Twisted Ovaries

The End of the Beginning

I started this blog as a way of trying to write about something that had become a part of me, namely my desire to be a mother. I needed a quiet place in blogland to do this, somewhere I could be anonymous, somewhere that certain people from my other site could never find (cough*family*cough). I had to have a place where I could write it all out, detail the E2 levels and document the number of embryos, all while getting the flotsam and jetsam out of my mind, as well as my ovaries. This site was designed to let me hide and work things out, and that failed some time ago when my family mysteriously discovered my site anyway (funny that. Also? Pisses me off.)

I thought about this space during some of my quiet time this week with Nick and Nora. The twins are, in my mind - to steal a famous line - practically perfect in every way. I know every mother says that, I'm next in the line. I just can't believe they're here, that they're real.

I started IVF nearly 6 years ago. After a number of cycles, I have a set of twins that I love with a fierceness that surprises even me. I wish more than I can say that the other women who got eggs of mine could have gotten pregnant. I am floored that "two average quality embryos" from the worst cycle I'd ever had could produce two little wonders like these two. It's all so impossible, yet here I am, looking at two silent sleeping forms.

We're just now home from the hospital. When I started typing this up in the fits and bursts of time I've had since they were born, I realized where I was in my life - at the moment I started writing this I hadn't bathed yet for the day. A bad night with Nick meant that half of me was covered with baby vomit. Two stains showed where some milk leakage had occurred. I had blood encrusted on the bottom of my gown. I was wearing net knickers with a pad that Nora would envy to catch the lochia, something they don't really tell you much about before you have a C-section. My fingers smelled like yogurt, which I ate as rapidly as I could that morning.

And I'd never been happier in my whole, entire life.

I am now showered and changed (thank god!) and the babies are snoozing in the bassinette next to me. They sleep better together. They sleep better swaddled. They both take immediate comfort from the sound of mine and Aidan's voices.

But even more so, somehow it feels like a chapter has ended. I fought and cried and battled and died, and I have two milk drunk muffins beside me who give me a greater sense of peace than a thousand hours of therapy (although the therapy is definitely a part of what makes me balanced enough to have them here, that's for sure). My pregnancy was the worst experience of my life. Arguments, worry, bleeding, fear, hospital stays, needles, blood pressure, kidneys, bladder, more bleeding, breathing, emergency C-sections, the sight of my boy in special care...it was a living hell. And if I only ever got one moment with these two babies in return for 36 weeks of hell, then it would still be worth every single second. The babies have become something that both Aidan and I can't wait to be around, can't wait to interact with. We both light up at the sight of them. We have both fallen in love, and in return, something between us seems to be even brighter than it had been before. I thought I loved him as much as I could possibly love another person before they were born. I was wrong. I'm even more in love with him now, too. 

I cannot have children on my own, but my own personal battle with infertility is over. No matter what happens in this crazy thing called the future, we are not going through IVF again. This is absolutely not a judgment on women with secondary infertility, in fact I have a greater, deeper respect and support for women that are battling secondary infertility, it's just for us I know without question that Aidan and I will not be having any more children. Nick and Nora round out the family in the most unexpected way and I will get down on my knees and thank whatever god lines up for thankage, but this is where my infertility and I part ways.

So I started this blog to try to get to a finish line, and now I'm there. I'm not turning my back on the infertile world, and I'm not walking away now that I've got what I want. As a mere function of time, though, I'm going to stop writing here and will write only on my main site from now on.

If you've been with me on what I unashamedly and sappily think of as the most amazing journey I've ever been on, then thank you. If you want to keep walking with me, I'll be updating on my other site as the babies and I grow up together. Come on over.

If you're still on the path that infertility has put you on, then I love you. I'm so sorry. If you want to email me and vent or come to my other site and comment then I would love to have you. If you can't, if it hurts, if it's too painful, then believe me - I understand. And I wish for you so much.

For all of you, those who have faced down the Needle Brigade with me, those who cheered and emailed and wrote and commented and hoped and prayed and laughed and yelled, then thank you. Thank you and I love you and I will never, ever forget a moment of who I am and what I went through.

Touchdown

The Lemonheads-called Nick and Nora in blogland-were born via emergency C-section at 1600 on October 3.  Everyone is fine, if a little tired, and Nick remains in special care.

Details to follow, pictures can be found here.

35 Weeks 3 Days

More monitoring yesterday, including a scan because one of the babies wasn't moving around very much.  Le Bebe is fine, just squished, so this is a shape of things to come, I guess - because he's not got much room I can expect fewer movements from him, whereas his sister is perched on the pillow of my diaphragm (and, if the increased pain and issues with heartburn are any indication, spends a lot of her time making my stomach uncomfortable).  She is very active still, and because she's nearly a full-sized baby her kicks hurt.  I've gained a total of 12 kilos (27 pounds) and am measuring as though I'm 38 weeks pregnant.  The skin on my stomach has lost feeling, it feels a lot like your cheek feels when you've been to the dentist and had Novocaine in your jaw - I can sort of feel it if I pull on my skin, but not really.

They get all the fun nutrients, whereas I get the remainders of bad health - my blood pressure is still far too high and I suffer headaches, starry vision, and have added dizzy spells to the frey.  I still have an infection, but since I'm keeping the pharmaceutical companies in business with antibiotics I remain on, I suppose that's ok.  Any and every time I give a urine sample it comes back positive for blood and leukocytes, so the doctors just resign themselves to me being Woman of Infection.  My kidneys are still overloaded dealing with my infections, my waste, and the waste of two babies. 

But hey - otherwise I'm fine.

I'm at 35 weeks 3 days today.  I go back in on Tuesday for a consultant appointment, whereby I will beg plead steal offer sexual services sell my soul make my case for a scheduled delivery week 37.  I'm ready.  I'm past ready.  We're also considering a C-Section now as it turns out turning a transverse baby (ECV) only has a 58% success rate, which is too low in my opinion.  The worst case scenario in this is if I am in labor for 10 days, push one out, then can't get the other one turned and have to have a C-section.  That's like getting hit by a bus AND an airplane. The doctors are sure that the babies won't be getting any larger, really, as they're out of space and the're a nice healthy size anyway.  If we give them a few more weeks for their livers to complete, we should be out of the woods.

Here's to hoping.

I don't know if you're bored of pics of pregnant women or anything yet, but I offer you up how I am looking these days (aka "like shit", as sleep is non-existant).

Don't laugh.

(You can click on the thumbnails to embiggen).

My Baby Can Beat Up Your Baby

Sorry about the silence - my family's been visiting, along with Aidan's kids.  It does not for easy blogging make. 

Things progress as usual here.  I'm in a real state, though - sleep has become something that one reminisces about, along with binge drinking and wearing size 8 clothes.  Over a 48 hour period I averaged 6 hours of sleep, and those 6 hours were constantly interrupted by contractions, trips to the toilet, and aches and pains - I can only sleep in one position now (on my right side, as there's a baby's head on the left that's poking out and if I lie on it it bangs painfully into my ribcage) and I'm not happy about it.  And although the doctors think I have lost my mucus plug, I've gained a new one in my head, so that when I sleep I'm something akin to Mr. Snuffleupagus. I have found comfort in the arms of one of my true lovers, a man I call Vick (last name Vap-o-Rub).  He's the man for me. 

On Sunday I had contractions every 4 minutes, for almost 24 hours.  At one point in the night (that point would be 3 am.  Not like I didn't notice that bastard sneak up on me or anything) I had contractions so painful I was trying to keep from vomiting.  I didn't go to the hospital because I didn't think I was in labor and sure enough, I wasn't (I know this as I haven't given birth yet, even though I want to.  That, and the contractions have slowed down.) 

Yeah, Sunday kinda' sucked.

We had our antenatal check today.  I'm going to be hauled in to the hospital every few days now as my blood pressure is much too high.  Pre-pregnancy my blood pressure was on the other side of dead it was so low.  Today I chalked up 140/93 and 160/85, both personal highs for me.  Blood tests last week showed my kidneys straining to handle both me and the twins, and a blood test today showed the uric acid levels a wee (ha!) bit higher still. 

But the babies are in fighting form.  Last week they were monitored and today they were monitored, and both times they were ruled "the most active babies the midwives had seen in some time".  Our daughter appears to be the firecest of the two, she takes some kind of personal exception to being monitored and gets a bit over-energized.  A midwife today proposed she's a bit sensitive to noise, which makes her rather like her mother, I think. 

The consultant today wanted us to consider a C-section, so we're considering it.  I don't mind having one, actually - it's the recovery time that I am worried about if I do have one, as I don't want to leave Aidan holding the bag, so to speak.  But we're in discussions here.

The consultant also said that he's confident I will go into labor soon, and if I don't he'll induce by 37 weeks.  Inductions seem to be hit and miss - last week we saw a female consultant and she said she'd induce around 38 weeks and a couple of days.  I like 37 weeks more.  I want 37 weeks.  My thoughts went something like this:

Consultant: I think that based on your blood pressure and the fact that the babies won't be growing very much more, and that they wouldn't need time in special care if born now, that we should induce you at 37 weeks.

Me: Don't fuck with me, doc.  Don't give me false hope.  I haven't slept since shoulder pads were still in fashion, don't even think about leading me down paths you have no hope of clearing.  If you say you'll induce me at 37 weeks, my gratitude will be huge.  I'll give you a baby, how's that?  That's fair.

I know I should be one of those who is all stomach-hugging, pregnancy-as-miracle-of-life type of women (because I am a vegetarian and a liberal, that is.  So obviously I must wear sandals and clothes made of hemp, right?).  I should be, but I'm not.  The babies are healthy.  If they are born now they will be ok.  So let's evict those suckers and get a move on with life, I can't take much more of this.  Constant infections, kidney problems, breathing problems, now sleep problems and massive contractions combined with blood pressure so high I see fucking stars?  Yeah.  Evict the babies. I'm mighty grateful my IVF cycle worked.  Now let's get on with things.

In the meantime, I'm on bedrest and lots of fluids.

You know, because asking a pregnant woman to get out of bed quickly is a real source of amusement.

PS-if I'm quiet, you can usually find me at my other site.  I can reach that one using my non-work PDA sometimes, so I'm more likely to update over there.

The Next Book Tour - "Love and Other Impossible Pursuits"

Mel's latest book tour took a slightly different turn this time, in that we read a book about a stepmother who has no children of her own, having just lost a baby to SIDS.  I was a bit dubious about this book, which is called Love and Other Impossible Pursuits, at first, namely because as I'm about to evict two babies of my own SIDS is one of the last things I want to read about, but mostly I was worried about the stepmother aspect. 

I am a stepmother.  I am a stepmother to a 15 year-old girl and a 10 year-old boy, who live largely in Sweden and whom we see about once a month, for a week in October/February/June, and for a two week holiday at some point in the year.  We have them every other Christmas, we get the "even years".  They are the light of Aidan's life in every sentimental way - particularly his daughter, as they are extremely close, always have been and always will be.  His son was born a sickly baby and still is a pretty sickly child, and as such he's more connected to his mother although he and his father have a strong, loving (if turbulent) relationship.  Aidan's daughter he calls his "Princess", though, and it's immediately obvious to anyone who spends time with them that she has a very special role in his heart.  Her birth was the only one he cried at of his two children.  I think a part of me fears that he won't cry at the birth of ours, either.

