There’s nothing like parties, spring flowers and chocolate to keep a girl’s mind off her misery.
Not long after posting my early third trimester sob story, I was the recipient of not one but two beautiful baby parties.
The first was a complete surprise! It was the second surprise party of my life — the last one was for my 26th? 27th? 28th? birthday — both of which were arranged by my amazing husband.
Why yes, that is me pouring a fine glass of red wine.
I kept wondering why the host at Harper’s was walking us toward the back room. “It’s not like we have kids with us,” I thought. But as we rounded the corner, there it was — a whole party! I later learned, Ian dubbed this “Britta’s OMFG I’m having twins” party. Here’s what Nina had to say about the prevalence of eggs that night.
I loved looking around the table and seeing the beautiful faces of my friends smiling at me. I loved that Shane made a rule that if anyone clinked glasses, he had to kiss my belly. I also loved that he was drinking Gansett, which gave me hope that summer will at some point come and we’ll be boozing on the Cape, just like always.
And I loved my husband for bringing all of us together that evening just to put a smile on my face.
Seeing as this is my third time around the block, I didn’t feel right accepting her offer to throw me a baby shower. Especially since the people we’d invite have already given me carloads of gorgeous hand me downs for these bambinos. So instead we had a “sprinkle” — a lovely weekday lunch gathering masquerading as a non-shower. Look how pretty!
Monica filled us up with spinach pie and a delicious Greek pasta salad, among other delights which we ate on the back porch overlooking the Hudson River.
For dessert, Sheri brought pumpkin whoopie pies and cookies, and I’m pretty sure Sara sprinkled more than fairy dust on her “pink power chocolate ganache cupcakes.”
The best part was they sent me home with a week’s worth of sweets, which kept the party buzz going and my mind off my third trimester twin pregnancy woes.
Daffodils found on my front porch later that week (thanks Patty!)
(Stay tuned next time when we’ll be right back to our regular complaining sessions.)
This. is. brutal.
I’m rounding the corner on week 32. For the past few weeks, the hamster wheel of my brain keeps asking, “How much longer? How much longer? How much longer?”
On an unusually cheerful morning this week, I decided I needed a project. The kind of thing I could start doing and look up five hours later. (Other than stalking other twin moms on Facebook groups and pinning motivational posters on Pinterest.) Something I could do in a semi-reclined position that didn’t involve client expectations should I, I don’t know, fall asleep or something. Something that would give me a sense of satisfaction when completed, but that didn’t feel like busy work (like allll those photos that really should be uploaded and backed up….).
So you’re looking at it — my new blog design!
Unfortunately it only took me two days. But there are plenty of little tweaks to keep me busy. Being able to drop in snippets of CSS, hit “refresh”, and see the results right there on the screen bring me joy like no other. It’s so empowering! I can copy and paste CSS! Hear me roar!
I think I’ve handled those questions with dignity.
But part of me just wants to yell, “Have you taken a look at me??? I can’t sit with my legs put together! Have I not told you about the knife in my ribcage? Did we not talk about my ruptured eardrum from all the acid reflux coughing? Would you like to know how many times I’ve been to the triage room at Labor & Delivery thanks to extreme cramping?”
The truth is, most nights end in tears.
My stomach feels like it is bruised from the inside and on fire from the outside. Rolling over in bed is excruciating thanks to my upper ribs, which feel like they are being pried open with a metal instrument. Because of them, I can no longer do simple things like lift a chicken out of the oven. I’m pretty sure I shouldn’t go to Target or Whole Foods alone anymore.
Which just makes me feel so much worse. My boys are keeping busy thanks to their amazing babysitter, but I can’t help feeling guilty that we’re not spending these last pre-twin weeks going on fun adventures, doing cool projects, and soaking up our time together as a family of four.
At 30 weeks I weighed the same as I did the mornings I gave birth to my two sons (which makes sense I have about 7 pounds of baby in me). And the ultrasound tech informed me that from here on out, the twins should gain about 1/2 a pound a week. Each.
I’ve stopped weighing myself.
The doctors’ only job is to make sure the twins are healthy, which means they have no interest in my long list of complaints. “Everything looks great!” they say, and I hobble home.
I know this is temporary. I know this is a blessing, even though I never in a million years imagined myself as a mother of four.
I know that soon, I’ll look at singleton babies and wonder where the other one is.
I’ll snuggle my two boys as much as I can, and hope that that’s enough for now.
I’ll try to look past the piles of dirty laundry, the crushed crackers on the kitchen floor. And I’ll try to stop counting.
The first morning of my second trimester, I woke up with a new lease on life. I made a huge bowl of organic, slow-cooked oatmeal tricked out with berries (antioxidants!), almonds (protein!) and fresh maple syrup (deliciousness!). And then I puked it all up. The worst part? I still had to eat something. So I settled for a frozen microwave burrito.
Despite that minor setback, I’d say the second trimester of my twin pregnancy has delivered on most of the promises made by the singleton pregnancy manuals: Increased energy, almost no nausea, ability to focus, and a big enough bump to warrant smiles from strangers but not so big that people reach for their phones in case an ambulance is needed.
What I don’t think is normal, however, is requiring an afternoon nap every single day.
Each morning after driving my boys to preschool, I go to my beautiful office and work happily for a handful of hours.
And then I crash. As in zombie crash. As in barely make it home and crawl into bed crash.
I don’t remember it being this bad with my previous two pregnancies. Maybe it’s because I’m carrying twins, maybe it’s because I’m older (I’m 37), or maybe my “scared of the dark” three-year-old is to blame. Or all of the above. But all this napping really cuts down on a girl’s to-do list.
After my daily nap (which I keep trying to limit to 1 hour but inevitably ends up 2), I walk around in a fog for the dinner, bath, bedtime routine. But those morning hours sure are awesome.
Here are the boys waking me up from my nap. Quite the role reversal.
And so it goes. And so it goes.
A few more second trimester confessions: