It is yet another brutally cold day here in the northeast. So what are we doing? Not cleaning the house (which really and truly needs it), nor are we doing crafts with the kids at the dining room table. In fact, we are not doing anything constructive, now that I think about it. We are on our duffs in front of the tube. We are watching one of our all time favorites, The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring. While we own all three movies, it happens to be on TNT at the moment....which for the life of me, I cannot determine why I haven't gotten up and put the movie in so we don't have to watch the commercials, but I digress. As it has been a while since I have watched this particular movie (they always seem to show The Return of the King...why not show all three from beginning to end?!!), I was thinking back to the first time we rented this movie. The twins were just 3 and so precocious (scroll back down to my previous story of Mike and the dam...you'll get my drift). Let me set the scene....
The lights are all off. The surround sound, in perfect working order, is delighting us with perfect quality down to the last pin drop. The aroma of delicious buttery popcorn permates the air. The house is quiet except for the soft munching of said popcorn. On the screen, Bilbo has just disappeared from his eleventy-first birthday celebration and goes back to the house (love those little houses and the round doors....again, I digress) to pack and finds the evil ring and is wondering what to do with it. Gandalf, with his humble grey robes and matching beard, enters and begins to discuss with Bilbo the power that the ring holds. Bilbo accuses Gandalf of wanting the ring for himself. The lights begin to flicker as Gandalf rises to his full height, and booms, "Bilbo Baggins! Do not take me for some conjurer of cheap tricks! I am not trying to rob you!!"
It is at this moment that Heather looks at me with her big blue eyes and says, "Ooooh, Santa Claus is maaaaaad!"
Needless to say, we had to pause the movie, as Mommy was in a fit of hysterics. Between that and both kids traipsing around on all fours in just their underwear imitating Gollum, I can, without a doubt, say that my kids crack me up.
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Sunday, February 1, 2009
The Nightly News-- Dilcher Style
This will give you more of an idea of the connection between twins....or at least mine. That connection enables them to feed off one another at the drop of a hat. They are so connected that then can create a show within minutes....seconds, even....of having the idea in their head. Case in point:
About three years ago, as we were just settling in on the couch for another evening in front of the tube, my husband began changing channels to see if the news was on. The TV screen went blank, there was a low hum and a loud pop, and then a burning smell. That nasty melting plastic smell that makes you want to pull the front of your shirt up to cover your nose and breathe out of your mouth. Then the smoke started. We quickly hit the power button and unplugged the smoldering beast to prevent a fire. As the kids and I sat in astonishment that this actually happened to us, my husband picked up the TV and took it out to the curb for the next garbage pickup. I quickly snapped out of my dazed stupor and opened the windows and got out the fan (even though it was only about 30 degrees out) to clear the smoke and the stink. Then we all sat down on the couch and stared at the blank space in the entertainment center where the TV was....now what?
Heather and Michael announced that they would be the entertainment that evening. They began to dance and sing, Vaudevillian style. My husband grabbed the remote and stated that he would rather watch sports. They dropped into football "hike" position and mimed a quick football game. I announced that I would rather watch a love story with lots of kissing. Michael said, "EEEEWWWW!" but he grabbed Heather and put his hand over her mouth and planted a loud mushy wet one as he dipped her. Click. Crocodile Hunter came on. Heather flopped on the floor, gnashing her teeth like a ferocious 16 foot croc, while Mike jumped on her back yelling, "Crikey, you're a grumpy girl!"
But the best of all was the last scenario. I clicked the remote and announced that it was time for the news. Despite the fact that they were exhausted from all this falderal, Mike dropped to his knees behind the coffee table, propped up his hands as if he was reading his notes, put a hand to his ear in order to hear the announcement in his ear bud better and in his most serious "news" voice announced, "There was an explosion at the Dilcher house this evening."
That, my friends, is the epitome of quick thinking.
About three years ago, as we were just settling in on the couch for another evening in front of the tube, my husband began changing channels to see if the news was on. The TV screen went blank, there was a low hum and a loud pop, and then a burning smell. That nasty melting plastic smell that makes you want to pull the front of your shirt up to cover your nose and breathe out of your mouth. Then the smoke started. We quickly hit the power button and unplugged the smoldering beast to prevent a fire. As the kids and I sat in astonishment that this actually happened to us, my husband picked up the TV and took it out to the curb for the next garbage pickup. I quickly snapped out of my dazed stupor and opened the windows and got out the fan (even though it was only about 30 degrees out) to clear the smoke and the stink. Then we all sat down on the couch and stared at the blank space in the entertainment center where the TV was....now what?