Coming in to this arrangement was very, very hard, not least because Aidan's ex is the Mistress of Satan not a fan of mine, nor am I a fan of hers.   But I am careful to never say anything negative about her around the children, and indeed one year I got the pleasure of helping them pick out - and pay for - Christmas presents for them to give her, something I now make Aidan handle. 

This book hit home in every possible way for me.  I was completely engrossed in it, and although I found the heroine a bit melodramatic at times, the basis of the book - her struggle with her stepson and the role he plays in their life - was all too familiar.  I too had that struggle.  I too had a screaming battle with Aidan one Devon evening, where I was put in my place and have remained firmly there, once and for all.  I too feel huge pangs of jealousy - not only do I only now have a great relationship with my father and can understand how father-daughter love works, but when you come in new to a situation and there's someone already holding a big key to the heart of the one you love, you find it hard.  Yes, they're kids.  Yes, of course they come first.  But if you've never had kids of your own (and I haven't) you just can't understand how that love really works.  Throw in a dysfunctional childhood and I was really  in left field.

Emilia, in the book, eventually starts to come around to her stepson William.  There comes a stage where she sees things in shops and wants to buy them for the kid, knowing it will make him happy.  She puts him first.  She starts to really love him.  And that's where I'm at, that's what I've got - I really love my stepkids, too.  I buy them things all the time for birthdays and Christmases, I have stashes of things everywhere.  I want them to be happy.  I want them to shine in their father's eyes.  I want them to grow up knowing that nothing ever got in the way of their being loved, not me, not anything. 

It doesn't mean it's not hard to deal with sometimes, because it is.  And yes, I'm about to have twins and hopefully a whole new world opens up to me, but I can tell you here and now one of my greatest, pettiest fears...I knew that someday Aidan's kids would get married, would have kids of their own, and I wouldn't be able to relate.  I would always be the stepmother, watching in heartbroken envy as the parents of two kids I love enough to be my own kids would be entitled to something I never would be entitled to. I would be there, on the pew or in my home, fervently buying gifts that I would hope wouldn't be stupid, holding hopes in my heart that I would get to participate, but I would know that I would never, ever know how it felt.  I would not have had kids.  I would not get those moments of pure and utter happiness.

It's stupid, but I think that if you ask every stepmother who couldn't have kids, she'll tell you there is one thing that hurts, that no matter how much love you get there's something that can never be healed by being included on the address of the Christmas card.

Anyway, the book - if you're a stepmom, particularly if you're a stepmom who cannot/does not have children of your own and has problems relating to the stepkids (of the younger variety, that is), then this book is for you. And if you're not a stepmom, then the one thing I can say about it is this: Being a mother, I have no doubt, is hard.  But being a stepmother is just that much harder.

So the questions I chose:

On page 65, Waldman writes, "She (Mindy) think we are members of the same sorority of pain, that we are sisters in grief… But when I'm with Mindy I'm afraid every minute that I'll that I will tell her she has no fucking idea that a curl of flesh and DNA floating in a toilet bowl full of blood is not a baby, and that the remnants of pregnancy running down your legs is nothing, nothing like holding your dead child in your arms…"  React to this statement as a woman who has lost a baby through miscarriage. In addition, can a similar sentiment apply to women experiencing different levels of infertility?  Is one person's "pain" moot in comparison to another's if one has only failed with IUI versus one who has failed with multiple IVFs?

I have had a miscarriage.  In fact, I've had two.  Maybe a miscarriage isn't like holding your dead baby in your arms, hopefully I never have to find out, but I utterly, truly and completely believe that loss is loss.  It fucking hurts like hell, no matter how far along you were.  Loss at 5 weeks and loss at 5 months is loss.  Further, I don't think there is a differentiation in infertility treatment - miscarriage is fucking awful, it doesn't matter if you miscarried after an IUI or IVF, it still hurts.  I want to say that miscarriage after fertility treatment hurts more than a natural miscarriage, where you get to try again, but who the hell do I think I am, putting a value on someone else's pain?  Loss is loss.  It hurts, no matter how you look at it, and as someone who has stared the DNA down the toilet bowl I can say there's something so hauntingly awful about it, so intrinsically nightmarish, that anyone who would ever try to compare the levels of pain between any kind of loss would not be possible around me. 

