Woah! We're Halfway There

It's week 27 and a lot of things have happened since my last post.

For one, the number of impending babies has multiplied from one to two. Imagine our surprise when we are happily scanning our developing fetus with my POCUS and Uram points in the corner of the screen and asks "What's that second thing?"

No. No way. Must be an artifact. I'm not great at POCUS anyways.

1 week later we look again and I definitely see a second cardiac flicker. Cue panicked texts to my co-resident and coworkers. Can you review this ultrasound? I'm hallucinating right? That's just one big thing, not two little things, RIGHT? 

Finally, we had our second ultrasound with the midwife and I try to play it coy: "I think there might be twins. Call it a hunch". We see two distinct heads right when she slaps on the probe. Holy shit. It's one thing when you're looking at a grainy blob on your pocket ultrasound, but once confronted by the reality of the crystal clear image on the office ultrasound, we couldn't live in denial anymore. OK, change in plans, we're going to be a family of four.

Uram's first reaction when we found out we were going to have identical twin girls: "...three Abbys?"

Yeeeaaaah, boiiiii.

I don't have previous experience for comparison, but I have been told twin pregnancy is much worse than with a singleton. First trimester was no picnic in the park. 16 weeks of gagging and food aversion. I couldn't smell beef without feeling violently ill. I couldn't even tolerate chopping garlic. The potpourri hanging in the bathroom had me retching on the toilet. Poor Uram thought I had developed a vendetta against the food of his people. We were convinced the baby was going to Mexican or Indian because I was only eating plain quesadillas or tikka masala, nothing in between. 

By week 17, things settled down a little bit. I could eat normal foods again (hallelujah!). I wasn't experiencing itchy hives on my hands or feet anymore. I wasn't quite showing yet. It was like I could forget I was pregnant. I would clutch my belly with every flutter wondering if it was the babies or gas (probably both). 

But here we are at week 27 and pregnancy is once again showing that it is NOT cute. I knew I was going to be big as a house, but hot damn, it's one thing to imagine it and one thing to live it. Lying flat has me wheezing as my occupied uterus does its best to encroach into my thoracic cavity. Lying on my side leaves me with severe carpal tunnel symptoms. I wake up in the middle of the night 2-3 times to pee, sometimes discovering that I did not in fact need to pee, but instead someone's head has so rudely decided to settle on my bladder. Not to mention, my hands are swollen all the time. Have you ever been unable to rip toilet paper because you can't close your fingers together in a pincer grip?  I have to spend the first minute of my morning flexing my fingers to restore my range of motion so that I can make a fist. I invested in a pack of compression stockings (and I learned the best way to convince patients to wear them is to show them that you're wearing them yourself!) 

Uram and I had to have a whole discussion about what we would have to do if one day I became so expansive that I was unable to reach my own butt to wipe. He is surprisingly down to lend a hand (boop!), I guess that's true love right there. This launched a whole other discovery that I have been wiping my butt wrong my entire life. My sister and I have been living a lie because we both grew up reaching between the legs from the front but our parents both reach from the back. WHO TAUGHT US?WHO DID THIS TO US? Anyways, I have since started reaching from the back and wow what a gamechanger. Y'all been living like this? 

OH AND THE HEMORRHOIDS. You know those mochi donuts? ...Yeah.

Me: "Waaaah! They're like grapes!"

Uram: "What kind of grapes?"

Me:" KYOHO."

Uram: "NO."

They say these are supposed to get better after pregnancy. THEY FUCKING BETTER. I can now feel my butthole touching the seat when I sit down and I could have gone my entire life without knowing this sensation.

We have one guest room that has just become dedicated baby storage. We are so grateful for the generosity of our friends and family. People have just arrived with bags of hand-me-downs and things that they found useful in pregnancy -- cribs, carriers, baby bouncers, strollers, clothes -- SO MUCH CLOTHES. I feel like we are at the point where we don't even know what we don't know, but we know that our village has our back. 

So here I am, incubating two cauliflowers today. My OB says she would be thrilled if I make it to 37 weeks and that twins can come "whenever." (Triggering an Uram panic attack) So maybe we're a little more than halfway there, but man it feels like a lifetime. 

I'm scared shitless but at the same time I feel like if I survived medical school and residency, there's not much that can faze me now. HUBRIS. 

One thing is for sure -- when I look at Uram, I know there's no one else I would rather be setting off on this adventure with. He has been incredibly supportive this entire time. He has wordlessly taken over the dishwashing duties . When I was feeling sick, he made sure there was always something for me to eat or snack on. One time, I was so hungry in the middle of the night that I felt viscerally ill. He got up, went downstairs, heated me a plate of dino nuggets, and even included the dollop of BBQ he knows I love. Even now, he puts up with my tossing and turning all night without complaint. When I wake up with a cramp, he helps me stretch my leg and massages my calf while half-asleep. They say that stressors can put a strain on a relationship, but I am so lucky that, time and time again, experience has shown me that this man is one that can weather the storm. I couldn't ask for a better husband and I know our daughters will have the most loving and doting dad. 