Heather and Michael announced that they would be the entertainment that evening. They began to dance and sing, Vaudevillian style. My husband grabbed the remote and stated that he would rather watch sports. They dropped into football "hike" position and mimed a quick football game. I announced that I would rather watch a love story with lots of kissing. Michael said, "EEEEWWWW!" but he grabbed Heather and put his hand over her mouth and planted a loud mushy wet one as he dipped her. Click. Crocodile Hunter came on. Heather flopped on the floor, gnashing her teeth like a ferocious 16 foot croc, while Mike jumped on her back yelling, "Crikey, you're a grumpy girl!"
But the best of all was the last scenario. I clicked the remote and announced that it was time for the news. Despite the fact that they were exhausted from all this falderal, Mike dropped to his knees behind the coffee table, propped up his hands as if he was reading his notes, put a hand to his ear in order to hear the announcement in his ear bud better and in his most serious "news" voice announced, "There was an explosion at the Dilcher house this evening."
That, my friends, is the epitome of quick thinking.
Friday, November 28, 2008
Michaelisms
This is one of many chapters on my son. He has definitely has had some language mix-ups. He is a very intuitive little boy, however his brain works faster than his mouth sometimes. Other times I wonder where he comes up with such elaborate schemes.
As a newly talking toddler, he would often say "duck-a-doh." It was weeks before we figured out what he was saying. Even Heather was getting in on it. "Duck-a-doh." What does it mean? It was Scott's mom who figured it out. If it hadn't been for her I think we would still be wondering what it meant. She had been babysitting the twins one day and they happened to be watching Blue's Clues. For those of you who do not have young children, Blue's Clues is a children's educational program where Blue (a blue dog) leaves pawprint clues for Steve (her owner) to find and figure out what game she wants to play or what snack she would like. Other household members are animated as well. There's Slippery Soap, Mailbox, Mr. Salt and Mrs. Pepper and their young child Paprika. In some of the episodes, Blue spins around and magically enters a book or drawing. Steve sings along as she does this, "Blue skidoo, we can too!" And as this is happening, Michael points to the TV and announces, "Duck-a-doh."
In another story about a year later, we were watching the news about the Gulf War. The anchorperson was discussing how the army had blown up the dams on the Tigris and Euphrates Rivers. Michael went all tattletale on the man. "Ooooh, he said a bad word!" It took us a few minutes to explain that, in this case, a dam was a wall that holds back water. His response? "Oh. But we still can't say G** Dammit, right Daddy?
Michael was forever mixing up his words, too. Here are a few examples: Skameeto (mosquito), Skabetti (spaghetti), and most recently, pasberry. And now I give you a final Michaelism for today....the pasberry story. This past summer we traveled to South Carolina; we stopped in Colonial Williamsburg to visit. While there, Michael was working in an activity book with a mad lib in it. The theme of the story was an accident. We added the quirky words (40 boogers were driving in a car....) and Michael read back the story.... "And then a pasberry told the police..."
"Pasberry? What's a pasberry, Mike?"
"I don't know, Mom."
"Spell it."
"p-a-s-s-e-r-b-y"
"Ohhhhh a passerby!"
These are just some of many stories that I will share about my kids. I love to talk about my kids. I am proud of everything they do. They are my heart and soul.
As a newly talking toddler, he would often say "duck-a-doh." It was weeks before we figured out what he was saying. Even Heather was getting in on it. "Duck-a-doh." What does it mean? It was Scott's mom who figured it out. If it hadn't been for her I think we would still be wondering what it meant. She had been babysitting the twins one day and they happened to be watching Blue's Clues. For those of you who do not have young children, Blue's Clues is a children's educational program where Blue (a blue dog) leaves pawprint clues for Steve (her owner) to find and figure out what game she wants to play or what snack she would like. Other household members are animated as well. There's Slippery Soap, Mailbox, Mr. Salt and Mrs. Pepper and their young child Paprika. In some of the episodes, Blue spins around and magically enters a book or drawing. Steve sings along as she does this, "Blue skidoo, we can too!" And as this is happening, Michael points to the TV and announces, "Duck-a-doh."