Emilia obviously deals with some self-destructive tendencies.  Can you relate to her feelings?  Have you dealt with self-destructive feelings on your journey to parenthood?

I wrote the book on self-destructive.   You want self-destructive, well, that was me. I've spent my life trying to destroy myself, and I made no exception when it came to trying to have babies.  After my last miscarriage last August I became one seriously bitter chick, complete with caustic aggression and biting anger, with regards to other women who became pregnant.  It was one big conspiracy.  I hated myself and my body, my sex drive was affected, my self-esteem hit rock bottom, and in general you'd be hard pressed to find someone who hated themselves more.

But I started to get better.

I started to watch as others got pregnant, and I'd be happy for them.  I started to reach out to my boy again, and started to try to like myself.

I think we all self-destruct just a bit before we can start to heal again.

Throughout the novel, Emilia feels she was drawn to her husband, Jack, through the concept of bashert - that it was a magical connection or fate that had drawn them together. Do you believe in love at first sight?  Do you believe there is one soul mate for each of us?

Why yes, I do believe in bashert.  I actually believe there are a handful of people that we can be meant to be with, that can be our soulmates.  I'm not so much a believer in love at first sight, more in "electricity at first sight", but they could be considered the same thing. I've had two great loves in my life, but nothing in the world could have compared me to the intense chemistry that brought Aidan and I together.  All these years later, and I have no doubt still that he was the one I was meant to be with, even when we argue, even when he drives me crazy, even when he and I can't see eye to eye.  There is, in my opinion, definitely someone who completes you (and JESUS do I hate quoting anything that came out of Tom Cruise's lips).

******************************************

Also, this morning?  The bloody show appeared. 

The Verdict

Eees no labor, Senora.

Or might be labor, but all ok still.

I went ahead and slept on it (or as much as I could sleep, anyway), and this morning - much to Aidan's delight - after calling L&D they did, as expected, ask me to come in.  I got wired up to the monitor, where both babies spent their time trying to kick the sensors off and succeeded about 50% of the time, and I was strapped in to a contractor sensor.  The bands were on quite tight and I felt not unlike a sausage wearing far too many belts, but this is the joy of pregnancy, right?

The babies are healthy and very, very active.  Surprisingly active according to the midwife.  And because of the way they are facing, they're causing my uterus great distress.  My uterus is not in great shape anyway - I've been diagnosed with Irritable Uterus (much like the rest of me) thanks to the many infections I've had (and am still showing traces of infection in my urine despite being on antibiotics, so there's something to keep me on edge) and due to the twins. 

I am having regular contractions and have done for about 24 hours now, but as they're only reaching max 25% on the uterine contraction "Scale of Heaven-o-Meter", they've been ruled Braxton-Hicks contractions.  Unfortunately, once again due to the babies' placement and the infections, the contractions will feel that much stronger to me than if I were, oh, I dunno, lucky.  The registrar said that there is a chance the uterine contractions are actually being caused by the twins' movement and my UTIs, so if there was ever a case for getting liquored up and then downing a few sleeping tablets, then surely this is it, right?  Right? 

Yes I'm kidding.  Relax.  I've been drinking whole lakes of water to keep the contractions at bay and that's not going to change any time soon.

But there are signs that things are going on.  The doctor wanted to keep me in for observation but I fought him on it, as we live quite close to the hospital anyway and neither Aidan nor I wanted a hospital stay in our future unless it involved serious vaginal action, and not in the "two girls at a slumber party and look! The hot pizza guy showed up!" kind of way.  After an ultrasound and a pelvic exam (hey, thank God I got waxed on Wednesday!  It hurt like fuck but had I not done it there was a good chance the doc's hand might have gotten ensnared in there) it's been determined that the boy twin is indeed engaged, and he's actually fully engaged.  As he's made room his sister has gone from breech to transverse, which maybe explains why suddenly my stomach has really changed in size. 

And although my cervix is still closed, it's now soft, which is not only new for me but is a sign that the body is beginning to ready itself for labor.  According to the midwife, the cervix goes through 3 steps to kick off the labor bandwagon: 1) cervix softens, 2) cervix shortens, 3) cervix peels back like a lotus blossom (seriously, those were her words.  Very Bhagavad Gita and all that, but I imagine the cervix peeling back is a somewhat messier process.)

I'm on short notice to be ready to dash to the hospital if my waters break or if the contractions get to 3-4 minutes apart.  For now, they continue at 8 minutes apart, and I'm to relax (ha!)  That's easy for them to say, as my compulsion to clean over the past few days has taken a turn for the mental, I literally MUST clean, the world might stop turning if I don't scrub out the vegetable drawer in the fridge, people may die, and do you really want that on your head?

But I'm home.  I'm waiting to see if my second round of false labor turns to labor.  The doctor gives me a 50/50 chance of early labor.  And there's something in the back of my head telling me that he might be right, and that the babies will be coming early.

Question....?

So, hypothetically speaking, what does it mean (if anything) if you have contractions that last 30-60 seconds long, happening about 8 minutes apart?  And have had them for about 6 hours now, regardless of whatever activity you're up to?  And when you're not contracting, your stomach is really tight?

And you can't stop cleaning?

And haven't been able to stop cleaning for about 24 hours now?

And your babies have been insanely active all day, far more than they usually are?

And you have a verrrrrrrrrry strange feeling low down inside, nearly (sorry!) in the vagina area?

Hypothetically, of course.

The Low Down

I've noticed that the handful of twin pregnancy moms are doing the same thing I am - not really blogging much.  Mostly, we're pretty quiet because we keep gathering around each others' kitchens with the gin and tonics and gossipping about the rest of you.

Yes, I'm kidding.

I can't speak for the other women (and if I could, I imagine they'd tell me to stop swearing so damn much), but I think it's safe to say that the reason we're suddenly all getting pretty quiet is because that's where we are.  I don't know about them, but suddenly I find myself pulling inwards a lot.  I don't have a lot to say, not because I don't want to talk, but because I'm just pretty quiet inside. The noise and chaos of the previous weeks of pregnancy are dying down now, and it's not that I'm spending all my time thinking about me, me, ME, it's more like...it's just quiet inside. 

I think it means I'm getting ready.

I would bet it's the same for them.

(I'd ask them, but they're usually too drunk on the G&Ts to comment.)

I also find that I'm getting pretty boring-there's only so much blogging about restless leg, infections, and contractions that you want to read about.  I could tell you that my life, it's really all of the same just now - swelling, contractions (in ever-increasing quantities), antibiotics, breathlessness, exhaustion...but I've said it all before. I worry this site is going to be a MySpace wanna be, in which I talk about fucking nothing whatsoever about my day and do it all in skater talk - "DOOOOD!  This site rulez!  Heehee!  LOL!  I have 48,693 friendz, nun who no me!  Time to clean my sk8tes!  C U L8ter!"

I could do that, but seriously, bad grammer drives me nuts.  Send me a text message using "u" instead of "you" and you probably won't get a response because I'm a grown-up, and grown-ups spell shit.  But the content of a MySpace page, well that's not too unlike what I worry this site is becoming - much of the same.  Click on any entry in the past 6 weeks and it's the same.  This must be what latter pregnancy is like - cramps, breathlessness, exhaustion, clumsiness, forgetfulness, and in my case, infections.

Until now.