I figured I should update before the pregnancy brain fog fully kicks in; before the happy honeymoon period of the second trimester is fully over and I become a cranky inflated witch. 

Is it time for the epidural yet?

Tentative Joy

It's been a week since two little lines on a stick changed my life, and this time it isn't COVID.

I'm still in disbelief, even though it was something we've been actively working toward for the past 3 months. A part of me is thrilled, ready to start this next chapter in life with our growing family. The other part of me, the childish part that still thinks of daily responsibilities as "adulting", is freaking out. I am growing a ticking time bomb inside me. Our days of freedom where we can drop everything and make spontaneous trips on a dime are now limited. That glorious DINK disposable income now earmarked for childcare and college funds. 

But then I daydream about little baby Two-ram (this is what I've come to call the fetus mentally) that will have the same untamable cowlick as their father, his easygoing demeanor, or his propensity to chatter endlessly until his throat is sore and he needs a cough drop. At the same time, I dread that they will have my temper and stubbornness -- that my karma has finally come and it will become my turn to be called into the principal's office, this time as the shamefaced parent rather than the incalcitrant troublemaker. 

And sure, everyone thinks it's great to be a pregnant doctor, because you know what to expect when you're expecting. But no one thinks about how much more doctors stress because we know too much -- when you know the statistical probabilities of everything that could go wrong. We told our family early because we are pathologically unable to keep secrets. But I've forbidden them from telling anyone or getting too excited -- wait until the ultrasound I say, wait until the second trimester. It could be a molar pregnancy, there could be fetal abnormalities incompatible with life, genetic disorders, miscarriages, don't get too attached yet. The pessimistic physician part of me tells me to guard my heart, but I also don't want to rain on Uram or my family's parade. And so I would classify my current state as "tentative joy". 

Now when I see babies in the wild, I envision what our own little chubby-faced cherub will look like. 

When I was in residency, Uram said he always knew when I was on an OB rotation because I would come home, measure his head, and deep sigh. My beautiful husband who subjected his teeny tiny mother to a c-section because his head would simply not fit through her pelvis. I say prayers for my intact perineum, already imagining the ice-packed diapers I'll have to wear for weeks if I somehow successfully deliver his freakishly large-headed progeny vaginally. I have cold sweats and flashbacks to the time I witnessed a third-degree tear in the delivery room, the audible snapping sound as the baby's head rushed through, pushing through layers of muscle and skin. Nature is metal, man, but I am soft. I live perpetually in fluffy pajamas and I need to wear slippers or my feet will hurt.  I can only exist peacefully between 65-75 degrees Fahrenheit. I like my shrimp pre-peeled and my beverages hot but not too hot. I can't eat  sandwiches that are too hard or tortilla chips too quickly because they cut up the roof of my mouth. The list goes on. Definitely not the sterner stuff necessary to push a watermelon through a toilet paper roll.

I'm thankful for my amazing partner and our village. The other day, I told him I was going to vacuum and he said "don't work too hard." I thought to myself, "He has never said this to me in my life, pregnancy has changed him." I look forward to taking turns picking up heavy items in the future, seeing if his sciatica symptoms are worse than the damage wrought by the 30-lb pumpkin strapped to my front. 

The news could not have come at a better time, his parents are currently visiting for a month. I have never been better fed in my life. They force me make sure I have breakfast, lunch, and dinner every day. My mother-in-law gives me the yellow parts of the kimchi -- the sweetest and most tender bites. She resists my protests when she ladles large portions of protein and soup for me and scrapes the bottom of the pot for her own serving. She body checks me out of the way when I try to wash the dishes. My laundry basket magically empties while my closet fills when I am at work. 

My mom pesters me for the due date so she can plan ahead and make a baby blanket. She'll have to make two, she tells me. One to swaddle the newborn and a bigger one because the baby will quickly outgrow the first. She is already asking if I want to do my postpartum confinement in my childhood home so they can take care of me and the baby. "Dad will make you chicken soup!", and of course the stewed pig's feet for lactation.  

I already know that our baby will be showered with love. 

I can't wait to see Uram crying his eyes out while holding our child for the first time

I am excited but I am also waiting for the other shoe to drop because a part of me cannot accept that life can be this good. My mind turns over the macabre daily, runs through the contingency plans. But for now I'll keep counting my blessings.