In another story about a year later, we were watching the news about the Gulf War. The anchorperson was discussing how the army had blown up the dams on the Tigris and Euphrates Rivers. Michael went all tattletale on the man. "Ooooh, he said a bad word!" It took us a few minutes to explain that, in this case, a dam was a wall that holds back water. His response? "Oh. But we still can't say G** Dammit, right Daddy?
Michael was forever mixing up his words, too. Here are a few examples: Skameeto (mosquito), Skabetti (spaghetti), and most recently, pasberry. And now I give you a final Michaelism for today....the pasberry story. This past summer we traveled to South Carolina; we stopped in Colonial Williamsburg to visit. While there, Michael was working in an activity book with a mad lib in it. The theme of the story was an accident. We added the quirky words (40 boogers were driving in a car....) and Michael read back the story.... "And then a pasberry told the police..."
"Pasberry? What's a pasberry, Mike?"
"I don't know, Mom."
"Spell it."
"p-a-s-s-e-r-b-y"
"Ohhhhh a passerby!"
These are just some of many stories that I will share about my kids. I love to talk about my kids. I am proud of everything they do. They are my heart and soul.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
How Do You Do It?
Many people have asked us, "Twins! How do you do it? Twice the diapers and twice the feedings!" My first response was, "Twice the jelly kisses and twice the Mommy hugs (the ones that leave you reeling with aroma of Johnson's No More Tears shampoo and animal crackers)!" But they really wanted to know...how did we do it? Well, let me tell you. We did it the only way we knew how...we just managed. Scott was working second shift at the time. While it was hard on our relationship because we never saw each other, it was a lifesaver with the twins. I would feed the twins at 10:00 and go to bed. Scott would come home and since he was wired from his dispatching job, he would stay up until 1 or 2 am and feed the kiddos. Then he would come to bed, tap me on the shoulder and say, "Tag, you're it....zzzzz." I would get up at 6:00 and feed the kids and put them back down for a nap. I would then head off to work. Scott would get up around 9 and feed them again and then all three of them would take a nap. Since he worked Wednesday through Sunday with Monday and Tuesday off, we only needed a babysitter for 2 hours in the afternoon 3 days a week.
As for the diapers....there were a few "Windex" treatments, but the Diaper Genies were the true lifesavers. You cannot even begin to count how many toxic bombs were diffused in that thing. Once the kids were old enough to stand, I got pretty good at changing diapers as they stood on the changing table admiring themselves in the bathroom mirror.
It was remarkable to see two little chunky babies grow and develop. For two kids who started out so close, sharing a womb technically designed for one, these two could not be any more different. Heather was the planner; the boss, if you will. She was the first one to talk in complete sentences. One day, Scott was on the computer when the dog barked to come in from outside. Heather waddled up to her father and asked, "Daddy, aren't you gonna let the doggy in?" There is rarely a moment even now when she is not talking and planning some fantastical drama that she wants to act out with her brother. Michael was in charge of design and implementation. Even as a small child, teetering around the living room on his stubby little legs, he was designing innovative ways to use his toys. A blue Lego became a car...the red one criss-crossed with a yellow one was an airplane. Today his creations have become more elaborate. Again with the Legos....more and more advanced airplanes-- C-130s, Harriers, an X-Wing fighter...even his own inventions. An old cell phone became Iron Man soaring through the living room and kitchen; a pencil was a rocket ship blasting off to Planet Idontwannadomyhomework.
This all leads to the them scheming and planning elaborate skits or using subterfuge to plan a surprise attack on the poor dog. Picture this scenario: The adults are sitting in the living room watching TV. All of a sudden, it's too quiet; we wonder where the toddlers have gotten to. We hear incoherent whispering....two little voices. We quietly peek around the corner where the front door is. There, lying on the floor across the bottom of the LOCKED front door was Michael. Heather? She was standing on Michael's bottom on her tippy toes trying to UNLOCK the deadbolt. The planner and designer collaborated this elaborate scheme shortly after learning to walk.
As for the diapers....there were a few "Windex" treatments, but the Diaper Genies were the true lifesavers. You cannot even begin to count how many toxic bombs were diffused in that thing. Once the kids were old enough to stand, I got pretty good at changing diapers as they stood on the changing table admiring themselves in the bathroom mirror.
It was remarkable to see two little chunky babies grow and develop. For two kids who started out so close, sharing a womb technically designed for one, these two could not be any more different. Heather was the planner; the boss, if you will. She was the first one to talk in complete sentences. One day, Scott was on the computer when the dog barked to come in from outside. Heather waddled up to her father and asked, "Daddy, aren't you gonna let the doggy in?" There is rarely a moment even now when she is not talking and planning some fantastical drama that she wants to act out with her brother. Michael was in charge of design and implementation. Even as a small child, teetering around the living room on his stubby little legs, he was designing innovative ways to use his toys. A blue Lego became a car...the red one criss-crossed with a yellow one was an airplane. Today his creations have become more elaborate. Again with the Legos....more and more advanced airplanes-- C-130s, Harriers, an X-Wing fighter...even his own inventions. An old cell phone became Iron Man soaring through the living room and kitchen; a pencil was a rocket ship blasting off to Planet Idontwannadomyhomework.
This all leads to the them scheming and planning elaborate skits or using subterfuge to plan a surprise attack on the poor dog. Picture this scenario: The adults are sitting in the living room watching TV. All of a sudden, it's too quiet; we wonder where the toddlers have gotten to. We hear incoherent whispering....two little voices. We quietly peek around the corner where the front door is. There, lying on the floor across the bottom of the LOCKED front door was Michael. Heather? She was standing on Michael's bottom on her tippy toes trying to UNLOCK the deadbolt. The planner and designer collaborated this elaborate scheme shortly after learning to walk.
Friday, October 24, 2008
What's in a Name?
Scott and I had many a disagreement about names. We had agreed that we didn't want to find out the sexes, even though it would have made planning easier. Since we didn't know if we were having boys, girls, or one of each, we had to choose 4 names. This became more complicated as time went on. We knew we liked the names Heather and Michael....good traditional names (we wanted our kids to be able to find those souvenir license plates and key chains with their names on them, really). Scott had always like the name Thor, however, I did not. "It's a good strong name for strong boy, " he stated.
"What if we have a scrawny little kid?" I argued.
"Given our size (we are both "big-boned") we are not going to have a scrawny little kid."
"Case in point, my parents wanted to name my sister Katherine. They opted not to because the are both "big-boned" and they would have had a "big-boned" child with the nickname Tina or Teeny. (They ended up having a Tina anyway, my sister is quite tall and thin)"
He finally agreed with me and hopped on the internet to research names. Scott has been able to trace his family history back to the Crusades. He was hopeful that he could find family names that we could use for the twins. He came up with some rather interesting choices...Corneilius? There was no way I was naming my son Corneilius! Harold? Nope! Wrong again!
We knew that we wanted to celebrate the heritages of both our families, so we chose the following:
GIRLS: Heather Sophia and Mira Grace
BOYS: Michael Austin and Alexander Bernard
We chose one middle name from each side of the family. Sophia was my aunt's middle name and Grace was Scott's grandmother's name. Austin was Scott's grandfather's middle name and Bernard is my father's name. But what would happen if we had one of each? We decided that both of our families needed to be represented in each name, therefore we came up with Heather Sophia Grace and Michael Austin Bernard.
We should have named them each Mini-Scott and Mini-Lisa. The first time I got a glimpse of my too little ones was in their "toasters" in the NICU. My mother wheeled me in between the two incubators. I looked at Michael and gasped, "That looks like Scott!" I turned in the other direction and looked at Heather and gasped again, "That looks like me!"
"What if we have a scrawny little kid?" I argued.
"Given our size (we are both "big-boned") we are not going to have a scrawny little kid."
"Case in point, my parents wanted to name my sister Katherine. They opted not to because the are both "big-boned" and they would have had a "big-boned" child with the nickname Tina or Teeny. (They ended up having a Tina anyway, my sister is quite tall and thin)"
He finally agreed with me and hopped on the internet to research names. Scott has been able to trace his family history back to the Crusades. He was hopeful that he could find family names that we could use for the twins. He came up with some rather interesting choices...Corneilius? There was no way I was naming my son Corneilius! Harold? Nope! Wrong again!
