney, weighed 6lbs 0.3 oz.
5. How long will Arnie be? Joanne got it exactly at 19.25 inches.
6. How long will Barney be? Three people got this exactly right, Joanne, Amy, and Geepeemum.
7. Special bonus question:  Guess each of their middle names. No one got this, sorry!

If you were one of the winners, you should be getting an e-mail from me.  Congratulations!

Live from labor and delivery

Alternate title: Mmmm....ice chips

I'm 5cm, 90 percent effaced, zero station. I've been on pitocin since 11 am. They broke my water around 3. Got an epidural around 4:30 then my blood pressure crashed, but it's ok now. Also had some trouble with hypoglycemia, but that's ok now too. Epidurals are a very good thing.

And we're off

Getting ready to leave for the amnio.  Scared, nervous, happy, sad.  If for some reason Arnie's lungs aren't mature and there is no induction today, I'll post here.  Otherwise...I'll update as soon as I can.  I can't believe this is really happening.

Remember the birth plan.  Everyone gets out of this thing alive.

Last Day

This is (probably) my last full day of being pregnant.  While there are a few things I won't miss like the pubic bone pain, wearing men's clothes, and four hundred trips to the bathroom a day, overall I'm really going to miss being pregnant.

I really love it.  I don't know if I would appreciate it as much if we hadn't been through all we had just to get here.  I think back to the three HSGs, the Clomid, the injections, the miscarriages, the surgery, the constant worry and disappointment and I wonder what it would have been like if it was easier.  Would I be as tolerant of the aches and pains?  Would I really understand what an amazing thing this is? 

I'm going to miss watching my belly grow, though if it grew much more I'd have to apply for it to have it's own zip code; I'm measuring 52 weeks pregnant (a whole year).  I'll miss feeling them squirm around in there.  I'll miss seeing the waves moving across my belly.  I'll miss just laying here, looking down and marveling at how we finally got here.  It really happened.

Mullet Mania

I'm distraught.

Last time I got my hair cut, the woman left the layers on top a little too long.  When they get too long (which was the whole reason I was in there in the first place) the top part of my hair decides to stick like glue to my scalp while the bottom part puffs out and I look like Bozo.  So yesterday I thought it would be a good idea to get my hair cut again since it was already too long on top and who knows when I'd be able to get out and get it cut again.

Just my luck, the only hairdresser available was the same woman who cut it last time.  I guess this is what I get for being cheap and going to a walk in place instead of getting an appointment somewhere nice.  Now normally when I go for a haircut, I just tell them to do what they want to it.  I figure they are the professionals.  They ought to know what will look good on me given the limitations of my extremely fine yet wavy hair.  This is the approach that backfired last time and I ended up with the Bozo look. 

Knowing what happened last time, I was very specific this time.  I told her an inch off the length and I wanted long layers again, but the top layers needed to be quite a bit shorter than what they were.

I'm afraid I now have a mullet.  What a sad day.

It's like a cross between the Florence Henderson mullet and the feathered hair of the 70's and 80's.  Not cool.  And there isn't much I can do about it but let it grow out and never ever go there again.  I'm just upset that all the pictures after having the boys will be with me sporting the Feathered Mullet.  Dave says it's not a mullet, but he wears speedos so his judgment is obviously impaired.  He also says it doesn't look bad, but he says I look pretty when I first wake up in the morning, which while endearing, just isn't true.

So make me feel better.  Tell me about your worst hair cut ever.  If you have pictures you'd like to share, e-mail them to me, and I'll add my own and have a whole post of bad haircut pictures someday.

Breastfeeding

Still here.

One of the biggest things I'm worried about is breastfeeding.  I really want to be able to exclusively breastfeed.  But I'm afraid it's going to be too hard, too time consuming, too everything, and I'll want to give up and quit before it starts to get easier.  I've taken the class, I've read the books, I've got the pump, the Boppys, the giant twin pillow, pretty much everything, except the confidence.  But, I'm going to do my damnedest.

Emmie at Better Make It A Double has started a few pages where people can share their breastfeeding  multiples stories.  So check it out and share your story if you've been through it.  She also had a link on another entry with some resources.  Another resource I've found is the breastfeeding forum on Twinstuff.

If you've been there, done that, what other resources did you find helpful?

The Date

Ok, new plan. 

Originally they wouldn't induce me until after I hit 38 weeks.  But yesterday, that changed.  The new plan is to have an amniocentesis on Tuesday (as in three more days!).  Once I picked my jaw up off the floor from envisioning a foot long needle being jammed into my belly, she explained.  They will do an amnio on Arnie and if his lungs are mature, I'll head right over to labor and delivery for an induction.

At which point I had to pick my jaw up again.  It was kind of like the old Looney Tunes cartoons where Daffy Duck's beak would get shot off by Elmer Fudd. 

So once I got my beak jaw back on, I got to ask some questions.  Why only do the amnio on Arnie?  Answer: Um, I'm still not entirely sure.  I swear I paid attention, but come one, needle!  Belly!  Ow!  Something about him being bigger and in position to come out first and if he's bigger because of my blood sugar than his lungs are likely to be the least mature.  I highly doubt he's bigger because of my blood sugars.  They've still be fairly well controlled.  My absolute highest numbers have been in the 160's.  Plus Arnie has been bigger from the very first ultrasound way back at 5w6d.  And if it was my blood sugar, uh, wouldn't they BOTH get bigger?

Next question:  Does it hurt?  Answer: It's like getting your blood drawn.  But dude, I've never had my blood drawn with something that looks like this.  Ouch.  So if you've had one done, please tell me what it's really like.  I want to be prepared.

Next question:  What are the risks?  Answer:  Uh, she didn't really answer that one either.  I said I knew when they are done earlier in pregnancy there is a risk of miscarriage, but that's not the issue here.  Best I can gather are the risks include: cramping, bleeding, leaking amniotic fluid, and poking a baby's a eye out.

So that's the plan, I'll go in Tuesday morning, have the amnio, wait around until we get the results (while being monitored) and if they are mature, induction.  If not immature, go home, do not pass go, do not collect $200.  So take a peak back here Tuesday evening.  If I get sent home, I'll post.  If not, well I'll be a little busy, so no post.

Of course, this is all assuming I don't spontaneously go into labor, which could happen, all together now, ANY DAY NOW.