A Happy Sad Weekend

I traveled to Texas last weekend when my husband's aunt died.  I really don't like Texas (sorry Texas).  It's super hot, scrubby, and generally unappealing for someone who loves thick green vegetation and not choking on construction dust.

What I LOVE about Texas is my husband's family.

From the moment I arrived I felt cared for, welcomed.  I felt included.  They listened to all my stuff about the babies, they seemed genuinely interested in my life, my family, and the smells that make me nauseous.  They showed me tons of old pictures and answered me patiently every time I said, "Now, who is this again?"  I got gossip, I got support, I got encouragement, and I got pampered.

I've known them a while, and always enjoyed them, but this time I felt like one of them.  I fell in love with their kids and I cried over their loss (privately, because that's how they do it).  I kicked ass at Cranium!

They came together to mourn and celebrate their sister and mother and daughter and aunt.  It feels a bit wrong to say it, but I had fun and I'm glad I got to go.    

The Long-ish Road

Doug and I didn't have to try hard to get pregnant. Actually MAKING babies has been incredibly easy for us, but holding on to them has been hard. Last year I had two miscarriages before the 9th week of pregnancy. Two doesn't sound like many maybe, but due to my "advanced maternal age" (35!!!) and the very low chance of it happening (less than 2%) it was troubling.

I recognize that many people have it much worse than I do. I can't imagine the frustration and devastation of trying for a year or more to get pregnant and THEN having a miscarriage. I always considered myself somewhat lucky that we could get pregnant so easily. However, I also wallowed in the fact that there is practically nothing medicine can do to help someone like me. There's no IVF for recurrent miscarriage, there's only surrogacy.

I've never had the mindset that I must have biological children, I'm a strong believer in adoption, but I also never had to confront the open rebellion of my body. It just wasn't working right. I was getting frustrated and almost afraid to get pregnant...how many babies would I lose?

I hope I have the final answer: 4.

On Monday my high-risk OB confirmed by ultrasound that the twins were gone. We saw their sad little bodies just kind of floating with no heartbeats. No movement.  No life.

He also showed me the dancing, wiggling, waving, little lime-sized Baby C who grew twelve days worth in a week.

So, I have the choice to be happy for Baby C or sad sad sad for the little, sweet twins. I decide Baby C needs me. It's not like a regular miscarriage, I can't give in to the sucking pain and failure. I still have work to do. I can't stop crying at odd moments, but I can keep from breaking down. I need to resist the call of my fluffy bed and sad thoughts. I need to take a walk, eat good food, and sleep for refreshment instead of oblivion. I need to watch a funny movie with Doug and make rude comments on Facebook. I don't want Baby C to think this is a sad home with a sad mom, I want him to stay with me.

In the end, if I'm lucky, I will get what I originally wanted. One baby. But it's so much more complicated than that.

Baby C.  That little half moon thing on the right/middle is his hand right by his head.  He's waving!

Fears realized...

In my 10th week I go in for my first appointment with the Maternal Fetal Medicine doctor (high risk specialist). I am freaking out. I have pretty bad white coat syndrome. I want to RUN from the ultrasound room, I want to hide in the bathroom, I want to escape from the windows...full blown panic. Doug is trying to soothe me (which just makes it worse), but he's worried and I think a little embarrassed by my behavior. I talk really fast, shake a little, and get forehead sweaty. I keep assuring him and the nurses that I will be better next time, it's most awful on my first visit.

While we are waiting for the ultrasound tech I look at Doug and say, "I am not worried about this pregnancy at all, I'm just terrified of this office right now." Stupid stupid stupid.

By the time I calmed down enough to get on the table and the tech starts looking at the babies I am so consumed by anxiety that I just want it to be over. I am consumed by my own fear. My brain registers that she's found one baby and let us hear his strong, healthy heartbeat. I'm grateful and think 'Okay, one down, two to go...then I can get out of here.'

Except she can't find the second baby.  She says he's hiding. I think, 'Well, that's Baby B. He's the small one and he's sandwiched in there.' She calls for the doctor and they both look using two different wands. Nothing. At this point rational, sane Doug is worried, but I am thinking "If I can just calm down they'll find them and we can all leave." I am so out of my mind.

Then the nurse takes me to a room with a table and four chairs, not an exam room.A box of tissues sits on the table and it hits me...something is wrong.

I immediately calm down.  I am actually pretty good in a crisis.  Dr. T is very kind, but very professional. He assures me over and over that there is nothing I could have done to cause or prevent this, but then he explains that one of the twins had no detectable heartbeat and the other has only a very slow rhythm. He says he's pretty sure he knows what's "coming down the pike," but I need to come back in for another u/s in a week.

He reassures me that Baby C has a very good chance, but if anything is going to happen it will most likely happen this week. The twins stopped growing about two days after my emergency nine week ultrasound. I had known something was wrong...just like the last two miscarriages.

I leave numb. I want to see my parents. My mom seems a little numb too, but my dad takes my hand and says, "I don't know these babies yet, but you are the most important thing to me and I love you."

After seeing my parents we go home and I crawl into my bed for the rest of the day.

Dodging the Bullet

The morning of the start of my 9th week, I'm freaking out a bit. One day I get up at 5am to eat, but the next I'm able to wait until 10. I just feel weird. I roll over on my tummy in bed and don't feel that little pressure that says "Get off me, Lady!" I do some internet research and find out either I should just enjoy the break from symptoms or immediately call my doctor's office in a panic.

So, I call my doctor's office in a panic. Can I lose them all? Can I come in for an ultrasound? Can I see the actual doctor, not the nurse practitioner who doesn't know me? I don't care that she's in surgery, I will wait and she will understand. Trust me, she knows me.

