Trapped under twins!

"I'm sure she'll post a long post tomorrow." he said.

It's very sweet when your own husband has you confused with a super hero. [grin]

Right now I'm laying propped up in the hospital bed typing one handed while Emma nurses, so this will be short. She and Logan have developed psychic powers such that one always knows when the other is hogging all the colostrum. He will inevitably wake up within moments of her finishing or starting and then the cycle starts all over. I'm working on tandem nursing but damn! if there aren't just times you'd really like to have that second hand for simple things like eating, drinking or scratching your own ear.

I'm picky that way.

Thank you all for the cheers. You made me smile once I came out of the drug fog. I've got a lot to tell you, gory details as well as sappy asides, but until my milk comes in and knocks the two out for a reliable length of time I'll have to keep my posts short.

The twins are doing very well and are working unceasingly at trying to bring up breastmilk. Apparently they got the memo on how good it is, but not the one that mentions that it takes about 72 hours to come in. Even if you are an over-achieving twin, the breasts you rely on are slackers.

Whoops! Logan is playing my song. Catch ya later!

Photographic Proof

Hatchet Husband here again. I know that like bigfoot and the loch ness monster, the Hatchet twins are thought many to be mythical.

However, I now bring you photographic proof of their existence!

Logan:



Emma:

They're Here!

Guest blogger hatchet-husband reporting from the hospital via jury rigged internet connection over cellphone:

Logan: Born 8:26am 6lbs 12oz
Emma: Born 8:28am 6lbs 14oz

Everyone is doing fine and snoozing.

More updates and photos as time and technology allow.

Countdown

ZERO!


BLASTOFF!

[A really, really pregnant figures pushes itself up from the ground painfully and shakes a clenched fist at the pre-dawn sky.]

"As God is my Witness, I shall never be pregnant again!"*

-- Scarlett O'Hatchet




* Barring accidents, Acts of God, Acts of War, Little Green Men from Mars, spontaneous generation or parthenogenesis. You mileage may vary. See participating Hatchets for details. Limited time offer. Results not typical.

Thirty-eight weeks

I have heard you're clamoring for the final belly photos. They don't look much different from those from 36 weeks, but I thought I'd put them out here just for grins.



Final Vital Statistics:

• Weight: +65 lbs
  
• Waist: 51"
• Cervix: Firmly and resolutely closed (as of Monday's appointment).

Here are some guesses on the final outcome tomorrow:

• Logan will be just over 7 lbs and will be longer than Emma.
• Emma will weigh slightly less than Caitlin did at birth (Caitlin was 6 lb, 14 oz).
• Someone will have blonde hair.
• Someone will have curly hair.
• I will lose between 20-30 lbs by the time I return home on Sunday.
• I still won't be able to see my feet when I look straight down.
• Eric will make me laugh again and hurt my incision. I will consider poking him sharply, but will be too drugged to make the effort.
• Once I can eat real food, Eric will once again hunt up a feast of desserts. Oops! I didn't tell you that part of the story originally.
  When we were stuck in the hospital last time and I was once again able to eat real food, I told Eric that I wanted some cake from the market across the street from the hospital. Being the smitten, sleep deprived sweetheart that he is, he went across to go get some cake. Since I hadn't specified what I wanted and he was presented with so many delectable options, he took one slice of each that was offered, came back and presented me with a bag filled with 7 different types of cake (Yet another reason why we're still together after 15 years - he's quick witted!). We couldn't finish all of it before we left the hospital, so we left them at the desk with the nurses who then sang Eric's praises heartily. Nothing like feeding maternity ward nurses to gather a little good karma. I recommend it!
• There will be much squealing from my MIL and SIL. They're squealers. My mom will use her talking-to-infants voice, which sounds remarkably like her talking-to-kitties voice. Then again, I use that same voice, too, so I can't criticize.
• At some point I will drag myself out of bed just so I can photograph everything and everyone and will get a stern warning to get the hell back in bed from friends, family and staff.

Yeah, that sounds about right!

Here's a little something I have been working on for you. Click on it and see it work (it may take a few moments to load fully).

Domino

Domino, shot by Sierra, plus bonus feet!
It's a long way down when she shoots it!

Food! Glorious food!

And then there was Sunday dinner. Mom made ribs, mashed potatoes and broccoli. She's right, the ribs do taste better on day 2 than they do on day one, but they're pretty nummy on day one, so who's gonna argue?
For dessert, mom made a mixed berry cobbler. We're big on dessert around here, in case you hadn't noticed. My crazy love for baking and baked goods? I blame entirely on mom and her fabulous cakes, pies, cobblers, date squares, etc. Did I mention she even makes wedding cakes and made mine and my sister Cindy's? Yeah, she's got mad skilz!
The thing in the back that looks like a dragon's egg is actually breadfruit. You bake it for half of forever and it turns brown and begins to taste quite bread-like. Fortunately once cooked, it can be frozen and await the remainder of your family's arrival for the next round of ackee and saltfish for breakfast.

