My dad, stepmom, and stepsister were in town for a visit this weekend. It was fun to have them around, and they were an immense amount of help. For one thing, it was great to have my dad with me when I went to trade in my car and buy the minivan. I dread all things haggling, and was nervous about being talked into things that were unnecessary. Dad has purchased a lot of vehicles in his day, so it was good to have his experience and confidence next to me. It also helped that I had not only researched the heck out of the car itself, but had dutifully looked up Kelly Blue Book values for both the new and my trade-in. I didn’t need to come out feeling like I had gotten a steal, I just wanted to know I wasn’t paying more than I should. They ended up basically accepting the KBB values, and we were off.

But even better than the emotional support of Friday afternoon was the white tornado that came through my house on Saturday. I can’t be on my feet for more than 5-10 minutes without my ankles swelling to alarming proportions, and my beloved husband was passed out upstairs, having worked from 10pm to 10am (after a normal 10-6 day before then – he doesn’t normally work the night shift). And in truth, I’ve just never been a spectacular housekeeper. So it’s safe to say that things were a little on the messy/cluttered side.

After insisting that I sit on the couch with my new copy of Harry Potter and a bag of frozen peas on my elevated feet, the family went nuts. My dad mowed the lawn, busted out the weed whacker, and later put together a whole bunch of baby stuff. My stepmom cleaned the kitchen and dining room to within an inch of their lives. My stepsister painted our new-but-unfinished front door.

I couldn’t, in good conscience, spend the entire day reading on the couch, so I did get up and try to at least help people figure out where things ought to go. I offered up vast amounts of amazement and gratitude at their hard work on our behalf. The first floor looks like a new place, entirely. And as quickly as they arrived, they were gone, back to Chicago. It was a brief visit, though I have no doubt that they’ll be back on the first plane as soon as the new grandbabies arrive.

So a big huge thank you to my dad, stepmom, and stepsister. They did exactly what you would hope. They didn’t come to stare at my enormous belly, though that was clearly an enjoyable perk for them. They came to help, and help they did. It was awesome.

I surrender. And I’m OK with it.

Not even two weeks ago, I was certain I’d make it to my original goal of working to 35 weeks. Sure, 35 was a somewhat arbitrary deadline, but it was the one I’d made. And it was so very close. It really felt like a done deal.

But after this weekend’s minor scare, and my seemingly exponential daily increase in discomfort, I’ve decided to bump it up. For one thing, I’m sleeping so poorly at night that I’m downright exhausted when it comes to getting up in the morning. I noticed quite an improvement without having to wake up to the alarm this weekend, so it was a bit jarring to have to wake up at 7am yesterday. Between the weekend and Monday morning, I was starting to really wonder if I’d make it to the 27th. My boss walked in and looked into my office and said “every Monday, I see you and I can’t believe you’re still here!” Suddenly, I sort of felt the same way. And then I looked at our office calendar for the month, and realized that both my boss and another of my favorite coworkers will be on vacation next week. I added it all up, and decided staying an extra week would buy me nothing, and would be a pretty anticlimactic way to end. And so, instead of 35 weeks, I’m going to stop working this Friday, at 34 weeks. I feel good about it, too. I don’t feel like I “fell short.” I know that I should be proud of making it this far in the first place, and I am.

I’m relieved, excited, sad, and nervous, all at once. I’m quite looking forward to not having to wake up at a particular time, and being able to have my poor, fat feet elevated for much of the day. And I’m excited yet in disbelief that I’m in such a final phase of the countdown. I’m also nervous, both for the next couple of weeks as well as what comes afterwards. I’m worried about the potential boredom of being at home by myself, with very limited ability to go out and do things on my own. That doesn’t tend to go well with me. And certainly I’m concerned about the delivery, wanting the babies to be alright, and then everything that comes after.

It’s also very bittersweet to be leaving my job. When I saw the description posted on the college website more than two and a half years ago, I nearly fell out of my chair. It was as though someone had taken my resume and used it to write the position description. Combination academic advising and admissions (without the travel), master’s degree in counseling desired, string players preferred. I was working at another college literally two doors down at the time. I walked my resume over to HR the next afternoon, had an interview a few days later, and within a week of seeing it posted, I was hired. Like any job, it has had its quirks and pitfalls, but I have really loved it. I love the people I work with, I love the environment, I love my mish-mosh of the two jobs I really wanted, all wrapped up in one.

