I know I’m “only” 37+ weeks, but holy shit am I all done being pregnant.

I feel bad about it. I want to relish the time I have left. I know I won’t get to do it again. And, despite its discomforts and inconveniences, I have not hated this pregnancy. Parts of it have been really cool, and even most of the less-cool parts have been quite tolerable.

But I’m done.

These once-a-week ultrasounds and non-stress tests? Despite the fact that they’ve largely all pointed to “just fine,” they are not making me feel better. They are not keeping me calm.  Tuesday all but pushed me over the edge.

Arrived at the OB’s office on Tuesday morning for the non-stress test. Thankfully, my mom was in town for a visit, so she could hang out at home and play with the kids while I was at the office.  Sat in the waiting room an unusually long time, and the first thing the medical assistant told me when she called me back was, “we still haven’t heard from the maternal-fetal medicine office about an ultrasound for you.”  I was a little confused. I already had an ultrasound scheduled for 3PM that same afternoon, but at one of the normal ultrasound offices.  “Oh no,” she said, “you’re supposed to go to MFM.”  At which point the other medical assistant chimed in with, “oh, she may not know about that yet.”

THAT’S REASSURING.

OK, so it turns out that my last ultrasound showed a slight increase in fluid volume (which I knew), and because of that, they wanted me to have my next ultrasound at the MFM (high-risk) office. I didn’t know because this was only decided late Friday afternoon, Monday was a holiday, and here it was, Tuesday morning. OK. Fine. Whatever.  I’m well-acquainted with that office, that’s where all of my billions of ultrasounds were during my last pregnancy. Fine.

Non-stress test went well. Apparently a decaf latte from Starbucks is the key to a ridiculously reactive baby. I actually had to sit there a bit longer just to wait for her to chill out and do a nice, even baseline heart rate. But ultimately, test went great. Yay.  Nurse practitioner comes in (because why would I ever see my own OB?), I’m measuring a whopping 7 weeks ahead. Honestly, I think that’s what I measured when my twins were born. No wonder none of my shirts fit.  She mentions the ultrasound with MFM (which they managed to schedule for the same afternoon, thankfully), and says we’ll just have to see if he recommends any… change of plans.

I’ll just go home and make sure my hospital bag is packed, thankyouverymuch.

Headed to the hospital with my mom and my kids in tow, since (assuming all is well) we have to take my mom straight to the airport post-appointment.  The receptionist and ultrasound techs remembered me, couldn’t believe how old my kids are, and despite not seeing him in over three years, remarked how much my son looks like my husband.  Nice to be back.

Ultrasound went well, all parts where they should be and seem to be doing their jobs. For the third time in recent weeks, the ultrasound tech remarked that the baby seems to have a lot of hair, very unlike my older kids.  Fluid volume, while a very subjective measurement on ultrasound, does not appear quite as alarmingly high as previous measurements.  And then… the baby decided it was a good time for a nap. One bit of criteria for passing these biophysical profile ultrasounds is seeing movement.  This kid? Totally asleep.  We poked, we jiggled, I ate a snack. Totally still except for a perfectly nice heartbeat and some lovely breathing motions.  Sound asleep.  Great.  She sleeps like her father and brother. I’ll appreciate that later, but not now.

High-risk doc came in, said everything looks totally fine. No need to change plans and move up delivery, it’s just one of those things. Except…. do I usually feel the baby move? Well, sure. She moves just fine, I think. Well, I think we’ll just send you down to Labor & Delivery for a non-stress test. No. No. No. Had one this morning, it was great. Please, not another hour on the monitor with my mom and my kids to deal with.  He put the ultrasound wand back on my belly, she finally waved her arms around, and I was free to go.

And now?

I’m back to being completely freaked out and paranoid about movement.  All day, every day.  Half the time, I’ll have a snack or dinner, lie down, and she’ll throw a little party and make me realize how foolish I am.  The other half of the time, I get distracted by life and kids. I’m not paying attention. I can’t remember when she last moved, or moved much.  I panic. She naps.  I lie in the dark, still as I can, while the seconds tick by slower than ever.  Eventually, of course, she moves.  But I’m wound up. I can’t sleep, I’m in a near-constant state of panic. If I get busy doing something else for a few hours, I panic all the more when I realize how long it’s been since I last panicked.

