birth times two

When I was pregnant with Harriet, I did lots of research on unmedicated child birth. I read books and took classes. We had a doula. Our doctor was trained in water birth, and we delivered at the hospital in our area with the lowest c-section rate. I was physically, mentally, and emotionally prepared to give birth with very little intervention, and I feel really lucky to say that Harriet's birth was pretty perfect. Not only did it go off without a hitch, but it proved to be a life-changing, thoroughly healing, top-of-the-mountain experience for me.

This time around, I am becoming more and more aware that my experience will be completely different. My husband now works at a different hospital, and if we deliver there, our birth is essentially free. If we were to deliver at the hospital where Harriet was born, we would pay thousands. So the choice is obvious. This new hospital has a brand-new, beautiful mother/baby center...a far cry from the maternity ward of the hospital where Harriet was born where we had to run our tub for twenty minutes to get warm water.

This new hospital does things much differently. Most physicians are a part of a large group, so you really have no idea who is going to deliver your baby, whereas the doctor we worked with during my pregnancy with Harriet did all of my appointments and was called out of his bed at 2:00 in the morning when we needed him.

During my first appointment with my new OB group, the doctor assured me that "this isn't going to be a granola birth." She went on to explain that no hospital in our city does waterbirths for twins. She explained that I will deliver in an operating room, even if the birth is unmedicated. She also explained that there will be lots of people and lots of monitoring. If I hit 38 weeks, I will be induced. Although I really hate the idea of induction (I'd rather let the babies choose their own birthday and I know that induction makes labor much more intense), I'm actually okay with this since the stillbirth rate in twins goes up after 38 weeks. Plus, at that point, they grow better outside the womb than in it.

As far as what type of birth I'll be having, the babies and the doctors will decide. I have a little bit of power in this, but not much. If Baby A (the one who will be born first) is bigger and head down, I get to try for a vaginal birth. Otherwise, it's an automatic c-section. As of right now (26 weeks), the babies are both transverse, but Baby A is bigger.

When Baby A is born, Baby B will likely flip around due to all of the free space that suddenly opens up. Apparently, if Baby B flips breach, some doctors will literally reach their arm in while exerting pressure on the outside of my abdomen to flip the baby to a head-down position. I've heard this is the most painful part of the birth. Other doctors prefer to deliver the second baby breach and will even flip Baby B from the head-down position (using the same method I just mentioned) in order to be able to grab its ankles and deliver it feet-first. Other doctors don't flip babies at all, so if Baby B ends up breach, I get a c-section.  All of this depends on which doctor happens to be on call and what the babies do.

I do get to choose whether or not to have an epidural, and this is the part that makes me the most nervous. Assuming I'm lucky enough to have Baby A in the head down position and bigger than Baby B, I will try for a vaginal birth. I would really, REALLY prefer to do it without an epidural. Here's why:

• I've done it without an epidural before and I know I can do it again. The fact that it's twins doesn't scare me one bit, as far as the pain goes. I trust my body 100% and I know I can handle it. I've never birthed with an epidural so there's a lot of unknown there. 
• I hate the idea of that needle in my spine. When I was pregnant with Harriet, that fear was probably the main thing that led me to pursue unmedicated birth in the first place. 
• I don't want somebody telling me when to push. When I was giving birth to Harriet, I had all kinds of helpers and they were all wonderful. But it was my job to bring her into the world and I liked the fact that it was me, my body and Harriet making it happen. It was such an intimate thing, and the thought of some stranger yelling "okay, now push!" already makes me irritable. I want to feel it myself. 
• I won't go into the complications that can sometimes arise from epidurals, but from what I've researched and what I've seen friends go through, I just don't want one. I want the easiest recovery possible since I'll be caring for two newborns and a two-year-old, so I want as little intervention as possible. 

BUT if I end up having to have a c-section and I don't have an epidural in place from the beginning, they will put me completely to sleep for the remainder of the birth. This is due to the fact that they often need to get the second baby out RIGHT NOW and don't have time to put in an epidural and allow it to take full effect before making the cut.

I really want to avoid this scenario. I'm not sure how many minutes (hours?) old the babies would be by the time I woke up and got my bearings enough to hold them and nurse them. It makes me so sad to think about missing all of that time...which makes me think I should do the epidural...but then I remember that simply having an epidural makes a c-section more likely and I change my mind right back. 

