This will be a short update:

Scheduled c-section, on for tomorrow.

Yesterday (38 weeks and 1 day) at my check up,  the Cervix of Steel still had not budged.  Since last week, my swelling has gotten worse, I’ve developed a case of itchy skin that is so bad I’ve had to call the doctor twice, and just to add some fun to the mix, I somehow managed to do something to my pelvis that renders it almost unworkable.  Meaning standing, sitting and oh yeah! walking are almost impossible. I haven’t slept in days…

I’m going back today for more blood work because they’re concerned about cholestasis, some sort of liver disease that can strike late in pregnancy.

Good times, people, good times!

I think the last nine months of relative quiet on the pregnancy front is now finally catching up to me in these last days.

I will try to update as soon as I can!

Annnnnnnd…the wait continues, Day 9.

Last night I had the weirdest dream.

I was a female prisoner on Alcatraz, and for some reason I had legions of friends on ‘the outside’ (as we hardened criminals like to say) whom I had never met.  They were all women and we communicated via a carrier pigeon I cleverly named Pidgey.

I would send messages on a little piece of paper attached to her ankle, and she would fly to the shore of San Francisco Bay and reach all of my friends.  My friends would then all write wonderfully supportive missives back to me, also attached to Pidgey’s tiny little bird ankle.

I would write notes like, It’s cold out here on this frigging island, the fog makes my hair frizz uncontrollably and will masturbating really make me go blind?

My network of friends (= YOU, NoDuhDr.Freud) would always respond with informative, understanding and very supportive notes that I couldn’t wait to read.  The notes would encourage me to serve out my sentence, suggest I trade sexual favors for a wool sweater, invest in a knit hat and reassure me that, no, masturbation did not in fact cause blindness.

No matter what I complained about, these notes always made me feel better. And understood.

So thank you — my gratitude is such that it’s showing up in my dreams at night.  Your support has sunk deep into my subconscious which sounds weird but I mean that in the nicest way.

I think I will take a short break from posting until Something happens…I need to stop complaining and focus on how grateful I am that as of today, I’m 37 weeks and 1 day.  I am, of course, totally cracking under the pressure and feel like I’m going to explode at any minute.

But.

I’m also so happy that the babies seem fine and that despite some very minor discomforts, I’m also doing really well. 

I go for another NST tomorrow, followed by a doctor’s appointment for my weekly check, so I will hopefully know more after that.  If not (meaning the "closed until winter — no entry or exit" sign I nailed to my cervix is still up), I’ll try to post a ‘HOLY CRAP I’m off to the hospital’ post when THAT happens. And failing those options, I’ll see if someone can post an update with the hopefully very good news that the babies have arrived and are healthy and happy.  (They might be preparing to get their drivers’ licenses or perhaps move into a college dorm room by then, but by God they BETTER be healthy and happy little buggers!)

Pidgey and I both thank you so much for taking the time to read my tiny little notes sent out across the water, and for taking the time to write back.  Stuck in my cell, with only the cold and the fog to keep me company, it really does mean the world to me…

Update:  11/21/07

38 weeks here I come, like it or not.

It seems that the Cervix of Steel has not changed one bit since my last visit…yesterday my dr could sense I was at the end of my rope, after getting perhaps one or maybe two hours of sleep the night before, mostly due to horrendous heartburn.

And also?  I was wearing the same gray sweat pants I’ve had on every time I go there, plus I was wearing BeBop’s tennis shoes because NONE of my own shoes fit.  I’m 5’4" and usually wear a 6 or a 7, so sporting a men’s sized 10 was just NOT a good look for me.

"I need an exit strategy!!" I practically shrieked when the dr walked in.  After checking the cervix, he asked if I could go another week.  Inside my head I was yelling NO NO NO, but I said, "I guess so…"

The plan is for me to return Monday and get checked again, and see what positions the babies are in at that point. I am betting on a scheduled c-section sometime next week…in another post I will detail my (d)evolution from Hippie all-natural, home water birth girl to JUST GUT ME LIKE A TROUT AND GET THESE KIDS OUT girl, but that’s for another day.

And overall, things are good.  My blood pressure is low, the babies are looking good on the monitors and besides the 2 H’s (heartburn and heft) things are fine. 

Tomorrow as we celebrate Thanksgiving here in the States, I have a hell of a lot to be thankful for.

I think the babies must have somehow read my earlier post about the lack of grooming in the nether regions, and it terrified them so much they have just decided to stay put.  They were scared off by the thought of having to navigate through the thicket, but I guess they missed the follow up post saying I hacked away at the foliage like a pissed off gardener or the Bill Murray crazy greens keeper character from Caddyshack and now it’s okay (it’s not pretty, I won’t lie), but it’s manageable. 

They did not get this memo.

I bet they are currently making plans to be home schooled (a one-womb schoolhouse HAR HAR) and just STAY IN THERE FOREVER.  AND EVER.

I don’t know how they managed to see the blog through the two-foot layer of whale blubber that currently surrounds them, but that’s my best guess. 

That I will never go into labor.

I know I should not be complaining. I know every twin Mom out there who had to suffer a premature birth wants to kill me, I know I should be grateful that in less than 30 minutes I will have reached the 37-week point,  and according to my idol Posh Spice:  That’s MAJOR.

But still…

I’m ready.

Or:

The Great Wait, Day 5

BeBop took me for my weekly check up yesterday and normally, I go on my own. It occurred to me in a moment of abject terror that as the nurse calls my name and walks me to the exam room, SHE ALSO WEIGHS ME.