Lack of sleep, crazy hormones, and a serious case of anxiety over the one-in-a-million terrible what-ifs is making me a total basketcase. (Having the kids home from school for February vacation and bored is not helping, sadly.)  I’m bursting into tears over everything and nothing. I’m fried. I’ve got nothing left in the tank.

I am so freaking done with this part. I’m so sick of the worry and the blind wonder. I want to be able to look at her and see with my own eyes that she’s breathing.  Yeah, I know that if my doctor was really all that worried, I’d be seen a lot more often than once a week.  But that week between appointments kills me. Some days it’s easier. I notice more movement, I feel less pain.  But so many days aren’t. I’m busy, I forget to “listen” to my belly.  I do three kick counts a day, I eat extra snacks to wake her up.  She always does what she’s supposed to, ultimately, and it never quite gets to the point of calling the hospital and going in for a check. But it never calms me down for long.

I’m not an especially anxious person by nature, but is there anything that gets us more worked up than worrying about our own kids, whether they’ve been born yet or not?

Two weeks. Maybe less. I know I’ll soon be looking back on this with detached amusement. I’ve almost made it.

I just hope I’ll have a little bit of sanity left when I get there.

As expected, this little girl was quite tricky to keep on the monitor.  There’s supposed to be a mostly-continuous squiggly line of the baby’s heart rate.  Not occasional dots and dashes.  Unless maybe she’s trying to send me a message via morse code? (The steady line on the right is me, for once, not having any contractions. Troublemaker is on the left, or should be, at least.)

Not only was she feeling particularly active, but it turns out she’s got plenty of room to get away from the monitor, because she’s got the fetal equivalent of an Olympic-sized swimming pool in there.

I was thankfully able to sit with my doctor for a little bit after the monitoring. She walked into the room, smiled and gave me a sideways glance, and said, “you’re going to pop!”  Yeah, it’s not “just a little” excess fluid.  The normal range in the 3rd trimester is anywhere from 5 to 25cm.  This overachiever right here? THIRTY-FIVE.  She remarked that, not only would she plan on wearing the super-size booties during my c-section, but that I should be prepared for quite the gusher if my water happens to break before I go to the hospital.  Delightful. I guess that explains the sensation of walking around with a gigantic water balloon in my abdomen – that’s pretty much what’s going on here.

Since I passed my glucose test (with flying colors, apparently), the likelihood is that this is, simply, just one of those things.  Sometimes it happens, no known reason.  The only very rare thing they’ll keep an eye on is that it can theoretically be caused by the baby not swallowing properly, which can be the result of a few different conditions or abnormalities.  She thinks that would most likely have been picked up on ultrasound before now, but they’ll have the neonatologist check her out after delivery, just in case.

And, in the meantime, I am on the every-week rotation for non-stress tests and ultrasounds.  Tricky to schedule around preschool pickup and naptime, but at least it’s only for a couple of weeks.

I’m feeling… well, both better and worse.  Initially, I was feeling a lot better. And that’s probably the most rational way to feel.  My OB did not seem especially concerned (except for the safety of my mattress in the event of my water breaking). Yes, she’s monitoring me, but I know those checks could be a lot more frequent, or if she was REALLY worried, they’d send my butt straight to the hospital.

But I can’t help feeling anxious about the rare what-ifs.  I can’t help but worry about the complications that can arise with excess fluid (I won’t list them, but look up polyhydramnios if you really want to).  I know those complications are rare. I know that the much greater likelihood is that everything is and will be just fine.  But I’ll breathe a little easier (literally and figuratively) when she’s on the outside and we can see that everything is in the right place, working like it should.

Less than four weeks to go…

On many levels, everything is just fine. Baby is moving regularly, though I still get paranoid and may have woken up at 4am and had a snack just so I could do a kick count.  Blood pressure is still nice and low (this time last pregnancy, it had spiked to 150/100 and they almost delivered me on the spot).  Blah blah, boring pregnancy stuff.

But I’m still measuring 1-2 weeks “ahead.”  Still carrying around, it would seem, a slightly larger kid and a bit of extra fluid. So, not surprisingly, my OB ordered another ultrasound and a non-stress test. Heck, I had already consulted Dr. Google, I knew this was coming.

So why is it freaking me right the hell out?