At the office, my fears are soothed because the ultrasound shows three healthy babies. Identical twins, Babies A and B, in their little shared sac and Big Baby C, who has his own room (Doug says, "Don't get used to it, kid."). Three strong heartbeats, three growing babies.

I feel relief. I had spent the past two weeks telling myself and anyone who would listen that I had no idea how I was going to be able to take care of three babies, that it was impossible, that my husband TRAVELS for a living, but when I thought I might lose them I realized how much they meant to me. All of them. I was so relieved to see those heartbeats I almost cried. I think Doug did cry, but he's a weirdo who's been happy from the beginning.

I wouldn't say I am adjusted to the idea of three babies. I would say I am coming around. I am resigned. I love them all, but I'm still not sure how or if we can work out the logistics of THREE newborns (probably preemies). I am terrified and just can't get into the adventure of it yet.

But for now, the babies are there. I keep thinking tomorrow I'll wake up and just feel better. I'll be happy about them. It hasn't happened yet, but I can feel the possibility is there. I'm starting to digest all the information, starting to accept the life that's coming, because I love the babies. It feels strange to both want the babies and still dread the sacrifices a little, but I'm guessing lots of moms feel that way sometimes.

Hey, do you think my mom didn't really LIKE the burnt grilled cheese?? She always said she did!

Adjusting to triplets? Grieving.

This is grieving. I'm clear on that. I am grieving the life I prepared for. The life I agreed to. Triplets were no where on my radar, I didn't even think of the possibility. I'm devouring blogs and literature about raising them, surviving them. Everyone around me seems happy about it except my dad who just seems worried about me. I am grateful to him because I am worried about me too. My mom tries to reassure me that this is "going to be great!" I just can't get into it.

I am uber-sensitive. Anything sets me off. I am jealous of the pregnant women I see, thinking they are having the experience I wanted. I know my babies will most likely be premature, I know I'll have a C-section, I know we could lose them all to pre-term labor. Everyone who tells me it's a triple blessing or God's will makes me irate.

I read about all the things that people with triplets do to get through the first year, I talked to a dad with three beautiful six-year-old boys. Schedule schedule schedule. Don't pick them up to soothe them because it's unsustainable in the long run, just pat their bellies or rub their heads while they sit in their bouncy seats. You must have bouncy seats. You must have bottle holders. You must have reflux wedges. You must NOT have clothes with snaps (one mom of triplets did the math and figured out that she was snapping and unsnapping 900 times per day!!!). 30 bottles a day. 30 diapers a day. One or two hours of sleep a day.

I asked the father (who obviously adores his kids) if he and his wife were able to just enjoy any one baby at a time, just watch them grow and change. He looked at me like I had 3 heads, waved his hand in dismissal, and said, "There's no time for that stuff, you just get through the first year." I went home and cried.

I have a pretty nice life. I've been with my husband for 18 mostly happy years(combining dating and marriage). We love each other deeply and are good partners. I travel when I want and I have a home that reflects who we are and I am surrounded by family, friends, and pets. We have a vegetable garden and a pool membership in the summer and we go sledding in the winter snow. It's a great life. When we decided to change it by having a baby we thought long and hard, many people assumed we'd never do it. Neither of us felt a hole that needed filling. Neither of us felt we'd be empty or miserable if we didn't have a baby. We decided we wanted a child for the love and the experience, for the joy and the challenge. I wanted to see if our baby would get Doug's amazing eyes or my cute nose. The switch just flipped one day.

I imagined all I'd have to give up and I realized I could be happy. I could still be me without the flexibility and the freedom I'd grown used to. I could still be me with less sleep. I could still be me, even if I was filled with the nameless fear of loss and pain I imagine all parents must be filled with. I imagined lying in our bed, sleepy but happy with Doug, just staring down at this little person. It was an intimate image.

Three doesn't seem to leave room for intimacy, just survival. So I'm grieving the life I thought I'd have with one baby. I'm grieving the life I thought I could just agree to. I concede it's a kind of arrogance-imagining I have any idea what it will be like to have even one baby much less three-but I think it's arrogance every first-time parent experiences. So I let myself off the hook and I just grieve.

What the...? TRIPLETS????

When I was seven weeks pregnant I finally called my baby doc to get an ultrasound viability screening. After last year's miscarriages my pregnancy needed to be confirmed and checked. Okay, fine.

At the screening Doug and I held our breath. The ultrasound tech, using a "wand" we call the dildo-cam, was joysticking around my uterus A LOT. We hadn't seen an actual baby blob yet so we both kind of sat there trying to figure out what the heck was going on. The young and very naive u/s tech kind of put her hand on my knee and said in a calm voice, "I've never had to tell anyone this before..." (Oh crap, what's wrong? Does it have two heads? Is it dead? Can we go through this again?) "...but there are THREE babies in there." (Huh?)

I proceeded to make the loudest scene ever in the history of scenes. I said the very bad version of, "No PLUCKING way!!!" and scared that little, blond tech right out of her seat. Then I started laughing hysterically because, really, this doesn't *happen* right??? NOBODY has triplets without fertility treatments, right? There must be a mistake. At some point I realized perky, cute ultrasound girl was judging me, but I could NOT shut up. Doug couldn't stop laughing at me.

As we're leaving the room the little bitch tech (she's probably a very nice girl in real life) gives me my babies' first images. The twins are Baby A and Baby B and the solo baby is Baby C. Baby A, Baby B, and Baby C. They all look like like little round blobs and I can't help thinking of guppies making bubble nests. Unreal.