The finished cobbler. Mmm! Most excellent with vanilla ice cream. What? Like you think we eat cobblers and pies without ice cream? What are you a barbarian?!
Oh, and she made a pair of apple pies on Friday, too, but since dad isn't here to eat an entire one himself, we still have most of the second one.
You can tell she loves me by the little heart cutouts.

You know, having a fridge filled with leftover dessert is wonderful! Wheee!

Countdown

ONE!

"We're running out of time!"

--Jack Bauer-Hatchet

Caitlin Says...

Scene: Early this morning, in Caitlin's room.

Eric: Caitlin! [Sing song] Time to wake up!
Caitlin: [Groaning and attempting to hide under the covers.]
Eric: [Flips on light and removes covers, exposing Grumpy Caitlin.]
Caitlin: Daddy, I found a brand new penny and I will give it to you, instead of putting it in my piggy bank, if you turn off the light.

Eric, though sorely tempted by all the cash, insists she gets up and starts her day.

Nothing like a little bribery to start your day, is there?

Countdown

TWO!

"She cannae take much more, cap'n!"

--Scotty McHatchet

Pre-op appointment

I don't know what all I was expecting, but I didn't expect that I'd get poked at again at my pre-op this morning. Heck, I was just there on Friday! Did anyone really think that I'd dilate?

*crickets*

Of course I didn't!

So the pre-op appointment consists of a regular visit with the "leaving a sample" (Nice euphemism for "Go pee in a cup."), checking my weight (No apparent change from Friday, although I had more clothes on - it's a wee bit chilly.), blood pressure (Still good), fundal measurement (You know, I forgot to ask. Ehn! *shrug*) poking and surgery discussion. The poking served to give me a brand new way of expressing just how closed I am.

I am no longer Tupperware.

Now I am a Roach Motel: "Babies get in, but they don't get out!"

OMG! Did my doc just compare my Cervix of Steel and Power Uterus [Insert Coining a New Phrase chime sound here.] to bug poison?! Yes, yes she did.

Fortunately for all involved, I have a bizarre sense of humor and found it funny.
Besides, do you really think I want to go all psycho on the woman that will be slicing and dicing me in 3 days? Nuh-uh!

After the poking and laughing she suggested I get dressed, because I guess it's tough even for docs to have a serious conversation with someone whose ass is exposed on the paper liner of the examining table - her massive girth covered with a wee flowered sheet. A sheet clearly never intended to protect the modesty of women with such an ample abdomen and pair of hips as I am currently sporting.

Many more kudos all around for making it this far, health of babies, shininess of hair and visibility of ankles. No, really, the ankles are such a hit, I should photograph them! I won't though. I can't bend that far.

Then we discovered what it really means to have the first scheduled c-section appointment of the day. The c-section is planned for 7:30 am. I thought that meant check-in at 7:30, then general dithering about for a couple of hours and then Crowbar Enabled Baby Removal.

Uh, no.

It means that the operation is at 7:30 am. We need to check in at 5:30 am.

Oh.

Uhhhh...oh.

Well, I'm not sleeping anyway! What the hell!

And I'm not to eat anything after midnight on Wednesday, which means that I shall be snacking at 11:30 pm, of course. Then the arrival, signing away of my life and innards and promising to not be surprised by the bleeding, vomiting or itching that come with any of the drugs they will be plying me with during my 4 day stay at the hospital.

Four days. But there will be Jello! And room service! And a bed that has buttons that make it go up and down and inflate lumbar and ankle pillows and possibly a vibrate option, but I'll probably need to ask about that one.

Did I mention that I hate Jello? Yeah. They told me no real food until I fart.

WHAT?!

My gustatory pleasures will be limited to liquids and Jello until I can pass gas, proving that my innards aren't tied in a knot. I'm hoping that they have some sort of additive in the IV drips that provides such a happening and that I don't sleep through it or anything. The Preggosaurus needs snacks!

When the appointment ended, we hobbled over for another non-stress test where Emma, again, proved to be difficult to get a read on. She's still in there, but is somehow deeper inside than Logan and can somehow move around. On the way over to the test we met a woman that over heard us talking about the twins and told us that she'd just delivered a pair of identical twin boys 3.5 weeks ago. I took one look at her and asked her "Through you?!" because she sure as hell didn't look like someone who had just given birth 3.5 weeks ago! The answer was yes, and that the weight went whipping off.

I think I've just met my new hero!

So be prepared for the before and after photographic evidence.

Three (3) days left!
Or as Eric likes to say: 60 hours and 40 minutes left!

It's...raining

This is Colorado! We don't "do" rain!

Apparently someone forgot to tell the weather forecasters that, though, because it's raining like mad. Thunder, a little lightening and it's been going on for what feels like ages. Meaning, longer than 10 minutes.

Colorado is (normally) an arid plain state. We don't have humidity and we don't do rainfall in appreciable amounts (10-14" per year, people!). Today, I think it's trying to meet its quota for either the year or at least half of it. It started raining last night, eased up a bit this morning and now is going full tilt.

