Evelyn and Ainsley.

They were born tonight.

Ainsley is at Children's Hospital holding her own. She is tiny but is stable.

Evelyn is here with us, for now. We lost her some time this evening. We are loving her now while we can. All this time, we had no worries about our Hog Baby.

This is unreal.

Goodbye Chinny Chin Chins...

...hello twinny twin twins!

I wish I could upload a picture of my swollen face from my phone. You guys? It's epic. I don't know if it's the steroids or the preeclampsia or some side effect of disgusting hospital food, but my face is YOUGE! And feels like it's stuffed full of cotton. I sent it to a friend, and her husband called me Jabba the Hut. And I mean seriously, I laughed my ass off because the accuracy of that observation defines the saying, "it's funny because it's true."

Last night, I got the results of the 24 Hour Pee Jug Extravaganza. Apparently, 300 or higher is mild preeclampsia. My number was just over 1600. So I win! I win at the Pee Jug Extravaganza! My prize is a cookie and a scheduled c-section tomorrow!

It looks like tiny twin isn't in good enough shape to tolerate labor. I trust my doctor's opinion. She's twin B and is breech anyway. Given her recent behavior, I'm sure I'd deliver Hog Baby vaginally and then have to have a C for my stubborn itty bitty because that just seems to be the way this pregnancy goes.

I'm...ok. Ish. Off and on nervous. I go from, "I will rock the shit out of this shitty situation!" to just plain old, "shit."

Things that keep me positive: two full doses of steroids to strengthen their lungs. 32 weeks. My body isn't helping them at this point. I'm in good hands. I can drink beer soon. I can wear SHOES soon!

Things that are peeing in my cheerios: 32 weeks. Uterus of doom is making this all my fault. I won't see Olivia for another 4 days. I might not see these babies for a while. Holy hell they are cutting me all open and whatnot.

I think it'll all be fine. It is nice to have a plan anyway.

Family of five, coming right up!!!

No/yes/possibly/doubtful.

Updating is pointless, but I'm by myself with nothing but an iPhone and wifi soo hey hey hey, Internet!!!!

So my blood pressures and labs were all Rockstarish. Rockstarish, like, normal. As opposed to: full of vodka and traces of rhino tranquilizers. Why don't I just say they were normal? Because I'm a dick, that's why.

The doctor was all, let's look at your 24 hour urine and get you the second steroid dose and then you can be all moon-faced and complainey at home instead of here. Mmmmkkay. So I tell everyone who has rearranged their schedules to watch our outside baby so we can have two more babies and make them watch those two, too, while we go out every Friday and drink vodka and participate in recreational rhino tranqs. (because we are totally Rockstarish).

Then. Then!!! A half hour later? I go for my growth scan. Would you believe me if I told you that tiny twin hasn't grown at all in two weeks? I bet you'd believe me because I'm all woe is me and here is my dramz and oh wait! Let me lay it on you and then not update for like three weeks!

Still waiting to hear from my doctor but I'm guessing I'm having babies this week. Again. Or, always? Or...whatever.

And? AND!!!!! Mark got food stuck in his throat and had to go to the ER. And now he's in GI getting it fished out. I haven't cleared this with him, but there was a similar incident with a hot dog while we were dating that obviously is still mentioned with maniacal laughter on a regular basis. So clearly I am anxious to hear what sort of delicacy is lodged in there this time so I can prepare my ridicule accordingly.

In better news, he is in the very same hospital as me. So they can wheel him down later and we can spend the night groaning inisety while making the other patients think we are bumping uggs. Should be fun!

But a beard would go well with my lamb chops!

7 hours since my first steroid shot. I am disappointed to report that my biceps are no larger (but they do have an amazing amount of cellulite, which I officially declare to be the new black!) and I have not grown a full beard.

I am speaking in a man voice, but only because I've been awake since 3 a.m. And am running out of ways to amuse myself while sitting in bed tied to a bunch of monitors and sporting the Outkast Rib From Smoky Hot Hell (where everyone has onion BO and is a close talking overly affectionate hug giver but I can't move because OW! MY WHORE RIB!).

Blood pressures are down to normalish (128/92...better!) platelets and liver enzymes look good, babies are kicking me in my unmentionables. And by unmentionables, I mean my bladder, vagina, and butthole.

Peeing in a jug is awesome!!!! I'm sure the nurses love handling my urine. My nurse is nice and has a really cute haircut. This is the best blog ever. I love cheese.

Uterus of doom FTW!

Blood pressure: 158/104
Protein: All up in my pee
Pitting Edema: indeedy

In the hospital for monitoring. I put my gown on backwards and almost had an inappropriate nudity situation. One of my ribs is popped out and the prospect of narcotics is making me hot and bothered. I have to pee in a jug.

Should be getting steroids soon to help develop the babies lungs. You know, FOR DELIVERY THIS WEEK?!

Here we go.

Christmas Cop Out

Merry...whatever you celebrate! We are staying home and eating food and enjoying the calm before the inevitable storm.

Elegant Damask Noir Christmas Card

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View the entire collection of cards.

Blizzy, Thankles, Reprieve. Oh my.

I had really good intentions of  updating right after my appointment on Monday.  Like, really good ones.  It was a blizzard (we got, I think, 10 inches of snow, on top of the 12+ inches we got last weekend) and so I figured I'd use that as a great excuse to curl up with a warm beverage and my laptop and just update the shit out of my blog.

Heh.

I was worried about our tiny twin.  This always happens.  I leave a good appointment all high.  Yay me!  Mah uterus is badass and mah baybees is beeger!  Mah shit smells faintly of roses and fruit punch Gatorade!  You wish you were me!  I love cheese!

But then, a few days later, I'm all mah uterus is doomy and mah baybees probably isn't beeger!  Mah shit actually smells really...shitty!  Woe is me!  Cheese is all I have left!

So that's why I decided that I'd keep my appointment during the blizzy and just make sure that both babies were behaving.  This gives you a good idea of the road conditions:



The turnpike, which is usually the first road to be cleared.

 It took me triple the normal time to get there, and I figured it would be really fun to have my blood pressure taken after that drive.  Plus, I was really excited to talk to the doctor about my ankles.  Which have been upgraded from Cankles to Thankles, seeing as my calves are so swollen that they are the same width as my thighs.  When I wear normal socks, it basically cuts off my circulation, so this picture doesn't do it justice.  But it's all I have as proof of Thankle status:

My toes have more rolls than a bakery.

Yes, that's a picture of me, watching Mark assemble our THIRD new TV (the other two we bought were defectiveish).  We've had several debacles related to our newly finished basement and our newly purchased furniture and electronics, and also I broke my iPhone* and wasn't eligible for an upgrade and thus had to pay full price for a new one which is OK because clearly I AM MADE OF MONEY AND SAUSAGES AND GODDAMNED RAINBOWS.

But anyway, my blood pressure is normal and I am not peeing protein and so my doctor was less than impressed with my Thankles and the fact that the only shoes that fit are Crocs.  You know how I feel about Crocs, and now my doctor does, too and he didn't even need to see my exposed ass to learn how I feel about Crocs.  Dr. Stewart FTW!

Here is a picture of me, in public, wearing compression hose** with Crocs (fur lined!  with Jibbitz!) and pajama pants:

I was tempted to wear Mark's shirt that has a picture of a wiener dog and says,
"Have You Seen My Wiener?" because that's what I wear now every day at home because none of my maternity clothes fit anymore.
I'm saving it for when I go totally insane, which should be in a week or so.
I can see the news reports now:
"Woman In Wiener Shirt and Crocs Goes on Eating Rampage in Target."***

The babies were looking pretty freaking awesome at my appointment!

Hog Baby: 2lb 10oz.
Tiny Baby: 2lb

Tiny baby actually grew more than Hog baby this week.  Yay for eating cheeseburgers, tiny baby!  Her fluid is totally normal and the doctor thinks that she bought us another two weeks at least before we need to talk delivery.  I'm 30 weeks today, so that will put me right at 32.  Good, good, good news!

I'm still going to the doctor every week, and now we are adding in two nonstress tests per week to keep a close eye on them.  But as long as the nonstress tests look good, we aren't even going to do another scan until 32 weeks.  Fingers crossed!  My first test is this afternoon! 

In addition to my three appointments this week, I'll do my glucose test (to determine if there will be a return of the Wilford Brimley to this blog) and a bunch of blood work.   And I have to go to the regular doctor because either someone shoved a knife in my ear, or I have an ear infection.  Or the swelling has moved from my Thankles to my ear.  So many possibilities!

A bunch of other stuff happened with my Outside Baybee, better known as Olivia the Febrile Seizure Champ, on Monday.  I'll just save it for another post.  But she's good too, and she's actually in her bed yelling "MAHM!  MILK!" right now. 

Happy Thursday!

*My fingers?  Also fat rolly sausages.  I totally butterfingered my phone and just dropped it for no good reason at all.  Carpal tunnel + sausage fingers = broken iPhone (squared).

**Thanks for the suggestion, but even compression hose can't contain the power of the Thankle.  All they did was make it more painful to take my socks off.

***I really need to get my caption length under control.

--

One Year Ago:  10 Months: You know who else can do that? My Cat.
Two Years Ago:  Too Sweet for My Own Good
Three Years Ago:  Lazy blogger has no post.  :)

Overwhelmed

With Relief...

We had our appointment on Monday...like, more than a week ago. 

It's too confusing to refer to Twin A and Twin B, because they move all around in there and it's never really the same - so we call them Big Twin (or, as my doctor says, Hog Baby) and Little Twin.

Big twin is...a hog.  No, really.  The doctor called her the Hog Baby, which is one of the many reasons I love him - nice, funny, and smart.  Hog Baby is measuring exactly on track.  No drama for her.  2lb 7oz.

Little twin is...hanging in there.  1lb 10oz.  Over 14 days she grew an appropriate amount for 13 days.  This was good enough to earn us another two week reprieve!  Yay!  As long as she keeps it up, and continues to look healthy, there is no need to rip the babies from my uterus of doom.

I am totally excited to meet these girls, but not yet!  Not just yet.

With Kindness....

Thank you very much for all the nice comments.  Really.  I do read them all and I appreciate every single one.  I promise I wasn't trying to make drama by not posting.  I've been completely exhausted and every time I thought about posting, I just took a nap or ate cheese instead.  Or, I ate cheese THEN took a nap.  Either way, it probably involved cheese and nap, is what I'm getting at. 

I have returned a few emails, but I promise to return all of them soon.

A group of my local mommy friends organized to bring us meals so that we wouldn't have to worry about cooking.  And oh my sweet baby jeezus it was the best thing ever.  I never realized how much of a relief it is to not have to worry about dinner or cleanup.

I'm not an overly emotional person, but every time I think of how nice people have been?  It makes me a little weepy.

Verclempt, if you will.



Talk amongst yourselves...


With Ouchiness...

So, I'm off work on short term disability.  Not on strict bed rest or anything.  Just, "hey, take it really easy and gestate two properly sized humans, mkay" rest.  If this little baby doesn't keep growing, we are going to have some pretty little preemies, and I figure the best I can do is eat well and sleep often.  The doctor agrees.

Yesterday I cried mid-afternoon because my body hurts so bad.  My fingers and hands and feet are so swollen.  I seriously cannot fit my feet into one pair of shoes.  If I have to go out, I wear my running shoes untied.  Today I took the dogs out to pee in Mark's shoes and I looked like a pregnant clown (partly due to the shoes and partly due to my hobo-like appearance and rosy cheeks).

I can't even open a water bottle without wincing. 

And yes, I know, woe is the pregnant lady, etc.  But wow.  I have hip pain, back and neck pain, and can't stand more than a couple minutes without getting a hot flash and feeling light-headed.  It's pretty much all I can do to take a shower these days.  I typically save up all my energy to play with Olivia and then I nap while she naps and when Mark gets home from work. 

I sleep sitting up.  Like the Elephant Man.

Being nauseated and in pain for 6 months is just...exhausting.  I am sure that Mark would agree, since he is working and then coming home and doing every single thing around the house.  I love him.

With Cuteness...

Oh, but my daughter.  You guys?  She is so much fun right now.  She's getting so smart and funny and just full of The Mischief.  She knows about half of the alphabet, she grabs the remote and starts pressing the buttons while screaming "WORD WORLD," she dances and laughs and smiles. 

I have pictures to post but not right now.  Because I don't feel like it, basically.

We switched her to a big girl bed and she loves it.  The past few nights, she has grabbed her blanket, said bye to Dad, the Dogs, and the TV (Parenting WIN!) and then climbed the stairs while yelling "BED!"

I love her. 

---

One Year Ago: 38 Weeks, 6 Days
Two Years Ago:  Possibly Changing My Name to Wilford Brimley
Three Years Ago:  What?  I have a blog?

Anonymous comments are off.

This is getting ridiculous. I don't need shit from people, at all.

This blog is not about infertility - it is about my life. If you aren't in a place to read a blog written by someone who is pregnant then DON'T!

The Rotund and the Nauseated

The soap opera that is This Pregnancy: It Continues.

(How about the word opera? I always want to spell it oprah. Am dumbass.)

Alternate Post titles:
All My Multi-Sized Children (Sum iz beeg, sum iz smallz)
As My Stomach Turns (Because I had to stop my ultrasound three times to dry heave)
The Infertile and the Greedy (because one baby isn't enough)
Passions (I can't use this. They didn't check my cervix today. Heh.)

Oh, this little teeny tiny twin. She's giving us problems. Personally, I think she's just skinny from all the exercise she gets in the middle of the night. I imagine that if she could talk, she'd yell at me at 2 a.m. like Olivia when she wants to go outside: "MAHM! MAHM! MAHHHHHM! COME ON! PLAY!"

Alas, my smart doctor disagrees. And he has a medical degree so Dr. Stewart FTW!

My itty bitty twin is almost 30% smaller than my normal-but-looks-giant twin. That disparity is holding strong, but isn't improving. And the doctor is worried that my itty bitty might be worse off in my Uterus of Doom than out.

Still doesn't seem to be Twin to Twin Transfusion. The single vessel cord, combined with the fact that her cord insertion is at the very edge of the placenta, seem to be the problems.

I had my 26 week appointment today and was slapped with the "come back in two weeks and we will decide if we need to start steroids so that we can deliver your babies." And then, "the nurse will be right in to get your blood pressure." Bwahahahaha!  (No, but seriously.  That's what happened.)

As he put it, we need to find the balance between Too Soon for the normal baby, and Too Late for the little baby.  We need to decide the best time to deliver them both when they will have the best chance of survival.

Survival.

We are talking about survival at my appointments now.

I mean, if anyone ever needed an alcoholic beverage, it is the OB patient discussing survival at her 26 week appointment.  I enjoyed two tasty Boosts but it's just not the same.

--

One Year Ago:  FET: Makes Me Feel All Stabby
Two Years Ago:  Anatomy of an Advertisement
Three Years Ago:  Me?  I'm PUPO

All the stuff that's been happening...

In between me being pissed off at...everyone, apparently.  Let me show you it.

Olivia went to Boo at the Zoo.  She loved it but refused to look at the camera so that I could record her happiness.  Way to ruin memories Olivia GOD!



Totally NOMable Cupcake.

 At the zoo, Olivia discovered an undying love and devotion to the Oatmeal Cream Pie. She shoved it into her face by the fistfull, and gave me her best "I Will Cut You" look when I tried to take her picture.

Fact: I love Oatmeal Cream PIes.
Fact: I will cut you.

She basically ignored all of the animals, and went bat shit crazy over the little village of Little Tykes plastic houses.  She also threatened emancipation filings when we wouldn't let her get into someone else's wagon.  Because OMG A WAGON!  WANT!  She felt better after a Moon Pie, though, so it was a real successful parenting moment for us.

Then, we got family pictures taken by Felicia at FML Photo Design.  Olivia was fun and adorable and I loved all of the pictures and then I wished I was a millionaire so that I could buy them all.  The problem is that Felicia does way too fantastic of a job.  Here are a few that we aren't going to use for the Christmas Card.

Olivia's mullet seems to be slowly giving up on life outside of the 80's.  It's now spreading to the top of her head and is getting to be pretty long.  So I thought maybe I'd try pigtails...which went over in what I'd call a supremely piss poor fashion.  It was like she went through the Five Stages of Goddamned Grief over her new hair-do reality:

Denial

La la la...I am doing whatever I want and nothing has happened to my head.

Anger

WHY IS THIS HAPPENING TO ME?
I was happy playing and then you made me pose for this dumbass picture
and you can't even get the focus right!
Parenting FAIL!



Bargaining

Please!  Just take this shit out of my hair and let me poke mah eye with these nail clippers!
I won't feed my fruit to the dogs again, I swearz!

Depression

OK, I'm seriously sad.
But that noise you made was kind of funny.
Well played, mom.  Well played.

Acceptance

Oh, FINE!  I'm cute, you are correct.  Let's go watch Yo Gabba Gabba.


There's a party in my tummy!  Party party!

When I was pregnant with Olivia, I wore heels until I gave birth.  No problem.  I also wore my normal jeans with a belly band the entire time  But I'm 25 weeks right now, and for the past three weeks I haven't been able to wear anything but my running shoes and stretchy maternity pants.  Because my thighs rub so much that there is a Smokey The Bear campaign to keep me away from forests because all of that friction is damned dangerous.  And if I don't wear running shoes, my feet fall off at the ankle and are replaced with elephant appendages.

I worked all day in running shoes.  Then wore cute flats out to dinner while I sat for about an hour.
They're both swollen, but Old Lefty is really going for gold.

I've been feeling less sick, but more physically uncomfortable.  I still don't think I'm that big but people seem to be shocked by my massive girth.  So...whatever.  I can't sleep and then I'm tired all day, and by the end of the day it hurts my entire body to walk.  I look like a senior citizen when I walk and I have dirty dreams about those electric cart thingies at Wal-Mart and also about sitting on a hemorrhoid donut at work.

I can't imagine how I'll be feeling at 35 weeks, because 25 weeks is pretty insane!

---
One Year Ago:  Full of The Giddy Over New Moon
Two Years Ago: 24 Weeks
Three Years Ago:  Clomid is Boring



Shocking new information about twin pregnancies!

Please, sit down. Even better: pull down your pants and sit on the toilet in preparation to drop the most spectacular deuce that has ever been dropped.

Apparently? When a woman is pregnant with twins? Her abdomen? It gets really fucking big.

Like, really big.

YOUGE even.

I know from experience that this is a very shocking concept for people to handle.

Yes, it is a matter of fact.  Women who are pregnant with twins are freaks and you should treat them as such.  It is your duty as a good citizen to be as obnoxious as possible when dealing with one of these weirdos. 

Because some of these beasts? Actually think they look good! Cute, even! I mean, don't let them walk around with this delusion.  First, you need to act really shocked at their massive girth each time you see them. You need to tell them exactly how fat they look. I know, I know, they are big and look scary, but they're fat and slow so just do it and RUN!  If you have any snacks, throw them in the opposite of the direction you plan to run.  Because they're hungry and their hate-rage blood lust can only be broken with snacks.

Sometimes? They are even excited! They think having two babies might be kind of adorable and there is no way you should let them have this excitement because it may possibly make the important things in your life seem less exciting.  I mean, if people are really busy listening to some fat heifer talk about her incubation of two humans, they might not have time to listen to you talk about what you're having for dinner or which shows you plan to watch on your DVR first. 

You should make sure to tell them how awful it's going to be. Say something like "GOOD LORD you are going to be BIZZAY! UR NVR GNA SLEEEP! EVAH!"  Or, "your stomach is going to be so messed up."  Or!  OR!!!!!  "Your vagina is going to explode, probably." 

(I don't know if that vagina part is true, but making shit up is totally acceptable in this situation.)


And of course, they have names picked out - which, by the way, you should ask about and then act awkward and pretend you like them while making some sort of passive aggressive gesture to let them know you don't. 

Because YOUR opinion is what matters.  Always remember that.

---

One Year Ago:  Jennepper's Must Have Baybee Gifts for 2009
Two Years Ago: 23 Weeks: Am Hardly Showing At All, Apparently
Three Years Ago: Did You Seriously Just Say That?

Do we feel like 30 is reasonable?

Little Drama Queen Twin A is most definitely grounded.  I'm thinking until age 30.  That's reasonable, no?

Twin B seems to be like Mark, as in I Go With The Flow, Word To Your Mother But Only If You Feel Like It, Also More Candy Plz, Etc.

Twin A seems to be like Jennepper: Look at me! Look at me!  Look at meeeeeee!  I'm sure that she will start a blog immediately at birth that will be all, "there's a nurse here in Ed Hardy Sweatpants, WTF Y'all?" and then people will be like, "Ur Stoopid" and she will be like, "Ur Stoopider" and then she will require many, many carbs.

We went to Ohio State Medical Center to see Dr. O'Shaughnessy, because we needed to decide if we had Twin to Twin Transfusion.  We do not.  So that was good news.  I will say that I wasn't overly impressed with the doctor - he seemed very competent, but barely spoke to us directly and gave us nearly zero information during our scan or afterward, really.  Aside from, "you do not have TTTS, but I want one of my heart guys to meet with you" he didn't really say anything to us at all.

I don't post that to be bitchy, I just post it because that's how it was.  At the same time, he brought in a cake for a patient who went past her Worry Date in her pregnancy and they were celebrating.  I think that sounds awesome and makes him sound like an amazing doctor - which I'm sure he really is - but for us?  Meh.  Everyone else there was very friendly, and Sally did our ultrasound and was SO NICE OH MAH GAH.  So if you've found me in a mad google search, that's my review. 

Anyway, Little Miss Drama Twin A is definitely smaller and something about the blood flow in her heart looked a bit limited.   We tried to get a same-day appointment with a cardiologist at Nationwide Children's in Columbus, but they could only squeeze us in on Tuesday morning.  So we stayed a second night in Columbus and enjoyed a date night. 

(We saw The Town - it was good.  I ate a bag of Reeses Pieces. The end.)

So, for the fourth time this month, we had a 1.5 hour ultrasound - this time, a fetal echo - and both babies were crazy little movers.  I should have been thinking of really grown up responsible questions to ask but all I could really think of is how close-up of the heart looked like the Scream Mask to me, which Boo Hoo Courteney Cox and David Arquette Break Up Woe.

The ultrasound lady was also very nice here, and the cardiologist was seriously one of the nicest people I've ever met.  We really liked him and if we lived closer we'd see him again.  His name was Dr. Kovalchin, in case you're looking for a pediatric cardiologist in Columbus.  I sat there like an exhausted moron zombie, but Mark asked some questions and the doctor was very friendly and explained things to us in a way that was easy to understand.

The general consensus is that the opening of her aortic artery is on the narrow side.  Watch and see, but it is entirely possible that it's all going to be fiiiiiiine.

That's it: overall good news!   We have to follow up with a pediatric cardiologist in Akron next month, but it's business as usual around here.

Sorry for the lack of updates, but as per usual, I haven't really felt like blogging because this shit?  Is exhausting.  Among other exhausting things happening, like home improvements, new position at work, and trying to begin preparations for these two trouble makers in my uterus of doom.  Am tired, boo hoo hoo.

---

One Year Ago:  So, How 'bout That Swine Flu
Two Years Ago:  21 Weeks: My Life As A Simpsons Character
Three Years Ago:  Since You Asked...

Hospital Planning FAIL

This is the sign in the waiting room of the Maternal Fetal Medicine office.  You go through the same set of double doors if you are hugely pregnant and full of the speshul problems or if you have a rare cross-breed of malaria and syphilis.

I mean, it's pretty much impossible to come out of the office without thinking: OK, which ones of you sonzabitches is infectious?

Thank you for all of your comments - it really does help to hear from people who have been through it, and that people are pulling for my little drama queens.  I appreciate every single one.  And the emails, which I have read but haven't had time to respond to - you guys are the best. 

(Speaking of email, I changed my address because it turns out that I find Hotmail to be a complete whore.  So if you're emailing me regularly, check my profile to get the new address. Kthxbai.)

But really, I think we are doing a pretty good job of not going completely insane.  Partly because of this Fat Booth picture that my cousin took of me:

But mostly because of my little comedian.  She's like a flaming bag of adorable fun.  Kind of makes it impossible to be sad.

The other day, she pretended like she was going to give me a kiss, and then when she got right by my face she stole my glasses and belly laughed like a completely crazed maniac. 

Here's what happened: The Dramz

Thursday, 10/7: My fun taco or sausage appointment took a turn for the not-so-fun when the doctor had to come help the ultrasound tech scan Twin A's brain.  And then they Found Something Questionable and also I Will See The MFM Afterall.

And after being at the OB for nearly two hours, losing my shit for the last 20 minutes, and looking like a complete and total pistachio?  All I wanted to do was come home and play with Olivia and then bury my head under the covers and just get some sleep.

But I waited to long to eat, and then after I did finally eat I barfed it all back up.  And then I was sick and didn't sleep all night and then I had to go to work.  Isn't my blog so much fun?  It doesn't sound like as much fun as it really was.

Weekend in a nutshell: sick, woe, worry.

Monday, 10/11: Ultrasound with the MFM (Dr. Stewart, for my locals).  Ultrasound lasted about an hour and a half, and then the doctor came in.  Brains looked fine, actually.  Just fiiiiiiiine.

Howevah.

One twin weighs 13 oz, one weighs 9 oz.  OH NOES, apparently.

Identical twins are at risk for Twin To Twin Transfusion Syndrome - one baby gets too much blood, the other baby not enough.  Basically, both of them are screwed if it gets out of control.  And by screwed, I mean all sorts of things, like Probably Will Be Preemies If They Are Lucky.  And Other Very Bad Things If They Are Not Lucky.

Oh, but Dr. Stewart.  Really.  I love him and not in a naughty way.  He was genuinely kind, he explained things simply but not in a condescending way.  He really, really listened to my questions and answered them completely.  He will be my doctor for the rest of this pregnancy.

BUT.  Anyway, not to get too happy on you because DANGER AND WOE!  Dr. Stewart thinks that mah baybees have Twin To Twin Transfusion going on, and that a visit to a specialist is in order.  Because, you know, this specialist can perform a surgery in utero to help correct the problem.

Surgery.  In utero.

So I see this doctor on Monday, and it's in Columbus which is a nice 2.5 hours away from us.  And we have to be there at 7:45 a.m.   His name is Dr. O'Shaughnessy and if any of you have a rave review, please let me know.  Because I made the mistake of Googling Twin To Twin Transfusion and now I'm all kinds of worried.  Please tell me that he's the sexed-down version of Addison Montgomery Shepherd.

That's the update.  That's the reason I've been MIA.  It's just all too much right now and all I want to do is sleep and cuddle my Olivia and bury my head in the sand.  But I live in Ohio and there is no sand and so maybe I'll just stuff my face into a big bowl of cheese sauce.

--

One Year Ago: Eight Months.  And By Eight, I Mean Ate.
Two Years Ago: Please Nominate Me For What Not To Wear
THREE YEARS AGO!: Trying to Conceive: A Month-by-Month Guide

We lack breakfast meats at our house.

Well, that's not entirely true.  There is Mark, afterall.  And we have two boy dogs.

Other than that it's a TACO PARTAY UP IN HERE!

Yes, two girls.  And they are bringing the drama already.  It's like the teen years are playing out in my uterus right this very second.  We're already seeing specialists and everything. 

I'll post a proper update, when I have time to document the drama, but for now: GIRLS!  TACO PARTY!  PINK BAYBEE GAP ZOMG!

