Okay, so this isn't our "bed stories", but it's slightly (or totally?) TMI in some details. But it's important, people. Trust me.
Let me begin with our decision to go for the one other kid (you have permission to laugh right now). Basically, you have your first kid--who's wonderful--and you kind of immediately start wondering when the right time would be for #2. You ponder age gaps and all that, and Brad and I were thinking that we wanted to start off with a two-year age gap between our first and second. So the plan had really always been, literally since before George was even born, to go for numero dos between September and December of 2015. Okay, cool. That was the plan.
Fast forward to April of 2015, when I was realizing how close those months were and I had yet to lose any baby weight. In fact, I had gained weight. So yeah, I knew I had to get on that. Less than four months later, I was down the 40-pounds I needed to be healthy again. I was ready. Sort of. Actually, I kind of began thinking maybe it wouldn't be a super big deal if we pushed trying for our next kid out a year to 2016. I was healthy again, I still had a last chunk of weight I wanted to lose to feel great, and overall I wanted to live in my not-fat jeans for just a while longer before becoming pregnant again. My sister was pregnant with her first child and I was preparing to be a sitter for her. I liked the idea of just hanging out with my son and new nephew and use those experiences to feel a little more prepared for when my #2 made their debut. And yeah, I liked the idea of staying skinny for a while. Just for a while.
September came (or really, end of August came). I'm still thinking that next year sounds nice, but I'm open to starting to try in November-ish just for a one shot to see what would happen. But as summer drew to a close, Brad and I both get the, "Yeah, it's time," prompting for baby #2. It was time. I knew it was. I had always sort of known that this was going to be the right time. I also knew that it was my own fault that I wasn't able to live in my not-fat pants for longer.
Still, it was a hard fact to face. I wanted another kid, I really did. I wanted one sooner rather than later, this was true, but I didn't know if I was ready to give my body another ride on the preggo train. As we started our first try for Baby Two, I was a total butt about it. I didn't want to lose my body again. I didn't want to gain weight again. I didn't want to get sick again. I just wanted to love my body for a while. But again, I was mostly upset that I hadn't started the weight loss sooner. I knew it was my fault. I had always known that this was going to happen.
But still, I was a butthead. I'll totally admit it. I was eye-rolling, "UGH", teenage girl about trying. I knew it was the right thing to do and so I was doing it, but I was a wiener about it. I even tracked my cervical mucus, my ovulation, everything. And you know what? I totally got what I wanted. I literally had no cervical mucus throughout ovulation that first month we tried, and when I took a pregnancy test mid-month it was a total negative. And then Mother Nature called. I was not pregnant.
That negative result sucked. It was at this point I knew that I was wrong to be such a turd. I was ready for this, our family was ready for this, and it was time. I wanted it. George really helped me to stop dragging my feet because, dude, I love that kid. More than I ever thought possible. Multiple throughout the day I find myself glowing all mommy-like and telling him, "George, I just love you." I couldn't help thinking, "Yeah, I'd like more of this." It was at that point that I made a deal with myself: I was ready for this. I didn't need to get gain a bunch of weight. I could be healthy and happy throughout my pregnancy, even if I was sick for a few weeks and needed to eat whatever to survive the sickness, it would only be a month or two and then I'd feel better again. I developed a workout plan. I knew how to eat well. I was prepared. I could do this. I could do the right thing and still not lose my skinny. It was going to perfect. (HA, or so I thought.)
So the next month I was a total boss. I tracked everything. Awkwardly enough, my cervical mucus was out of control. While the month before there was nothing, October was apparently trying to make up for it. (Yuck.) But hey, it made figuring out those fertile days pretty dang easy.
The very first night we were going to start trying for the second attempt at #2, I was coming back down the hallway to our bedroom when Brad said, "Okay, don't be mad at me," to which I was like, "Whoa, wait, what? What am I going to be mad about?"
Brad was sort of teary-eyed, and I was semi-panicking. I didn't even know what to conclude at this point. "Don't be mad," he repeated, "but I just got a really strong feeling that it's going to be twins this time."
I just got this huge, skeptical smile at first. Even though Brad looked pretty serious, in my mind the whole, "I hope it's twins!" thing is just something like a lot of people say. This was an insane wish to me. Being pregnant with one baby is a tight fit. Two babies? Who thinks that sounds enjoyable? There are lots of people who are fascinated by twins. Growing up you think, "Oh my gosh, it would be so cool to have twins." (For me, having one baby got rid of that urge pretty quickly.)