Why should you care?

Because it means mom and Eric can't put my plants in the ground!

Oh, wait, that's why I care.

Hmm. Nevermind! Carry on, citizen.

70.5 hours, 1 pre-op appointment, a non-stress test and 1 operation left. Not that we're counting or anything. Heh!

Countdown

Three!

"What have I got in my uterus?"

--Bilba Hatchet

Countdown

FOUR!

"That's no moon. It's The Belly!"

--Obi-Hatchet

Adventures with Mom

So we went to the DBG fall plant sale in Denver today and I picked up a pair of Sambucus nigra, courtesy of mom. That's Common elderberry for those of you not packing your Latin botanical dictionaries. My initial hope was to find a pair of the Black Lace elderberry, but I went with these and will pop them into the garden in the next couple of days.

When I say "I will pop them in..." of course I mean Eric will dig giant holes and mom will plant them for me. I will just point and grunt at the locations I want them to be in.

The plant is poisonous, except the berries (once they're cooked people can eat them), which are greatly loved by birds of all sorts. And squirrels. Possibly raccoons. Ehn! I have all of them anyway, here's my chance to feed them something different. I'm nice to the wild animals that way. Also, it's part of my long term plan to get a backyard habitat designation for my yard.

After we were done (amid questions by the general public of "How many are in there?!" "When are you due?" "Oh my gosh! Good luck!") we drove down to Denver's Greek Town in search of...a Jamaican Bakery. Yes, a Jamaican Bakery in Colorado. That is located in Greek Town. Run by a Trinidadian.

Life is funny.

It got even funnier when mom established her Jamaican street cred. They had no idea where she was from, being somewhere in their twenties mom thinks they had no idea that Jamaicans actually used to come in assorted shades. Mom told one guy there that she was "...more Jamaican than you." How is this possible? She was born on the eastern end of the island, went to school on the north-western part, grew up in the south-western part and then worked in Kingston, back in the east. She called herself an "all island girl". Instant respect from the guys. They asked if Eric, Caitlin and I were also Jamaican and we gave them the run down. The best part is that in Jamaica, you never know. It's such a mixed culture that there are the ones that everyone thinks of from the commercials all the way to the blonde haired, blue eyed versions. My family and I are well within the color spectrum, even if no one here recognizes us.

We bought some guava "cheese", a loaf of coconut bread, a loaf of spice bread and a cream soda. It says "Sof Drink" and has the Jamaican flag on it. Smelled just like I remembered, too. Hee! I have to admit to being disappointed in the spice bread so mom has offered to make one for me. The coconut bread is very nice with butter and cheese, though, so it was a good choice. No bammy in sight and their hard dough bread looked like it was [gasp] wheat! So Dawn, we'll still need you to ship me occasional care packages. Sorry!

And then we went home, laden with our goods, and I had a nap.

Eric tells me we have 115 hours to go. He's enjoying translating the countdown to hours and will randomly tell me how many hundreds are left.

Tick, tick, tick!

Let the countdown begin!

FIVE!

"There may yet be a day when the Cervix of Steel fails us...but that day IS NOT TODAY!"*


-- AraHatchet


* Yes, we did just watch Lord of the Rings again, why?

Food! Glorious food!

On Monday we had scalloped potatoes with the leftover ham from Sunday. Mmmm!

On Tuesday we had a kielbasa and mixed vegetable casserole. You know, I don't normally ever make casseroles, because they just aren't fast. Maybe we'll start - this was yummy!
On Wednesday, mom made Jamaican beef patties.
Caitlin helped glaze them with an egg wash.

Turns out you need a fattier grade of beef to get the traditionally juicy version of patties. Ours were good, but not gooooood. Next time, 80/20 or 85/15 beef! Don't worry, we're still gonna eat 'em!
Then for dessert, mom made the shortcakes while I macerated strawberries with sugar and made the whipped cream. Put it all together and you have this:
Now that's strawberry shortcake! Growing up, my dad used to make these all the time - it was his specialty. Growing up, whipped cream from a bottle never passed through our doorway. Eric and I have taken up that tradition at our house. Mmmmm! Fresh cream rocks!

Today, after an emergency phonecall to my sister Dawn over the weekend, this arrived in the mail. A Jamaican food care package! Two loaves of hard-dough bread, 3 cans of ackees and 2 breadfruits. Mom popped one in the oven to bake, since it didn't appreciate being packed in plastic and started getting a little soft.
Thanks Dawn! Mmm-wah! (Smooches!) Now there will be more ackee and saltfish in our future.

Hmm. I'm feeling a mite snackish. I think I'll go get a patty. Later, food fans!

Doctor! Doctor!

Thirty seven weeks. Phew!

Hey, only 6 more days, one pre-op appointment, one non-stress test and one operation to go!

I am soooooo ready, but you already knew that, didn't you? Although today I got official word from the doctor that I am totally allowed to whine. Yay! Official word on the whining factor!