Let me clear a few things up.

I haven't returned emails from blog friends since...July? August? I have no idea. Let's make a choose your own adventure out of this: if you are tired of my excuses, read The Short Of It; if you are tired of my excuses but want to read my less-than-compelling story about my inability to manage technology, read The Long of it.

The Short of It: I'm a dick, probably.

The Long of It: Hotmail was working on my iPhone. For a long time, too. But then I did my last update and somehow it is not working again.  You know how I know?  Because I sat on my lunch break and typed out two really long replies (one to the person who asked about my embryos, and one to the person who emailed me twice about identical twins) and I couldn't get them out of my outbox.  And I couldn't save them as drafts.  And I can't decide who is the dick: iPhone, Hotmail, or Jennepper. 

So anyway.  I need to return emails, but the only time I get to actually be on the computer is when I blog, which is now once a week if we're lucky.  Blah.  So if you're out there thinking I'm a stuck up bitch for not returning your super nice email (and wow, am I on a "everyone is nice streak" email-wise), then you're wrong. 

I'm not a stuck up bitch, I'm a dick.  Probably.

--

Dear Cheryl from Redbook,

I fell in love with Jimmy Dean because of his delicious egg and cheese omelets. Not because of his...sausage.

Much Love,
Jen formerly from Redbook (sort of) but not anymore.

--

The pioneer of IVF won the Nobel Prize, which is awesome.
Could we all stop calling them test tube babies already?  Before I set the world on fire or cut someone?

Also, I picked that link because I don't think it has comments.  And HOLY HELL you people should just step away from the comments, because I'm not the only dick out there, mkay?  Just...don't read them.  If you've done IVF or infertility treatments at all.  The end.

--

Anonymous,

I DON'T find out if this is a sausage fest or taco party on the same day as Bev at A Baby Maybe.  She finds out one day earlier than me, even though she's due close to a month after me. 

The people at my OB are ultrasound Nazis.  I asked if I could come in early for my ultrasound:

She: Ultrasound will be at 20 weeks, so Thursday, October 7.

Me: Can I come early?  Kthxbai?

She: Well, you could come on Wednesday, I guess, but we don't do ultrasounds on Wednesdays.

Me: Tuesday?

She: NO.  KTHXBAI.

Alas.  I have to wait an extra day.  Woe is me, and I know you are all very heart broken over this.  And not to overwhelm you, but the K key on my keyboard is broken and do you realize how much you use the K?  DO YOU? 

Kthxbai,
Jennepper.

--

I hate to even bring this up when I'm on such a roll of only nice comments and emails...but.  Just because someone has a public blog doesn't mean that they should lay down and allow you to take a crap on their face (a Hot Carl, as it were). 

(Did you know that there is also a Warm Carl, and a Cold Carl?  Yeah.  Me either.)

I know that it's really difficult to pull yourself away from my blog, you know, with that guy I hired standing behind you with a gun to your head FORCING YOU TO READ THIS DRIVEL!  I know that you'd much rather return to your more refined reading, about the proper use of finger bowls with dinner or which enormous hat goes with which wine. 

Or whatever. 

So anyway, if you don't like me, the feeling is probably mutual.  No need to point out the obvious.   I see why David Thorne chose the whole Go Away thing for his blog.  (Have you read his blog?  It completes me.)  Because wasting your time reading my blog and leaving nasty comments?  Makes you the idiot, not me.

--

One Year Ago: Working vs. Staying at Home
Two Years Ago: I don't need you!  I don't need anyone!  I have a Snoogle!

It counts as a C-Section.

It is my belief that these babies are eating my brains to stay alive. 

I pointed this out to someone (my boss) at work today, and he thinks that I'm probably carrying Renesmee-like, half vampire half human fetuses.  It really makes sense if you think about it. 

And if you read the Twilight series.

I did clarify that it counts as a C-Section.  You know, if these babies gnaw their way out of my uterus of doom using their razor-sharp teeth.  I'll probably have to have Robert Pattinson suck on my neck and turn me immortal, but at least I'll get 8 paid weeks off work instead of 6.  Gotta think positive.

Like when I puked at my desk at work this week.  I mean, it was embarrassing and it really pissed me off.  But also?  If I hadn't?  I probably wouldn't have had room to eat that giant bowl of homemade apple crisp before bed.  Sure, it gave me raging heartburn but it was damn delicious.  Sunshine, rainbows, Robert Pattinson, etc.

Here's some pictures of me at 18 weeks.  Twins on the left, Singleton on the right.  I think I look pretty much the same so far.  But holy hell!  You can definitely tell that I have a nicer camera now!

At 18 weeks with Olivia, I had gained 8 or 9 pounds.  I've gained just under 15 this time.  I think I'm on the verge of some major belly explosion, though. 

