Heart Monitoring and waiting for the big wave

This past weekend we attended our twin birthing class. It was taught by a midwife. Four couples total with one other same sex couple. Every one was down to earth and laid back. I was convinced that there would be that one couple that would hijack the class and share in painful detail alllllllll about their experience and pregnancy. None of that. We really liked the midwife. It was a good class. We feel a bit more prepared. But-like anything always expect the unexpected.

The midwife covered all the different drug options. There was too much talk (and films) on epidurals. Couple of short films showing vaginal deliveries. I am a bit squeamish. The trainer thought M and I should get a doula to help me during the labor. God...what a loser I must be. SORRY no time to find one now. I will be FINE. I am just really dreading seeing M in so much pain.

Interesting enough-the midwife said twin A is usually the dominant child. I guess if he starts bossing her around she was right as the boy is twin A.

We chatted with a woman who is also birthing twins at the same uptown hospital where M will deliver. This woman was telling us that when she was recently hospitalized for severe dehydration there were no rooms available. More concerning- she was only given one fetal heart monitor. They couldn't spare another! Like one kid is expendable or something. Where is Michael Moore and the film crew for Sicko? Let me make this prediction-I will get 2 heart monitors. If It means begging or stealing one from a less crowded hospital- both the babies will monitored. Call us high maintenance...scary.

After the birthing class, I headed to the lower east side for a friend's birthday dinner. I'm trying to be less of a crappy friend. During the last 3 years of infertility treatments, I was a bit of a drop out in some ways. Our obgyn said that we were both depressed (she treats more than the repro system). Not sure if it's depression or just being in a bad fucking mood for 3 years. Whatever. I went downtown and had a great time. Not sure if I will be able hang out in a bar on a Sunday night anytime soon. I feel like we are waiting for this big wave to hit us and carry us somewhere else. Anyway, it was great fun. But, it's time to go home when you are doing shots with friend's 68 year old Aunt and debating with birthday boy's co-worker: Who is hotter Jennifer Beals vs. Jessica Biel. For the record: the Ms. Beals- hands down.

I should stop watching ET and other things related to babies

I have a bad habit of watching Entertainment Tonight and Access Hollywood after work. Thinking lately we should turn this shit off. A) Babies probably shouldn't be listening to background noise that consists of Anna Nicole's child now has a wandering eye*. B)By watching this stuff, maybe I am contributing to the corporate money machine and the to the eventual tragic fall of Britney Spears??

Wonder if all these big plans will fall through? Like really am I going stop swearing because there are children in the back seat? I hope. I doubt it. Maybe.

On baby front news: M has a growth appointment next Friday. It has been awhile (for us anyway) to see the babies. And we have a twins birthing class this weekend. Like all weekend. I wonder who will be in the class. Our obgyn predicted at least one same-sex couple. Who knows.

*I think any parent, here- Larry Birkhead parading his child before cameras because she has a wandering eye should perhaps have their parental rights terminated. What a sick thing to do. Maybe I am sicker because I continued to watch the "story."

Contracting a nest

The long weekend was spent painting again, moving furniture, building furniture (ha- not by me), watching things get fixed, running out for refreshments, running AGAIN to Babies R Us, Pottery barn kids, home depot, moving stuff in and out of the storeage unit out of state, getting paint off the floor, and general nest building activities.

A few friends who are actually handy came over for the weekend to help turn our apartment into more of a nest. These friends are weirdly handy. Like- McGiver handy. They came with a SUV full of tools that I cannot even pronounce. They emptied out our closet. I hated them at Saturday night at 11:30 p.m. when they pulled everything out of our closet into the bedroom. Our ONE closet is like the game Jenga. Each freaking thing in there- if disturbed might collapse the entire balance of my universe. We had to empty out the closet because we finally found a contractor who will redesign our closet with a washer-dryer. I believe the contractor starts Thursday.

How shocking it will be to our parents (yeah even at this age) to show up without a laundry bag - but babies.

