28 Weeks (7 months) Update

28 weeks with twins

Yesterday was my 28 week appointment, and I'm happy to say that without any complaints from me (and boy, was I prepared), the appointment went more smoothly than I could have dreamed. I had a sonogram -- which is fun, of course, but when you get nauseous on your back and there are two babies to checkout... both of which who are backed in there so tightly it's hard to see what's an arm and what's a stomach and what belongs to who -- the sonograms get less and less fun. But it does relieve stress considerably when you can see what they are doing in there.

After the sonogram came the glucose test and then the regular exam. Then, because I asked her about what actually constitutes a "kick" from the little girl, who is perfectly fine but a little less active than her brother and also turned in a way that makes it difficult for me to feel all the time, they put me on the monitor to check out her movements. All of this took less time than some other appointments that I have had where we did less.

I'm thinking my doctor realized she almost screwed up with the events last week, because even though all of their exams revealed I'm doing fine (just need to be in bed "more" - as if that's possible - and continue drinking massive amounts of water because of low fluid on both babies), she is sending me to the perinatal specialist for an overall exam because, as she put it, "she doesn't want to miss anything."

Also, the time has come for total bed rest, and my last day of work was Monday. It was a bittersweet day, and I am bored... but I'm reminding myself that once the babies come I will never again be bored in my life. And the time had truly come - even sitting up in bed with a laptop, I could only function without having a contraction or getting nauseous for about 30 minutes at a time.

But enough about me.

My weight gain is something that is constantly plaguing me since women who are pregnant with twins are advised to try and gain between 35 and 45 pounds, while I've reached only an 18 pound gain so far. And in the last month, I had only gained 3 pounds. But apparently every ounce of that was baby, and they are getting all the nutrients they need to grow.

Our little girl is 2 pounds, 12 ounces and is measuring a week ahead of time. Our little guy is just barely pulling ahead at 2 pounds, 14 ounces and is a week and one day ahead. But apparently they are still impressively symmetrical despite the 2 ounce difference. I'm carrying around nearly 6 pounds of pure baby and I still have two and a half months left... and that just baffles me.

Additionally, Baby Girl was originally deemed Baby A from the beginning, meaning that she would have been born first. Well, our little guy apparently gave it about 7 months of thought and decided he didn't want to be the baby of the family, so he inched his way into "Baby A" position. This is almost unheard of, and the sonogram technician was completely baffled. SOMEHOW, little guy was able to get his head below baby girl's bottom, so now she is nearly sitting on his head with her feet and heels in his face, and it would be almost amazing at this point, with how big they are, if they were to switch back. So now Baby A is Baby B and vice versa, but they won't change their labels because it will obviously confuse all the data they gathered so far. I'm apparently growing some pretty competitive babies.

Our little guy from head to toe still looks great. Our little girl's kidneys are still dilated and continue to be more dilated with each appointment (slight increases everytime). The truth is, this could be really scary or it could be completely nothing... and the state of her kidney won't cause them to make me deliver early, as she's better off inside as long as she possibly can stay there. But my doctor gave us the name of a pediatric urologist so we can become acquainted in case this doesn't resolve itself after birth. (After birth, they will do an ultrasound on her kidney to see how dilated it is and what the next course of action might be. We haven't set up the appointment yet, but will probably talk to them after my appointment with the perinatal specialist on Monday.

I wish I had pictures of the babies but truthfully they are so tightly packed in there that most of the pictures I got were a mess of heads and toes... and our little girl is so tightly curled into a ball, in a breach position, and facing her brother that there were almost literally no pictures of her. I have slight hopes that maybe next time (2 weeks from now) I may get to see more, but I'm pretty sure we won't get really good looks until their birthdays... and we're still aiming for July. :)

Crazy 27 Weeks Pregnant

The day that I was 27 weeks pregnant, I woke up with terrible pains in my stomach - as if I'd pulled every muscle in my abdomen. I drank a ton of water, I rested, and by lunchtime, since it hadn't gone away, I called my doctor's office.

