The day I officially found out I was pregnant with Anna was
one of the happiest of my life, and not just because I was at the Happiest
Place on Earth (yes, I took a pregnancy test into Disneyland with me, but
that’s another story). The day I found
out that I was carrying Paul and Lucy, however, was a ridiculous roller coaster
of emotions, ranging from borderline shock, to fear, to a different kind of
fear, to joy, to (insert virtually all other emotions here). And let me tell you why.
I had a feeling from about week 5 or 6 of my pregnancy that
something was, well, different. I felt
like I was growing too quickly, but all I could hear was everyone’s voices in
my head telling me that’s what happens with a second baby. I remember telling a few close friends and
family who were in on the secret, though, that I was pretty sure there were two
somethings happening in my tummy, because I just had a feeling I was having
twins. We went to the doctor at 8 weeks
to confirm my pregnancy and make sure all was well. Normally, women have an internal ultrasound
at this point, which is more accurate than an over-the-tummy scan, thus giving
a better idea of fetal development. At
my appointment, though, I was informed that the ultrasound tech who performs
that type of ultrasound was out, so we’d have to reschedule. Well, the look on my face convinced my nurse
practitioner that I really did not want to do that, so she wheeled in an
over-the-tummy machine and prefaced it with “I’m not great at these, but let’s
give it a shot.”
So, she put some belly jelly (as my Dad loves to call it) on
me and went searching for a bean. Upon
discovering one, she said, “see, there it is.
It’s the white dot in that black space, and everything looks fine.”
I, being a stickler for details, raised the all-important
question, “but what about the other black space?”
Thus, it was I who discovered the existence of a second bean
in my belly, which would bring on the official onset of shock/joy/fear of being
blessed with two babies at once, but then she said the words that brought on
fear number 2.
“I’m not sure the second baby is viable. I don’t see anything in that black space. This happens from time to time. I’d like you to go get a second ultrasound,
and I’m guessing you’ll want to do that today.”
Uh, ya think? Hey, you
have two babies, oh but wait, the second one may not have made it. You may or may not be having twins. Yeah lady, I want to get that checked
immediately.
Well, immediately turned out to be about 4 hours later,
during which time Mark and I went to grab lunch. Our conversation was one that I wish I had
recorded, but I remember the gist. We
were excited. I mean, really, twins are
exciting, right? Two adorable babies to
snuggle, fun outfits to dress them in, the uber-important feeling of lofting it
over our friends who only had one baby at a time (kidding on the last
one).
We were scared. I
mean, two babies are really scary, right?
How on Earth do you care for two babies at once? How do I grow two babies in my belly at the
same time, when I was pretty sure my first daughter had almost broken me 3
years before? How the HELL are we going
to pay for two babies at the same time?
The diapers alone would…(you get the picture)
We were shocked. Was
this really happening? I mean, she said
the second baby might not be viable.
Does that mean we’re off the hook?
Maybe it wasn’t even there to begin with. Maybe all this excitement is over a defect
with the machine? Maybe this is all over
a defect in my body?
We were scared, but in a different way. What if the second baby doesn’t make it? That’s our baby in there, and it might be in
trouble. Should I drink more water right
now? Should I go lay down? Am I eating too much salad? Is baby number 2 running out of room?
Those four hours felt like 50. We hadn’t made the announcement that I was
pregnant public, so we mostly just stared at each other and tried to stay
calm. I am positive Mark was calmer than
me because a) he’s always calmer than me and b)well, the first reason is
enough, but I had the pressure of feeling not big enough to carry two babies
and the worry that I’d already done something to screw up baby number two’s
chances of survival.
Out of sheer desperate need to survive the wait until our
next appointment with the fancy, high-tech ultrasound place, I prayed to God to
give me the strength to handle whichever outcome we were dealt. I told myself that if baby number 2 didn’t
make it, it was because we weren’t supposed to have twins anyway, and really, we
weren’t sure we even wanted three kids, right?
We went to the next appointment and told each other we could
handle whatever news we got. I honestly
don’t know which outcome I was more afraid of.
Out of motherly instinct, I was rooting for twins, knowing that if we
had created two babies, I damn sure wanted to keep them. Though their existence was making me weak in
the knees, the thought of losing one of them harkened back to previous babies
lost and I went into “failure is not an option mode.”
As I laid myself down onto the bed in the exam room ready
for my more invasive, but conclusive ultrasound, the technician gave me a long
speech about how people conceive twins all the time, but one goes away before
any real development can start. It
wasn’t anything I had done wrong, she explained, but something that happens to
many women without their ever knowing.
“So,” she said, “if we don’t see a heartbeat in the second embryo, it’s
going to be ok.”
Now, I know she was trying to be nice. And really, she was incredibly nice. She was preparing me for potential
devastation, and reassuring me that I would not be alone if we discovered only
one viable blip. But at that moment, I
knew with every fiber in my being that I NEEDED that second blip. I could almost feel that blip, the blip that
would become Lucy, fighting inside of me say “No, Mommy, I’m here. Don’t give up on me.”
We started the ultrasound and the tech found baby A, my
sweet Paul, first and took what felt like a million pictures, measuring his
blip-ness until she announced that I was 7 weeks and 5 days along. She then took a big deep breath and searched
for a theoretical baby B. I honestly
think she did a double take. I don’t
know why, but she seemed convinced she would not be there, doubting my sweet
Lucy could possibly exist for reasons unknown to me. But, exist she did. In fact, her heartbeat was just as strong as
Paul’s, and their measurements were virtually identical. I’m not sure why she looked so weak on the
first ultrasound, and I don’t care.
Those four hours were all I needed to get on board for twins.
I read in one of my baby books that moms of multiples often
go through stages of emotions similar to the stages of grief, and it is so
true. I lingered on shock and denial for
most of my pregnancy, with episodes of fear sprinkled in. I unfortunately didn’t make it to acceptance
until a few months after my pregnancy, but hey, I’m there now and that’s all
that matters. The funny thing about
Lucy’s beginning, though, is that I’m pretty sure it has shaped who she’ll be
for her whole life.
A couple weeks before Paul and Lucy arrived, I went in for a
pre-natal massage. The lady who I ended
up with was fantastic, if not a bit kooky.
She was taken aback by my “powerful aura” when I walked in and said,
“you must be carrying two babies. I
could feel your energy from down the hall.”
I felt kinda funny after that comment, but she correctly
called the two babies, and made several other very astute remarks during my
massage based on feelings she picked up from me, both physically and I suppose
metaphysically. The really crazy part
about that day, though, was when she put her hand on my back and said, “which
baby is this that I’m over?” Having
ultrasounds every week and two babies who were jammed in my belly, I knew she
was over Lucy and told her so.
“This baby is so strong,” she said. “This Lucy has got so much fire and grit;
she’s a fighter, let me tell you. She’ll
be headstrong and independent, but what a spark! I really have chills. You’ve got to bring her in to meet me after
she’s born. I tell you, this kid is
something.”
Now, she also told me that Paul was more laidback and would
be just a sweet little guy. If you
haven’t had the pleasure of meeting my twins, let me tell you, she was ridiculously
spot on. We decorated their nursery in
Winnie the Pooh, and I like to joke that while Paul has the sweet demeanor of
Pooh bear, with tendencies bordering on Eeyore (I sometimes swear I can hear
him say “thanks for noticing me.”), Lucy is like Tigger. She never stops moving. She’ll let you hold her, of course. In fact, sometimes, she will demand it. But when you hold her, she always keeps her
body slightly tense, as if to say, “I could really be doing this myself if I
wanted.” She lets Paul hit milestones
first, then she does them within a couple days and perfects them. She’s a show-off. Just today, she pulled herself up from her
knees to the couch, then turned and grabbed onto the exersaucer and stepped
over to it. She is 7 months old, and for
those not familiar with baby milestones, that is ridiculous.
It’s hard for me to believe, looking back, that I ever
doubted I wanted or could handle Lucy.
She was just a theoretical baby to me; just a blip on a screen that may
or may not turn into a child someday.
The day I delivered the twins, I almost needed to have a C Section
because she was stubbornly breach and was refusing to turn. It was like she wanted to let everyone know
that she was difficult and would demand attention. The first time I saw her, she was blue, and
my heart stopped. Paul came out wailing,
Anna had come out wailing, and there was Lucy, very blue and very not
wailing. Getting her turned into a good
position to be born had been a little traumatic on my sweet girl, but it took
only a few seconds before she turned on a wail like I had never heard
before. Again, I could hear her saying,
“I’m here Mommy. Don’t give up on me.”
It’s been 7 months since that day, and we’ve come a long way
as a family. From horrendously sleepless
nights (the babies were on almost completely opposite schedules, God help us),
to an infection I picked up in the hospital, to Lucy refusing to breastfeed
after a few days, to my own dealings with the darkest pits of post-partum
depression, to finally the joy and ease of having a routine that works for us
and the babies, I feel almost exhausted just writing about it. I could write just as much about the joy that
Paul has brought to my life, as I’m convinced he is the just the sweetest, most
laid back kid to ever exist, but tonight I write about the little girl who
won’t be ignored. It’s like she knows
she’s the baby of the family (20 minutes younger than Paul, don’t cha know) and
is already asserting herself so as not to be forgotten behind her dynamic older
sister and only-boy-of-the-family older brother.
I’m having a hard time sleeping lately, and in a rare turn
of events for a mom of three young children, I found myself wishing that at
least one of my kids would wake up in the middle of the night so that I could
go in and sneak a snuggle or two. Leave
it to Lucy to come through tonight.
Granted, she wasn’t crying, but I could hear her through the monitor
talking to herself, so I went in to give her a pacifier and a kiss before
setting her back down. She reached up
and grabbed my face as I held her and as I reached in to kiss her sweet head, I
assured, “I’m here baby. I’ll never give
up on you.”