So, to me, this revelation by Bradley was just wishful wanting from someone who's a twin themselves--of course he thought twins sounded cool, he hadn't been pregnant before and he was a twin. In that moment I bet Brad fifty bucks that it wasn't twins. If he was right, he'd get the fifty bucks. If it wasn't twins, the cash was mine. "Deal."
I over-tested those coming weeks, starting way earlier that I should have, haha. I wasted so many tests! I was lucky my sister gave me a bunch of her leftovers. But man, I was so anxious. I knew I was pregnant. And, lo and behold, on a Sunday--two days before my missed period--we got the positive. I was pregnant with #2. BOOYAH. I continued to eat healthy and even implemented a prenatal workout program. I was going to do this.
Things went downhill quickly from there. Two days after the positive test--the date of my now missed period--I felt the first wave of sickness. I was four weeks along at this point. The next weekend, my sickness was too pregnant-with-Jorge sickness levels. I was back to being so ill I couldn't move.
Though my morning sickness was at first the same level as the first time, it felt even worse because I did not have a job that I could take off for weeks to recover--I still had to do my job. I had a 19-month old son who still needed his mom to function. This was difficult. As Sunday drew to a close each weekend and I knew Brad would be going back to work and I'd be alone again, an onset of panic and fear would seep in. I couldn't take care of my son, not like I was used to. As I got more and more sick--and the barfing started--we had to set-up a feeding station for George downstairs because most mornings I didn't have the energy to get up the stairs to feed him. Not to mention that I had food aversions to everything. For two weeks straight I could literally only eat an Arby's chicken cordon bleu sandwich and turnover. That was it, for three meals a day (if I could eat three meals a day).
How was I going to do this? How long was I supposed to do this for? The only thing that kept me moving forward was knowing that, with George, the sickness was totally gone by 13-weeks, and that was feeling better just after ten weeks. I was going to be ten weeks along just before Christmas. I could do this. Just get to Christmas.
My first appointment was originally scheduled for the 23rd of December, but I screwed up the time and so I had to wait to have it until the following day, Christmas Eve. The only open time was right during a work meeting for Brad, but it wasn't a huge deal so we just opted to do it anyhow. My sister, Alix--herself 8-months pregnant at the time--was kind enough to be my buddy. That morning, before Brad went to work he laughed and said, "Call me when I'm right!"
Alix and I got to Alta View and met with my doctor in his office where we discussed the general knowledge about how the next 30-weeks would go. In that discussion is family history, including that my husband is a twin. Dr. Later made a joke about seeing two babies today. This made me laugh because for my pregnancy with George he made a comment about how the likelihood of twins doesn't really jump up if the father is a twin. I immediately thought of the bet Brad and I had made back in October. Oh dear.
Dr. Later lead us into an exam room, where I stripped into a hospital gown of sorts. When he returned, he had me lay down for a general first appointment ultrasound. Dr. Later slathered some warm jelly across my stomach and made his first pass across my abdomen with the doppler. Immediately I thought, 'Was that what I thought it was?' Half of my thought came out loud as I said, "Was that--?" It was quiet in the room for a second before Dr. Later announced that, indeed, it was twins. I didn't cry. I just laughed and said, "I owe Brad fifty bucks!"
As I was checking out and setting up my next appointments, the word of twins had already spread around to the nurses and they were excitedly chatting me up. Since it was Christmas Eve, everyone wanted to know how I'd tell family, whether it'd be on Christmas or not, things like that.
Thinking of those sort of small details to this very, very large event I think kept me level for a little bit there. Walking out of the hospital, I immediately called Bradley and the first thing I said was, "Dude, you were right," to which he was just like, "What?"
"You were right, we're having twins," I repeated.
"No way, are you lying?"
"Nope, we're having twins!" Immediately Brad hooted and cheered, yelling out to his co-workers the big news; he was ecstatic!
That man makes me so happy because he was just SO excited. So happy, so in love, and I felt that cool euphoria that was coming and going with this news. We're having twins. This is crazy cool. As I got back into the car with Alix to head home, however, it all felt very real all of a sudden and I was in shock. Even with the semi-preparation Brad had given me with his incredible feeling about this time around, it was still just so, so shocking. We were having twins. Two babies. At once. That was just plain crazy. What were we going to do? I couldn't wait to something special or Pinterest-worthy--I had to call my mom. So I did. "Mom, guess what."
I loved how Brad responded, happy, cheerful, hollering to his coworkers--so proud. However, I also really needed my mom's response. Because, this is crazy, right? It's okay that I'm not shouting from the rooftops but more-so cowering in fear at how-in-the-crap-are-we-going-to-do-this, yeah? I was scared out of my mind. Twins--this was insane.