I have no idea what to do. I know that I will get plenty of comments about how the most important thing is that both of our babies are delivered safely, no matter how it happens. I am 100% with you on that. That definitely is the most important thing and the day of their birth will be fully celebrated no matter how they get here. But I do want to be my own advocate in this. I want to do my research, wisely consider my options and make the choice that's best for them and for me. I also know that there's an anxious part of me that wants as much control over this process as I can get and fears that if something goes awry, everything will fall apart. For example, I'm so scared that a c-section or even just an epidural will completely derail breastfeeding. I'm worried about having one baby vaginally and the other via c-section and how that will affect bonding. I worry about all sorts of things like that.

So if you have experience with any of this stuff, I would love to hear your thoughts. Thanks (so much) in advance.

------------------------------------------

Here's a quick update on the babies:

I'm so grateful to say that they are doing marvelously. Our growth ultrasound this week showed that they are 2 pounds (74th percentile) and 1 pound, 14 ounces (60th percentile). My cervix is right where the doctors want it to be. The fluid levels are great. We couldn't have asked for a better report.

But my OB appointment later in the week was a little sobering...and confusing. The doctor chided me for my "excessive weight gain." I have gained forty pounds thus far, and apparently I was supposed to gain 40 pounds TOTAL. No one told me this before Wednesday. In fact, I have been very purposeful about packing on the pounds. Most of the twin moms I know gained about 60-70 pounds during their pregnancies, so that's what I've been shooting for. And Dr. Barbara Luke, the author of When You're Expecting Twins, Triplets or Quads: Proven Guidelines for a Healthy Pregnancy, makes a very compelling, research-based case for gaining far more than 40 pounds during a twin pregnancy. I'm not exactly sure who to listen to or what to do about the weight issue at this point. I'm just trying to be mindful about the types of foods I'm eating and I'm watching my portions. But yeah, hearing the words "excessive weight gain" four times at your OB appointment is kind of a bummer.

how it's going

I've been asked quite a bit lately to give an update on the twins, so here it is!

Short version: Everything is going great and I am gigantic.

Longer version:

We had a growth ultrasound a few weeks ago and the babies look wonderful. No concerns whatsoever. They were both head-up, so I'm hoping that changes in the next month if it hasn't already.  They were measuring in the 55th and 52nd percentiles and had heart rates in the 150's. They're really active babies, which is so much fun. I'm slowly but surely getting an idea of their personalities. My theory is that the baby on my left side will be more of an instigator and the baby on my right will be a little more laid back. We're waiting til they're born to find out genders, just like we did with Harriet. That moment when Andrew told me she was a girl was probably...no, easily...the best moment of my life. I wouldn't trade that for anything...although it's tempting when cute crib bedding is on sale.

I'll be twenty-four weeks tomorrow and I'm really starting to feel it. I've gained just under forty pounds so far, and I'm expecting to gain another twenty or maybe even thirty. The weight gain has really slowed lately due to the fact that I can't remember the last time I was hungry. I'm learning that hunger feels like heartburn, and I'm just trying to eat every few hours whether I feel like it or not.

Probably one of my biggest challenges lately is restless leg syndrome. It has been taking me at least an hour and a half to fall asleep every night, and I'm waking up about three times per night, so I think that the days of restful sleep are over. I was pretty anti-tv for Harriet until this pregnancy. Clifford has been my saving grace on an almost daily basis as it gives me an hour to rest or some extra time to get stuff done if I happened to lie down while Harriet napped. When the twins arrive, I think we are going to give her a stuffed Clifford "from the babies" since he is her absolute favorite.

And now for some belly pics. Brace yourselves, people...

a few weeks ago

a few days ago

a few minutes ago

I think that one of my favorite aspects of this pregnancy is feeling continually in awe of what my body is doing - growing, stretching, adapting. Miracle is a word that is quite overused when referring to birth, babies, and all things pregnancy...but no wonder! It truly is amazing. I am just so curious and excited to see what's going to happen in the next weeks and months. What an honor it is...every part of it...even the accidental peeing when I sneeze, the difficulty standing up from the floor, the snoring, and the fact that my husband gently discouraged me from wearing a swimsuit at the pool today...

every

single

part of it.

being that woman

I already shared the story of my ultrasound at the infertility clinic - the ultrasound I had to bring Harriet to, the  ultrasound that first introduced me to the twins. But I want to talk more about it, specifically about the internal aspects of that experience.

