I'm going to post my pregnancy story today, just in case you never heard it before (if you know me at all, chances are slim). It's part miracle and part horror story.
It all started with a man named Jalon (also called "my husband") who started this party by stating "Let's give Evan a sibling."
I said, "One kid is enough, don't you think?"
He said, "What's one more?" Famous last words.
1 month later we find out we're pregnant. Joy and trepidation set in. Can't change my mind now, we are having another baby. We let our daycare provider know, worked out all our finances and all was going according to plan.
2 months later, the day before Thanksgiving, we are in the Emergency Room because I'm having serious cramps. I'm terrified at this point. What could be happening? The nurse led us to a darkened room to do the ultrasound and I was shaking so hard, it was difficult to lay down. She started with squirting the cold goo all over my belly (it's either freezing or hot...get it right people) and starts with the wand.
Then she asks a question, "How did your blood work turn out? Was everything normal?"
I'm scared beyond words, but manage a quick, "yes, there's a baby in there right?"
"Yes...actually, there's 2."
I gasp and start hyperventilating- insert Jalon laughter here- and ask her if she's joking.
"Nope. Here's baby A and here is baby B." I'm starting to black out.
"Seriously, this can't be happening. Jalon, put your phone away, you are NOT posting this on Facebook right now!" Jalon sits with a sigh and all we can do is laugh and wonder "what's next?" We were happy but so scared.
Apparently, I was cramping because I was growing "too fast" for my body and it was trying hard to keep up. Ouch.
It was a blast telling our family. I remember tears...lots and lots of tears. I think I was up until midnight keeping Jalon awake with all my questions, fears and excitement.
We realized quickly that our daycare wasn't going to work anymore. I was bringing in enough for 2 kids to go to daycare, but add 3 and suddenly our daycare payment was more than our house payment. I had to quit my job.
This pregnancy was going smoothly. I put on TONS of weight, so did the babies and my skin was stretched so tight, I could feel it tearing as each new stretch mark came through.
My body was in so much pain, I couldn't walk anywhere or do anything. There was no sleeping, no sitting, every single part of me was in agony. My feet were so swollen, I couldn't find a shoe that actually fit my foot. Even ones with Velcro straps didn't go on anymore. I was so unattractive, gross and uncomfortable by the 9th month that I wanted to give up. But I didn't. I couldn't.
The doctor started telling me at 34 weeks that I could call it quits whenever I was ready. There would be a small risk with the babies but they should be just fine because most twins are "done" at that point.
While it was painful, I decided that I didn't want to risk it. I wasn't having any "serious" trouble and if I could suck it up, we would go to the end. It felt selfish, risking the twins health just so I could be comfortable again...no thanks.
At 38 weeks I had reached "the end". I couldn't do it any longer. Not without a wheelchair or another belly. There was no more room for growth in my stomach...it was as big as it was going to get. The doctor told me to call her on Sat. at 10 a.m. with "contractions" and she would have me admitted and go forth with my c-section.
We were admitted at 12 on the 12th. That's when they put monitors on and start to move a little faster. I was so uncomfortable but not a HUGE amount of pain. Turns out I had started labor without really knowing it. So my normal, casual c-section became more of a "hurry and let's get these babies out".
I won't go into too much detail, just skim the surface of what happened. I don't want to scare people that are pregnant or plan on being pregnant. You will hear so many birth stories and every single one is drastically different.
I was scared. I will say that. There was no reason to be, but I was terrified. I was about to be a Mom of, not 1 kid, but 2 tiny babies at once. And I was about to be cut open while I was awake. I hate not being in control.
The procedure started with me in a room full of a million doctors and nurses. I couldn't believe we needed this many people to get 2 babies out of my belly. But they had to have double the help, just in case. I had to go into this room by myself at first. The needle in the back to remove the pain (did not hurt a bit...like a pinch with vise grips hard enough to draw blood and tears) and then my husband could come back in.
Then I had to have the guy that "took care of my lower business" for me since I hadn't seen anything below my belly in months. One day I will write a blog on "Mortifying Moments of pregnancy and birth". But for now, we'll just keep it clean and simple.
My doctor came in and got right to it. There was no notification, no warning, just dive right in and start cutting. Not a problem. At this point, I wanted them out and I had the most efficient woman for the job. This wasn't a moment I wanted to remember for how beautiful it was, I wanted to be done and I wanted them safe.
Then, my uterus blew up. She didn't even have to cut it. It just exploded.
Talk about perfect timing. We wouldn't have made it any longer, so it's a good thing I gave in when I did. The babies were great. Morgan was 6 lbs 13 oz and Declan was 7 lbs 11 oz. BIG for twins. BIG. Seriously...they were BIG. Whew.
I also thought it would be a good time to get "fixed", since the doctors were there and had blood on the tools already. Turns out I wouldn't have had much of a choice because my uterus was DONE. No more babies...not a tear shed over that fact. The thought of this happening again (the having twins again, not pregnancy itself), scared me plenty.
They were beautiful. I don't remember anything else. Not one thing. The entire year after their birth is a total blur. The level of pain was horrific but the babies more than made up for that. The rest of the year was spent making bottles, homemade baby food and trying to keep my sanity in tact (which I still have yet to find).
This was 36 weeks. I hurt. I look at this now and I still hurt. I see tiny pregnant bellies and about cry with jealousy. Two babies ripped me apart. There's no recovering from this one.
My Twins. Morgan on the left and Declan on the right. Worth the loss of a flat belly. And I would saw off my own toe just to hold them this way again, for 1 minute.
Morgan at 2 years. Sweet baby girl. Nice, quiet and cuddly. Although, she is nicknamed Pigpen for a reason. This girl loves her dirt.
Declan at 2 years. My...oh geez. He's my plotter. Can you see it? He isn't scared of anything. And scares me daily with his adventures.
Some people ask "how do/did you do it?" Was there an option B that I was unaware of? You just do. There's no choice. They are mine and we made it work. It's a struggle still, for different reasons of course, but we make it work.
I also get asked "would you do it again?" In a hot second. I love them more than anything else in the world. It's not easy but totally worth it. I feel like the luckiest Mom on this planet because I'm the one that will watch them grow, watch them develop unique personalities and be part of their every day.
Happy Birthday Declan and Morgan! I'm so happy you are finally 2!