I'm trying not to, really, but it's tough.

Anyway...it's time for

Vital Statistics!

• Weight: +63 lbs
  
• Waist size: 51"
  
• Heart rates: ~140s for both Logan and Emma
  
• Fundal measurement: 48 cm. Eight weeks "past due".
  
• Cervical dilation: None. Come on! Did you think there would be at this point? Do not under estimate the power of the Cervix of Steel!

We then got sent off for a Non-Stress Test. Basically, I lie down, hooked up to several heart rate monitors and they watch the heart rates of the twins. It's supposed to cover a 20 minute uninterrupted period, but since the twins are still able to move around in there (How?!), it took up to 1.5 hours and an ultrasound machine to pinpoint the best location for the monitor to get 20 minutes on Emma. Logan is either stuck in place or just easier to monitor.

Here's what it looks like.

One monitor for Logan (bottom), one for contractions (directly above Logan's), one for Emma (to the left of the contraction monitor), a heart rate monitor for me (to make sure they could tell the difference between my heart rate and the kids') and a blood pressure cuff (not pictured). My blood pressure has been fabulous this entire time: 118/62. I suspect it has to do with all the bloody water drinking and lazing about.

No, my belly is not that red, it has to do with the quality (or lack thereof) of Eric's cellphone camera. However, yes, my linea nigra does go all the way down and all the way up to my breastbone. Whee! Apparently there's an Old Wives' Tale that the line running one way means a girl and the other way a boy. Me, I've got the whole thing covered!

So here we are: 6 days left. Caitlin says: "hurrah!"

The eviction notice gets delivered next Thursday.

Six (6) days left!
Or less! But it's not likely!

Disturbing "games"

Caitlin's school had a picnic today that I dragged my thirty seven week pregnant self to attend. Once there I was met with many accolades from the pile of other moms wowing over my continued pregnant state. And the continued presence of my ankles. I am a natural phenomenon around here.

Since it was a picnic, it would require sitting on the ground. A small fact not lost on me, nor on anyone else. Everyone that ran across me (and by "ran across" I mean, passed me on my slow, uphill trod) commented on it. Ha ha! Getting down is the easy part, getting up is where the fun is! Oh how we laughed. Until I discovered that being in that ground sitting position for 10 minutes meant that the leg supporting the weight of my ginormous belly went numb.

Then I had to squirm around on the ground to move the deadened leg out of position and slide the not-quite-dead leg into position.

That, however, is neither here nor there. I'm still pregnant. Eating in the open air, walking to and fro and chatting up assorted moms (even one of fraternal twin girls) did nothing to convince my twins to exit. Not that I expected it to, but you never know.

So I'm sitting there, on the ground, unable to really move. Pinned to the Earth by my own belly weight. The eating time is over and now it's time for the running and screaming portion of our day which is roughly termed "playing". Now I'm perfectly fine with running and screaming so long as it is happening a) outdoors and b) by the mutual consent of the runners and screamers. So this isn't what disturbed my gravid peace and interrupted the nice conversation I was having with one of the cool moms.

No, it was the sight of two boys that were "playing" with one of the twin girls that had been eating lunch on the blanket next to mine. The play consisted of them chasing her and spitting on her.

WHAT?!

Now here's the thing: none of these are children I know very well. I couldn't pick out their mothers in a line up and I only think I recognized one of the boy culprits. Also, none of the parental units were anywhere around, so it was only my friend and I that witnessed this disgusting behavior.

We did what I hope any normal parent would do and told them to stop it. That it was rude/disgusting/inappropriate, blah blah blah. Quit it. The girl wasn't telling them to stop, but I couldn't figure out what she was doing. Was she looking for something she'd dropped on the blanket? Was she looking for her mom? Was she looking for escape from the pair of thugs? I don't know. The boys didn't take kindly to our interference and continued to try to spit at her. We got louder and more serious in our wording. We didn't try to touch them, because that's a giant no-no. One does not lay hands on someone else's child unless bodily harm is imminent. The boys then tried to switch up from spitting to wet raspberrying at the girl.

Because that's sooooo different.

Where do kids get the idea that adults are too stupid to know how to breathe, anyway?

We continued remonstrating with them from our seated position until they ran off, sort of together, in the direction of the playground. They had stopped spitting, as far as we could tell, at least in our line of sight.

Here's the question: Do we tell the teacher(s)? I don't even know whose class these boys are in, or the girl, but surely the teacher should know. By the time I ambled off the hill at the end of the picnic everyone, including the expectorating culprits, was long gone.

The next question is quasi-rhetorical: Where in the hell are boys learning this sort of behavior? Why? Can anything be done about it? I am both alarmed and disgusted. Is this common and I have just seen it for the first time today?

Please talk me down off of my ledge.

Letters from the Inside

Dear Mom & Dad,

Things are going great here in The Belly! We're warm and cozy, if a little bit squeezed for space. At least we're never lonely! The food lately has been great!

