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May 28

wimpy white boy & the tiny warrior princess

May 28

It’s been 84 years…

We are going to conveniently ignore the fact that it’s been exactly 1,018 days since my last blog post.

And somehow that felt appropriate because the topic of my last entry was how stressed I felt trying to work full time PLUS parent three kids full time. That’s all been going on for the entire 33 months I’ve been absent — and it shows.

Now I’m on a brief work sabbatical also known as maternity leave. That doesn’t mean I have time to dig in and start blogging again — if anything, I’m way busier than I was in August 2018, the time of my last update — but with so much going on, I felt like I had to get down some thoughts and provide a centralized place for people requesting updates on the babies. I can’t keep track of who I’m telling what.

And obviously, I want to look back in 1,000 days and remind myself how miserable I was because life will be much better then. Right? Right.

Welcome to our renovation nightmare

Ok so quick, quick update on the last 3 years: We considered moving but decided to stay after losing out on our dream house (7 offers in 48 hours) and realizing the housing market is totally out of control. That led to embarking on an agonizing, drama-filled, six-figure renovation that included multiple shady contractors, skyrocketing costs of materials amid the pandemic, broken appliances, and lots of other bad news every day. Nightmare isn’t even the word. It’s a never-ending horror show.

Six months later and it’s still not finished. However, we’re finally starting to see the light at the end of the tunnel. I could go on for pages about this saga but at the moment I’d rather be talking about my other big news. The moral of this story? (Most) contractors suck, renovations are expensive, and if you want something done right you have to do it yourself.

Suffice it to say we are never, ever moving and it will all be beautiful when it’s done, thanks to the literal blood, sweat, and tears that we (and when I say we I mean Eric) put into this project. And even though we spent wayyyyyyyy too much money on it, technically we still have equity and aren’t forced to overpay for a crappy house like so many other buyers right now. Small blessings.

No embryo left behind

The reason I’ve been very unhelpful in the construction department, besides my complete lack of manual labor skills, is that I’ve been pregnant the entire time.

After going back and forth and agonizing over the last two embryos for years, I finally decided the time had come. I got the go-ahead from my OB to implant two embryos at once (“But will my uterus literally explode if I’ve had 3 c-sections already? No? Are you sure?”) even as my RE Dr. L tried her damndest to talk me out of it.

“They could split and you could get triplets. You could get QUADS,” she warned.

However, I’ve said all along that we abide by a “no embryo left behind” philosophy. I also reasoned that these were the worst quality embryos of the group. There was a decent chance that only one would stick. Or none would stick! It was a $5,000 gamble I was willing to take, especially since it nicely coincided with a generous work bonus.

And then both embryos stuck. And then we had twins.

The pregnancy was both eventful and non-eventful. There weren’t any major concerns until the third trimester other than cholestasis, which was an itchy nightmare, and extreme discomfort for my 5’1 frame carrying two growing humans. My back ached, my feet swelled, and apparently, I had a short temper with everyone (in my recollection, this part is exaggerated, but all my family members agree that ‘Amanda while pregnant with twins’ is super bitchy).

It’s gonna be May

Everything was uncomfortably yet smoothly sailing along fine as we passed the 30 week mark. But then I started having some concerning growth scans that showed Baby A, the girl, was experiencing IUGR (intrauterine growth restriction).

We already knew I’d be delivering early because of all my risk factors — twins, IVF, repeat c-section, cholestasis, advanced maternal age, etc., etc. But all along I had the goal in my head of making it to 37 weeks. The twins were due 6/24 — the day after Molly’s birthday, how full circle is that? — and if I got to 37 weeks, I would at least be in the correct month for their due date. Meanwhile, my OB said to prepare for delivery between 34 and 35 weeks even before the scans. She’s clearly psychic in that regard.

Finally, baby girl started having issues with cord flow and the perinatal doctors insisted the babies had to arrive no later than 36 weeks. They started using terms like “stillbirth” and scared the crap out of me. I called my OB to get her opinion on when to schedule the surgery. That’s when I found out she was leaving for a humanitarian trip to Africa in mid-May. My last day to schedule the surgery with her was Monday, May 17 – when I would be exactly 34+4 weeks. It felt like a sign from God that it was the right day.

And so it was. Surgery went great, recovery was a bit rough but manageable, and the babies were super cute. Lucas Russell was 5 lbs 6 oz, which happens to be Molly’s exact birth weight at 40+4. He clearly would have been my biggest baby if we had let him cook longer. Meredith Jane was 3 lbs 3 oz. But then they got whisked off to the NICU and they’ve been there ever since.