Intellectually, I know this is no big deal.  I know that minor amounts of excess fluid happen, and hey, somebody’s kid has to be greater than the 50th percentile, right?  As for the testing, I had the ultrasound/NST combo twice a week at the end of my last pregnancy.  It’s old hat.

Maybe it’s because this seems to be more of a surprise?  Last time it just seemed par for the course. Yes, I knew they were watching Rebecca because she was so small, but she always checked out just fine, and I don’t remember feeling that concerned.  This time, everything was so quiet, that to have a slight change in plans makes me nervous. (And yes, it’s possible I’m mis-remembering my own stress levels from my last pregnancy – it was, after all, 3.5 years ago, and I’m well aware that everything turned out fine.)

Additionally, I feel like there’s a lot less feedback when working with the OB’s office, as opposed to the maternal-fetal medicine specialist.  In my MFM days, the women who did the ultrasounds were particularly chatty, telling me everything they were seeing, and always making me feel pretty reassured.  The ultrasound was followed within minutes by some feedback from the doctor herself, so I knew right away where we stood.  Now, the “regular” ultrasound folks are friendly but a lot more tight-lipped about what they’re really looking for, and then I have to go hang out for a day or two while I wonder if my OB is going to call me and say anything at all about what she saw.

This week is one of those times when I’m feeling oh-so ready to be done being pregnant, if only so I don’t have to play these games anymore.  I had a routine check-up last Friday morning (with the nurse practitioner, because why would my actual OB ever be available?), and then a call at 5:30pm saying that my OB did, in fact, want to order a non-stress test.  But that the scheduling people were already gone for the day, so I should hear something Monday.  Great, that doesn’t make for an anxious weekend or anything (hence, the 4am kick count).

Got the call at 11am Monday from the office, basically saying my only available appointments were 1pm Monday (i.e. 2 hours from the phone call) for an ultrasound and 2:15 on Wednesday for a non-stress test.  Super. Naptime. Great. I’ll come with my non-sleeping entourage.

Had the ultrasound, got to see the baby playing with her toes and get a case of the hiccups.  Lovely.  And then the ultrasound tech finishes and says, “I’ll just call the doctor with the preliminary results and see if she wants you to stay or if you’re OK to go.”  Um, hello. That is NOT reassuring in the slightest, and yet gives me no specific feedback whatsoever.  Five minutes later I was happily waved out of the office, but I still have no further information.  Still just excess fluid? Anything else of concern?  No freaking clue, but it only serves to make me feel like there is something specific they’re keeping from me.  Paranoid? Maybe, but I have no reason not to be.

(Even though M constantly reminds me that, if they were actually concerned in any real way, they’d send me straight to Labor & Delivery… still…)

In the meantime, with the rotten timing of Wednesday’s non-stress test, what made the most sense was to have M take a vacation day so I could go without the kids.  Except, of course, the scheduling coordinator was kind enough to let me know that my OB was actually covering the hospital that day, so she may get called away and have to reschedule.  I’m already prepared with my shit-storm of a response if that happens – they will have to send me to the goddamn hospital and hook me up there. I am rearranging my life for this appointment, they will accommodate me. Period.

Non-stress my ass.

And, once again, we’re back on pregnancy talk. I swear, I’ll say something about my challenging-yet-delightful 3-year-olds again, soon.

Went in for my 32-week checkup yesterday, and I am suddenly measuring a few weeks “ahead.”  Of course, during my last pregnancy, I always measured absurdly far ahead.  But, that time, there were two kids in there.  This time, not as much.  Three weeks ago, apparently, I was measuring right on target.  Additionally, I learned that I passed the 1-hour glucose screening by the skin of my teeth – a single point under the threshold.  (Last time I failed it by a single point, though…)  Between measuring large and my barely-passing score, my OB is wondering if I may, indeed, have gestational diabetes.

First order of business: ultrasound. Stat. Never have I gotten an appointment so quickly, literally 24 hours later.  And, joy of joys, I got to drag my 3-year-old entourage with me.  Thankfully, they were well-behaved and the ultrasound tech was good-natured.

One thing I miss about my high-risk days? The instant feedback. All of my ultrasounds were in the high-risk OB’s office, and not only were the techs pretty talkative and forthcoming about what they were seeing and measuring, but the doctor then came in immediately after the ultrasound and told me what was up.  Now, in low-risk land, the tech doesn’t want to say much, and I have to wait for results and the return phone call.