We're thinking about you all out there, in the cold, and decided that we're staying where we are. We're starting work on a sub-basement! It's going to be great. We tried adding an attic, but kept running into bone or something. Hope you like it. We'll send pictures or something.

Hey, could you get mom to quit walking around so much? While the rocking motion is really nice, when the walls close in on us it makes it even tougher to do calisthenics!

Thanks!
Emma & Logan

P.S. Send more chocolate.

Dear Emma & Logan,

I'm really glad to hear that things are going well for you inside. I can feel your work on the basement but I've gotta tell you: you need to cut that out. There are only so many structural changes you can make to The Belly before it comes crashing down.

Glad to hear you're enjoying the food. Boy was I ever surprised to hear from the doctor just how much you liked the food! Perhaps you'd consider coming to visit soon and then you'll get more yummy things more directly. I mean, ice cream is great when broken down into it's component parts, but when you can taste it...it's even better! You should really consider this. Seriously.

Sorry about the walking, but a mom's gotta do what a mom's gotta do. I can help you out on the chocolate issue, but you've gotta meet me halfway and stop construction. Consider it your first bribe!

Love,
Mom

P.S. If you don't come out of there in the next 7 days, I'm sending in a professional Spelunking Team to get you out. Don't think I'm bluffing, either. Ask Caitlin, she knows.

Yet another example of how my mom rocks

She cleaned my oven.

No, no! The inside of my oven.

It sparkles like new. Clean! Fresh! With that straight-from-the-showroom glow.

Mothers are a Wonderful Thing.

And then she made shortcakes and beef patties in it. Mmm! But that is a foodie post for tomorrow.

Murder in the garden

So Eric was mowing the lawn two days ago...

and did a very nice job.

Thorough.

Perhaps a little too thorough.

When I went outside yesterday to water the plants on my deck, I tried to toss the water left at the bottom of a saucer onto the lilac plant beside the stairs.

The lilac plant that I received from Kate that was on its third year. The one that looked like it might be ready to bloom for the first time this coming spring, even though it was only two feet tall.

Except it was missing.

Only shredded sticks remained where a happy little plant had been, not two days before.

I think I screamed. Then I hollered for Eric (We're a hollerin' household.). I was hoping it wasn't true - somehow. He'd left that plant alone for the last two years, why now?

He felt very bad. He was confused! He didn't know what he was thinking! He thought it was a weed. He went crazy with all the mowing! It tried to attack him! He has no idea why he suddenly thought he should mow it down and is terribly, terribly sorry.

By the way, did you know that the Denver Botanical Garden is having their annual fall plant sale this Saturday? Because now? He owes me. Unless the twins show up to stop me, that's where I'll be on Saturday morning. Look for the giant, waddling pregnant woman with the gleam of Plant Mania in her eyes.

Waiting for babies

Every day when I go to "sleep", I wonder if this will be the night. Every night when I wake up repeatedly, I wonder if this will be the moment. Every morning when I wake up, I wonder if this will be the morning.

Each time, the answer is a resounding No.

And so the long wait continues.

On the bright side, I know I have an actual end date that I'm moving towards. There won't be any surprises there. I won't have to wait and wait and wait for my body to get this show on the road, because it won't.

That's what we learned last time. I do a great job of incubating and a rotten job of releasing my children into the wild.

The thing is, I'm totally OK with a planned Cesaerean section. I'm perfectly fine with pain management. I started out in all the Lamaze classes, took the breathing techniques seriously and wanted to do all I could to avoid "intervention". My body, however, had other plans. In the end, after my water broke and 24 hours of fruitless labor, when Caitlin started to go into distress, the only option was c-section. After it was over, never for a moment did I feel like I "missed out". Like I was less of a mother for not having passed her through the birth canal with Eric squeezing my hands and telling me to breathe.

That is one of the things that I object to from all of the birthing magazines and classes and piles of literature. Sometimes life throws you something completely unexpected and you just have to roll with it. It doesn't make you less of a mother.

This isn't a contest.

There's no "right" way to do birth.

So long as you leave that hospital with your child (or children) alive and whole, you have successfully birthed a child. Drugs or no drugs, natural, planned or emergency c-section - it doesn't matter. You are still a mother. You still get to take your bundle(s - eep!) home. No one should be made to feel guilty for not doing everything they could to have a "perfect" (defined generally as "natural") birth.

Nothing in life is perfect. Why would you think giving birth is?

Let's be clear: I am not advocating that everyone go out and get drugged up and get cut up. What I am saying is that as mothers we should stick together and not tear ourselves apart over lame differences in things like birthing plans, pain management techniques or trying to define what being a "good parent" is for everyone. What works for me may not work for you and vice versa. Instead, do your research, make your plans, talk with your doctors/midwives and be prepared, but don't forget to be ready to chuck all of those plans should something go wrong and do not take on guilt for what should have been.

You made it out alive. Now it's time to become a parent.

Good luck!

Belly full of babies

We had our last ultrasound for growth this morning.