Speaking of babies, M's next check up isn't til next week. We are thinking everything is okay in there as they both are kicking hard. I usually can cry easily for a sad reason or a good old tragedy. But, when the crib was assembled this weekend- I actually had one of those moments where I cried for relief?/happiness/joy? Oh might my carefully constructed walls/semi-frozen exterior be melting? I am forming a belief that maybe having children is like free therapy. that's my thought for another time- I have a few weeks left (allah/stars/jesus) willing of childless life to gel that thought.

Measuring the Unmeasurable

I just met with an elderly Korean woman who couldn't pay her mortgage. She is close to being evicted (after a foreclosure sale) and she told me she was going to kill herself. I hate (that's another story) when people say that. I made her promise she would call me before she does anything- as if Under Dog could swoop out to Queens and stop her. She told me on other occasions that she would consider suicide before losing her apartment. Somehow today, I think she might really be seriously thinking about it. She brings me anti-aging products when she comes to see me (Like any freshly-turned 40 year old wants to talk about that). But, Alas over the months she has grown on me.

I have to write reports for my position. I have one due now (last moment's notice). A colleague always warns me "we need more metrics" in the reports. How do you fucking measure something like this? I HATE the word metrics. Maybe because I hate math. Maybe because I hate programs run based on data/measurements/ooooh metrics. Maybe because I am a schmuck. Not sure. But, I am sure- if in my report I included this simple, common story - it would get edited out.

Over the weekend, M and I were in Philadelphia for a baby shower. Friends down there threw us one for the philly friends/family. It was fun. Apparently alot of wine was consumed (some by me). M got the diaper bag she wanted. So did I. Let's just say they aren't similar. We aren't similar. But- we are. In that sort of ying-yang way. She can do math. She has large excel spread sheets on her lap top. They scare me. She probably likes the word -metrics-. She is rock solid and I am somewhere between liquid vapors and snowman. She likes to plan. I don't. M sent me an email today about when we would travel to block island in August. August? I don't know if I will still be breathing in August. It's strange when your own mother (who is a bit of a jesus freak) tells you your same-sex partner makes you more grounded. It's true- but I just don't like people noticing too much. As if I am Britney Spears, and she is Kevin Federline. Perhaps a bad comparison.

One thing I do know-absent the metrics- she will be an amazing mother.

Good Will Painting

Our apartment is in chaos. There is furniture everywhere. The nephew painted the walls and floor. The tech guy who came to fix our computer actually crashed the system, and took our hard-drive away. Car seats and other gifts are being delivered, and boxes and crap are strewn about. I really hate disorder. I need a house to spread the disorder on different floors (or my hope of a barn in the back).

I am afraid of what my reaction will be when the babies arrive and there is not enough room for everyone and everything. We still have nothing in the nursery, except some new paint. And I am not sure if I like the cream provenance (which looks yellow) and yellow stripes. But- I have no time to paint it over. The clock is ticking. We still are waiting to find a contractor to install some doors, washer/dryer and organize some closet space. The one contractor who came over was an a-hole. He was grumpy and annoyed that M dare ask to see a sketch of a closet design for 10,000 dollars. That is the price of an IVF cycle. He said he would just add some racks and install a washer/dryer (not included in price) and we don't need a plan. I usually am a fly-by-the-seat-of-my pants- type of gal. But even I think 10,000 dollars warrants a sketch. So, I will be -as of now- doing laundry at the corner laundry-mat. Which is a nightmare.

M's oldest nephew was here painting our bedroom. We figured he needs money and we need work done. Oh boy. He dropped or flunked out of college recently. I told M tonight at dinner that he needs like a Robin Williams character to figure him out. He is smart- but unmotivated. I had hoped to talk some sense into him these last 2 nights. HA. I must get over myself. I am no Ghandi or Yoda.

a rose by any other name...

Friday was baby and cervix check-again. The girl (they do have names)is weighing at 3 lbs and 1 oz. And the Boy wonder is close to 3 lbs. as well. M's cervix was looking okay to the doctor.