And I'm pretty sure that the extra six pounds have taken residence in my thighs.  I tried to wear a pair of my regular jeans with a bella* band, and the denim around my thighs actually told me to get real and then screamed and set itself on fire.

One week and one day until we find out if it's a sausage fest or a taco party in my uterus!  My money is on sausage.  But just for this, because otherwise, I am not a fan of sausage.  The breakfast meat, I mean.  I like some sausage.

(OK, this is just taking a turn for strange, so I'm going to go to bed.)
(I'll probably dream about sausage now.  Ugh.)

*Alright, I couldn't resist.  It's Twilight-related.  Ish.**
**Shut up.

The Best Thing That's Ever Been Mine

Olivia is 19 months old. She is so adorable and fun that I pretty much can't even deal with it.

There's basically no walking.  She runs everywhere.  She loves to be chased and tackled and tickled.  She laughs until she snorts and wheezes.  She has a mean dunk.

My daughter is basically indestructible.  She falls, runs into things, bumps her head...and then says whoa and carries on with her mischief.  She's tough.

I just stabbed myself in the eye with this toothbrush.
Oh well...LOOK!  A BALL!

Don't get me wrong.  There are tears.   Like when you tell her not to stick her face in the dog bowl, for example.  Or when you tell her that she, in fact, cannot pull Mickey Mouse out of the TV screen.

But usually?  It's just smiles.

Latest Sayings:

What's That?

Where she go?

BALL! BALL! ZOMG A BALL!

Stuck, Go

Apple

Box

Whoa Whoa Whoa, WEEEEEEE!

A BALL!  BALL! BALL!  BALL!  BALL!  Etc.

Loves:

Pizza, Hot Dogs

Apples, Grapes, Bananas

Pasta

Her Mommy, Her Daddy

Violet

Milo and Baxter

Slides, Bubbles

Elmo, Mickey Mouse

Sometimes I make her laugh so hard, she looks all Crazy Pants.

Her hair is still working on growing. Except the party in the back, which grows like a mullet-lover's wet dream.  It's all curls at the bottom, and if you don't give her a comb over after her bath, it dries all catawampus.

Business in the front, curly party in the back.

She's a total attention whore.  She loves to show off for people in stores and restaurants, and gives a big cheesy grin.  She's shy, too.  Pay attention to her, but don't get too close! Mostly she likes to do her own thing and figure things out for herself. And when she's done, she likes to sit by us and drink her water while we read her a book.

Pretty much done with having her picture taken.

She points to letters on shirts and pretends to be reading them - O, O, E, E, E, E, A, R, O, O, O - pointing to every letter.  When I was sick a couple weeks ago and barfed cherries?  I was crying with my face in the toilet and pretty much feeling pathetic and sorry for myself.  Olivia came upstairs to the bathroom, lifted up my hair, and did a crazy dance.  And then I laughed.

She can almost climb the rock wall up to the slide by herself.

When I think about the time I won't get to spend with her when these new babies come, my heart gets all hurty.  I can't imagine loving another baby as much as I love this one.

Ed Fardy

I generally use my iPhone camera for good, not evil.

Generally.

The problem is that I'm just not very nice.  I mean, I could work on it.  But I'm not really that interested in being a better person.  I'm not mean, really, but I'm just not nice.

Sometimes I use my iPhone to annoy people who annoy me.  It's only fair.  For example, this old guy would not stop staring at me in the mall.  I tried everything.  I smiled and looked away.  I stared at him with my best "STOP LOOKING AT ME SWAN" look until my eyes dried out.  I made a strange face at him.  What else is a girl to do but whip out her iPhone and take a very obvious picture.



Hey!  Your tanning bed called!  They said you have a fucking staring problem!


On the other hand, I sometimes use my iPhone to photograph people who have done absolutely nothing to annoy me.  Except that they exist.  In this case, I have to be more covert.  Luckily, I disabled the shutter sound on my phone so that I can be a total asshole and take a photo under the ruse of texting. 

I recently caught this gem at the same mall.  This lady did nothing to annoy me, aside from getting dressed and being in my line of vision: mid-fifties, tight Aeropostale sweat shirt, Ed Hardy sweat pants, and CROCS. 

And then I died.  The end.

Ed Fardy?  Ed Tardy?
Your buttcrack will be eating your douchey sweatpants while you enjoy your sandwich.

At first I thought the whole buttcrack tragedy made her pants appear to read "Ed Tardy."  But my Facebook friend Lauren suggested "Ed Fardy" and I think I like that better.

I should just stop going to the mall.

--

One Year Ago:  You Know What's Funny?  Rugs!
Two Years Ago:  You Down With RLP?  Yeah You Know Me!