Oh.

My.

Gosh.

How big?

You want to know how big they are?

Well! Let me tell you.

According to the computer, from the three measurements they take of each baby (head circumference, belly circumference and femur length), give or take 16 oz:

Emma: 6 lb 11 oz
Logan: 7 lb 0 oz

I'm carrying between ~12-14 lbs of babies. No wonder my hips hurt!

For those of us keeping track, I'm officially carrying somewhere between 1.05 and 1.2 Olivers. Yes, he's the measurement I'm tracking to. Misty and I giggled over it, now it looks like the twins heard me and took us seriously.

Oh and Emma has turned head down again (How I didn't feel it I'll never know.), so they are both head to head now. Very likely whispering and making plans. These last 3 weeks I thought I was patting Emma's head. Nope! Looks like it's been all feet and tushies. Hah!

Eleven (11) days to go.
Or less!

Updated to add: The doc just called and said that they think the babies look great and appear to be anywhere between 6-6.5 lbs each. Apparently they automatically deduct some of the weight the computer assigns them, since they expect twins to be smaller than the computer does. However, the up-side is that they are continuing to grow and they look good.

Mmmmm! Smell that?

That's the smell of mom's rice and "peas" (actually beans of some sort), cooking on the stovetop. It involves coconut milk and magical Jamaican know-how.

In the oven is a huge mucking ham. It's been glazed with brown sugar and dotted with cloves.

Ham, under going clove and glaze work by my mother's hands.

The finished pig. My apologies to all you vegetarians, but it was goooooood.

Sunday dinner: ham, rice and "peas", sweet potato casserole (with the marshmallows on top), and a salad by Scott & Sierra.

Caitlin loved the ham and the sweet potato casserole. Of course she totally went nuts for the marshmallows (can't remember when marshmallows last crossed my threshold). She went on 3 separate tomato hunting expeditions. We have a lot. Want some?

Earlier, for "lunch", we had ackee and saltfish, breadfruit, and Johnny-cakes.

Ackee and saltfish. Barely survived long enough for photography. Caitlin inhaled 3 Johnnycakes, but didn't like the ackee and saltfish. More for me!

Johnnycakes and breadfruit. Breadfruit is the sliced stuff that almost looks like pieces of pineapple. When it's still on the tree, with the rind on, it looks like it could kill you if it fell on your head.

Mom, working hard.

On Friday night it was curry chicken with rice and fresh corn on the cob.

Too tired to photograph it while she was making it, remembered suddenly as we were serving it up. Mmmm! Caitlin had three helpings!

I made Eric wait to dig in. Heh!

Ayup, that's my mom!

You know what I forgot to tell you about? The blueberry cobbler. My brother had all the ingredients for one, so mom made it and brought it over. Unfortunately it had a small accident when we picked Caitlin up from school - she stepped right in the middle of it. Luckily for us, it had foil over top and she moved off it it pretty quick. It was yummy. Too yummy to survive long enough to be photographed.

What? Like a little dent in the middle would keep us from eating a cobbler?! Get real!

Wish you were here, dontcha?

I wish I could capture the scent each dish releases, it would be like having Mom in a Bottle. Instead I'll just have to eat it all, freeze the leftovers and store up the memories.

Mmmmm!

Doctor! Doctor!

I had noticed at the last couple of visits that the docs had asked me if I wanted them to "check" me for dilation but hadn't thought much of it. I just remember when the first doctor announced that they'd be checking me as a matter of course a couple of months back. Today I commented on it during the appointment.

Turns out that once you're within the safety zone for twin births they don't even care if you're dilated!

Now, however, since I am sporting the Cervix of Steel, I need to know if I'm dilated or not. So now each visit, just for grins, I'm having them check me. That's not weird at all, is it?

Today's visit? Still nothing.

I am now utterly convinced that I'm going the whole way. Bitchin', moanin' and complainin'.

Vital Statistics!

• Weight: +62 lbs (A +3 lb jump since last week - no I don't know why.)
  
• Waist size: 51"
  
• Heart rates: ~140s for Logan and ~130s for Emma
  
• Fundal measurement: 44 cm. Four weeks "past due". I think they shifted position, since last week I was at 47 cm. This might also explain the extra inch in my waist size. Perhaps they've moved sideways instead of continually trying to crawl up my breastbone?
  
• Cervical dilation: None. And now I know there won't ever be.
• Next ultrasound for growth is scheduled for Monday. How big will they be this time?
  

Thirteen (13) days left!
Or less!

Caitlin Says...

In her own words. A guest post!

i want a blog too! my mom has a blog so why cant i ? cant someone tell me ? i always wanted one!!!! %=i $=love #=you! grandma pauline arrived just yesterday! i love her so much!

Thirty-six weeks

First things first:

For those of you that didn't think I'd make it this far: Bwahahahaaaaahahaaaa!

Hah hah ha!

Ha.

[Weeping.] Why couldn't you have been right?!

Ahem.

Everything is great (Except for the parts I regularly complain about - no change there.)! I'm still pregnant and looking to be that way for the next couple years weeks. For your viewing pleasure, I present:

The Belly.

Comparison shot!

Look at how the distance from my fingers to my belly button has increased. Oh man! To give you a better idea, at 33 weeks (middle photo + 1 week) I was at 42 cm. Last week I was at 47 cm (3rd photo - 1 week). I get measured again tomorrow.

28, 32 and 36 weeks.

There's still a head attached.
I have no explanation for the continued existence of my ankles. The day that I got hit really hard with allergies my whole head swelled up, making me look like someone who was finally about to give birth, but then the swelling (in my head) went away. Now I'm back to "normal".

One day, I swear, I will give birth to these two.

Two (2) weeks left!
Or less!
Please! Please! Please!

Inside the first 30 seconds

Of her arrival at my house, mom looks up the stairs at me and announces:

"Oh! You're not that big!"

Me [Aghast at any possible downplay of the giant belly I am dragging around]: Are you kidding me?! Look at this thing! [Turns sideways.]
Mom [Now standing next to me]: No, you don't look all that big.
Me: Nuh-uh! Check this out! [Immediately start pulling up shirt and pulling down waist of pregger shorts.]

Nothing says "Love" like stripping down for your mom to show her your vast expanse of belly.

And then I hugged her.

This is just wrong

In so many ways. How do I count the ways?

This article, in New York Magazine, talks about Alpha Women and Beta Men. Otherwise known as Stay At Home Dads.

I have to tell you, I was pissed off by this article in lots of fun, different ways. The fact that they took a very small subsection of ultra-wealthy NY wives with unemployed or underemployed husbands and try to correlate their sense of dissatisfaction to all women drove me batty. The fact that they referred to their SAHDs as freeloaders drove me around the bend, further.

Lots of driving going on around here, but I'm still not behind the wheel.

The one thing I agreed with is the fact that SAHDs should not be considered "saints" by society at large. They are caring for their own children. They are doing that crazy thing called parenting. No one calls a woman a saint for parenting. Ever. At the same time, calling SAHDs freeloaders is utterly ridiculous. No one would ever refer to SAHMs as freeloaders! Ever! If one parent is working and the other isn't, that's just the way things are going at that point in time in that couple's life. If you consider your spouse an equal, there can be no concept of one of them being a freeloader.

Also, the way that the women in the article self-described themselves terrified me. The big thing that came across was "I make buckets of money and I'm incredibly controlling." Who the hell wants to be married to that, male or female?

By the way, Eric has assured me that should I ever make 5 times the amount he is making, he will be just fine with that.

Eric stayed at home with Caitlin for the first year of her life. He had been consulting for one of The Man's medium sized corporations, while I had been working for another of The Man's corporations. When told they were about to cut out their consultants, Eric decided that it would be better if he stayed home with the baby while I returned to work after she was 3 months old. It was tough, too, because she'd just hit one of those ridiculously cute stages and I felt like I was missing out.

I felt awfully frustrated how people that we knew said many of the same goofy things about Eric staying home - describing what he was doing as "babysitting". You know what? When it's your own child, it's never babysitting. It's just plain old parenting. I know that may come as a shock to the folks of my parent's generation, but it shouldn't to my peers. Eric is my equal, right down to his amazing facility with diapers. The only thing he couldn't do was breastfeed, which is why I was pumping like mad twice a day, so that he could feed the Round One with breastmilk during the times I wasn't there.

Biggest fights we had during that year? Housework.

Gasp!

Yup. It was never about money. Suddenly I was the only one with an income, but that didn't make any difference in our relationship as adults, spouses or parents. The issue was shopping and housekeeping and the like. I figured that if millions of other moms could go grocery shopping with their kids, Eric could figure out how to do it with our kid.

We got through it. Eric eventually made the decision to go back to school (finally finishing his degree) and attend law school. Caitlin got a chance to hang with her dad for her first year that few children ever do and I think it has helped their long term relationship. Now with the twins coming, I will be the full time SAH parent and I'll try to do my best. Eric, I think, is looking forward to doing fewer diapers this time around on his own. (Don't tell him, but I think there will be plenty to share.)

So what's the point? The point is that when you take a bunch of wound up, ultra-competitive moms with SAHDs from NYC and try to extrapolate outwards to the rest of the population at large, it's just not going to work. And if that small population of wealthy over-achievers also have a screwed up sense of partnership that's not going to add anything to your "study". I can't vouch for the relationships for the rest of the US population, but considering that it is generally accepted that half of all marriages fail, what's keeping us from assuming that those relationships weren't doomed from the start, regardless of the employment status of the men in them?

It often seems like neither sex can win in the mainstream media. If you're a successful working woman, you are emasculating your mate. If you are a SAHM, you are a slacker. If you are a working mom, you are a bad mother. If you are a successful working man, it is either just to be expected or you are missing out on your half of parenting. If you are a SAHD, you are a freeloader.