Anyways, turns out the baby is measuring pretty average, but there appears to be more fluid around her than normal (the likely cause for my larger-than-dates measurement, not to mention the old irritable uterus). And additional fluid is another potential indicator of gestational diabetes.  You know what that means…  the Three-Hour Glucose Test!

If you’ve been around this blog for a while, you might remember how well the three-hour test went last time.  To sum up: very very not well. There were lots of needle sticks and lots of crying. It was bad.  And seriously, what good can come of a hungry and dehydrated pregnant woman?  NO GOOD AT ALL.

I have a marginally better attitude about it right now.  For one, obviously, if I do have gestational diabetes, I want to get right on that and make sure it’s managed properly. Much as I hate going low-carb/low-sugar, I’m not messing around with this baby’s health (or mine, for that matter).  Plus, there is now a blood draw lab right across the hall from my OB’s office.  Not only do I not have to sit in a crowded hospital waiting room, but the phlebotomist at this lab is nothing short of spectacular.  Honestly, I’m a phlebotomist’s nightmare. My veins are awful, I’m a terrible stick.  But this woman has gotten me on the first try every.single.time.  I am going to her. Period.

It will all probably have to wait until Monday, when M can take a vacation day to be on kid-duty so I can sit in a lab for a few hours.  But if you see a bunch of hysterical, starving, dehydrated tweets on Monday morning, you’ll know why.

It’s really ratcheting up this week, because Friday is our big anatomy ultrasound. EEK!

I’m of course really excited to see the baby (who I assume is, you know, still there and hasn’t vanished or anything).  I’m anxious to know that all of the critical bits and pieces are in place and doing what they need to be doing.  And, naturally, I’m dying to find out if I’ve got a boy or a girl in there.

But mostly, I just want to confirm that all is going well.

I feel like the early part of the second trimester is sort of pregnancy limbo.  The noticeable symptoms of the first trimester are gone, which is nice, but there was something weirdly reassuring about sore boobs and bone-crushing exhuastion.  It was a daily reminder that something was happening.  And a month or so from now, I’ll get the elbow to the ribs or spleen or bladder.  It will be kind of uncomfortable, but also kind of awesome at the same time.

Right now, at 18 weeks, 3 days?  Not much.  I feel… fine.  Kinda fat. Loving maternity pants.  Out of breath going up the stairs, not really able to keep up with my Spinning class.  But mostly… fine.  Do I feel the baby moving?  The best I can say is, “maybe.”  Of all the funny twinges and rumbles and pops in my abdominal area over the last few weeks, I’m sure some of them must have been the baby. Having been down this road before, I’m sure some of them are.  But each individual feeling is so subtle, so fleeting, it’s hard to give a solid “yes” with any kind of confidence.

Remind me of this hand-wringing when I’m complaining about that foot in my lungs, OK?

And happy thoughts for this Friday (8:45 in the morning, in case you want to be really specific about it). I promise I’ll tell you just as soon as I know anything.

Add to that today’s finally-rescheduled annual checkup… let me just say THANK GOD M decided to be a wonderful person and take a sick day so I didn’t have to bring the kids with me.  The office called yesterday (and you know I was sure they were calling to cancel when I saw that caller ID) to remind me of the appointment and ask me to come 15 minutes before the appointment.  Fine, I showed up at 11:30 for my 11:45 appointment.  So that I could… tell them nothing at all has changed with regard to insurance, address, etc etc etc.  Great.  Sat and read a magazine, and no one called my name for 35 minutes.  Finally went and got the initial blood pressure check and all of that with the nurse, then back to the waiting room for another 10 minutes.  All so I could have my 5-minute annual exam.  It took longer to check out and schedule next year’s exam (an exercise in futility) than it did to have the actual checkup.  I finally left at nearly 12:45.  Thank god I didn’t have screaming lunch-time kids with me.

And just to continue the rant (in case any of you are still reading), I’m trying to deal with the whole foot surgery issue.  I have it scheduled, but childcare during the weeks following is looking iffy. I can piece a few things together, but it’s minimal and I’m not sure it will be enough.  Enter the latest idea: fly to Chicago with the kids and have it done there, where the whole famn-damily can pitch in.  Good for childcare, not fun to be away from M for several weeks.  Plus, insurance is being a pain in my ass (or foot, rather).

But hey, the sun is briefly peeking out and the kids took at least a brief nap.  We’ll hit the new mall playspace so they can run around, we’ll get a tasty snack.  It’s not all bad.

Ages and ages ago, I wrote about my OB/GYN office and their really annoying habit of cancelling appointments either the day of or the day before.  Basically, they make office appointments even when they’re the on-call doc at the hospital.  So I was always getting calls that my doctor was in a delivery. It happened for nearly 2/3 of my appointments when I was pregnant.  Sometimes they could see me later the same day, sometimes it got pushed off as much as a week. That was plenty bothersome when I was still working and 30-odd weeks pregnant.  Now, while I don’t have a typical 9-5 work day to deal with, I do have two 13-month-olds.  Who take two naps, and who don’t like sitting still in a stroller for mommy’s doctor’s appointments.

When I went for my six-week checkup almost exactly one year ago, I went ahead and made my appointment for my annual exam.  It felt so funny, knowing that I’d probably still be a SAHM, and not entirely knowing what that means.  Well, here I am.  The appointment is tomorrow.  Though the time is technically in the acceptable window between AM and PM naps, I know that it’s a whole lot easier to just go by myself, so I had M ask his boss if he could work from home in the morning.

You obviously know where this is going.  They called at about 2:00 this afternoon.  Less than 24 hours before the appointment.  My doctor will be in surgery tomorrow.  They can reschedule me for October 28.  Yeah.  Six more weeks.  Because they cancelled an appointment I made a year ago.  Don’t most doctor’s offices have policies about 24 hours notice cancellation?  Maybe they should pay my co-pay this time, since they didn’t honor that.

I am beyond frustrated.  Not that I was so looking forward to a pelvic exam.  Bleh, no one’s idea of a good time.  But seriously.  I arrange things so that I can honor the appointment I made.  Why can’t they?

And yeah, I understand that obstetrics is an unpredictable thing.  Sort of.  But it’s not even like she got called away an hour before my appointment (or 10 minutes into it, as once happened to me post-miscarriage).  She scheduled a surgery.  What’s the first thing to go?  Obviously, the routine annual exam on someone who isn’t pregnant. ARGH!!

Part of me is so mad, and I just want to find another practice.  But part of me likes my doctor, and figures I only go about once a year, and am unlikely to be needing her actual obstetric services anytime in the near future, so maybe it’s no big deal.  Except that, today, it is a big deal.  It messes with my day, which messes with my kids, and my husband, and even by extension his coworkers.  Yeah, I’m being a little overly dramatic.  But come on. Don’t treat me like my time isn’t valuable and isn’t deserving of the same respect that I show your office.

Alright.  I’m done.  Rant over.

It’s funny, this really feels like the coda on the end of my pregnancy. With this appointment done, it really is over. I may wax nostalgic about the anticipation that comes along with being pregnant, but I can say in no uncertain terms that I am thrilled to not be pregnant anymore. It really is something to have my body (mostly) back. For instance:

• I can sleep in any old position I want! Of course, I still find myself sleeping on my side some of the time, but at least it’s a choice.
• I don’t have to grunt and groan every time I stand up, sit down, roll over, or otherwise move my huge self.
• Carpal tunnel is 90% gone, and I can feel my entire right hand save for a little numbness at the tip of one finger.
• I no longer pee upwards of 15 times per day. Whew.
• I can see my ankles
• I have ankles.
• I can walk further than 20 yards without pain, pressure, or contractions.
• I drink less than a gallon of water per day. (Though, yes, I still drink a lot for the sake of my milk supply.)
• I can’t yet wear my wedding rings again, but it’s getting closer.
• The heartburn/reflux that had me taking extra-strength Zantac in addition to six or seven Tums per day disappeared immediately post-surgery.

In the end, I made it through my pregnancy relatively unscathed. Especially as twin pregnancies go, I had very few complications. No gestational diabetes, no pre-eclampsia (though I arguably had pregnancy-induced hypertension in those final weeks). Concerned though we were about Rebecca’s size all along, she has proven to be plenty healthy and feisty. I was blessedly never put on bedrest or really any restricted activity beyond what I limited on my own. And despite worrying about preterm labor, I made it all the way to 36 weeks. I was plenty uncomfortable, but I made it.