Speaking of names, my dear childhood friend Karen, said when pregnant, that she wouldn't reveal babies names- as someone always had a comment or suggestion for a better name. She was right. We told some people- and a comment like- "oh I like that" or "oh- reallllllly???" Translation- it sucks.

As a disclaimer,- we are both Irish american. I relate to Ireland- in a brooding sense of irish- not in the requisite- shamrocks, pope and JFK hanging on the wall sorta way. But, in the West of Ireland, Yeats, Sinead O'Connor, Damien Rice, Oscar Wilde, wild ocean, fireplace/sawdust on floor/ pub sort of way.

So, we are looking at Gaelic names where the translation meant something to us. Both of us are M's. I really didn't want to choose a name with an M. But, alas- I guess we are. I really hope people think it wasn't on purpose. Oh ultimately- I should be worrying about bigger items.

I am almost done painting. This is absurd. Don't people hire people for this work? We are getting M's nephew in later this week to paint our bedroom. He just dropped out of college at 20. Smart kid- but needs a wakeup call. I don't think painting our bedroom will result him in enrolling in art school or anything. I hope to get him for a couple of days, and just trying to talk some sense into that kid. Shit- I think he is going to drop paint all over the place. Oh well.

Saturday, we drove to Scarsdale. Apparently, Scarsdale had a double stroller that M wanted to push. Not sure what the HELL happened to bjorn -snap and go- idea. But, we drove up there. Once inside the 800th Babies R Us- the manager came over and said "NEVER buy that stroller." It was the most returned product she had. So- we are back on the bjorn one and snap and go concept, until a few months and we get some other stroller my lovely partner is now obsessing over. And I thought getting pregnant was complicated.

Wave hello, say goodbye

The babies are starting to kick hard. Whenever I feel M's belly, and a baby kicks it feels more real. But- I cannot fully grasp that 2 additional people will be sharing our space and lives in 2(?) months. I feel like I am in a fog: this isn't happening to me, to us. The other day when we were signing up for our twins birth classes, I was checking out the baby clothes, and cute rain boots and all the other stuff. But, It doesn't seem when I touch the clothing, toys, whatever, that we are having children. Even now that I have painted a nursery, I cannot imagine babies will be in the room soon.

I do remember the tears, panic, dread, and awful loss of the last 3 years. That I could feel deeply. Those emotions, I could call mine. I would cry at work (privately), when I got a phone call that that they had to remove my ovary (cancer fear); that M's IUIs failed; that we had to lose a baby because her urthera didn't form (no urine=no aminotic fluid), and that Children's Hospital of Philly informed us that they could not operate; that the following IVF's were positive bfp at first, but Ooooops- the phone rings again and the betas went down, and suddenly now a D&C is in order.

But this part- this babies kicking part, I cannot seem to emotionally grasp it- this happiness thing. I just feel like an outsider to it. Maybe it's the absence of tears part that is hard to shake. While using the bathroom at work today, I remembered all the times at my last job that I would go in there to cry (probably not the best place), and I notice I am not crying when I use the restrooms now. Wow. A therapist, once told me to stop waiting for the other shoe to drop- like I am missing the living part of life.

This isn't to say, that I am some deep darth vader type and don't enjoy life. I do. Alot. But, maybe all the weathering has just made me a bit hesistant at trusting joy. Not sure. Damn, I gotta work this stat.

The stuff animals are put in the nursery after I finished painting. Actually, I have been instructed to paint yellow stripes on the bottom half of the walls....so more work to do.

2.0.0.8

This year I would like to:

1. Learn to make ravioli;
2. Help my mother understand that a vote for Mike Huckabee is a vote against me and my family;
3. Some how-magically-or by using the technique of fabrication- learn the art of patience;
4. Get my ass up in the morning and go to central park;
6. Skip the anger and guilt. Instead of injecting lupron- inject some self forgiveness and move on;
5. Skip my dooms-day-Woody Allen approach to life. Sometimes things can work out;
6. Hold my children and not to expect someone to knock on the door and say it was all a Big Joke;
7. See number 5.