You know what? No matter where you fall on the scale of working or stay at home, father or mother, someone out there is going to disagree with your choice. And loudly. The thing to keep in mind is that it's not up to anyone but you and your spouse. Once you work out your own communication issues, the opinions of the rest of the population can take a flying leap. Do what's right for your family. Treat your spouse as an equal partner. Figure out the money issues and communicate.

That, I think, is the single biggest factor that determines whether a marriage will succeed or fail. Communicate. Don't play games.

And don't believe everything you read in the New York Magazine.

My mom is here!

Let the eating commence!

OK, tomorrow. I will inundate you with food talk tomorrow. Today we took her out to eat.

On the menu tomorrow: curry chicken.

Mmmmm!

Yes, it will stop being a weird gardening/pregnancy/mommy blog just in time to become a food blog (With pictures!) for a short while and then we'll be back to my regular randomness.

Wow!

You've got to see this - hand puppets!



Simply amazing.

Um, I think I can make a bird....

My cats understand English

Completely.

Don't let them fool you - they understand our language, even if they don't always agree with what we're saying.

For instance, "Get off the table!" is understood, although they may try to ignore you.

On Saturday, it was early and I was in the little room off my bedroom (OK, come on, you know where I was.) and I heard Caitlin singing in her room, down the hall. At my feet were both cats, lolling around. I called out to Caitlin and asked her if she'd go feed the cats in an ordinary voice. Nothing different than any other way I'd phrase something, no strange intonation, no hand gestures, just the simple request.

Both cats, even before she said "OK!", jumped up and went running for the stairs.

They may not like to hear "Stop that!", but they understand English perfectly fine.

Stinkers!

So far my requests to "Go get Dad!" have been ignored. I suppose "Get me a snack!" is right out too, isn't it?

She looks so grown up!

I can't get over Caitlin's new haircut. Every time I look at her, the way that it frames her face makes her look so mature.

All it is is cut hair! Why is this making any difference in how I see her?

Parenthood is so weird!

She's still very happy with it and was appropriately squealed over by her girlfriends at school. Now her friend T, who is planning on cutting her hair for Locks of Love, finally has hair longer than Caitlin. It will be fun to see her reaction when they next get together.

Happy Birthday, Ed! Happy Birthday, Janet!

I hope you both have a fabulous day.

Thanks to you both for coming out for the baby shower, it was great to see you.

Janet: you looked faaaabulous!

Ed: here's the best picture I've taken of you, ever:

You've officially been added to The Wall.

Now, go forth and eat some ice cream! The Preggosaurus commands it!

The next time you see Caitlin...

She's going to look a little different.

Ready?

Let the photographic journey begin!

To there.

Like this.

Ready?

Snip!

Wow!

There it goes, in all its glory: Caitlin's ponytail.

It was all her idea.

Proud papa.

Little bits of hair.

A little layering.

So sweet!

Yes. That's where all 10-12 inches of it are going. Just like me a year ago.*

So excited. "The new me!"

The finished product, with a style.

"What?! How? Who?!" I can hear you sputtering.

It's OK, really. Caitlin has been asking for a haircut for the last few weeks. She had been complaining about how hard it is to brush her hair every morning! I told her that since it was her hair, she needed to take care of it and that meant brushing it every day. I also told her that if she wanted to cut it, we could do that but that the decision wasn't up to me since it's not my hair. She decided she wanted it cut.

Also, the fact that all of her girlfriends have short hair may have added to it. Last year she was all excited about being the only girl in class with long hair. This year, she decided she'd like it short. Since it's just hair and will grow back, I had no problem agreeing with her. Eric actually had a harder time coming to grips with the idea, especially once I threw in the possibility of cutting enough of her hair to donate to Locks of Love. They want 10-12 inches of hair, so that's a pretty significant amount and a pretty sudden change. I talked to Caitlin about it and whether she wanted to do what I had done last year (and what one of her best friends is planning on doing, following my example, once her hair grows long enough) and give her hair away to someone that needed it.

I left it entirely up to her: cut it quite short and give it away or just trim it up to a medium length and go from there.

Clearly she chose the super short route and the gift of hair.

I'm very proud of her!

* Here's my story, in the time before The Blog. Two blog posts in one!

From 5/24/06.

The next time you see me... (Yes, I've used the same title every time there's a big hair change around here.)

I'm gonna look a little different.

No, it's not the sunburn.
Chop!

Ahhhhhh! The missing 10 inches are going to Locks of Love who make wigs for children under the age of 18 with medical hair loss. My hairdresser thinks they can get THREE wigs from MY hair. Didn't I tell you I had enough hair for a family of four? OK, apparently I over-estimated. A family of THREE!

Caitlin got a trim. Just a tiny one. And a fancy braid.
And she cried a LOT when she saw my braid in my hands. Poor bunny! She felt better after she got to play with the 7 week old kittens. My words weren't helping. The power of kitties is astonishing!

Ciao!

She of Less Locks!