This will probably be the last blog I write before I go into labor with the boys. I keep hoping they'll make their debut early but even though I'm dilated and like 50% effaced, they're hanging in there...the stubborn cusses. If I knew my neighbors better I'd start galloping up and down our road while eating pineapple or something but they already throw us weird looks as it is so I'm just going to sit here and sulk that these boys apparently want to hang in there til the last possible minute.
It definitely doesn't help that everyone has been prepping for this birth like its our first rodeo. Don't get me wrong, I really appreciate all the help and warm wishes and prayers, but when you're ready to go into labor, you never actually do. I think I jinxed us the day I started the nursery...although, come to think of it, that was D's suggestion so I'm gonna blame that on him. Also, my father-in-law just left after staying with us for a few days in case I went into labor and had to book it 75 miles to the hospital where my specialist would deliver me--which was basically money in the bank that I wouldn't go into labor. So while, again, it was really nice having him here to help out with the girls, it didn't make my pregnancy any shorter.
I really wanted to savor this pregnancy, I really did. I knew once finding out I was pregnant that it would be my last go-round and I was determined to enjoy it. Alas, I'm not built in such a way that an alien invading my body (much less two of them) is cause for celebration. I mean, it's been nice cramming whatever the heck I want down my gullet, but even that has gotten old the last few weeks. Turns out you can't really enjoy a McDonald's splurge if your stomach is being wadded into a teeny tiny little ball by 2 squirmy little bodies.
And they are squirmy. At the hospital I've been going through bi-weekly NSTs and the nurses always marvel that the boys are able to move around so much...just another reason I'm considering grounding them when they come out--Momma can't sleep when the babies are performing their own special in-utero acrobatic show.
It is nice that I can kind of tell their personalities already though. Baby A is a sloth and I rarely feel him move. On the ultrasound you can see he is jabbing a lot, but instead of on my bladder and lungs, hes kicking and punching his brother, who always has his butt in Baby A's face. Baby B literally falls off the NST monitor 15 times in 12 minutes because he is kicking and wiggling so much. Thankfully, at this last appointment they were both head-down, so we're hoping we can avoid a c-section.
One question I get a lot is how we plan on telling them apart. A lot of people go the route of, "Oh, well I'm sure you and D will be able to tell, but how will other people know which one is which?!" Um, hello people. I'm the chick who spent the first EIGHT MONTHS of my second kid's life waiting for her to turn into her older sister. You really think I'll be able to tell which twin is which simply by looking?! Not gonna happen.
Today I bought these...which I'm hoping will help for a while anyway. Do you think the nurses and doctors in the hospital will judge me if I pack them in my overnight bag?
And on top of that, we're not gonna do matchy-matchy on their clothes. I mean, my mother will be DEVASTATED to learn that her grandson's will not look like they stepped out of a Twins-R-Us catalogue, but if for no other reason than my sanity, I will be dressing my kids as differently as possible. I still haven't ruled out dressing one in only blue and the other in only green or brown. I'm sure that might impact their psyche or development or something, but at least they'll know their own name when it comes to discussing things with their therapists.