Today is the 12th day without my newborns.

Welcome to the NICU; no one wants to be here

It’s a surreal feeling that’s inspired me to compose so many NICU-related posts in my head ever since our journey began.

I want to write, “The 1 Question You Should Never Ask a NICU Parent” (Spoiler: It’s “When do you think they’re coming home?” I know this question is very well-intentioned and is one I would have been asking before I knew how it felt to hear it. But the constant update of, “we don’t know, we don’t know, we don’t know” is so emotionally draining.)

I’m also considering one titled “10 Surprising Benefits of the NICU.” Having highly trained professionals caring for my babies while I recovered my old, tired, 37-year-old body from major abdominal surgery was pretty nice. During my hospital stay, I could go visit and hold them whenever I wanted, but when I wanted to go to my room and shower, rest, and watch HGTV for an hour without interruption, that was also an option. The real guilt and hardship didn’t begin until I left the hospital empty-handed.

Our adorable wimpy white boy

When we found out Lucas would be over 5 lbs and Meredith would be 3 lbs if she was lucky, a few people mentioned there was a chance he could come home with me while she would definitely be stuck in the NICU. So imagine my surprise when I discovered that not only was Lucas not coming home, but he was actually faring worse than his teeny tiny sister. It’s all because of a phenomenon known as “wimpy white boy.”

So many people have said this phrase to me both in the hospital and at home. It refers to the fact that Caucasian males tend to fare worse in the NICU regardless of their size or gestational age. So even though Lucas looks like he’s fine, he’s actually doing terribly at handling life on the outside. He’s a wimpy white boy.

His main issue is bradycardia events (“bradys”) where his heart rate drops and he has to be roused by the nurses. He was having so many he had to be put on a CPAP machine for a couple of days. The doctors also put him on caffeine to help prevent them, and as long as he doesn’t have any bradys today he will be taken off caffeine by end of day.

But he still has to be brady-free for a 7-day stretch post-caffeine, or 5 days regardless. So if he has an event on Sunday, the clock resets and we have to hit that 5 day stretch. Little man has only managed to make it 2 days without having an event so far.

He’s also being lazy about eating, which is typical for a preemie (and a wimpy white boy). He had some reflux issues but those seem to be getting under control. I’ve been diligent on trying breastfeeding whenever I’m there for his care times, but he just kind of latches and stares at me, like “What do you want me to do with this thing?” Then he falls asleep.

However, he’s freaking adorable. All the nurses are in love with him. How could you not appreciate that handsome face?

Little lady is a fighter

And then there’s Meredith.

She has that NICU baby look with virtually no fat on her body and the tiniest little hiney I’ve ever seen in my life. It took some time for me to feel comfortable changing her diapers because I felt like I would break her legs by accident. She’s just soooo small and fragile looking. But looks can be deceiving. What Meredith lacks in size, she makes up for in determination.

Baby girl has never been on oxygen and never had a brady. The first time I put her to breast she latched on and went for 15 minutes solid (she hasn’t been able to replicate that since; I think she’s still recovering from the Herculean effort it must have taken).

The only reason she is still in the NICU is that there’s a 4 lb minimum to leave (that’s for car seats) and she’s still only 3 lbs 5 oz after losing weight post-delivery and then working like hell to gain it back.

She also needs to work on eating but has been doing decent with the bottle and breast. She’s also very, very cute even with that slight alien look.

Baby steps, literally

I have so many reasons to complain about being trapped in the NICU but just as many to be grateful. I love that it’s 10 minutes from my house. If these babies had been born prior to January 2020 I’d be commuting 30 minutes each way which would have made life so much harder. Plus, I’m in some twin mom groups where the moms mention their closest NICU is an hour or more away and they can only go every other day. I just can’t imagine.

The staff at St. Luke’s is wonderful; I love all the nurses. I love the new building with the private NICU rooms rather than just being in one giant area. If there’s anywhere to be stuck, it’s here.

But progress is slow and I’m impatient. It doesn’t help that my 3 big kids need me at home while my 2 small ones need me at the hospital. No matter where I am, I feel like I should be somewhere else and like I’m letting someone down. We won’t even discuss my husband who has been trapped in the basement working alone for weeks now while I try being everything to everyone. Even my lack of attention/help for him makes me feel endlessly guilty, guilty, guilty.

Nurse Proper

As much as I love all the NICU nurses, I inevitably have my favorites, especially the one who insists on posing the twins and doing newborn photo shoots every time I’m there.

