TV

Warning: detailed description of surgery on a pg woman.

OMG, I am watching Hous.e. Pregnant woman, 21 weeks along, baby has a problem. I recognize all the terms: corticosteroids, terbutaline, viability, save my baby. I wish I didn't know what I know.

(Okay, the 21-week baby just reached out from the cut-open uterus and is holding on to Hous.e's finger! WTF???)

Spirits

She was beautiful. Dark hair, huge brown eyes, pretty in pink. I found out later that her outfit was from Africa, the way that it fit her and moved when she walked seemed other-continently (sorry made in the USA fans). Her eyes were bright and innocent, her movements jerky yet familiar in the pizzeria where Friday nights were a happy habit. The servers all knew her and she even knew how to politely ask to change a dollar into quarters for the sticker machines.

She probably wondered who we were, only having seen me two years earlier, her memory not quite developed. Wannabe dad has this “thing” with pets and kids, and she sensed it right away. He pretended to steal her quarters and make them appear out of her ear (merely by swishing a quarter in her hair – how is it really done?). And we didn’t expect this: she paused for a second, looked in his eyes, then held out her arms toward him. Wannabe dad instinctively picked her up and pulled her on his lap only too happy to oblige. With a thoughtful smile on his face, he bounced T up and down as she giggled her 2½ year old giggle, her sweet smile piercing our hearts as we thought, Where are our girls? We want to believe that she sensed the kindred angel spirits of Nad.ia and C.erina. Later in the evening she came to me with a hug, and I too pulled her on to my lap to hug, bask in, and enjoy her toddlerness.

It has been difficult for us to be around children since our girls died – babies, toddlers, and seeing twins (even older twins) reminds us of our losses and weighs our hearts down. It was actually peaceful to be with T and her parents that Friday night.

Perhaps T sensed our sadness. Her parents have it too; their son was born at 23 weeks, 4 years earlier.*



*I only found this out after our babies died; T’s dad and I have worked together for two years.

Again

I remember trying to get comfortable with my 5.9 month pregnant belly when lying in bed, carefully maneuvering the 4 pillows I had around me into all the right spots. I remember wannabe dad talking to the girls each night, telling them how excited he was to meet them and chase them and be The Papa. It was a time of joy, being happily uncomfortable, and just planning for our future with our girls just took my breath away. The thought of being pregnant again scares me, because I don't want to lose another beautiful, perfect baby. Cerclage, 6 months of bedrest, I could handle (ok I'm lying about being able to handle 6 months of $*%&*%# bedrest). Losing another baby would surely break me.

The whole "you can have another baby" bullshit thing that people say...I don't have to say how insensitive that comment is. Hubby and I have talked about it, and at the very least I don't want to be pregnant on the girls' one year birthday. It would be too much. I want to cry my body out without stressing a baking baby. However, even getting pregnant won't be that easy since my cycles are not the textbook 28 days -- they are more like 48, 36, 40, with ovulation every other cycle. It took 6 months of charting my temperatures and I can't even pinpoint the exact day our parts met to make the babies. I'm not one of those "and before I knew it, I was pregnant," or "I just got off the pill two months ago" women, and all that crap about "just relax and it'll happen"? Please. All these years I spent avoiding conception, and I find my awesome husband and we can't have the family we want.

Add to this my "it happens to 40% of all pregnancies" miscarriage in 2005, I should be fucking nuts by now! Cuckoo corner! I am being patient, or at least trying it, holding on to the fact that my mom had me & my brother in her late 30s, and my aunt on my dad's side got pregos at mid-40.

Just a little rant to end this lovely day of hump.

Alphanumeric

The middle of each month (or more accurately, 60% through months ending with 30, 58% through months ending in 31, 64% through Februarys, 62% through Februarys every four years*) marks another "monthaversary" of the birthday of our twins. It's been a few days over 5 months since they were born. Add 6 to the 18th and we have their death monthaversary. Each month has two dates that I remember, and depending on who asks the annoying question "How are you?" around the average of 61% through any given month, they either get an "Okay, today," or "The babies were born X months ago today/yesterday/tomorrow."

I was 67% through my pregnancy when the twins were born at 24w5d (if you're doing the math, twins are considered full term at 37 weeks, and you're a geek too). I was considered very healthy before and during my pregnancy. Because of IC, I got a D on Having A Baby 101 (but it definitely feels like an F). The only other D assigned to my name was 17 years ago in Microeconomics 101. Come to think of it, D's are also assigned to my daughters' names.

And we are in Mourning, Grief, and Hell. F.

And this post is a rambler; I'm on my 2nd hour of premature awakefulness on what was expected to be a 9-hour ride on the sleep train. Out of the past 7 nights I've gotten up once each of those nights. I really need to quit my job. Or get daily massages. Drink less coffee? Nope; not until we are trying again (thoughts on this later).

P.S. I hate Novembers - the anniversary month.


*My IRL friends are probably not surprised that I actually calculated these percentages.

Journey

disbelief takes us
silly, happy, yet worried
we are having twins

morning sickness spared
worry gives in to giddy
innocence is back

tiny line of blood
diagnosis: bulging bag
carsick, ambulance

two innocent girls
twenty four weeks and brain bleeds
black is the new black

darkness fills my heart
links, comments, stories, sadness
i am not alone

Baskets

The car was packed with food for the lunch at my aunt’s house, stuff for a picnic brunch, and Easter baskets that we put together for the girls. Sounds normal enough to the outsider, but we were headed to the cemetery to spend time with our daughters. At least in our hearts we were spending the time with them, reflecting on their short lives and being a family.

We made up little Easter baskets with Pe.eps and mini eggs. Cerina and Nadia each received two plastic eggs and one real egg that we decorated. Each of the plastic eggs contained one letter from Mama and one from Papa.

It was a lovely Easter morning, and the day wrapped up into evening while grazing on Filipino food, playing cards, spending time with relatives and being happy in the moment even without our girls.

Irrational

As I woke up this morning I had this burning desire to get some exercise. Let's go to the gym, I yawned to wannabe dad, or let's walk to go get breakfast. I got dressed in a few layers expecting to go for a nice brisk walk, go out to the garage and wannabe dad is sitting in the car.

Me: Aren't we going for a walk?
Him: No, let's go to the gym. 30 minutes, then a client is coming an hour after that.
Me: I'm not dressed for the gym, I'm dressed for a walk.
Him: Then go change.
Me: But I want to go for a walk.
Him: You could have changed by now. Why would you wear different clothes for the gym than a walk anyway?
Me: I'm not going to the gym. It's stinky (how's that for an excuse?).
Him: Let's go.
Me: I'm not going.
Him: Sweetie, let's just go.
Me: I'm not going.

We ended up going for a 30 minute walk. I prefer walks in the neighborhood and feeling the cool air. I can't hold his hand while we're on the treadmill. That's just silly. And he still loves me.

Let's add 'irrational' to the list below.