Getting closer: week 33 with twins

Article titles I see on the internet:

“How to run errands with twins by yourself”

“How to tandem feed newborn twins”

“10 tips to surviving the first month with twins”

“Parenting twin toddlers”

“How to keep your sanity with twin toddlers”

“Getting your body back after twins”

Article titles that would actually be useful to me:

“How to ever leave the house with twins and an 18-month old and a 4 year old”

“How to tandem breastfeed newborn twins and keep your older kids from killing themselves or ripping your house to shreds”

“10 tips to surviving life with six kids with ages spanning from birth to 14”

“Parenting six kids all at once”

“How to keep your sanity with twin toddlers and a 3-year old and a 6-year old and a 12-year old and a 16-year old”

“The supermodel ship has frickin’ sailed; forget about your pre-baby body and just focus on not dying”

So this is 33 weeks, and for documenting purposes, this calls for some official stats:

•Measurements: I think we can all safely assume that one who is 8 months pregnant with twins feels ungodly huge; I am measuring at 46 weeks, which is pregnancy jargon for “if you were pregnant with one single baby, you would look and feel like you were a month and a half past your due date.” Translation: my belly looks like something off of Alien Nation, and I feel 100% exhausted and dead 25/8.

•Weight: I gained 30 pounds. And in the past several weeks, I’ve lost 7. These babies are sucking the life out of me, and while I like to imagine they’re depleting my fat reserves, chances are that 7 pounds came directly from what used to be my muscular legs, my only pride and joy, the one awesome thing about my body that has stuck with me since 8th grade. Bye legs bye! Only twins could take out what five other fetuses and a decade of alcoholism tried, unsuccessfully, to destroy. I hope I’ll see you again someday, even if it’s five years from now before I have time to properly work you out. Maybe you’ll be replaced with the mad guns I develop from carrying chunky twin babies. Maybe not. I’m good either way cause, new humans are worth every sacrifice.

•Stretch marks: I do actually have a few new ones! And again, I ain’t even mad. The body is shot ta hell with this pregnancy. I’ve accepted it. Cocoa butter and kegels? It’s gonna take nothing less than a massive overhaul plus thousands and thousands of dollar dollar bills to fix everything between neck and knees. Sure, it puts the lotion on the skin, but it’s not obsessive about it either. I’m honored to have these stretch marks, and my Pinterest fitness board can suck it.

•Favorite part of pregnancy so far: obviously that’s the baby kicks. Double the usual amount, and yes–they’re awesome.

•Sleep: NOPE. Not happening. I’m down, and then I’m up about two hours later tossing and turning through the uncomfortableness of epic Braxton Hicks contractions, and also peeing and Charlie horses. Most nights I have the strength to haul my giant belly out of bed and sleep in the living room on our recliner, but on the nights where I’m too tired to roll over, Caleb gets to be wide awake too.

•Cravings: none, really. I’m not hungry. I can’t think of anything to eat. Nothing sounds good. I’m refluxy and nauseous and diabetic. Eating is an absolute chore.

•Symptoms: breathlessness, light-headedness, extreme fatigue, soreness in my everywhere, cumbersomeness and clumsiness, heart palpitations, and everything else in the playbook of miserable pregnancy symptoms. You name it, I experience it at least once a week. Except high blood pressure and swelling–those are two problems I have thankfully not had to deal with.

The babies are doing spectacularly well. They’re growing and breathing and moving and continually amazing me by just being alive. I finished their “twin painting” and their room is ready:

Their names are picked out:

I’m still scared to death to have them, but a weird sense of confidence is starting to settle in and I’m hoping it’ll stick around through the birth and the first six weeks, sort of like the adrenaline rush a junkie gets when he’s being chased by the police. He calms down once he’s safely hidden in a dark alley–I just wanna survive until I can hide in a dark alley.


About Toni

Mom. Wife. Artist. I take care of the kids and pretend to clean sometimes. I can cook spagetti and I have never been arrested. View all posts by Toni

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