September 14, 2007
Yesterday morning I started contracting and the contractions lasted all day and into the night, staying a constant 8 minutes apart. I finally broke down and called Labor and Delivery this morning, where they predictably told me I needed to come in (this is par for my course, really. "How many weeks are you? You're-you're having TWINS? Oh my God. Come in. Right away. Bring Cheetos.")
So - much to Angus' delight - we went in this morning (he hates going to the hospital. As in "would prefer going to the dentist anyday" kind of hate). I was hooked up to various monitors and trussed up, feeling like they were strapping me in to deliberately show that I have reached sausage-like proportions in my midsection. I looked like the spill-over you get at the top of a thigh high stocking.
Pregnancy is so glamorous.
The monitoring was ok - the Lemonheads are fine and as per usual the babies weren't interested in letting anyone listen to them and thus spent their time trying to swim away or kick off the sensors. They're pretty successful at that game, too, and it amuses me to watch the strength with which they'll nail one of the sensors to get it off them. I continued to have contractions, but they only came to 25% max when I was having them, and apparently in order to be considered "in labor" your contractions need to be at 50%. Now, 25% is uncomfortable enough, I can't really visualize 50%. Or, worse yet, 80%. What is that considered? A legitimate legal defense for killing folk? The one time it's ok to watch Ricki Lake and chant "Go Ricki"?
They wanted to admit me for observation but I fought them on it, as we live close to the hospital should anything start to change. It's been determined that I am not in labor but that my insides are clearly unhappy. They did a scan of the babies which showed that the boy is fully engaged, which means his head is bumping right down inside my pelvis by the cervix. The little girl is turned sideways, lengthwise across my body, so that round thing coming out of my left side is her head, not his ass. Good thing, too, as I was finding it weird that rubbing his bum like that calmed him down so much and while Mummy loves you, sweetheart, she's not going to always be willing to rub your rump to get you to relax.
The doctor did a pelvic exam, and for once I was pretty damn glad I'd gone and gotten waxed on Wednesday. I was feeling pretty unattractive and even though I can't see my own beaver anymore, I just thought a Brazillian might cheer me up. If by "cheer myself up" I meant "nearly scream with the pain of 10,000 fire ant bites on my privates", then I was right. But at least I had a tidy package down there, and that helps.
The exam showed that while I am not in labor, my body is actually getting ready for labor. Without going into too much gory detail (cause that never happens on this site), it turns out that my cervix has softened, which is a sign that my body is getting ready for labor. The doctor gives me 50/50 chances of preterm labor, and I honestly think that I will deliver sometime early myself.
We're getting there.
I'm at home now, and on light duties. I'm to go to the hospital if the contractions get closer together, get stronger, or my water breaks.
So thank goodness we've got some names for the Lemonheads then. A few of the names that were suggested and were up for voting were names that had been on our list, actually - Jack, Charlie, Kate and Isobel were all on our possible real name list before we crossed them off. But you voted and the votes, all tallied up, reveal the name of the Lemonheads once they're born.
You'll be introduced to Nick and Nora, once they're here.
Until then though, at least in my world, they're the Lemonheads.
Posted by: Everydaystranger at
01:20 PM
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