Note: I originally drafted this post on May 1, 2013. I was 35.5 weeks pregnant. Five days later, I gave birth to my boy/girl twins.
This is the part of the pregnancy I feared and dreaded the most. This is the part I Googled when I first found out I was pregnant with twins, horrified by the belly’s ability to stretch both outward and down. The back discomfort I expected to have. The abyss of my dark bedroom.
But that’s the funny thing about letting your fears run ahead of yourself.
Sometimes the reality is not as bad as you expected. How much time did I waste, how much anxiety did I ride out in anticipation of what is now my now?
Here’s what I never expected about the late third trimester of my twin pregnancy:
All the ailments aren’t half as bad when you know the end is so close.
Or maybe it’s:
The ailments are so bad that I no longer expect anything from myself. This means I can finally accept a friend’s offer to stop by, and sit with her on the front porch for two hours just talking and sipping lemony water. And then go back to bed.
I am blessed to have people helping me — our au pair and my mother who is here to stay for 2 months — and I am accepting that help. Doing laundry, picking up objects from the floor, and grocery shopping are among the things I can no longer do (at least without great discomfort). and I’m crazy lucky to have an amazing support system at home.
Don’t get me wrong–it’s not pretty
My ribs have a permanent jack knife stuck in them, which from the ultrasounds appears to be my daughter’s foot.
Getting from my bedroom to the kitchen downstairs is an extreme sport. Heck, rolling over in bed is an extreme sport.
My walk resembles Frankenstein, with Darth Vader’s breath.
My feet are stumps burdened with carrying a weight far too heavy.
I am hungry, always.
I spend most of my waking hours obsessing about when I’ll go into labor.
(And feeling guilty about not spending time with my boys.)
I poll everyone who comes around, peering into their eyes to look for signs of someone who knows.
Every time I get up to go to the bathroom (1,000 times a day), I’m convinced my water will break. I mean, with all this weight, how could it not?
My favorite past time has become reading other people’s labor stories searching for hints of my own.
My Google search history is crammed with versions of the search, “earliest signs of labor.”
I’ve tried convincing my ob that the babies would be better off living outside me at this point. But they just check my blood pressure, say everything looks good, and send me on my way.
I’ve made no less than four trips to Labor & Delivery only to be sent home.
Except for that one night last week when Ian and I got to spend the night in a deluxe suite. I kept thinking we should really whoop it up.
Unfortunately I was connected to monitors the entire time and didn’t get more than 15 minutes of sleep. Trying to get to the bathroom (all 500 times) with all those cables was a ridiculous production as my (sweet) husband snored away on the pull out bed/chair.
Normally this gift of time would be a dream come true.
But even watching a movie seems too taxing on my brain.
So I sit and start into space and try to spend time with my boys and wait. And wait. And wait.
(He’s ready for this whole debacle to be over, too.)