And on Friday, I’ll walk out the door. My sixteen weeks of maternity leave (thank you, Massachusetts) take me almost to Thanksgiving, but I doubt I’ll be returning at that point. Financially, it just doesn’t make any sense. I’d pay more for childcare than I’d actually take home from working. And much as I love my job, I’m not sure I love it enough to not be there with my kids, at least for the first year or so. I’m nervous about being a stay-at-home mom, but I’ve got a few things in place to try to make it manageable. I’ll really miss my coworkers, and I’ll even miss just coming to work sometimes. But off I go, on my new adventure.

I just hope I don’t go into labor before Friday. I think I can make it another three days…

I’ve long been a water nut. Not always, but especially once I started Weight Watchers many years ago (and stopped, and started again, but that’s another post) and saw the miracle of lost water weight, I was a convert. Water seems to be the cure for whatever ails ye. I noticed how much better I felt when I got my two quarts per day. Headaches fade away, rings fit better. The sun would shine and birds would chirp. I began to notice the alternate differences, too. If I had less water, suddenly I felt sluggish, and had to coax my wedding ring on and off my finger.

I knew pregnancy would throw things off just a little, but I figured if I just upped my intake a bit, I could keep on top of things. Sure, my rings stopped fitting around 12 weeks, but they were already snug due to extra weight I had put on pre-pregnancy, so that was to be expected. I kept drinking my 2-3 quarts per day, and all seemed well.

And then it got warm. My feet started to swell somewhat alarmingly, though a good night’s sleep and upping my minimum water intake to 3 quarts seemed to help. The last couple of weeks, even that hasn’t been enough. The best I can get out of my feet at the moment is “only slightly puffy.” And I used to have pretty nice feet! Alas, now they range from pillowy to sausage-like. Charming. But my seemingly good water intake has no noticeable effect. I mean, I suppose it might be keeping the worst of it at bay, but it certainly doesn’t bring things back to normal.

Last night was yet another wake-up call on hydration. Around 6:30pm, just sitting around watching TV, I noticed a contraction. Not painful, not particularly different from the occasional ones I’ve had for several weeks now. But then it happened again. I checked the time. I got probably six in about 45 minutes. As instructed, I dutifully contacted the on-call doctor. She asked how much water I’d had that day (2.5 quarts so far, thank you), and if I’d been particularly active (not in the least). As to be expected, I was instructed to lie down and drink as much water as I could. She also made sure to remind me to empty my bladder often. Since the great irony is that two causes for contractions are dehydration and a full bladder.

I was mildly skeptical, since after already consuming nearly 3 quarts of water, I couldn’t possibly be dehydrated. But she said that, if I came in, the first thing they’d do was hook me up to IV fluids. And since I’m really not a fan of unnecessary needles in my arm, I figured I’d follow orders at home. If the contractions didn’t peter out in an hour and a half, I was to call back.

Sure enough, one hour, half a gallon of water, and about nine trips to the bathroom later, the contractions had faded.

This was a wake-up call on several levels. For one, I was suddenly faced with the reality that things can change awfully quickly. Though I doubt I would have delivered the babies last night, there was suddenly a very real possibility of being placed on restrictions or drugs to postpone labor. Of course, that possibility had always been out there, but it suddenly felt real. It also alerted me to just how much water I should be drinking. It seems incredible. I can hardly keep up, just one refill of the Nalgene after another. And I thought I was peeing a lot before…

But hey, whatever it takes, right? Anything to keep these babies on the inside just a few more weeks. Even if it means I spend 1/3 of the day drinking water and another 1/3 on the toilet. If you see my eyes floating in their sockets, you’ll know I’m doing well.

Time for another refill.

Today is a good day. Oh sure, I slept badly last night, my hips are killing me, my ankles are swelling back up, and two of my fingers have gone numb. But that’s OK. Because today, I am 32 weeks pregnant.

I am officially out of the biggest danger zone of preterm labor and birth. My doctor said 28-32 is when they worry the most, because the risk of going into preterm labor is relatively high, while the babies’ outcomes are more in question. Yes, I still have several more weeks that would be considered preterm, but babies born at this point and later tend to do quite well in the long term even if they have to stay in the NICU for a while.

Because of this ever-lowering risk level, if I were to go into labor at any point from now on (which seems unlikely, given my cervix of steel), I would be free to go to my nearby community hospital, instead of needing to go to one of the larger teaching hospitals downtown. Not that I have any problem with those hospitals, and my sister-in-law is even a medical student on her OB rotation at said hospital right now. But it’s nice to know that “my” hospital can handle much of what I could throw at them at this point. And if the babies needed to stay in the hospital for a while longer than me, I wouldn’t have to get myself all the way downtown to see them.

I’ve also been struck by how very close to the end I now am. At the most, I have three weeks left of work. I used to think that working to 35 weeks was a pipe dream. Now it seems like a fait accompli. Heck, it’s worth it to keep coming for the air conditioning, alone.

At the most, I have six weeks remaining of this pregnancy. Yes, each day has crept by, same as the day before. Yet somehow… six weeks? Wow. And it could be even sooner, who knows. Suddenly things are seeming a bit more urgent. Time to wash the onesies, pack the hospital bag. Time to make arrangements for the dog while we’re in the hospital. Heck, time to stop putting off trading my car in for the minivan we’ve been talking about. After that, we can even install the carseats. Holy crap.

But here I am, 32 weeks. I had so hoped that I would make it to this point, that no emergencies would arise and cause something to happen before now. Not to jinx anything, but I feel like a particular chunk of worry has fallen off of my shoulders. Sure, there’s still plenty to worry about, and I won’t be neglecting any of it. But this is just one less thing.

Now if I can make it to 35 or 36… August, here I come.

I’m sorry. What day is it? What do you mean, July second? No, no. That can’t be. You see, for the entirety of this pregnancy, I have been thinking about July. For one thing, it was far away. Very far away. July was on my mind from the very beginning, because it was July when my brother was going to get married in San Diego. The wedding that, as soon as I found out I was having twins, I knew I would have to miss. What do you mean that’s in five days? I remember finding out that the last Harry Potter book was being released on July 21. I did some quick counting and realized that would make me 34 weeks pregnant… and hoped I’d make it that far. Suddenly it’s less than three weeks away.

July, in my mind, was the true final lap of the pregnancy. It was like Thursday. I had an orchestra director in high school who maintained that the day of the week that we should really celebrate was Thursday, because once you made it to Friday, you were really already at the weekend. It was getting through Thursday that was the real accomplishment. July is the Thursday of my pregnancy (with the very real possibility of not going to school on Friday). Early July had a big milestone that I wanted to reach – 32 weeks. After 32 weeks, I wouldn’t have to go all the way downtown, but could deliver at my hospital. Mentally, 34 weeks is a big step for me, since that’s when I was born, and obviously I made it OK. Maybe I’d make it to 34 weeks. And anything after 35 weeks seemed like bonus time. But those were far-off, theoretical dates. They were in July.

And yet, here we are. The second day of July. People are starting to get on planes to head for my brother’s wedding. My Harry Potter book is preordered from Amazon.com. My breastfeeding class (I worried that I might have scheduled it too late – what if I went early?!) is on Thursday. On Friday, I’ll be 32 weeks pregnant. When did all of this happen? Who has been holding down the fast-forward button?

Even though Friday is a big milestone as far as safety and viability and all of that, I don’t want them to be born next week. I want them to stay inside, develop their lungs, and cook a little longer. Even if it means my feet look like softballs and carpal tunnel is making it so my fingers are numb. But here we are, in July. The end isn’t in particularly sharp focus, but it’s definitely in sight. How strange is that?

Everyone has their miracle cure. If you’re a Chris Rock fan, especially if you’ve seen “Bigger & Blacker,” you’ll know that you should just rub some Robitussin on it. If you loved “My Big Fat Greek Wedding,” a little Windex will do the trick for anything that ails you. My mom swears I should be giving my dog colostrum supplements so she doesn’t get sick.

When you’re pregnant, you have your own miracle cure: lie on your left side and drink a lot of water.

Swollen ankles? Lie on your left side, drink a lot of water.

Braxton Hicks contractions? Lie on your left side, drink a lot of water.

Best way to sleep? Left side. (Thankfully they don’t actually suggest you drink water while sleeping, though when you’re up for one of your six pee breaks, you could have some then.)

While I can’t speak to the effectiveness of Robitussin or Windex to cure rashes or broken legs, I can actually swear by the left side/water combo. Today, I pushed things a little too hard by walking over to a nearby shopping mall at lunch. It wasn’t hot out, and I’ve made the walk many times before. Well, not at 28 weeks with twins. Turns out it was a bit too much for me, so by the time I got back to the office, my feet looked like softballs and I was having a little abdominal cramping. Laid down on my newly-installed office loveseat, drank a quart of water, and within 30 minutes my ankles looked almost normal again. Not too shabby!

Well, alright, I suppose Pat Benetar actually said that Love is a battlefield but for me, it’s sleep.

This is probably no surprise to any pregnant woman in the waning weeks of her term, and especially moms of multiples in their 3rd trimester. Every night, as I start to get sleepy, I actually dread going up to bed. This is most definitely a new phenomenon. We have a very comfortable bed, with plenty of pillows and a down comforter. I usually love curling up and getting cozy on a nice, cool night. If the windows are open, even better. But no more. I know the fight that is coming.

To start off, the end of the evening is generally my most uncomfortable time of day. I have to spend much of the night lying down, due to swelling feet, Braxton Hicks contractions, and other random aches and pains. I’ve probably already had 3 quarts of water, but this doesn’t completely stop the swelling. Sciatica often makes an appearance, with the pain running from my hip all the way down the side of my leg to my ankle. And if that doesn’t happen. you can be sure I’ll meet up with my old friend, Restless Legs Syndrome. For me, it feels sort of like someone is tickling the back of my knee and WON’T STOP! With either RLS or sciatica, no amount of stretching or position changing seems to make it any better. I just have to wait it out.

And with all of this discomfort, I finally decide it’s time to go up to bed. I haul my (increasingly large) behind up the stairs, brush my teeth, pee for the 25th time that day, and head into the bedroom to start the arrangements. I never did get a pregnancy pillow, so I carefully set up a minimum of four pillows in strategic positions. Two for my head, one between my knees, and one in front to both “hug” and to support my aching belly. Sometimes I add another pillow behind me, to help avoid rolling flat onto my back: a position now certain to cut off circulation within five minutes. Once the pillows are set up, I carefully huff and puff my way onto my side. I can only hope I’m so tired that I fall asleep immediately, because if I don’t (and I usually don’t), it only takes a few minutes for my back and hips to start aching, so sick they are of being on my side.

Once I do fall asleep, it generally doesn’t last long. By about 3AM, I’ve likely woken up at least four times to roll over (a feat in itself) or make yet another trip to the bathroom. By 4AM, I’m often wide awake. Sometimes it’s due to a strange or disturbing dream, sometimes I’m just caught up in a thought, and sometimes I’m just so sore from sleeping on my side that I have to shift nearly all my pillows up against the headboard and hope for another fitful hour or so of sleep while sitting up. But even that seldom lasts long, as I have to be almost completely upright to avoid having the weight of the babies cut off my circulation and make feel dizzy. Sleepy as I am, I’m almost grateful when it’s time to get up and go to work, so I can end another night of battling my body.

I know that, in some ways, this is just a teeny preview of the sleep disturbances that lie ahead. But at least then I’ll be able to lie on my back…

I came to a somewhat startling realization yesterday. I have less than a week remaining in my second trimester. As my third trimester rapidly approaches, I’ve noticed a definite increase in discomfort. While I realize I’ve still had a reasonably easy go of it compared to plenty of people, I’m only in my own body, so I can only relate so much.

My belly is getting rather large, the funny side of which being that I find myself running into things before I think I will. Especially counters. It’s gratifying to really feel like I “look pregnant, not just fat,” and I may even take a belly shot one of these days. We’ll see…

The downside to the large belly is primarily sleep. Or, rather, lack thereof. It’s getting harder and harder to get comfortable. I sleep with 4-5 pillows at all times, and my poor husband has more or less relegated himself to the guest room so as not to wake me up any extra times. Sleeping exclusively on my side is annoying, and I wake up frequently to switch sides (which is quite an endeavor) or go to the bathroom. But I’m definitely to the point that, if I lie on my back for more than a minute or two, the weight of the babies cuts of circulation. It’s not pleasant. So, sleep is becoming increasingly erratic, and I certainly don’t anticipate it will get any better as I get larger.

The belly is also feeling downright heavy, especially as the day wears on. Even though I don’t do much other than sit at my desk and walk 30 feet to the bathroom, it starts to feel heavier by the afternoon. And despite my lotioning, it gets a bit itchy by the evening. I’m not even going to talk about the stretch marks…

The babies are moving around a lot, which is really great and reassuring. Assuming they’re both on the same sides as they were (we’ll see this afternoon), I find that they frequently alternate who is more active at any one time. And despite any worries about her size, my little girl is small but quite fiesty! Lots of jabs to the ribs and other places. While it’s immensely reassuring to feel them both each day, I will admit it’s getting kind of uncomfortable. It really feels like my insides are constantly flipping around. But hey, I’ll take that over nothing any day of the week.

Other than that, the reflux is hanging around but hasn’t dramatically worsened. Feet get tired quickly, heart palpitations come around if I haven’t had enough water, and I don’t think my back is quite going to fully recover from Tuesday’s spasm.