For a while one of my least favorites was a nurse I nicknamed Nurse Proper because she had a very precise way about her. It’s hard to explain… she says “beneath” instead of “under” and just has an extremely formal, competent manner. Of course, this makes me feel like a total schlub in her presence and even though I’ve become adept at NICU care and protocol in the 2 weeks we’ve been there, I always seem to mess up when she’s around. I guess she brings it out in me.

After the fourth night shift in a row with her assigned to my babies, she changed my whole perception. It was 10PM and I was about to go home and finally get some sleep. As usual, the older kids had put themselves to bed (remember, Eric is still stuck in the basement, probably painting something) and I was wondering if they’d really brushed their teeth.

But then Nurse Proper pulled up a chair, looked me right in the eye, and said, “Hey. How are you? I mean, how are you?”

I gave the usual response of “Fine! Great! Surviving!!” And then she said, “I want you to know you don’t have to do this if it’s killing you; it’s OK to take a night off, or not come here twice one of these days. We aren’t going to judge you if that’s what you think. We know you have other kids and a life at home.”

Deep down I knew I was feeling this — the obligation to always show up twice, once for day shift and once for night shift. This is both for the twins and for optics because God forbid I become known as the mother who never visits her babies. I still haven’t gone a day without visiting twice but at least she acknowledged and knew how I was feeling more than anyone else. Maybe Nurse Proper isn’t so bad after all.

Hello, my name is Bessie

I was terrified of not producing enough milk for twins. Ha. Haha. HA! I cannot believe the amount I’ve been getting.

The nurses said the whole NICU fridge is nothing but my bottles and they’ve had to start freezing it. The twins started out on donor milk when they were first born but haven’t had to use it since their first three days of life. I am an absolute pumping machine and while it’s annoying, and feels bovine, at least this is one thing I know I’m doing for my babies that’s legitimately helping them grow and thrive.

I pump every 3 hours and typically get 8-9 ounces each time. That’s double what I used to get pumping at work for Molly and Liam when they were babies. I credit my diligence at sticking with the every 3 hour schedule (even in the middle of the night when the last thing I want to do is get out of bed) and my new Spectra breast pump, which makes my old Medela clunker look like a tool from the Stone Age. Plus I’m assuming my body knows it had twins and needs to produce twice as much to feed them.

I hope I can keep up supply once they come home. I could never be an exclusively pumping mom… it’s so much work without the reward I want, the bonding and the convenience of breastfeeding. These kids have got to get their latching skills down soon.

This too shall pass

I look back and laugh at how pissed I was when they wanted to keep Molly in the hospital two extra days after she was born. The horror! Obviously I overreacted at my extended stay. And even now, as stressful as being a NICU parent is, I am trying to maintain perspective.

The twins are premature but they are healthy. Plenty of parents wind up in the NICU because their babies have serious medical complications and must stay for months and months on end. My babies are just early and they need more time. Meanwhile, thanks to the state of the renovation, we need more time too. Their clothes are still in boxes, their bassinet is at my sister’s house, and their various accouterments are in the attic. In a couple weeks that should be a very different story.

The earliest they could possibly go home is 7 days from Lucas going off caffeine — one week from today. Incidentally, that’s about how long it should take Meredith to gain what she needs to gain. I’m thinking, realistically, they’ll be home in the early part of June and one day I can read this post and look back at what a small blip it was on our radar.

Hashtag blessed

Another thing I’m grateful for? Last night was the first time I even had to think about what was for dinner. So many friends and family members have been dropping off food and we’ve never eaten so well. I never had to worry about having a ride to the hospital even before I was cleared to drive; my mom and sister happily shuttled me back and forth no matter the hour and what else they had going on.

Others offered to take the big kids for playdates and distractions amid the chaos. We are surrounded by help and support constantly and for that, I cannot be more thankful.

My heart is torn in half right now. But every day is progress toward our goal: paint on the walls, babies in our home, and a relaxing summer.

Oh wait, just kidding, I’m going to have newborn twins. I don’t think “relaxing” will be part of my vocabulary for at least the next 20 years.

And that’s just how I like it.

It’s good to be back, friends. I can’t guarantee I’ll blog all the time (actually I can guarantee I WON’T blog all the time). But I can say I’ve missed this space a lot. Don’t be surprised for a random post here and there when all is calm on the home front. Thanks for still reading along one thousand days later.

Posted by amanda Leave a Comment
Filed Under: milestones, pregnancy, the big things Tagged: NICU, twins

Jun 03

looking into the crystal ball (a post about psychics)

Jun 03

I have two stories about psychics. Ready? Here we go.

Psychic Story #1:

In this post I talked about my friend’s 2011 Mother’s Day message and how she went to see a psychic and asked about my infertility woes. Long story short in case you don’t feel like reading or re-reading it, she foretold that we would get pregnant eventually, it had something to do with the number 2 and it had something to do with February.

I also mentioned that I pestered her for weeks afterwards for more than she originally told me. Well, she gave me more. Specifically, she said that she wrote down (in reference to my situation), “the second one sticks” and “she will have a beautiful baby girl.”

Guys – I totally worried about this when I first heard it and again when I got pregnant. First of all, “second one sticks” to me sounds like second try. At the time, I believed that it meant I would have a miscarriage, and it scared the crap out of me. Of course when I got pregnant with twins, I assumed “second one sticks” meant second embryo sticks in addition to the first. Duh. Everything that psychics say is not literal.

What worried me then was the “beautiful baby girl” comment. Girl. A girl. Singular. Again, I tried to justify this by saying that maybe one would be a girl and one would be a boy, and the girl would just be particularly beautiful. Plus, IT’S NOT LITERAL. I had never even met this woman. But still, I couldn’t shake a funny feeling about it.

That’s not to say that I had any inkling that the pregnancy would go so horribly wrong. I put the prediction out of my mind (mostly) when I saw that first ultrasound. All looked good. The psychic was wrong. Whatever. But then… the impossible happened. We lost them. And “second one sticks” started to sound so relevant again.

As far as February… well, the first embryo transfer was in February. The embryos were created in February. But now I’m just thinking…this second transfer is going to be early June, which, if successful, would give me a late (or early, if it’s twins) February due date. For the second one. And NOW I’m officially freaked out, despite the fact that I could certainly have two again and she only saw the one girl. Maybe one will be kind of attractive, but smart? Maybe only one will take? Oh, I could do this allllll day. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

Of course, I want to believe all this because it would mean that I carry this next baby(ies) to term, and that she (they?) will be stunningly beautiful. If nothing else, it will help calm my nerves when I (hopefully, oh so hopefully) get pregnant again. I’m already dreading pregnancy as much as I’m looking forward to it because I am absolutely, batshit crazy terrified of being pregnant. Like, ridiculously scared. I’ve never simultaneously wanted and feared something so much in my life.

Psychic Story #2:

Last fall, before we found the clinical trial, I was feeling particularly hopeless. One afternoon I convinced myself that visiting a psychic would be the best way to cheer myself up (obviously, right?). The woman who I went to see came highly recommended from several sources, and since the other psychic had been such a comfort for almost two years, I figured I had nothing to lose.

I’m not exaggerating when I say that this woman was approximately 565 years old. I have never met anyone that old, ever. I hope I don’t sound insensitive when I say that I would not have been surprised if she keeled over and died in the middle of the reading. She was that old. She also took two phone calls – loudly, and on speaker phone – during the reading and chicken scratched appointments into her ancient, paper appointment book. Yeah, I was teeny bit skeptical.

She read my cards and gave be a bunch of vague generalizations, as I’d imagine psychics tend to do, such as, “Someone who was in the military says hello” (seriously, is there a single person living who doesn’t have a dead relative who served in the military?) and “Children love you. They really love you.” (Wow…shocking). The longer the session went on without her answering my burning questions, the more agitated I became.

At one point she got very quiet with concentration for a few seconds and eventually said, “There’s a bird in your house. He keeps pecking at food in the corner of the table, near the leg of the table. He just keeps eating it!” She kind of chuckled at this. Finally, she asked if I had any questions and I exasperatedly asked about having kids, trying to keep the quiver out of my voice. She (pretended to?) think about it, then asked if twins ran in my family. She said we would possibly have twins, but not for a couple years. I left with a sense of bitter disappointment.

I did think more about the bird comment though, especially since we have a dog who is named Bird (which she couldn’t have possibly known, of course). He had been going into the dining room for no apparent reason for a few weeks, which was odd because the dogs normally follow us around and we never go in the dining room. I checked and re-checked the table legs, but there was no crusted on food. It just didn’t make sense.

A couple of weeks after the reading, Eric and I were rearranging the dining room. We had been given some really cool vintage pieces from his godmother that we had thrown in there until we figured out how we wanted to use them. While moving a large and cumbersome sideboard that we had placed in front of our little sofa table, we discovered this:
dogfood

Crazy, right?! She was totally right! Bird (the dog) was nibbling at this random pile of dog food in the corner of the table. Like… whoa. Not that this matters or is relevant to my life in any way, but it proves that she must have some sort of psychic abilities.

If we are “ranking” predictions, I put a lot more credit on the first psychic. Maybe I just choose to believe her because that would mean that this (potential) pregnancy sticks AND that it’s our much-longed-for, absolutely beautiful little girl who we’ve already named (in, like, 2003). The twins comment is interesting, though…either Old Lady Psychic was referring to the twins we lost, or even this next set of twins. I went for the reading in 2012 and they would be due in 2014, so technically that is “a couple years.”

I’m not saying that I believe wholeheartedly in psychic predictions. But then again… I’m not saying I don’t believe them either. Anyone else have experience with all this craziness?

Posted by amanda 16 Comments
Filed Under: miscellany, the little things Tagged: loss, prediction, psychic, twins

Jun 01

can someone get me off this emotional roller coaster, please?

Jun 01

I’ve mentioned before that at my RE’s office, most of the doctors/nurses/techs don’t speak English very well. So far my biggest issue with that has been the recurring need to make them repeat things during phone calls, and the occasional abrupt and funny conversation. Then yesterday happened.

I went for CD11 blood and sono and had to wait until 4 freaking 30 for the results. The whole day started off on a sour note because I had my least favorite tech for the sono, the same tech who did my “your babies have no heartbeat” scan, so I was already feeling a little weird about the whole thing (at least it wasn’t the same room). She usually tells me nothing, except life-changing, terrible news, but today she said, “Mostly we are looking at the lining… you’re at 7.7, that’s perfect… Follicle on the left is measuring 21, and you’ll ovulate soon.” OK, I can live with perfect. Great. But then I had to wait eight hours for the blood results, which is uncommon. Despite my earlier good news, throughout the day I convinced myself that my hormone levels would be unacceptable and we’d have to cancel this cycle. They finally called.

English as a Second Language Nurse: “I do not know how to say this…”

Shit, right? She even repeated it, followed by a long silence. My heart dropped. Tears formed. I was working from home, so I looked forlornly out into the backyard, doing quick mental calculations of how we could possibly afford to do an FET on our own by next month. What about a yard sale? Maybe I could sell a kidney? How long would it take to raise the money? Seriously, in the space of 30 seconds I was already offering up my own organs to get pregnant again. Then she continued:

ESL Nurse: “I do not know how to say this, but did you give us a copy of the tissue results from your D&C? Do we have those?”

On the list of phrases to be banned from fertility clinics, I’m going to have to recommend that “I do not know how to say this” should be in the top ten. She literally did not know how to say something. I guess she didn’t realize that in the English language, prefacing your statement with, “I do not know how to say this,” means that the next thing you say will be awful, awful news. I felt both relieved and emotionally drained once I figured out what the hell she was actually saying. We straightened out the paperwork snafu and then she gave me my transfer date – June 6th. I don’t even have to go back for monitoring between now and then. I just have to start my Estrace, start my lovely PIO injections, and show up at 11:30 on Thursday to get pregnant.

I feel weird about this. We did a natural cycle FET last time, so I feel good about that, but I remember going back every day around ovulation to determine the precise time of it happening. They even gave me some nasal spray to induce it when I hadn’t ovulated by CD15. But this time, they’re just like, “Uhhh… yeah, come back Thursday. That should be good.” Maybe because it worked last time, so they don’t feel the need to be so precise? Maybe they don’t care that much? I just don’t know. And once again…I’m at the mercy of these people and cannot demand answers since I’m not a paying customer. I’m just a number in a study. I’m just a girl getting a free ride who needs to sit down and shut up.

I got a second emotional smack in the face on that same phone call. At my miscarriage ultrasound, Dr. L mentioned the possibility of just transferring one embryo for the next round. I’ve been mulling that over for the past 6 weeks and had finally come to terms with it being a good idea. I was scared of my ability to handle twins, especially for my first children, not to mention the added risks of having multiples. Plus it felt even more like trying to “replace” my lost children. So I made the decision. Yes, we would just transfer one. I had a higher level of confidence that just one would work since both of them stuck last time.

