Wide Load: Carrying Twins

     I didn’t have an easy pregnancy with my first daughter, so I knew I was in for it with the twins.  I was right.  I was sick as a dog most of the time, and gained weight at a rate that my back, knees, and joints couldn’t keep up with.  Actually, it wasn’t really the weight, but the disproportions of my body.  I only gained about 48 pounds, which may sound like a lot, but I’m proud of, even though I did not control myself whatsoever so I can take no credit for the number.  I enjoyed ever bite of it.  By 30 weeks, I had to quit working.  As a teacher, I had to be on my feet a majority of the day, and making it through the day meant being swollen beyond recognition by the afternoon.  It’s funny how people who have never been a teacher think it’s a great, easy job.  “I wish I could get paid for sitting around all summer.” They say.  My husband’s response: “Go back to school and you can.”  My response: “We don’t actual get paid FOR those months; we only get paid DURING those months by having our salary prorated to do so.  That means we take ten months of salary and spread it out over twelve months worth of pay.”  Dean is always more satisfied than I am at the end of such conversations because people just don’t get it.  Don’t get me wrong, our hours I work are great, and we have good insurance and benefits.  BUT, just think about being responsible for the English Literature, Grammar, and testing knowledge of 130 teenagers every year that you spend only 50 minutes a day working with.  I love my job, but if it weren’t for summers, I would have chronic ulcers.  Thank goodness I had an AFLAC policy for short term disability.  I wanted to stay home, relax, and play with Princess while it was just us two there.  I couldn’t actually get in the floor, but we used my belly as a table a lot to play on with small toys.  I wish I could remember more about the earlier weeks I was off, but for some reason, I just can’t.  I do remember that by week 34, I was so unbearably miserable that I cried a lot and could hardly move.  I thought I was going to give my poor husband a breakdown from trying to work, manage the farm, and basically do everything I couldn’t (which was everything).  Family and close friends helped by cleaning and cooking some, but his role had definitely changed drastically.  At week 34, I spent a night in the hospital.  At week 35, I spent another night, and at week 36, I was put in and didn’t leave until I had two more babies to take home.  Though miserable and constantly contracting, my health was good, so there was no reason to deliver the babies.  By week 36, even my high risk doctor, who I will call doctor Wonderful, felt sorry for me.  “I’m sorry, but there’s just no medical reason to deliver the babies early”, said Wonderful.  I liked him a lot, trusted him dearly, and knew he was truly great.  However, I became convinced that I was going to die from some kind of system shut down before the babies were delivered.  I know it sounds silly now, but I promise you that I was sincerely convinced I was going to die.  I prayed to God consistently to remove such thoughts from my mind and make me stronger.  I wanted my babies to be big and healthy and not have to go to the NICU at all or be left behind at the hospital.  My prayer was to make it to 36 weeks, at which point I told Wonderful I was ready.  Unfortunately, he was not.  “Just because a baby may be big, does not mean that he/she is ready to be born”, says Wonderful to a lady carrying two babies, one of which was measuring in the 100^th percentile.  Forgive me for being selfish, but I cried unashamedly at that particular news.  I sincerely wanted healthy babies, but my mind, body, and spirit were tired.  I was not just a little exhausted, but a wary, unnerved, broken spirit kind of exhausted.  I was the kind of exhausted that allows the devil to convince you that you just can’t make it any longer.  IN the end, the twins were born at 36 weeks and 3 days at the decision of a perinatologist.  The problem was that baby A, aka Tinker Belle, was so much smaller than baby B, aka Tank, that they could not get a good measurement on her to know that she was growing properly.  Once she measured below the 10^th percentile, they were delivered.  Tinker Belle, weighed in at a healthy 5 pounds and 3 ounces, which was impressive for a twin.  She had nothing on Tank though, who weighed in at 7 pounds 12 ounces, bigger than many singletons.  GEE, wonder why I was so miserable!!! I was thrilled though, because they could breathe well, and didn’t need to even visit the NICU….AND it meant I wasn’t such a weenie after all (don’t judge me til you’ve been there people.)  Of course, I know I would be nervous about going home with two newborns added to my family, but I think you get to a point in pregnancy where you just know that keeping them in there is harder than letting them come out so you can take care of them that way.  It’s not true at all, of course, but you feel that way long enough to be glad to hear that you are about to have major surgery.