Gloom and doom.

Every once in awhile I experience a sharp, stabbing moment of reality: I. Am. Going. To. Have. Babies. Soon. On days like today this can reduce me to tears. I’m that scared. I just can’t accurately know what to expect, and from what everyone tells me, to include books, family, bulletin boards, etc., my life is about to become a living hell. How can I not be scared by those gloomy predictions?

So little of what I’ve read or heard talks about the upside of having twins. Yeah, some books are more upbeat than others and have a few positive things to say, but mostly it’s more of the same: it’s hard, you’ll be exhausted, your life will never be the same, be prepared for hell.

Maybe I’ll get on the other side of this and have a different story to tell. Maybe planning for the worst-case scenario will make it seem less difficult somehow. Maybe pigs really can fly.

The only thing that seems to reassure me in any fashion is hearing other infertiles say, “yes, it was all worth it.”

It’s got to be.

Progress and dullness.

At last Friday’s perinatologist appointment the amniotic fluid around the boy had improved but is still on the low side. I was contracting a whole heck of a lot less, though, and had another negative fetal fibronectin result, so it’s looking like these babies are staying put for the time being.

I’m to maintain the same level of activity and hydration until further notice. This makes getting anything done a bit of a challenge. The good news is that the whole low-amniotic-fluid-potential-early-arrival-of-babies-cancel-B’s-trip-to-Utah episode lit a fire under B’s ass and we’ve made great strides in getting things ready for the babies. The nursery is about 85% done, and aside from the finishing touches there, the only major things left to do are to install the carseats, find a pediatrician, and get a freelancer to help me with my work. (Okay, that last one is huge, admittedly, but according to my Head In Sand position, I'm not allowed to talk about it.) Progress is good.

I spend a fair amount of time trying to envision my life once the twins are here and I can’t, not at all. For a control freak/planner such as myself, this is hell. I lay in bed at night composing eloquent posts about my trepidation, my mood swings, my outright fear, but when it comes time to sit at the computer I am always struck with a mushy, dull brain. I apologize for both the lack of postings and the quality of them.

I’ll be 32 weeks Wednesday. This pregnancy has flown by much too quickly. How I wish I could slow it down...

Now it's getting interesting...

Not that this pregnancy has ever been boring, at least to me. At Wednesday’s perinatologist appointment we discovered that baby A, the boy, has low amniotic fluid. Frustratingly, the doctor wouldn’t give me an actual measurement, saying that the boy was just too active to get accurate numbers. I’m not sure if I believe him; in fact, I had a difficult time interpreting his reaction overall. He was very calm about the whole thing, but at the same time, slightly alarming. We did my first non-stress test, right after he had told me they don’t usually start doing those until 32 weeks - I’m only 30 weeks. When he heard that B. was scheduled to leave Sunday for two weeks in Utah, very quickly said no, that’s not a good idea. But then I’m not scheduled to come back for another appointment until Friday the 23rd, so how serious can it be?

The non-stress test showed the babies were doing fine, but that I am continuously contracting. I was aware that I was contracting a lot when I moved around, but evidently I’m contracting even when I sit still. It seems odd to me that I don’t feel it, but the technician doing the non-stress test said that was common.

Anyway, bottom line is that my activities have been restricted, big time. No one has officially used the word “bedrest,” thankfully, but I was told that for every hour I’m upright I need to spend an hour horizontal. And I’m to hydrate, hydrate, hydrate, which I’ve been doing. I’m so sick of peeing that I almost wish I had a catheter in place.

The upside to this is that B.’s trip to Utah was cancelled. This means that for the first time ever we’ll be able to celebrate my birthday together. Every year in the past five years, without fail, he’s been traveling on my birthday. It’s never mattered much to me - it’s been funny, in fact, but this year will be a nice change.

In other news, I’ve passed my one year blogiversary. Hard to believe that much time has elapsed, and how much different my life is now. Thanks to all you internets - your support has been invaluable to me.

A big poopy post.

More gross poop problems going on over here. If you remember, I’ve been clogging toilets with the sheer volume of my poop for several weeks. It got a bit better for awhile with an increased dosage of stool softener, but no more, I’m back to regular, full-on cloggage.

It’s morphed into another problem. I simply cannot produce the force, effort, strength, whatever, to push the poop out of me. Straining now causes contractions. Not straining means the poop stays where it is and gets more and more impacted. I spent yesterday visiting the bathroom every hour or so hoping that the poop would just magically slide out, to no avail. I slept poorly last night from the pressure in my abdomen, and when I awoke this morning I felt as if I were walking around with a large cucumber stuck in my lower intestine. My hourly visits to the bathroom were upped to every fifteen minutes, but again, no luck.

I have never been so uncomfortable from constipation in my life. So even though I had an ob/gyn appointment scheduled for this afternoon, I called the doctor to ask what could be done. A quick trip to the drugstore and one suppository later, I finally managed to unblock myself without blowing a gasket. And my oh my, what I produced! No wonder I felt so miserable. We are talking large, people, larger than I thought humanly possible. Large enough that I couldn’t immediately get the toilet plunged & cleared. I thought that today was the day a plumber would have to be called, but my last plunging attempt worked, finally.

I am sick of this shit, literally. I am well aware that in the grand scheme of things this is a minor pregnancy complaint, but still...I have plunged the toilet more times than any one human should have to. Before we left for our mini-vacation on St. Simon’s Island I asked B. if we should pack a plunger. He laughed, but what did I do our first morning there? Yup, clogged the toilet. We left a note for the maids and stayed well clear of the room all day. I was so embarrassed. My shower is this weekend (yikes!) and we’ll have a house full of company. I’ll be relocating the plunger to the master bathroom, but am dreading when I’ll have to use it, since anyone in the kitchen directly below the master bath will pretty much be able to hear everything. And what the hell kind of noises will a plunger make through the floorboards? I shudder to think of explaining that one...

And so it goes. Or doesn’t go, as the case may be.

29 weeks today. So much left to do.