I don't know what it is about me and doctor's offices, but apparently I don't sound "urgent" enough when something is really wrong. Or maybe they think everyone is calling just to complain or is stupid. The nurse called me back and at first tried to explain to me the difference between "discomfort" and "pain." I said, "yes, I know. I would not have called you because I was in discomfort. I have been uncomfortable for about two months now. I'm used to that. These are sharp pains." She asked if I had taken Tylenol, and I said no, but that I could do that. She advised that I do so and if it gets worse or stays the same to go in to Labor & Delivery or call the on call doctor. 

She said she could schedule me for an appointment but that they were swamped and I'd have a long wait. Quite frankly, if it was going to be a "long wait" from their perspective, I certainly wasn't going to go and sit there in my condition for 3 hours; I didn't think my body would be able to handle it. I agreed to take Tylenol and see what happens. She scheduled an appointment for me at 10:30 am the next morning that I could cancel if everything improved.

The Tylenol took the edge off, and I stayed in bed without moving the rest of the evening. But when I woke up, while I felt a little better, I still needed to keep that appointment.

When I got there, they made me wait (of course). I was miserable and on the verge of tears when the doctor finally saw me, told me I wasn't dilated and my blood pressure was fine. She asked if I was drinking a lot of water, and I told her that I drink a TON of water but that I just don't feel like I was ever able to catch up. I told her that I'd been dehydrated before and that I was pretty sure I was dehydrated now. She told me to "drink more" and that sometimes you think you're drinking a lot and you're really not (I measure my water intake and was getting nearly a gallon of water a day). 

She also said that I was probably just coming down with something. I am SO sick of hearing from them that my symptoms are because I'm "coming down with something." I looked her in the eye and told her that I was 100%, without-a-doubt positive that this was not some virus but that it was certainly pregnancy related. She said okay and said they were going to give me a fetal non-stress test (which apparently my insurance doesn't cover?!)  to see what comes out of it. They were going to do that anyway, regardless of whether I thought it was pregnancy related. (I must be really stupid).

After sitting, attached to the monitor, for almost an hour, she came to check and seemed surprised to see that I was having "uterine activity," or an irritable uterus. She then asked if I could feel the sharp pains. (Are you kidding me?!) My patience level at that point was minimal, and I said "of course." (I thought that was better than, "Duh, isn't that what I told you?!") She told me that I could either get a prescription for some medication and go home and see if it improved, or I could go in to L&D and get a shot or two and be monitored. Honestly, their lack of intensity when I am flat out telling them what is wrong with me was on my last nerve, and I chose L&D because I wanted to be safe and because I didn't think that was all that was wrong with me.

It's pretty sad when you have to diagnose yourself and then force your doctor to do something about it...

At L&D I had the nicest nurse in the world. She got me a huge glass of water, watched me suck it down, and then got me some more (I downed 64 ounces of water in the first two hours I was there, and that's not counting the 25 ounces I had before even getting to the doctor that morning). My nurse explained things to me, and she even relayed my frequent complains to my doctor that I was starving. (They couldn't let me eat until she gave them the okay). They monitored me for several hours, gave me two shots to stop the uterine activity (it slowed it down considerably but it never went away completely), and she even came running in with the menu and the number to call to order food when I was finally released to eat... 6 hours after my last meal (which to a pregnant woman is like days).

By the time the food had come, I was nauseous from the medication in my system and the lack of food. I ate a few french fries and half of a turkey sandwich, pushed the food away, and laid down. When the doctor came to see me, I was nauseous, cold, and shaking from the medication (which is normal - they warned me about that). She told me that the contractions were still there but better, and said they would probably release me soon. The nurse told her how well I was doing on drinking water, and I told her that I still didn't think I was hydrated. She said, "well, keep drinking water."

I stopped her. I told her that I still didn't feel like I was catching up and if I was going to be here a while longer AND I was complaining that I was dehydrated, didn't it make sense to give me an IV of fluids? She said, "well sure, we could do that if you think it would help." (Again, DUH.) I said I thought it would. I guess that jump-started her brain and they finally tested my urine, which showed that I was EXTREMELY dehydrated. She asked the nurse who was going to give me an IV to take a blood sample to save and be tested later if we needed it, just in case. Then she said she'd come back later to check on me.

Well, I hate needles. Not the tiny ones they use to give you shots - the ones they use to take your blood or give you an IV. I didn't want the IV, I wanted the fluids... and part of the problem is that I have very tiny, sturdy veins that roll and make it very hard to get what they need. I also am so extremely aware of any tiny change in my blood pressure that I'm notorious for getting light-headed or nauseous when they stick me.

So there I am, dehydrated, already nauseous, already full of some type of medicine that my body was processing, and the nurse (a very nice, super kind and incredibly competent nurse) sticks me once with the stuff to numb me and then again with the actual IV needle... and I feel my vein roll. FAIL. My nausea increases, and she gets me a wet washcloth for my head. She has to start over. She sticks me with the numbing stuff again in a new spot, and then the IV needle, and she succeeds, but I'm so incredibly dehydrated that she can't get any blood for the CBC test. None. All the while, I'm fading fast. I ask for something to throw up in, and poor thing, she doesn't want to let the needle go because it was so hard to get in in the first place... and I throw up everywhere. SO embarrassing... let's just skip over that part for now.

She gives up on getting blood for the CBC and gives me some fluids first . . . which hydrate me enough to get the blood she needs (and THANK GOD she did). She checks my temperature (high) and my blood pressure (very low), and then goes to call the doctor about it. They decided to go ahead and send in my blood sample and wait to see the results.

Well, the results were that my white blood cell count was high (which the nurse shrugged and said that could either indicate I was pregnant or fighting some infection. I told her that was very helpful information), my iron was low (I'm constantly anemic no matter how many iron pills I take), and that my potassium was dangerously low... which can cause cardiac distress and an imbalance in my electrolytes (hmmm... no wonder I was dehydrated despite drinking like a camel). So they decided I was staying the night so they could continue monitoring the contractions (the babies looked great so they stopped monitoring them), get me more fluids and get my potassium levels back into normal levels. I didn't mind at that point. I just wanted to feel better and was glad that I would finally have someone take my symptoms seriously.

So I got 3 IV bags of fluid, 4 potassium pills and another blood test before the night was over, and when I woke up the next day I was feeling much more like a normal person. I even ordered belgium waffles and sausage for breakfast (which were NOT good, believe me), and the next morning they checked my hormones to see if I was going to go into labor anytime in the next 1 to 2 weeks (it came back negative), and even though I was still having random tiny contractions, they were going to release me with strict orders to take it easy and to come back for my 28 week appointment on Wednesday. They finally released me around 2 pm that afternoon. 

I would have been released earlier but apparently my doctor had a couple of patients in the hospital and an emergency c-section to perform. I am beginning to think my doctor is far too busy to really give me the care I need, and am trying to figure out what it will take to get referred or just go to a specialist who deals with multiple pregnancies. I don't feel like the response I got from her would have even been sufficient even for a normal pregnancy.

So that's the story - I came home and have basically been in bed since, and am waiting anxiously until my next appointment in a few days where I will get to see an ultrasound of the babies, take my glucose test, and try to get the response I expect out of my doctor. (What is it with me and OBGYN's, anyway?? This is my fourth in 3 years, and she's the best so far!)

3 more days until the next appointment...

8 more weeks until "full term"...

10 more weeks until my goal....

The Fast Track to Two Years Old

About a month or two ago we got one of those picture day notices sent home with Adam's things. I remember looking at it and forgetting it, and we never spoke of it. Since I'm never at the school anymore, I didn't think about it again, and quite frankly we have had a lot on our mind that have ranked higher in priority than a school picture day. Plus, I think Shannon's mission lately is just surviving the day... not looking for special fliers around the school (they just tell you there's MORE you need to do).

However, just because you forget about picture day doesn't mean it doesn't happen. So about two weeks ago we also got some pictures sent home with Adam's things. Apparently Shannon chose well that day and dressed Adam in his Baylor shirt. It helps that Adam was his normal Ham self and smiled perfectly. In fact, these impromptu school pictures turned out better than others for which I actually prepared.

Shannon is bothered by Adam's hair in the pictures, but I think he looks adorable.

It's hard to believe Adam turns two in exactly two weeks. He is the perfect enigma of big boy habits (washing hands, brushing teeth, eating with a spoon and fork, and talking like a two and a half year old), mixed with some pretty opinionated ideas about getting diaper changes, whether to get dressed or undressed, or whether the "no" he just heard was quite possibly the worst possible thing in the world.

Root Beer Float (he yelled at me to give it to him the whole way home after I ordered it).

He is also starting to understand that things are changing around here with two babies on the way (Hell, one baby would turn his world upside down so I can imagine this is pretty tough for him). There are baby things appearing around the house that he knows and tells us are "for the baby," he's noticing Mom's growing belly and likes to look at it, poke at it, and lift my shirt and his shirt and bump bellies. I tell him there are babies in there, but I really just think he understands that it's BIG and he's not supposed to be rough. He gives kisses and hugs and is incredibly protective of me.

The other day he had a juice box, and when he was finished we asked him to throw it away. He loves to throw things away... even things he shouldn't. But he dangled this over the trash can thoughfully, looked at us out of the corner of his eye, and ran off with it. It was a small battle - I don't move very well anyway and Shannon is... well, just plain exhausted... so we let him go and forgot about it. When I was walking through the playroom later, I found it:

Either the juice box deserved a nap or he was saving some for his baby sister.

But I think the worst change of all is that he sees me very little lately, as I'm mostly banished to bed. We spend some time together cuddling before bed time if he's calm enough (and not in a jumping/climbing/wrestling kind of mood), but it's just not the same, and I can tell he's feeling the effects of less Mommy time. He desperately wants me to pick him up, and I so badly wish I could... and regret it immediately when I cheat and do it anyway.

"Sharing" mom's drink.

I thought I'd record some of Adam's most entertaining phrases/behaviors before his birthday comes and goes, I forget, and we're even more caught up in our hectic lives. Some of my favorites are:

"Come on!" (complete with hand motions to wave you over.)
"Bye Outside!" (When he comes inside from playing he remembers to say good bye to the backyard).
"Where did he/she/it go?"
"Where we gonna go??"
"What did you do?"
"It's for the baby."
"I'll fix it."
"Help, please!"
"There you are!"
"Here you go."
"Eli, you get down now!" (Eli likes to be on the night stand and sometimes Adam's picnic table. Adam tells him to get down and Eli is about as responsive to that command as Adam is).

Also, if anyone has seen Mickey Mouse Clubhouse, in the show they put their hand to their mouths and call out, "Oh, Toodles!" Well, Adam adjusted it and now it's a great game in our house to constantly be calling all the family members into the same room (hand at his mouth, head tilted back and all):
"Oh, Daddy!"
"Oh, Mama!"
"Oh, Caley!"
"Oh, Gus!"
"Oh, CAT!" (Eli)
and just yesterday he added: "Oh, Robin!" (well, it sounds more like "Oh, Raw Raw!")

Mickey Mouse still isn't a big favorite around here (other than "oh, Toodles!"). We basically jumped from Little Einsteins to Jake and the Neverland Pirates (they play songs that are irresistible and he just can't help but dance/jump around).

This morning he climbed onto his picnic table, stood up, grinned at us and waited for the inevitable.
Me: "Get down, please."
Adam continues to grin.
Shannon: "Adam, get down."
Adam grins some more and doesn't move.
Then he says (wagging his finger at us and grinning big): "Get down, or you'll fall!!"

Explaining the consequences of inappropriate behavior to get the correct behavior out of your child doesn't really work when a) your kid is athletic enough not to fall, b) smart enough to know that he's athletic enough, c) well aware of the concept of "free will," and d) ornery as Hell.

Using the picnic table appropriately: having a banana and coloring a picture.

Adam is the ultimate bossy toddler. Everyone has a spot - Dad's chair, Mom's chair... if I lie down with him in his bed before he goes to sleep, he tells me on which side I'm supposed to lie (and it changes from day to day). If Robin picks up my phone to play with it, he says, "No, no, no. Mama's phone," and takes it from her to hand to me (my own personal bodyguard). I'm not allowed to play with Dad's phone either. When he comes to lie with me in Shannon and my bed some nights, I am forced to move from "my" side of the bed to the other side because Adam prefers the left and will not give up until he gets "his spot". (Basically, he wants to watch TV AND have me facing in his direction). When he gets comfortable, he waves at Shannon and says, "Bye, Dad." (real subtle)

The King.

Easter FAIL

... As continued from my previous post, we had a very eventful couple of months leading up to Easter, and an even more "exciting" weekend prior to Easter morning.

Our adjusted plans included Easter egg dying in the morning followed by a quick Easter Egg hunt immediately after in Adam's new Easter clothes, followed by lunch and then a nap. Despite the chaos of the evening prior, we were convinced that after getting plenty of sleep Saturday night that Adam would be ready to take on the day Sunday morning for these fun events.

We tried to get him interested in his Easter baskets, which didn't work out. He wanted fruit snacks for breakfast, and refused to eat a real breakfast... opened up a couple of trinkets, and abandoned the baskets altogether.

So in his play clothes, we started the Easter egg coloring process. At first he wasn't all that interested, but quickly he figured out that it was really pretty fun, and enjoyed himself. Despite spilling a whole cup of blue die on the counter and floor, he did pretty well considering his age and his affinity for chaos in general. I was hopeful when we got some of the great pictures below and had such a success with Phase 1 of Easter Sunday, that I had no doubt the day would continue at least close to how I had planned.

Okay, I don't get it... we stick the eggs in and then we WAIT?! Boring...

In deep concentration

Okay, come out, Egg.

Let's try blue...

Putting it on the "spoon" like Mom does.

I got it, just a second...

 

See? I can do it.

Look at this crazy spoon!

Screw it, hands are easier.

This is fun!

Let's try yellow, my favorite.

Mom!

The yellow egg met it's demise shortly after that last picture, when Adam's quick two year old temper got the best of him and he smashed it on the counter. He got to see the inside of the egg, and from that moment on smashing was WAY more fun than coloring.

Putting away his naked egg.

After smashing became the name of the game, we could see that he was fading even though nap time was a good two hours away. So we made a quick dash to bathe him and put on his new Easter clothes so we could sneak in a quick 10-15 minute Easter egg hunt before abandoning any other plans. Mamie and Grandpa even "hid" the eggs. I was hopeful that handing him his favorite Tweetie Bird basket and sending him out in a yard full of colorful eggs full of candy would revive his fervor for the day... but it did not.

He collapsed. He was done. He wanted to go HOME. He wanted to sleep, NOW, and in his bed. He didn't make it more than one or two steps toward the backyard before he lost it and we abandoned all hopes that an Easter egg hunt would occur that morning. He cried, hysterically, until Dad had packed up everything we needed and we walked out to the front. When he saw Shannon's truck, the tears disappeared immediately and he smiled and pointed... FINALLY we were going to do what he told us to do. (He lost it again when he realized that I had to drive my car and he was going with Dad).

We vowed to go home, shower, nap, and come back for dinner instead of lunch and to finish the Easter egg hunt. When we got to our house he was so passed out that he hardly moved, and then napped for at least 3 hours. When he woke up, it was pouring rain.

We got him a good lunch, which he inhaled, and made our way back to Mamie and Grandpa's house. Chris had to leave to go back to Kansas because he needed to work the next day, so we missed him. Despite my own nap, I was sore, exhausted, and grumpy. Mamie seemed pretty exhausted herself, and while Adam was much more cheerful and ready to interact, the rain had pretty much destroyed any chances for backyard pictures or an Easter egg hunt. The eggs were soaked, and I'm pretty sure they don't make waterproof plastic eggs intended to protect the jelly beans inside. Robin came over, we ate some ham, potato salad, beans and deviled eggs, looked in our Easter baskets, and went home.