Now I find myself still having all those fun side effects, only I'm getting quieter.  I am not so fast at replying to emails (also because sitting up in the chair is not easy these days.)  My humor isn't slipping, but it doesn't just come to hand, either (feel free to shout "You were NEVER funny!" at the screen here.  I know I talk to my monitor all the time, go ahead.)  I don't comment on other sites at all, really.  Oh I read them, I just don't say anything.  It's like I'm mute, or stuck behind glass, or in a fog or something.

Better mute than MySpace.

Gotta' go - the ladies are coming to mine for the drinks this afternoon, and no one drinks quite like an IVF veteran, you know?

32 Weeks

On Tuesday we had our usual scan - the babies are both fine, the boy gunning for my cervix in that head-down kind of way, the girl well and truly snuggled in amongst my lungs, and as they're completely out of space in there it looks like they'll stay that way.  Both babies are coming in at around 4 pounds 2 ounces, and they are very large babies-95th percentile.  Neither Aidan nor I are short, shrinking violets ourselves, and it looks like we're having hearty babies, too, both with whopping long legs. 

I'll continue on antibiotics for the rest of the pregnancy, which the consultant has tentatively listed as 38 weeks.  So that's about 6 weeks to go.  I can make 6 weeks, right?  6 more weeks? 

As far as how we've been planning things: since the boy is cephalic (head down) we're going to try for a regular birth, not a C-section.  The consultant believes that once the boy is out the breech little girl has a good chance of turning on her own and since Aidan and I worry about their breathing and a vaginal birth has the best odds for their lungs, we're going to try that route.

But I'm taking drugs for the birth.

Anything and everything the pharmacy will give me.

Fuckit, I'll take the paracetamol, the cough syrup and the Preparation-H if need be.  Call me Miss Epidural.  I heard the women screaming on the delivery ward.  I won't be going there.

My breasts were leaking colostrum for a little while, which shocked the shit out of me, as I had a radical breast reduction years ago.  I was told by my smirking blond plastic surgeon that I would never breast feed, ever, so when I started dripping yellow fluid I was shocked.

(Actually, the first time I felt the fluid I kept looking up at the ceiling, convinced the roof was leaking.  But once I figured out the leaking was coming from my breasts, then I was shocked.)

Aidan is very keen on breastfeeding.

I am really freaked out by it.

I completely accept it's best for baby, and I fully support any woman in her decision to breast or bottle feed, I think it's up to the mother to assess. I tend to err on the side of "Seriously Stressed Out" most of the time, and the idea of breast feeding sent me over the top. I had never considered it before.  It was always a non-option.  I'm having twins.  Of course they'll be bottle fed.

Aidan and I were heading for an argument.

But then the midwife told us that colostrum likely came from a small duct still intact behind my nipples, which would have survived the surgery.  Since my nipples were removed and re-sized, she said that although there was a chance a few tubes grew back to access milk, there was no way I'd be feeding one baby completely, let alone two.  She recommended we not even try to breast feed, that the colostrum would dry up, too (it has).

Cue relief.

So here we are...waiting.  The boy, who was already quite low, has dropped today I believe.  I had some cramping, and it now feels like there's something in my pelvis, taking up space and threatening to come out.  The bladder issues are worse, and it feels very heavy and uncomfortable low inside.  Since I'm out of space, the girl continues to hang out and make breathing hard.  Contractions come much more often, very mild but noticeable, a long smooth tightening of the stomach.

I wonder if the babies are thinking of coming on their own instead of being induced at 38 weeks.

Only time will tell.

(Apologies-this post, she is not funny.  But I haven't been sleeping so well, and with no sleep means no funny.)