We knew that we wanted to celebrate the heritages of both our families, so we chose the following:
GIRLS: Heather Sophia and Mira Grace
BOYS: Michael Austin and Alexander Bernard
We chose one middle name from each side of the family. Sophia was my aunt's middle name and Grace was Scott's grandmother's name. Austin was Scott's grandfather's middle name and Bernard is my father's name. But what would happen if we had one of each? We decided that both of our families needed to be represented in each name, therefore we came up with Heather Sophia Grace and Michael Austin Bernard.
We should have named them each Mini-Scott and Mini-Lisa. The first time I got a glimpse of my too little ones was in their "toasters" in the NICU. My mother wheeled me in between the two incubators. I looked at Michael and gasped, "That looks like Scott!" I turned in the other direction and looked at Heather and gasped again, "That looks like me!"
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
No Cheeseburger? OK, I'll Have Some Tic-Tacs
3:00 pm: And that's what happened. I called Scott several times...still at Builder's Square. Oh, where was he? (this was before we had cell phones) The doctor wanted me to go right to the hospital, do not pass go, do not collect $200....just get to the hospital. Since I couldn't get a hold of him, I went home despite doctor's orders. I had to pack my bag anyway. We sped to the hospital and got a chance to meet the pediatrician. I was hooked up to the monitors and it was determined that I had been having contractions all day....I just didn't feel them (sorry, girls!). The nurse had a hard time putting the IV in...even though I apparently have a "beautiful vein" in my right inside elbow. So she put it in the back of my hand..... OUCH!5:00 pm I met the anesthesiologist. He gave me the lowdown on what would happen. He asked when I had eaten last. "Lunchtime? Good. Do you have any questions?"
"Yeah. When do I get to have a cheeseburger? I'm starving."
"Well, probably not til after your surgery."
"OK, when exactly?"
"Well, you'll be in the hospital for a few...."
"WHEN?!!!!" Don't you people know that you are not supposed to keep food from a pregnant woman!? That's like trying to take a fish from a bear! What are you? Stupid?
6:30 pm: The family arrives to my delivery room. As they enter, I hear the sounds of another woman in labor....obviously a wicked contraction... hmmm.....funny.... I ask them if they happened to be hiding any cheeseburgers in their pockets or purses. Damn, no luck. Mom offered to get me ice chips. Only if they are cheeseburger flavored. (Funny, cheeseburgers were one of two cravings I had...the other was Stove Top Stuffing...right out of the can.)
9:30 pm: The anesthesiologist would do a spinal block. I had to sit on the edge of the operating table and hunch my back as the nurse held me. The anesthesiologist gave me a shot of Novocaine (funny how Novocaine is supposed to prevent pain and yet it's the most painful shot I have ever had) in my back to block the sensation of the much large needle going in (Thank God, I didn't have to see it). I remember him saying, "Let's get her back up on the table, before her legs go numb." I got news for ya, I can't feel them already! I remember being so cold and shivering through the entire procedure. They even brought me a blanket from the warmer, but it didn't help.
9:45 pm: They put the shield up over my chest and brought Scott in....despite his apparent opposition....in a wheelchair, wearing scrubs. My doctor came in dressed in her scrubs and ever fashionable yellow Crocs. She got up on her stool; she needed one as she is a mere 5 feet tall. How else would she see over my huge belly? And from what I could tell, she began prepping me for the C-section. The next thing I remember, a small dot of liquid dropped onto my face. The anesthesiologist said she had just cut through the membrane and broke my water. I didn't even know I had been opened yet! I heard a sound....grunting, mewling, then a cry. The doctor held up "Baby A"... a girl. She was whisked away by a team of baby experts.
9:46pm: On to "Baby B"...for boy! He was plucked from his warm cozy nest and all was strangely quiet. Doctors and nurses buzzed quietly, while Scott watched. I couldn't see a thing in my position. Finally a faint gurgle and a cry and I relaxed.....and burst into tears. All was good. The boy was having difficulty breathing, but they were working hard to clear his lungs. He would be fine, but need to be in an oxygen tent for a bit (24 hours). As I was being stitched up, Scott points out a tank to my right....."Isn't that cool?" I looked and nearly threw up (thank God I hadn't had that cheeseburger!).....there staring me in the face was my insides, my placenta, and such. The kids were placed in their own little tanks and wheeled out. I got to see them as they passed.....my two tiny tic-tacs wrapped so tightly in warm blankies, it was hard to tell if there were arms and legs!
Scott was able to take their baby books and get a footprint. He joined me in the recovery room. He was so excited that he plopped the books down on the end of the bed.....right on my legs. "Omigosh, I'm sorry...did that hurt?" Nope, can't feel a thing yet! I asked the recovery nurse if I could have my cheeseburger yet. Nope. No food in the recovery room. "OK, then can I sleep? I'm exhausted."
"Well, once we get you cleaned up, we'll take you to your room. But the nurses will be in every hour to check your vitals."
"So that means your not going to let me sleep, either."
"Not really, sorry"
What kind of hospital is this anyway? No cheeseburgers! No sleep! I'm telling Mom!
I didn't get any sleep that first night. Between the nurses poking me every hour and the spinal block wearing off.....did I mention how wonderful Depacote is?....and wondering about my babies. They were not tic-tacs any more.....they were real babies. What did they look like? Did they have my nose? Scott's eyes? What was it like for my little boy in that oxygen tent?
Did I mention that I was in extreme pain? My entire abdomen was extremely sore..what with an 8+ inch incision and all. The nurses all expected me to get up and walk down the hall to the NeoNatal Unit to see my kids. I couldn't do it....it hurt so bad! For the first couple of days I was wheeled in the wheelchair, then I had to push the wheelchair. My second evening in the hospital, I couldn't sleep. I had pumped a little breastmilk and thought I would go see the kids and drop it off. I managed to push the wheelchair all the way down the hall to see the kids and was met by the neonatal night nurse. I told her I had brought down some breastmilk and thought I could rock my babies and bond with them a little. She told me, "Honey, they don't even know who you are, so go back to bed and get some sleep." I never thought I would have post partum depression....until that moment. I was completely crushed (yes, I did file a complaint). I did however, take away something from that snide comment. "Go back to bed and get some sleep." Get it now while you can. You will not have many opportunities where someone will take care of you babies so you can get caught up on the precious little sleep new mommies need.
Little did I know......
You Wanna Do It When?!!!!!
I knew I was going to have a C-section. At my regular ultrasounds, it was determined that "Baby A" (aka Heather) was facing head up and was lower in the womb; the baby was breach. "Baby B" (aka Michael) was facing head down and higher in the womb. In other words, I had Yin and Yang. We tried everything to turn "A" around. There had been some fairly recent research on using music to turn a baby in utero to avoid a breach. We used a set of headphones and played some soothing music (maybe that's why she wanted to do ballet!) and slowly moved the headphones up my tummy. This was supposed to make the baby want to stay close to the music and follow the sound. It didn't work. I think there was just not enough room in there to do any kind of moving!
At my last ultrasound, the technician needed to get resting and active heartrates for the tic-tacs.... er...kiddos (actually,at this point, they felt like baby elephants!). She was able to get an active heartrate on "A" but not a resting one. "B" was just the opposite; a resting heartrate, but not an active one. Again, yin and yang. "B" almost ended up getting the cattle prod. In the end, all worked out and everyone was happy. However, it was still noted that "A" was breach, therefore requiring the C-section.
My actual due date was October 5, 1999, but given the history of twins, I knew that I would go early. Thank God. It was the hottest summer on record. I was teaching summer school as I needed the extra money. I was given permission to work by my doctor only if I was able to stay off my feet. I sat in the front of the classroom with my feet on another chair. Story hour was conducted on the floor and I would lay down and read to the kids. I pretty much froze the poor assistants out of the classroom as I kept the air conditioner set on Arctic (it didn't have an Antarctic setting so I was still a bit warm). I would show up to work in shorts and a top, while my assistants wore jeans and sweatshirts. I worked almost the entire six weeks this way.
The last week of summer school, for those of you who don't know, is crazy. Packing boxes, writing final reports, dealing with crazy kids who can't wait to get home and into the pool. That Monday (August 23), I woke up and hopped in the shower. While shampooing, I had the strangest feeling....down there. It felt like a foot was making its way out of....well, you know. I went to work and called the doctor. She made me go home and get to bed.
Now the fun begins, but I have to backtrack and share a funny story. Since we knew that twins arrive early, there was a running joke in our family. My parents' birthdays are August 29th (Mom's) and 30th (Dad's) What if I went into labor on the 29th before midnight and had one on Mom's birthday and one on Dad's birthday? Ha ha, wouldn't that be cool? Fast forward to August 29th. Scott had just arrived home from work at 11pm and I was in bed, but not asleep. I had that funny feeling, that tightness in my belly....my first contraction! I timed it and told Scott, promising to let him know if it happened again. It didn't. The next day was my regular doctor's appointment. As I said before, I told Scott that he didn't have to come to this one as it was a routine measurement and heartrate session. He decided to go to Builder's Square to get the last few items to finish the kids' room. After she performed her exam, she stated that we would have to schedule the C-section. While I had not dilated at all, I was completely effaced (meaning, the wall of the uterus was completely thinned out). We headed out to the receptionist's desk to schedule the operation....sometime that week. EEEK! Not that soon! I didn't think I had had enough time to prepare! OK, take a deep breath, let it out....hoooooo. OK, ready. THIS WEEK!!!! AAAAAH! As we were waiting for the receptionist to get off the phone, I happened to mention the funny family joke and that today was my father's birthday. She responds, "When's the last time you had something to eat? We can do this tonight!" OK, now it's time to panic!
At my last ultrasound, the technician needed to get resting and active heartrates for the tic-tacs.... er...kiddos (actually,at this point, they felt like baby elephants!). She was able to get an active heartrate on "A" but not a resting one. "B" was just the opposite; a resting heartrate, but not an active one. Again, yin and yang. "B" almost ended up getting the cattle prod. In the end, all worked out and everyone was happy. However, it was still noted that "A" was breach, therefore requiring the C-section.
My actual due date was October 5, 1999, but given the history of twins, I knew that I would go early. Thank God. It was the hottest summer on record. I was teaching summer school as I needed the extra money. I was given permission to work by my doctor only if I was able to stay off my feet. I sat in the front of the classroom with my feet on another chair. Story hour was conducted on the floor and I would lay down and read to the kids. I pretty much froze the poor assistants out of the classroom as I kept the air conditioner set on Arctic (it didn't have an Antarctic setting so I was still a bit warm). I would show up to work in shorts and a top, while my assistants wore jeans and sweatshirts. I worked almost the entire six weeks this way.
The last week of summer school, for those of you who don't know, is crazy. Packing boxes, writing final reports, dealing with crazy kids who can't wait to get home and into the pool. That Monday (August 23), I woke up and hopped in the shower. While shampooing, I had the strangest feeling....down there. It felt like a foot was making its way out of....well, you know. I went to work and called the doctor. She made me go home and get to bed.
Now the fun begins, but I have to backtrack and share a funny story. Since we knew that twins arrive early, there was a running joke in our family. My parents' birthdays are August 29th (Mom's) and 30th (Dad's) What if I went into labor on the 29th before midnight and had one on Mom's birthday and one on Dad's birthday? Ha ha, wouldn't that be cool? Fast forward to August 29th. Scott had just arrived home from work at 11pm and I was in bed, but not asleep. I had that funny feeling, that tightness in my belly....my first contraction! I timed it and told Scott, promising to let him know if it happened again. It didn't. The next day was my regular doctor's appointment. As I said before, I told Scott that he didn't have to come to this one as it was a routine measurement and heartrate session. He decided to go to Builder's Square to get the last few items to finish the kids' room. After she performed her exam, she stated that we would have to schedule the C-section. While I had not dilated at all, I was completely effaced (meaning, the wall of the uterus was completely thinned out). We headed out to the receptionist's desk to schedule the operation....sometime that week. EEEK! Not that soon! I didn't think I had had enough time to prepare! OK, take a deep breath, let it out....hoooooo. OK, ready. THIS WEEK!!!! AAAAAH! As we were waiting for the receptionist to get off the phone, I happened to mention the funny family joke and that today was my father's birthday. She responds, "When's the last time you had something to eat? We can do this tonight!" OK, now it's time to panic!
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