And now, it’s officially over. Whew.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have two beautiful, hungry babies to take care of.

The craziest part of the visit, however, was our discussion of when to deliver. First of all, if I go into labor spontaneously anytime tomorrow or later, they will not attempt to stop me. If it were to peter out on its own, they wouldn’t try to restart it, but they won’t stop me. OK. Wow. And then she said, “so, when do you think we should have these babies? I’m thinking 36-37 weeks.” Whoa!! Used to be 38, then 37-38… now 36? Holy crap! That’s two weeks!!

Basically, the plan is this: I’ll have my twice-per-week BPP and NST. If anything looks concerning, they might decide it’s a good day for a birthday. My next growth check will be in two weeks (August 1, to be precise). If either one of their growth has slowed or stopped? Birthday time. If growth is still good, they’ll schedule me for induction or c-section at right about 37 weeks.

WOW! I can barely wrap my mind around it. Three weeks at the most, possibly two or less. I’m pretty darn excited, but mostly it’s just not sinking in at all.

I’m off to my OB’s office shortly, where we definitely need to have a discussion about delivery method. Baby boy seems to have really taken over at the baby A position, and is head down, so vaginal delivery is an option on the table. We shall see.

Oh, and my blood pressure seemed to be creeping up at the NST today. We’ll see if that issue proves to be the dark horse that determines birthday time. I’ll update after the OB’s office if there are any interesting developments.

OB Update
After talking to my OB, she’s totally cool with me going directly for the c-section. She seemed to think it was probably a good idea in my case. If I change my mind and/or they both flip to vertex, I’m welcome to try for vaginal (if they don’t flip, then only if she’s the one on call, because she’ll do a breech extraction of twin B). But otherwise, she’s going to schedule my c-section for right about 37 weeks! To be moved up if things change, of course. Holy crap!!

I talked to her briefly about delivery options. Well, alright, I know what the options are. Assuming they stay in the same positions (one vertex, one breech), it depends on who decides to present or engage first. If little miss breech wants to be the first one out, then there is no choice: c-section all the way. If vertex boy pushes her out of the way, it depends in part on which doctor is on call if and when I go into labor. My doctor and one or two others are willing to do a breech extraction of the second twin (especially since she’s smaller). Other doctors will not. And all that aside, my OB’s practice gives the choice of a c-section to all twin moms, even if both are head-down.

First, I asked the nurse practitioner (who I love, by the way) whether she would prefer/recommend having the “choice” made ahead of time, if there ends up a choice to be made. For her two cents, she felt like she was personally more of a “planner,” and therefore would want to have her mind made up. This very much resonated with me, as I like to know as much as I can ahead of time. She then said that if she was in the situation of having twins and both were head down, she’d go for the vaginal. But, if it was her, if one of the babies was breech, she’d go for the c-section and not run the risk of the breech one getting stuck or not turning. This was absolutely her opinion, and I did not feel like she was suggesting that I ought to do the same thing. I had asked her personal opinion, and she gave it.

And you know what? In many ways, it was exactly what I wanted to hear. That pretty much sums up how I’ve felt all along. If by some miracle little miss manages to flip over again and her larger brother is presenting first, I might be willing to attempt the vaginal birth. But in pretty much any other situation, I really think I’m going to choose the c-section. It’s not without risk, and I know many people would choose differently. But this feels like the right decision for me.

I also asked when they might start talking about scheduling a c-section, in case I should go all the way to 37-38 weeks. She said I could absolutely start having that conversation with my OB at my next appointment (next week. yes, now they’re all weekly). Though I know I could just as easily go into labor on my own, I think it would be nice to have a date scheduled so that I have an actual end-point in sight.

So, what do you think would make a good birthday between August 10 and August 17 (37-38w)? Is a particular day of the week more desirable for any reason? I’m not really one to go for superstition or numerology, so I’d probably just as soon take whatever day they give me. But do chime in if you think any of those days is more auspicious than another!

(OK, funny thing. I just checked our family tree for other birthdays in that week. Turns out the only other twins in our families, one on my side and one on his, were born on the 15th and 16th of August. And as both sets are children of our male cousins, it has absolutely no impact on the fact that we are having twins. Just a very strange coincidence.)