When we got home, Adam was running a fever and was miserable, because he had the flu. Monday evening, I came down with it. By Thursday, Shannon had it too.

Future Adam, when you read this... this will explain why there are no Easter pictures from 2012 of you in your cute little white polo and plaid shorts with your K Swiss sneakers, because I'm sure you were wondering. You sure did look cute though, in the smiles we got between all the tears.

And thus explains our Easter FAIL.

The Events that Lead Up to Easter

A month and a half ago, knowing that Easter was quickly approaching at the same rate of speed as my inevitable decline in productivity, I made early plans. I bought the plastic eggs, I bought the candy, I put together the Easter basket and I even put all the candy IN the eggs... a month early. I even bought his Easter clothes so we could take some nice pictures. And then I made plans with my parents to do Easter at their house since it was a few days after my mom's birthday and Adam would enjoy the extra company and the fun stuff. Uncle Chris and Aunt Robin even agreed to come over and do Easter celebrations with Adam on his second Easter.

You know how sometimes in life, events build upon each other in a downhill spiral that you don't see until after life crashes in a big pile on the floor? Well, that was our situation leading up to Easter weekend.

It began in mid-February when Adam acquired a cold. Not a flu or anything bad, mind you, but a simple cold. But a simple cold to Adam always turns into a sinus infection. This time, we tried to help him fight it. We sucked out extra mucus, we gave 1 or 2 breathing treatments a day when it sounded like he needed it, and we stayed on top of it. But instead of it turning south into a sinus infection or bronchitis, it went north, east, and west, and wound up a tear duct infection coupled with double ear infections. We admitted defeat and I took him to the pediatrician by myself for the last time, where they gave us (surprise, surprise) some antibiotics (a 10 day round).

He finished that round and the tear duct infection cleared up... but I wasn't convinced that the antibiotics had cleared up everything they should have. So a week later we went back to the pediatrician (this time armed with my mom). The ear infections were still there, and just as bad as they had been - so they were resistant to the antibiotics we had given him. They gave us more, a stronger kind, this time a 14 day round. (And trust me, he had made it VERY clear that he was done taking medicine at this point, so antibiotics 2 times a day for 2 weeks basically meant that we needed to pin him down and force it down his gagging throat every time. Fun stuff).

10 days into those antibiotics, he stopped eating. He had a terrible rash in his diaper area and acted like it hurt to swallow. So Shannon took him back to the pediatrician, where they told us that the antibiotics gave him a yeast infection (yikes) and thrush in his mouth. They told us the ear infections were gone, so he could stop the antibiotics that day... but gave us a prescription for the thrush and the diaper area... 4 times a day for 2 weeks.

The next day, he face planted into a table and we were in the emergency room (see First ER Visit). More antibiotics. 3 times a day for 7 days. We told them he had just come off a round of antibiotics because of the thrush, and they said it would be okay, because he needed this to avoid an infection in his lip or worse. 4 days in, we quit giving them to him. He was just done, and the pain and hardship it took to give him the nasty stuff that smelled, as Shannon put it, "like cat urine," was just not worth it.

A few days after his busted lip.

Two days after our ER visit was Good Friday, which meant that school closed at noon and Adam needed to come home early. He had an Easter Egg hunt that day, which he thought was a ton of fun. That morning he told (signed to) his teacher that it was Friday when she asked the class what day it was. When I picked him up, I almost forgot his Easter basket of goodies, but he made sure to remind me. Then I almost forgot to take home his nap mat, and he politely reminded me that we needed that too (it was Friday, after all). His head is on straight more often than mine is lately, it seems.

We got home and my mom came over since it was her day off and I am very limited in how much "taking care of him" I can really do. She took him out shopping for a while... and when she pulled back up in front of our house, he screamed, "Nooooo!" (What a terrible thing to have to be at home), so she came in and got me and we went to Sonic for a drink, where, when we pulled into the Sonic parking lot, Adam yelled, "YAY!" and clapped to show his approval. (Ummm, no, we don't come here often, I swear.) She then took him back to their house, where I would meet them later to stay the night and give Shannon a well deserved "night off" and morning to finally sleep in.

At Mamie and Grandpa's house, Adam wore himself out playing in their backyard with the hose and in the cat run... He played hard and tried to rename Grandpa "Pop Pop Pop," and then crashed easily Friday night upstairs in Robin/Chris' old room (the true previous owner of the room is different depending on who you ask), and I "slept" there with him that night... or rather, I was kicked in the throat and head-butted most of the night because he insists that you must sleep sideways in bed.

At any rate, we made it through the night and the next morning he ran Mamie and Uncle Chris ragged. Even after going to the park and making everyone else in the house want to collapse, he refused to nap there and couldn't wind down.

Hoping that Adam would eventually run out of steam, Shannon and I kept our movie date Saturday afternoon and went to see The Hunger Games. We put on Bolt, wished my mom good luck, and gave him a place to lie on the couch... hoping that would trick him into falling asleep.

But when the movie was over and we came back, all Hell had broken loose. Still refusing to sleep or rest, Robin had come over and taken Adam for a drive to calm him down. We walked back into the house and found her trying to appease an extremely over-tired, over-stimulated, and flat out MAD little boy who just couldn't calm down. He was so worked up that he cried, literally, for 2 hours uncontrollably, and wanted desperately to go home to his bed. As it turns out, he also wasn't feeling well... he had managed, somewhere along the way, to pick up the flu while on antibiotics. (Which, not to ruin the suspense, means that we all caught it... and I probably got the worst of it).

We didn't realize that at that point, and tried to put him down at about 7 pm that night. We immediately abandoned original plans to die Easter eggs that night, but decided we'd still stay there and continue our plans for Easter Egg hunting and egg dying in the morning after he'd gotten some rest. We had to strip him of his clothes, remove him from all noise, all light (we blacked out the windows), and all distractions, and even still, he cried for another hour. When he finally calmed down, I expected him to fall asleep, but he then just wanted to roll around in bed and talk to me for another 30 minutes after that. At one point, he stuck his butt in my face, slapped it, and declared, "Butt!!" I told him, "Thank you for that, Adam." He seemed pleased with himself.

Even without a nap and all of that fussing, he still didn't fall asleep until 15 minutes past his bedtime. And I maintain that he only did that because I gave up and left the room so he wouldn't have anyone to talk to.

After almost 2 months of downhill spiraling, you'd think we wouldn't have been surprised by the Easter FAIL that met us the next day... but that story is to be continued in the next post.

First ER Visit

How time flies when your life consists of being in bed 90% of the time (enter sarcastic font here).

Almost two weeks ago, on April 4, I was lying in bed with my work laptop, joining calls, answering emails, and trying to function like a normal human being as much as I possibly could before all "real person" rights are stripped from me and I hear the words "bed rest" from my doctor. (For any of you who have talked to Shannon and have heard that I'm already on bed rest, it's really just a technicality. He is already changing every diaper, packing every daycare bag, making every breakfast and dinner, dropping off at day care, picking up at daycare, bathing and entertaining and cleaning and laundry and yard work . . . basically everything that is required of running a household, raising an active toddler, and having a full time career. To him, the term "bed rest" is tom-ay-to, to-ma-to). The highlights of my day, on the other hand, is the hour that I attempt to move from the bed to the couch in the living room and hang out with Adam and Shannon as much as I can.

Anyway, I digress... two weeks ago I got a random call from the daycare. I dropped off a work meeting to answer it, because they really do only call when it's necessary (fevers, rashes, accidents)... and was told, calmly, that Adam had a spill at school and had cut his lip "pretty badly" and was bleeding A LOT. I told them I'd be there immediately. When I got there they were trying to clean him up - he was crying uncontrollably from fear and pain, shirtless and covered in blood. His lip was sliced in two places, pretty deeply. I scooped him up and as I was walking out, tried to soak in the story of what happened (he was trying to climb the BACK of a chair and before his teacher could get there, he fell forward and smashed his face on the table), and took him directly to the ER.