Memes, Updates, and Offers

DD (don't you know DD?  Shouldn't you know DD?  She's worth it, I promise!) nominated me as a Rocking Girl Blogger (it comes with a nifty little bloggy button.  I am incapable of html anything, apart from html fuck-ups in which suddenly my entire blog is translated into Norwegian.  So imagine a nifty little bloggy button and we'll be there.)  I'm supposed to nominate 5 other of these cutely titled Rocking Girl Bloggers, and as I have nothing today and I love DD and she told me to do this (and why yes, I WOULD jump off the bridge if she asked me to, how'd you know?) I'm going to do so, but I want to be clear here-I don't play favorites.  I read more blogs than this, but am not a good commenter, mostly because I do not give good comment.  And I'm forgetful.  Very forgetful.  So forgetful I not only forget to comment, but often forget what sites I saw things on.  So my list of 5 comes mostly from the emails I've had with people, because good people are out there and need big thanking.

Five bloggers that I think are of the Rocking Girl variety:

Patience, who I see already has that nifty little bloggy button on her blog, which makes me want to un-nominate her as clearly her html skills are superior to mine and I am the kind of girl to trash-talk someone who's wearing the same dress I am and looks better in it, too.  But Patience has been through more IVF than anyone else I know, ever, and she's one of those that is still trying and doesn't seem to ever begrudge those in blog-land that are knocked up.  She's nice like that.  Really.  Even if she does good html.

Becks, whom I've had some emails with.  Becks is on round 2 and is in the middle of a tense 2ww.  She swears, and I love me a girl who swears.   She makes me laugh, and she has good names for her pets.  I think she solidly counts as a rocker.  Solidly.

Marie-Baguette not only just gave birth, but had a harrowing story-she was pregnant with quads, faced many battles, a reduction, and a few scares, and she still was there for me to endlessly email her with CVS questions.  Somehow, she makes it all look easy and she's still here and still supportive for the land of Us with Too Many Questions.

Watson is mental in that loveable squeezable Elmo way.  She makes me laugh, even when it's serious, which is a pretty hard thing to do.  She's one of about 5 women knocked up with IVF twins and due around the same time I am.  I love Watson, but if she gains less weight than I do or gets her figure back really fast then we may have to talk about our relationship.

Ms Prufrock, whom I am happy to see is also of the I-don't-do-nifty-bloggy-buttons, is a great chick, even if she lives in southern Hampshire and we all know all the cool cats hang in the north of the county.  She lets me snark.  She lets me snark about babies.  That is worth its weight in gold right there. 

Right, so in other news my next scan is tomorrow, where I'm planning on busting into tears and offering to bribe the doctor to give me a date we can schedule an induction.  I'm prepared to even offer sexual favors if he'll just give me an end date (Aidan won't mind, surely.  After all, he got to sleep next to me last night while I had restless leg syndrome and was doing my best Bend it Like Beckham impression, plus he cruised through the "Vanessa Temper Tantrum" that was this morning.  I'm pretty sure he'd offer the doctor sexual favors at this point, too.)  The house is a serious fucking disaster, because Aidan and his brother moved furniture this weekend to start the early preparation of the nursery.  Our house, as a result, looks like a bunch of movers took some boxes, emptied the contents in the middle of every room, and ran.  Am sure it will resolve itself, but in the meantime it's kinda' tiring walking  amongst the train wreck that is our house ("Your shoes, honey?  All the shoes are under the kitchen table.  You'll find them there.  I'm pretty sure the home phone is in that pile, too.")

(The really sad part is, that last pretend comment wasn't pretend.  All of our shoes really are under the kitchen table.  I'm not sure how they got there, but what's worse is I'm less sure of when they'll be evicted.)

And one last thing-I came across a Puregon Pen that I have.  I'm quite happy to donate it to anyone who's going to cycle and needs a pen, as I know they're expensive.  You need a new needle, but that part's cheap, so if anyone needs a Puregon Pen let me know and I'll post it off to you.

Gotta' run.

Somewhere in the house is a cat and a handful of Fig Newtons (hopefully not together) and I'd like to spend time with both.