"CRAP!" I whispered under my breath.  "I should have had him wait in the waiting room!!"

She was a doll and told him to head down the hall towards exam room 4, and then she weighed me. "It’s just so depressing," I said.  "I think at this point I weigh more than he does!"

I wanted him to be in the room to get used to the poking and the prodding and, specifically, the shoving of gloved fingers far into Girly Towne.  I expect a great deal more of that in the days to come and I wanted BeBop to be as ready as he can be.

I reminded him once again (for the frillionth time) that when I’m giving birth (either vag OR having a c-section) he is NOT to go downtown. Nooooooo…he is to stay UPTOWN. I don’t want him seeing the miracle of birth close up, nor do I want him seeing my intestines laid out on a metal tray next to my belly.

My cervix is still closed, and the contractions are very sporadic.  They’re not getting stronger or more frequent, so I guess for now the babies are hoping to celebrate their very first Thanksgiving from the inside looking out.

My hormones are going loco, though.  Even more so than usual for me!  Every morning when the babies wake up and start moving around, I say, "Good morning Jackson, good morning Parker."  Lately I say, "Good morning, happy 36 weeks and 4 days," but only now I say it with huge gulping sobs that get stuck in my throat like, "Good morning Jack — son, sob, good morning, gulp, Parker.  Happy 36 weeks and — gulp, heave, squeak, 4 days…"

Pathetic.

Here are some follow up pics, because seriously?  I have NOTHING to say…

The decorations on the walls are…stickers!  Isn’t that clever?  They look like paint, but you can place them anywhere, in any pattern you like, and remove them or change them around later if you want to.  We bought them in a local baby store and BeBop put them up a couple of weeks ago when he did the shelves.

Here Bosco is trying to enjoy a quiet, sunny day.  Perhaps one of the last quiet days he spends for a long time.  He told me to include the next photo, evidence that I did, in fact, place the stuffed animal in the car seat for practice and take it to the CHP (= Center of Hotness, People!) and to further prove, in case there was ANY doubt, that yes, I am crazy…

Bed

and

Rest.

Normally, two words I adore.  As in BeBop saying, "Hon, why don’t you get back into bed and rest while I make breakfast…"  (like that happens a lot!).

But after spending most of yesterday in Labor & Delivery, the doctor’s recommendation was to spend the remainder of this pregnancy on bed rest and the two words took on a whole new meaning.

I was so swollen I had to call, and I knew they would recommend I head up to the hospital for an NST and some blood work.  There was some protein in my urine, but not an alarming amount, and one of the levels they checked in my blood was a little elevated, but again — nothing terrible.

But the swelling.  Good Lord.

It was like my entire leg was the size of my upper thigh, which these days = A LOT of real estate.  It was like I had two tree trunks and then each foot had a little pillow attached to the top. It was disgusting, to be perfectly honest.

But after spending 5 hours in a hospital bed, the swelling actually went down so I think the whole bed rest plan — while a pain in the ass — is a good one.

And it’s only for a week or so, right? So I have nothing to complain about, really. I’m so close now.

But it’s not helping my mood.  When BeBop called to check on me, I told him I was having cramps. These were different from the pressure and hardening sensations I’ve been feeling for a while now.

"Why are you having cramps?" he asked in perhaps what was the most inane question ever uttered since the Dawn of Time.

"OH IDON’TKNOW MAYBE BECAUSE I’M PREGNANT AND ABOUT TO HAVE TWO BABIES!!!" I yelled into the phone.

It’s gonna be a long week or two…

And just to give you an idea of the sheer magnitude of the swelling, I borrowed this image from Shallow Hall because the thought of documenting my own disgusting largeness is just too much for me.

It occurs to me that after my CONTRACTIONS!  EVERY SEVEN-TO-TEN MINUTES!  LABOR!  IMMINENT!  post of this weekend, I should now update every day, lest you think I pumped out these kids, mastered twin breastfeeding, got them both on the same sleep schedule AND hired the perfect yet totally affordable nanny and that’s why I haven’t posted.

Not that you’re sitting around, thinking:  why hasn’t that huge-assed, sloth-toed Watson posted lately?  What the hell is going on?!?

(If you did think that it would be quite mean, really.  True.  But mean.)

Where was I?

Oh yeah!  No babies yet.  The contractions didn’t continue yesterday, I took it easy and just relaxed most of the day and made sure to stay very hydrated, which of course meant hauling my large self off the couch and into the bathroom on a regular basis. 

I’m due for another NST tomorrow and then I’m going back to my OB on Friday, so I think I’ll play it by ear for the next day or two and see what happens.  There seems to be slightly less fetal movement, but of course with two in there it’s fricking hard to tell who’s doing what.  If that continues and starts to freak me out, I’ll call the doctor asap and go in for a check.

I’m 36 weeks and 1 day today. I would love to hit that window of 37 weeks, yet not cross the threshold into 38 when my dr might want to induce.  So not that I’m demanding or anything — just hoping for a several-day window when these kids decide to make an appearance.  I guess if they don’t make a move to vacate the ute this week, I might have to take matters into my own hands.  (Alex, for $1000, what is NIPPLE STIM?!)

Before I start really blathering incoherently, Iknowtoolate, here are some photos of where the babies will be making their home.  With more to come because, honestly, I just don’t have that much to say.

To ensure their love of Boston Terriers at an early age: