Category — Twins Pregnancy (children #1 & #2)

Wow, look at how incredibly massive I am long my hair is getting! 

I am massive

At my OB appointment on Thursday, I pointed out to Dr. Amazing that the meds I’m taking to control contractions will run out on November 2. I’ll be just shy of 36 weeks. So, I wanted to know, what happens then. 

The doctor, in all his amazing-ness, answered that we’d just let nature run its course at that point. 

I.e., if labor starts, they ain’t gonna stop it. Also, I get to go off bedrest then.

Yes folks, the ride is almost over. Suddenly, this week seems so doable.

No one keeps baby away from her laptop!

Those non-stress tests are turning out to be way more stressful than the name implies.

At Friday’s test, I was having regular contractions so, as she did last week, the nurse shot me up with that god-awful terbutaline. The first shot didn’t work, so she gave me a second. The contractions continued, so it was on to the third dose. By this time, I was pretty much over it and ready to go home. Unfortunately, my uterus – and the doctors – had other plans.

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The presidential debates last night got Baby B all riled up into a bizarre bump in the center of my belly. 

What’s the matter, baby? Did McCain’s lizard-tongued slurping scare you?

(God, I hope she didn’t flip back over….)

So, here we are with just three weeks – three weeks! - till “goal” of 36 weeks. It’s kinda cool having a nightly countdown on the news. They keep passing it off as being for the election date, but really it’s about me.

Last Friday at my non-stress test, the funky little monitor thing zig-zagged to show that I was having excessive contractions. The nurse tsk-tsked me and said she was going to have to stop these shenanigans. After a call to Dr. Amazing, she stabbed my arm with something called terbutaline. This is an injection of concentrated caffeine and nicotine that makes the patient feel like utter shit. Oh, and it stops contractions. Oh, and it’s not really caffeine and nicotine, but it sure makes you feel like you drank a pot of coffee while huffing on a mouthful of filterless Pall Malls. So that was super fun.

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Eight pounds, baby! Or rather, eight pounds of baby. That’s how much I’m carrying around these days, as estimated at yesterday’s perinatologist appointment.

Baby A is estimated at 3lb 14oz, Baby B at 4lb 1oz. Wow! Both of the girls look awesome. No problems with the shared placenta or the gestational diabetes. The fluid and blood flow look great. When talking about how much longer I have to go, the perinatologist said, “Well, you’re not going to like what I have to say, but five or six more weeks…..”

I nearly lost consciousness at that point. Then she said something about having seven-pound babies, and I became incontinent.

Okay, maybe I didn’t pee on the bed, but I probably should have.

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An old man led me into a grocery store. There was no produce, no feminine needs aisle, no frozen foods. Instead, the shelves were lined with boxes of muffin, bread and cake mixes. The shelves were replete with these boxes, stacked to the ceiling, everything arranged just-so to make the products irresistable.

The best part? Everything – and I mean, every last item in the store – was sugar free and diabetic friendly.

The old man picked up a box of almond bread mix (which I’ve never heard of, but sounds totally delicious), but changed his mind. At that point, I started wandering the store by myself.

My heart was pounding with anticipation. I couldn’t believe it. All of this stuff was okay to eat! And it was all delicious junk food!

I rounded a corner and saw it, the Holy Grail of my dream. There were six big barrel-type food displays with a giant sign announcing that the items there were “Sugar Free!” I approached the barrels. Inside were Hostess cupcakes, Ding Dongs and Ho-Hos. And they were all sugar free.

Is this what diabetics dream about? Or was this artificially-flavored dream brought on by my monstrous, late-pregnancy appetite tempered by gestational diabetes?

I almost didn’t update today, just because I feel. So. Shitty.

Okay, I’m trying really, really, really, really, REALLY hard to keep perspective here. I’ve got 35 days till goal. That’s nothing, right? It could be much worse – I could be carrying sextuplets. I could be in labor, which really would suck this early. I could have an infection, or a third nipple, or leaky boobs in public.

I have none of the above. But I am in so much effing pain, I am going to lose it!

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Woo-whee! I’ve made it to the big 3-0! I’m now as pregnant as I am old.

Wait, that doesn’t sound very attractive.

So six more weeks till goal. As you probably saw in a previous post, I have developed gestational diabetes. I am now the proud carrier of a shiny, new One Touch Ultra 2 (Includes Educational DVD & Booklet!) and have the pleasure to lance myself four times a day. Go figure that, out of nowhere, I develop a most voracious appetite. My grandmother used to call it “the hungry horrors” and boy is it horrible, especially since it feels like I can’t eat anything except eggs and salad. Blech! I want, like, six hamburgers instead. WITH the bun.

Also – and this may be psychosomatic now that I know about the GD – I have a most unquenchable thirst. I am drinking so much water that my stomach, wherever it is nowadays, is making sloshing noises from all the water I’m drinking.

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