The Good, the Bad, the Unexpected

Yesterday I couldn't wait to go to bed. I was cranky and bloated and tired. The last couple of nights I'd been sleeping hard - like not even getting up to pee once. But instead of sleeping bliss, I got a waking nightmare.

First it was the need to pee. Then I got a bloody nose. Followed by cramps that seemed freakishly like contractions but I wasn't sure. I was sure, however, that the floaties were dancing and kicking like cracked out club kids in NYC. Then pee again, then a growling stomach. Matt, who was awake and worried next to me, got me a 3 a.m. snack of dried apricots, turned off the fan that was drying out my nose and rubbed my aching back.

By the time the morning came, I was delirious and thinking up ways to bag out of work. Oddly, I was focused, alert and working all day. In fact, it was a lovely day -- until I backed my car out of the driveway so Matt could move the garbage cans out to the street and rammed into the telephone pole with my side view mirror.

Somehow, the total unexpectedness of the cracking plastic and shattered mirror seems like a metaphor for the shit you can never be prepared for as parents. The good news is that while Matt and I both thought, 'Well, this sucks,' we also couldn't stop ourselves from laughing -- a lot. It's a pain in the ass. It'll cost money. But it's not the end of the world. So it goes with the life about to unfold before us with twins. Broken plastic and laughter.

Making It Through D-Day

When the going gets tough, I stop writing. Which is not good. But it's true. After my last doctor's appointment, I was scared mute. I spent the last 5 days lying on my left side and stuffing myself full of "good fats" like avocado, pumpkin seeds and almonds (not to mention some bad fats like cupcakes) in an effort to fatten up my floaties and give them the best chance to have good blood flow from my lazy placenta. Hang in there, placenta!

I'm still scared, but yesterday I got at least a 1-week reprieve from the looming threat of an emergency c-section or 24-7 monitoring in the hospital. The babies have decent fluid, the same blood flow as last week and regular heartbeats. I tell myself not to get cocky. I know my circumstances can change on a dime. But I am relieved.

We're not out of the woods, but we're hoping we get to the all-important week 28 without incident.

Do Not Go Over to the Dark Side

At about 1 pm yesterday, my main concern was whether or not I'd be able to fly to my baby shower in the Bay Area. By 1:45, I had my answer: "You're not going anywhere," said my fetal specialist.

That was just the beginning of the dark news that was to come. But first the good stuff: Our floaties, who have made it to 26 weeks in utero, are growing and have enough amniotic fluid. The bad news: they may not make it beyond 27 weeks in there, though we're hoping for 28 or even 30 weeks. It seems my placenta is starting to slack off, to lose focus and stiffen up. If it decides to pack it in, the little floaties won't get enough blood flow or food and will need to join us out here in the wide, scary world. We want to avoid this as long as possible.

So now I'm on bed rest basically, though I'm still working. Matt corrals me over to a tiny slice of the bed at night so I have no choice but to sleep on my left side, which supposedly improves circulation to the uterus and fetuses. I'm trying to stay off my feet, drink lots of water and not spiral into any dark mental spaces. Let's keep it happy, in the moment, light and airy and strong.

Suck It Up

I've been lying in bed – or in a semi reclined postion on a padded piece of furiture – for two days. Tomorrow, I go back to work. I think I've decided to work from home. I'm lucky that's even an option. But I feel guilty about my decision. Monday seems like a day to show up in the office. Kick the week off right with an actual appearance before one's coworkers as an indication of commitment to the job, to the shared responsibilty. Plus, we get free lunch on Mondays.

One of my coworkers is on vacation and I mentioned to two different friends over the weekend that because my team is down a person, I really just have to suck it up for the week. Both friends immediately, and kind of angrily, said, "No you don't." This is the time, 6 ½ months pregnant with twins and coming off two days of bed rest, when you actually do not have to suck it up, they said. These are friends who do what's right in general -- but also for themselves.

For me, saying I'm not able to do something -- I can't, I have to rest, I have to lie down on my side and just BE -– is one of the toughest things to say. First of all, it's admitting weakness. Second of all, I consider myself one of those people who other people can count on. That Marla, she's a good egg. She shows up. She puts in her time. You don't have to worry about her. Even if I'm prone to sacrifice myself for others, what about my floaties? Will I do the right thing for them? What kind of mother will I be?

I guess I'll be a mom who compromises. I do plan to suck it up this week. But also to work from home on Monday and lie down at lunch. And take deep breaths. And check in with my doctor. And eat salmon for dinner tonight even though I don't really like it, because my floaties need omega 3 fatty acids. So there. That's the kind of mom I am already.

Contraction Preview

Yesterday I ended up in the hospital with early contractions. I basically felt like I needed a couple Advil 'cause it was the same kind of sensation as bad menstrual cramps. At first, I was reluctant to go to the doc, thinking I was probably imagining it. When you're pregnant -- at least for me -- it's hard to figure out what's normal and what should be alarming. I mean, are these Braxton Hicks contractions? Is it just my uterus expanding? Or am I about to give birth to two super premature babies and have my life come crashing down around me?

In the end, I'm reassured that some sort of instinct kicked in. I was not feeling quite right and I knew it. Of course, I had to have a mini meltdown in the bathroom at work before finally calling the doctor's emergency line. But I got it done. Go Mama!

And there are some up sides: I got a preview of the hospital, which is kind of swanky and private and lovely. The nurses were sweet. My hubby came and got me and took good care of me. And I learned I need to pee more. Don't hold it in, they told me. And of course most important of all, my little floaties (as we call the twins), are safe and healthy.

Baby Cooking

I'm 6 months and one week pregnant with twin boys. I'm not sure exactly what has happened over the last 2-3 weeks, but my active life has come to a slow, creeping halt. Exercise is out. Walking more than three blocks sends me fleeing back to the couch. My belly is hea-vy. Friends? Nah, I can't go out and socialize. My focus is this giant belly with two very active little dudes bouncing around inside. I've become a (mostly) home-bound baby cooker. Of course, I still work. Must... keep.... working. And while I'm there I keep up, I pull my weight, I do my job. Then I come home and collapse.

I feel bad for my husband, Matt, who now does the lion's share of the household work like cooking, washing dishes and taking out the trash. I mean, I still try. I do wash dishes and make salads and heat stuff up for us to eat. But Matt tries to head me off at every pass. Drop a morsel of food on the floor? "Don't get it!" he shouts. Start the laundry, "I'll do it!" he yells from the other room. The poor guy doesn't get a break.

To backtrack a little, since this is my first blog post: These will be my first (and only) children. I live in L.A. I'm 30-something. The twins are identical. And I'm terrified of becoming a mom about 98% of the time.