I can’t think straight here lately, just a heads up. I’ve got a zillion posts half-written in the back of my brain completely unrelated to twin pregnancies, and at least a million of them involve my feelings about The Rick Grimes dying a slow, painful, lonely death on a cement block. Only Rick even comes close to rivaling Carol’s bad-assery and this is how it ends for him? The man who ripped a dude’s windpipe straight outta his neck with his bare teeth dies y’all, cause he fell off a horse at the wrong time. I cannot handle this.
Mostly though, I’m mentally bogged down with thoughts of giant babies twisting and thumping away in my belly (and also breaking my bones and ripping my spinal cord out of place).
I’ve lost four pounds in one week, because totin’ twins is hard and heavy work. It hurts to stand, hurts to sit, hurts to lay down. Braxton Hicks contractions are out of control, much like the Charlie-horses. Breathing is almost impossible. (If you see me in public and you ask me how I’m doing, know that I love you and appreciate the thoughtful concern of your question; but no matter what I tell you, I’d rather be at home, surrounded by a million pillows, crying myself to sleep in a Tylenol-induced stupor.)
Doctors be trippin’. I’ll see my OB more in the coming weeks than I have my entire pregnancy. I’ve been scheduled out for weekly checkups and biophysical profiles done by ultrasound from now until December 13th. The schedule of appointments is stressing me out in ways that I never imagined; I just want to sit at home on my recliner in my fancy striped compression socks for the next month without all these tests, is that so much to ask? Apparently when you’re geriatric (38) and diabetic, with two babies instead of one, it is.
The twins are now both breech and both growing like crazy. My high risk doc, who I see once a month, estimated the boy to be 3 lbs 9 oz; the girl, 3 lbs 4 oz. It baffles me that only seven pounds of babies is causing this much physical havoc, but I’m always reminded that I’m also carrying double the fluid, and double all the other gunk that goes along with growing humans. Plus I don’t know how much to trust those numbers since with every other child I’ve ever run through that particular clinic has been born well over their estimated birth weights; then again, everything about having twins has been different than anything I’ve previously dealt with.
I don’t actually like the high risk clinic (cold, scary), but I do wholeheartedly love and trust my regular OB–I’ve always had the most positive experiences with her and this pregnancy has shown me, month after month, there’s no doctor I’d rather have care for me, no one I’d rather deliver my babies. Women’s Health Care of Norman, you guys: there’s not a better practice in Central Oklahoma if you’re in the market to birth a baby. Sure it’s a hike for me, but I’d crawl across Grady County over broken glass to be seen by my cool-ass lucky doctor with the blue and brown eyes.
Sometimes I am dramatic.