And, just for a little extra fun, it’s getting good and warm here in New England. Friday was over 90 degrees. I was good and chugged my 3+ quarts of water, and therefore managed to still have discernable ankles by the end of the day. But it’s definitely a little preview of what is to come this summer. I’ve always been someone who gets pretty uncomfortable in the heat, but the added belly and its side effects are going to make this extra fun.

Do forgive the whining. All things considered, I’m doing well. No contractions or cervix shortening, no increase in blood pressure. I did fail the 1-hour glucose test last week, so on Tuesday I get to take the three-hour. Other than that, though, things really are going well. I just couldn’t help but notice the changes in the last week or so, and the realization that things may go rapidly downhill from here. Hey, I’ve only got a max of about 10-12 weeks left! I can make it through that…

Today was unofficial “bring my dog to work day.” We have those from time to time. When I got her as a two-month-old puppy last year, we picked her up Memorial Day, and I was lucky enough to take her with me to work all summer (thank you, higher education!). She’s small and cute and well-loved in the office. Now, when it’s time for a special treat, she makes a guest appearance, and today was just the right day for such a drop-in. The students are all away on Spring Break, not much going on in the office, and it’s a beautiful day.

So, in we drove, puppy in her seatbelt. She loved being downtown and seeing everyone in the office. All of her old buddies. By 11:15, it was clear she was ready to go out for a walk, so I decided to make it an early lunch. Maybe half a mile from my office, down a nice little pedestrian area, is a small fenced-in dog park. Just what she needed. We walked over there and she got to play with four other dogs for a good half hour or so. As I was walking, though, I had the thought that maybe this was a longer walk than is really advisable. I made it just fine, there and back, and then it was time to find lunch, so that was a few more blocks. Got back to the office, the pooch was pooped. And so was the mama.

I was so tired that I had to lie down on the (very hard) floor of my office for 30 minutes. That was a little helpful, but even now (2 1/2 hours later), I could easily take a substantial nap. All this from being out and about on a lovely (but not hot) day for about an hour, maybe an hour and a half. Holy cow.

I had thought I’d try to bring her with me to work this summer as well, but I quickly had the realization that I would not be able to make that walk with her to the dog park every day (which she really needs to play out her energy). As fun as it is to have her at work, it’s also a fair amount of extra effort for me. And the reality is, I don’t have a lot of extra energy these days. My mom seems to think this wave will pass and I’ll start feeling more energetic, but I’m skeptical.

So, today, a reality check. The pooch will not join me at work all summer (though certainly we could have some drop-ins). And my idea for bringing an old loveseat into my office for naps is sounding downright essential. I think I’m going to go home and nap, now… it’s going to be one of those wild and crazy Friday nights at our house, clearly.

I haven’t been posting much, but there really hasn’t been much to say. I mean, I could log on every day and tell you just how fat and uncomfortable I feel, but I actually want the few people who stop by to keep reading. And there’s nothing more fun than reading someone who has the same complaints, day after day.

In the meantime, I’m going pretty stir-crazy waiting for the BIG ULTRASOUND. It’s two weeks from today, which still feels like an eternity. I got so spoiled in the beginning, getting some kind of check-in every two weeks. When I go on the 29th, it will have been 4 1/2 weeks since my last appointment of any kind, and seven weeks since my last ultrasound! I know, plenty of people go longer, etc etc. But still, I’m impatient!

As a first-timer at only 15 weeks, 6 days, I don’t think I can feel the twins yet. According to everything I’m reading, it could be any old day now, but it’s really hard to tell! I’ll get all kinds of funny feelings, twinges, bubbles, etc., but it’s so easy to attribute them to something else. Gas, uterus stretching, or even just created completely in my head. I’m so looking forward to knowing for sure that it’s the babies kicking away. And yes, I’m aware that I’ll be trying desperately to take those words back in a couple of months.

More than anything, I just want to know that they’re both doing OK in there. It’s very strange. They’re obviously “with me” 24 hours a day. But at the same time, I haven’t “seen them” in almost five weeks. I can’t wait to see how much they’ve changed, make sure they’re both doing well, and of course find out the genders. One of each would be just lovely, but I’ll be excited either way.

Other than that, I’m somewhat uncomfortable lately. I know it’s only a teensy little taste of what’s to come, but there it is. After dinner, when my stomach is full, I can hardly take a deep breath for all the crowded stuff in there! I’m still really tired, and I’m finding myself with an upset stomach more freqently than in my uneventful first trimester. What happened to that whole “2nd trimester is a breeze” thing?? Still, I can’t really complain that loudly. For all the tales of people having to be on IV in the hospital because they were throwing up so badly, I’m getting off easy. So far.