On the call, ESL Nurse said, “We will transfer two embryos.” I protested, mentioning that Dr. L had offered to just do one, but she said, “No, no that would break protocol. We have to do two.” So again… six weeks of planning and decision making was out the window. I’m scared enough to be pregnant; now the likely chance of twins again? I couldn’t sleep last night. I’m just so worried. (And before you ask if I can just talk to Dr. L, I’m now remembering that she kept getting confused if I was a clinical trial or regular patient. So she probably thought I was regular when she offered to do one. I know it makes more sense that they would have to do two again, so they don’t screw up the study).

I know, I sound like an asshole. Here I am so concerned about achieving the greatest goal: getting pregnant. Poor Amanda, her lining is just too welcoming and sticky. But I am a little messed up about the twins thing. More than I realized before I got that call. I’m stuck in that same conflicting place of wanting both my babies but only wanting to have one at a time. I can’t have it both ways, I know that.

This post just reeks of skepticism and negativity, I’m now realizing, but the entire gist of it is good news. I get to do a transfer this cycle. I knew it would be June 6th because that is my dear friend’s birthday, a friend who has been inexplicably linked to my infertility in strange and amazing ways (post explaining this further to follow). When I saw that things were lining up for early June, I thought, “The 6th. It’s definitely the 6th,” and it was.

Onward to Thursday, then…

Wheee!

Wheee!

Posted by amanda 12 Comments
Filed Under: IVF, miscellany Tagged: anxiety, embryo transfer, IVF #2, natural cycle FET, New Hope Fertility Center, twins, two

Mar 21

and maybe two… is better than one

Mar 21

*cue Boys Like Girls featuring Taylor Swift lyrics*

If you’re here from ICLW, welcome to my little space! Quick recap: I just did my first round IVF in February and so far, it was successful. Fingers crossed that it stays that way.

So two days ago I had my paperwork appointment with my regular OB. I figured I would get it all out of the way and hopefully find out when/if they were planning on doing an ultrasound so I could figure out if I had to drag Eric to NYC or if we could just go right around the corner instead. The paperwork went well, I disclosed all my dirty family secrets of heart disease and diabetes and reassured them 14 times that I did not have a cat. At the end of the appointment the nurse said, “Ok, so let’s schedule your first ultrasound… how about Thursday at 10 am?”

Um… come again?

New Hope isn’t doing an ultrasound until next Saturday, and I just assumed this place wouldn’t care to see my insides until 9 weeks. I have no idea why they wanted to do one so early (because I’m IVF?) but I was also excited to finally get to see what was going on in there, so I didn’t question it.

As it turns out Eric did not want to waste a vacation day on this and I couldn’t really blame him… especially since I wasn’t sure if we would see anything anyway. So my sister came along instead, at her insistence. The doctor went over a lot of the things I had already covered two days prior, then got a little confused when I mentioned my transfer was on the 28th. She said, “Wait, then you’re not even a month along yet?” with a sort of accusatory tone. Um, hello, I’m not the one who scheduled this! She warned me that we might not be able to see anything at all and that I shouldn’t worry if we don’t. But then… there were 2 sacs.
babies
Two sacs! She actually used the words, “for now…” and did not seem as excited as my sister and me, so I keep saying “for now” every time I tell someone that there are two. I know all about the disappearing twin phenomenon. But you know what? I’m not really surprised that there are two. I was prepared for this. First of all, this whole IVF experience has revolved around the number two. Second, they transferred two embryos into a decently healthy uterus, so… it’s not some huge shock. I know there are more risks and I know it will be more work but you know what? I’m happy. I get a BOGO deal. I get to make up for a couple of years wasted on TTC that just wasn’t working. I get to raise two siblings who will always have that beautiful bond that only twins understand. This is a very good thing.

I’m looking forward to actually hearing the heartbeat(s), but I’m being patient. This couldn’t have come at a better time because on Wednesday morning I had some post-intercourse spotting that sent me into a freaking panic, but clearly everything is still OK and multiple friends/medical professionals have assured me it’s totally normal. Still, I think it’s best to wait for the second trimester to risk it again. Seeing blood at any time during this early time is just not worth the anxiety.

The other day I stumbled across this list of celebrity twins. I had no idea Ashton Kutcher and Giselle Bundchen were twins. Craziness!

Holy crap, I’m gonna get fat. Twins. Whew.

Posted by amanda 20 Comments
Filed Under: IVF, pregnancy Tagged: OB, spotting, twins, two, ultrasound

hello, my name is deeda


sister, daughter, wife, and mama to 5 sweet children on earth, 4 in heaven. self-conscious writer. voracious reader. sarcasm enthusiast. dependable Taurus. lover of broken things. reluctant adult. FOMO sufferer. drinker of coffee. burner of toast.

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