After deftly parking Shannon's truck tightly between two smaller trucks in incredibly small parking spaces, I managed to get my pregnant body out of the car and Adam out without dinging any doors (incredible), and walked in, covered in blood, 6 months pregnant with twins and carrying a very upset little guy who would be 23 months old the next day. He was scared and in pain, and would only stop crying in spurts of about 20 seconds if he could press his whole body up against me and put his head on my chest. Then he would concern himself with the blood on my shirt and cry some more... not because of the blood, but because he didn't like the mess. And when he cried, it hurt more.

They saw that I was pregnant and put us both in a wheelchair, which is lucky because I was pretty close to passing out (me + pregnancy + hospitals + blood = fainting, which I luckily did not do). They were very nice, and fast, and tried to cheer Adam up with a little stuffed animal, which he ignored completely. (And later on, when they were waiting to check us out, the only thing that would cheer him up was playing his toddler songs app on my iPhone and then sticking it down the front of my shirt. Hey, whatever cheers you up, kid).

They put us in our room, and I looked at the little bed and remember thinking... There is no WAY in hell that I will a) be able to help them physically hold my baby down to give him stitches, or b) be able emotionally to help him go through that if he needs stitches.


You know how when they put you in those tiny rooms with nothing to do, time seems to stand still and you're pretty sure they forgot about you, regardless of how loud your child is being. Shannon got there and was directed back to the room about 15 minutes after we got there, which was such a relief for both of us. I was never so happy to see Shannon as I was at that moment, since I have a hard enough time picking the little guy up for more than 2 seconds (which I'm not supposed to do anyway), and at that moment Adam was certain that we needed to be standing up so we could LEAVE THAT ROOM NOW.

After Shannon got there, Adam kept looking at an IV contraption that looked like a large cup and whining and trying to get it... because he was dying of thirst. I found a nurse who gave us a cup of water, and Adam drank some desperately, which, or course... hurt. The doctor and nurse came in and checked him out, and deemed the cuts "bad" and that they probably deserved a stitch, but due to Adam's age he said he wouldn't recommend it because it would cause more trauma than it was worth.

Shannon asked if he thought it actually needed a stitch, and the guy looked at him and said, "If it were you, I would stitch it. But I wouldn't put my own kids through it."

I was relieved, to say the least, and we walked out with a prescription for hydrocodone and antibiotics.
(While Shannon took Adam home, I stopped at CVS to fill the prescriptions, and while I was waiting decided to take my blood pressure. After all that, and even considering my own physical state, my blood pressure was borderline low. Go figure. I guess I was made for ER visits. (That wasn't an invitation, Fate.)

When I brought the medications home, Adam had a hard time calming down from the pain, and we somehow managed to get some hydrocodone in him... which we found out does NOT make him drowsy. In fact, he got hyper. Cheerful and blissfully unaware of the deep cut on his lip, but he had a very hard time settling down. I'm fairly certain that he was even hallucinating. Shannon finally had to take him for a drive, and after he fell asleep Shannon brought him back and Adam and I took a nap in Mom and Dad's bed.

When he woke up, it was like he had no cares in the world. We gave him another (smaller) dose of hydrocodone, but he was perfectly fine, and we quickly decided that he didn't need anymore hydrocodone. And if anything at all, we'd give him Children's Advil (which he also didn't need). Less than 10 hours later, he was performing more tricks for us in his drug-addled state.

We went to bed that night not at all looking forward to the next day, when we expected it to be the most sore, and black and blue... Shannon took the day off knowing that his cut would still be too bad (open) for day care activities and germs, and we gritted our teeth and waited for the pain and misery of the next day... when he came out of his room grinning and talking, happier than he is most mornings. He still needed a day of rest so it was good he was home, but we were amazed at his pain tolerance.

So all day Thursday, Shannon mused that his kid was just "really tough." It's apparently genetic, since I have a fairly high pain tolerance and Shannon was mowing the lawn not 4 hours after getting his wisdom teeth out last year.

My only hope is that Adam gives it another few years (or decades, or never) before he gives the ER another visit.