To refresh your memory, I had gotten a positive pregnancy test the week earlier and was having an ultrasound to confirm it. I was six weeks, five days pregnant. Andrew was camping on the north shore and both of our babysitters had sick kids, so I brought Harriet along to the ultrasound. She slept on my shoulder as I walked into the clinic and took the elevator to the fourth floor. I had called the clinic ahead of time, asking if they could scoot me right back to a room so I didn't have to make anyone's clinic visit all the more unpleasant with the presence of a longed-for child. I stood in the hallway while I waited to be called back to the ultrasound room.

I was facing the desk, and when I turned around, there she was - a woman a bit older than me in a wheelchair and hospital gown, being slowly pushed down the hallway by her husband. The tear lines on her face looked like they had become permanent ruts over time - riverbeds of sorrow. I assumed that she had recently woken up from an egg retrieval and had been given bad news. She looked up at me holding my daughter and the look on her face spoke so clearly - Really? A woman with a child in the infertility clinic right now? In my moment of pain and disappointment? I can't take any more of this.

Her husband looked at me too, but his look had a little more anger in it. I could tell he felt protective of his wife and I don't blame him. She looked so vulnerable and broken-hearted. I wanted to protect her too, but without meaning to, I was the one rubbing salt in her wounds.

Thankfully, soon after they left, I was called back for my ultrasound. I left the office with tears on my cheeks too...but they were thrilled/humbled/grateful tears, not the tears of disappointment I had seen on the face of the woman in the wheelchair.

In the elevator on the way to my car, mixed up with elation and shock were feelings of...what else? Guilt. I was her. I was that woman with the toddler on my hip, two babies in my belly and a free IVF in my back pocket. This realization stunned me. I am one of the fertile infertile. I am one of those women for whom fertility treatments actually work...more than once. The mix of emotions can be dizzying - gratitude, joy, the ever-present guilt, even embarrassment. There are worries about hurting others, offending others, selfish fears of having my infertility invalidated because I'm pregnant again.

I love being that woman and I hate being that woman.

But I've also been that other woman with two babies in heaven. I've been that woman who brings down the mood during conversations about pregnancy by adding a comment about the birth of my son after he died. I've been that woman whom no one wants to invite to their baby shower. I've been that woman whom moms can't be real with about the toughest parts of pregnancy and parenthood. I've been that woman who protects her pain ferociously and damages relationships along the way. I've been that woman who unfollows the blogs of pregnant women because I just...had to. I have been that woman, angry and disheartened by the presence of a child at the fertility clinic.

I've been that woman too. And I hated being her. It was so, so hard to be her. And it sure is easy for me to say now that I'm on the other side of it, but despite all the pain and waiting and uncertainty, I'm glad that infertility is part of my story. I will always love the babies that we lost and wouldn't trade their place in our family for a honeymoon oops baby...not in a million years.

As I click "publish" on this post, I am praying with all of my heart that the tearful woman from the clinic is now pregnant and that several years from now, she will be wrestling with these same feelings - what it's like to be infertile with a toddler on your hip and another (or two) on the way.

moms who look good

Harriet had her final gymnastics class last Tuesday. Gymnastics class is always a gamble. Some days she loves it - rolling and running and bending and bouncing like a champ. Other days, she scowls at her teacher, buries her face in my lap and walks as slowly as possible down the tumble track while the other kids patiently wait their turn to run and jump. Tuesday was a good day and I was thrilled to end on a happy note. I have to admit I'm a little glad it's over and excited to start a new activity, although I'll really miss seeing Harriet in her absolutely adorable leotard and leg warmers. It's easily my favorite part of gymnastics. But my least favorite part? Those full-length wall mirrors. One quick glance to the side and I startle at the sight of a frumpy, stained-shirt woman...who is me.

As we were walking out of gymnastics class the other day, in strode a woman with three children. She...was...gorgeous - tall and fit, dressed in an equestrian-themed outfit, complete with boots, skinny jeans and the most lovely half-up hairstyle. Her makeup was simple but flawless. I couldn't stop staring. I wanted to go up to her and ask a simple but very important question - how?!?!

Because I don't get it. Honestly, I don't. When I see a mom looking lovely, especially a mom who has a child in tow, I am stunned. Every time. Because every single day, I look like this:

Yep, I just took that picture right now. So as you can see, it's not a great look. And today I'm even wearing makeup! Which I never do. So imagine this photo...but worse. Also, to get the full effect, imagine my pants. They're my husband's sweats. And they're brown. And I rolled them up about five inches. Okay, fine...here they are:

So that's me...every day. I look like this at home, at the grocery store, at the library, at playdates. I've even gone to church this way...more than once. I think that over time, one just gets used to seeing herself this way, and then it doesn't seem so bad. Until you run into Kate Middleton at gymnastics class...and she has two more kids than you do.

That's kind of a wakeup call.

But that's the thing! How does she do it? I simply don't have enough time! I'll sit Harriet down in front of Clifford and I'll go take a shower (without shaving my legs), sort of do my hair (usually a ponytail), and make a half-way attempt at my makeup. I routinely do my eye shadow while walking around the house, without the assistance of a mirror, so you can imagine how that goes. No nail polish. No eyebrow tweezing. No eye liner. No hair product. And this is my "going out look."

Typing all of this makes me realize how sad it really is.

I used to look better. I used to take the time and put in more effort. I used to shave my legs. I used to get my hair highlighted. But let's be real...even then, I never looked like those women I'm referring to. The ones who look flawless in a sweatshirt and jeans. The ones who can actually make messy hair look gorgeous. I can't blame it all on motherhood because some of goofy-looking stuff happened beforehand.

I'm the boy in the middle row.

When this is where you start, one would think that you could only go up from there. Au contraire.

When I was younger, I would always picture myself a few years in the future, and I always looked stunning. I would literally envision myself from my feet all the way up to my head - perfect pedicure, legs tan and toned, etc. But high school came, then college, then engagement, and marriage (a bright spot, I'll admit), and I never accomplished the look I thought I'd eventually embody. And then came pregnancy - all hope of that look was lost. About three weeks after finding out I was pregnant with Harriet, I had already stooped to this level:

And that's when I decided to grow out my hair. Things went downhill quickly from there.

Honestly, what is my hair even doing?

So now I'm realizing that perhaps this should have been a post about the challenges of growing out very short hair.

And while we're on the topic of hair, let me just take a moment to speak on behalf of those of us who faced adolescence in the dead zone between "it's-the-eighties-and-everyone's-hair-is-atrocious-so-it's-fine" and the invention of flat irons. Ladies, how did we do it? Not only did we have to brave insurmountable frizz on a daily basis but we also got our braces in high school (not elementary school when they're still cool), AND there really was no such thing as cute comfy clothes. But, we made it. Now, I have two CHI flat irons...which I never use.

We often talk about women who have "let themselves go." It sounds like a quiet thing that takes place over time, a peaceful decision one makes. But let me assure you - the letting go of oneself is not a gentle process. Myself is going, whether I like it or not. I never gave it permission. It just turned its back and started for the door. I tried for a while to hold onto it. I dug in my heels. But alas...

So here's where I go back to that head-to-toe fantasy. Someday, I'll have the time and the money to get pampered at the salon, to actually wear the outfits I pin on Pinterest, to try new things with my makeup, to work out regularly. Someday, I'll be tanned and toned and perfectly put together. And I'll sit down around the coffee table with my grown children to look at old photos, and they will say, "Mom, look how pretty you were!" And inside, I will remember that the greatest years of my life had nothing to do with what I was wearing or even whether it was clean.

I'll look into the tired eyes of that puffy young woman in the photos...and I'll feel so proud of her.

making peace with ivf

It took Andrew and I a long time to make peace with in vitro fertilization (IVF). We had been trying to get pregnant for a couple of years. We'd had two losses. I know that a lot of people double, triple, even quadruple our waiting years, but we knew that the heartbreak had gone on long enough and we needed to take the next step - IVF. 

Moving forward with IVF requires all sorts of decisions, conversations and sacrifices. It's a major financial burden. It's a hefty physical undertaking. It's a serious time commitment. But it was the spiritual aspect of IVF that had us completely and utterly stuck. 

In our faith community, there's a healthy skepticism about reproductive technology. I count myself among those who wrestle with the implications of our country's big science and small God. So when we felt ourselves inching down the path that leads to IVF (a place we never, ever thought we'd be), we entered into a wrestling match of our own.

Obviously, this is our journey. Only ours. I am not making any recommendations here. I am not providing a theological lesson. I am simply explaining how Andrew and I made peace with IVF.  I have come across many people along the way who feel much differently than we do about these issues. It's such a personal thing, an individual choice, but one that’s important to dialogue about.

Our biggest concern with fertility treatments was whether IVF was sin. In the beginning, we asked so many questions -Are we not trusting God enough by moving forward with this? Does the procedure itself take God/marriage/love out of the equation and remove God's blessing? When embryos die as part of IVF, how close is that to abortion? These were very difficult questions for us to answer, so difficult that many of them went unanswered. But even with unanswered questions, we eventually came to a place where we felt very comfortable and at peace moving forward with it, and we have never once looked back. 

The freezing/cryogenics part of IVF was a tough issue for me to wrap my head around. It sounded really scary and weird at the beginning and was one of my biggest problems with the process, but I've become more comfortable with the idea over the last couple of years as I've learned more about it. I was fascinated to learn that some clinics have found that frozen IVF cycles can often be even more successful than fresh cycles! Also, some women respond much better to frozen cycles than fresh.

All of this is to say that freezing embryos doesn't necessarily mean that they are less likely to turn into viable pregnancies. If you research miscarriage rates, they’re all over the board, but they’re generally higher than we’d expect. That’s because many women think they're just having a late, heavy period when really, they're miscarrying. I have heard doctors say that the embryos that don't survive the thaw are the ones who may have been chemical pregnancies. I know they can't know that for sure, but it really makes sense to me. Also, even after a baby is inside of you (via IVF or a more natural method), there are all sorts of things that can cause problems - deli meat, car accidents, soft cheeses, overly hot showers, seat warmers in cars, laptops, etc. You do your absolute best to protect them, but there are threats everywhere it seems. For us, the cryogenic process was one of those potential threats. So, we felt like it was important to do everything that we could to protect our embryos (choose a reputable clinic with a good lab, decide ahead of time what we’d do with our remaining embryos, etc) and then pray for them like crazy. We knew we couldn't completely protect them. That part took a lot of faith.

One of my very best friends told me the most freeing thing during one of our conversations about spirituality and IVF. I was going on and on and on about the science behind everything, and she eventually just said, "Em, this is all gray area. God hasn't given any specific instructions about embryos, infertility procedures, etc. You have done your due diligence in educating yourself on the subject, and you've still ended up in the gray. There's just so much we don't know. This is one of those situations where you have no other option than to align your heart with God's and ask Him to show you the way. Ask Him to put a peace in your heart if He wants you to pursue IVF and ask him to put an uneasiness in your heart if He wants you to go a different direction."

So that's what we did. We had already researched like crazy and had tons of conversations to get people’s opinions about what we should do, and we kept ending up in that gray area where there are no clear answers. So we stopped focusing on the science and the debate surrounding IVF and put that energy toward our relationships with God. We spent extra time reading Scripture. We talked to God all the time. We made sure that our hearts were as aligned with His as they'd ever been, and we begged Him to take away the peace that He had already placed in our hearts if He didn't want us to do IVF.

At one point during our decision-making process, I pictured myself in heaven having a conversation with God. I imagined Him telling me that the IVF that brought us Harriet was a sin. This probably sounds a bit heretical to even say, but I imagined myself stating my case to Him. I imagined myself describing the way that I put myself out there and pursued Him like crazy and sought His heart and mind on this issue. I imagined myself asking Him why He didn't take away that peace. I just couldn’t imagine God frowning on us for doing something that we had decided to do after such soul-searching and while really, truly, fully pursuing holiness in this. That imagery of having that conversation with God gave me an even more intense peace about it.

Lastly, when we finally decided to do IVF, we created very firm parameters around it. We decided that we would give every single embryo the very best chance at life, whatever that looked like. We decided that we were uncomfortable with the idea of selective reduction. We felt like God had been very faithful in leading us to this decision, and we wanted to be just as faithful in our part of it.

I was talking to a friend about the spiritual aspects of IVF this past summer, and she made an excellent point, one I’d never considered before. She said that what is sin for one person isn't always sin for another person. So the fact that we did IVF and have a peace about it and some friends of ours have decided against IVF for spiritual/ethical reasons doesn’t necessarily mean that anyone is going against God’s direction. Maybe, for whatever reason, God calls certain people to something else, so pursing IVF would be wrong for them. It took me a while to wrap my head around this concept but the more I thought about it, the more sense it made to me. I can think of examples of other things in life that would be a sin for me but wouldn't be a sin for other people, or vice versa. Like some people can have a couple drinks and it's just fine, but other people have been called to complete sobriety so even one drink is a sin for them. Maybe IVF is the same way.

As far as books and other resources on this topic, I haven't come across much. I think that the ethical/spiritual part of IVF is something that people stray away from for fear of offending people and/or being judged. I really wish that there were more resources out there. I did read one book about the ethics of reproductive technology. It was very black-and-white about the issue and discouraged readers from doing anything in that gray area. Is that probably the "safest" way to go? Some would say yes. They would ask why you'd even want to walk that line of "is it sin or is it not?" To us, the science and academics behind all of this stuff just wasn't cutting it. We needed to feel and experience God's answer in our hearts/souls/bodies rather than keeping it all in our head. So we went a different direction than the book recommended...and I'm fine with that. To me, that felt safer than just having a blanket, black-and-white answer...but many would disagree with that. Again, I wish that there were more resources out there for people who are wrestling with these questions. If you know of any, let me know!

To those of you who are in the midst of this decision, my heart is with you. It’s a tough thing to feel that the thing your heart longs for the most might be in conflict with the One who holds your heart in His hands. I wish I had concrete answers to the many questions that arise around IVF and spirituality, but I don’t. All I have is my own story. Hope it was helpful.

for real

Hello, friends...we have quite a bit of catching up to do.

We had our last IUI (intrauterine insemination) in August. It was a "hail Mary" cycle. We knew it wouldn't work. It never had before. We were fixing our eyes on IVF and this IUI was our method of killing time until we could take the plunge.

I didn't get a beta (blood pregnancy test) done after the two-week wait because I never do. Those beta days are the worst. I'd much rather find out that I'm not pregnant at home, in my own bathroom, by myself than over the phone with a nurse I've never met. But my period was late...and then later...and later.

One morning, while Andrew was finishing up his night shift at the hospital, Harriet and I went to Walmart for a pregnancy test. I got there just as they were opening and I seemed to be the only one in the store besides the two young check-out girls. One of them attempted to put my purchase in a bag, and I told her I didn't need a bag.

"I bet you're going right into that bathroom to take it," said the other.

"Yes, I am," I replied.

"What are you hoping for?"

"I really, really want it to be positive," I said, and I told them a little bit of my story.

I entered the bathroom, set Harriet down far away from the toilets and told her not to touch anything. I unwrapped the pregnancy test with shaky hands and left the stall door open as I did my thing. The digital hourglass blinked and blinked and blinked...forever. And then I saw something flash onto that screen for the very first time - pregnant.

And then I sobbed.

"Mama's crying because she's happy. Mama's crying because she's happy," I told my concerned daughter over and over.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," I told a less-than-concerned God.

I composed myself and walked out of the bathroom where the two check-out girls were nervously waiting.

"It's positive," I said, and they seemed very happy to be the first to know.

I strapped Harriet back into her carseat while taking deep, tear-filled breaths and settled myself in the driver's seat before deciding that I needed to go back in for donuts. But first, I texted Andrew...

Just got my period. What a bummer. 

We were going to meet him at a playground, so I quickly planned a fun way to share the news. I'd have Harriet at the top of a curly slide and he'd be at the bottom to catch her. But rather than sending her down, I'd slide the pregnancy test down. Well, like most plans that involve children, this one never panned out because Harriet was zonked in the back of the car when he got to the park. Instead, I just took the test out of the waistband of my shorts and handed it to him.

"You're joking," he said. And he cried.

The next day, I had a beta drawn. Two-hundred-something.

Two days later, I had another one. Four-hundred-something.

We scheduled an ultrasound for about eight weeks but I couldn't wait that long. My doctor agreed to see me just short of seven weeks. Unfortunately, Andrew was hiking the Superior Hiking Trail with my brother and we hadn't told our families yet. Also, hand foot and mouth disease was hitting our community hard around that time, so all of my babysitters were out of commission with sick babies of their own to care for. I had one option - to bring Harriet with me.

She fell asleep on the way to the appointment, so I picked her up and carried her into the clinic. I had called the front desk to warn them that I was bringing my daughter and to ask if it would be possible for me to be taken directly back to an ultrasound room if one was available. I've never brought Harriet to an appointment before and I fully support the no kids allowed rule, so I wanted to be as respectful as possible under the circumstances. There wasn't a room available, which I found odd since the waiting room was empty. I stood there in the fertility clinic waiting room with my lovely little daughter sleeping soundly in my shoulder and (hopefully) another baby in my belly. And all of a sudden, I was that woman...something for another day, another post...something that has been on my heart so heavily during this blogging absence.

They called me back and I managed to somehow undress and situate myself on the table, all the while snuggling my sleeping dear. In came the doctor and ultrasound tech and I told them what I always tell them, "As soon as you have any information, tell me. I get really freaked out when you're silent."

I couldn't really see the screen because Harriet's head was in the way, but I did see the ultrasound tech flash the doctor a sideways peace sign, and that was enough for me to crank my neck around the top of Harriet's head to see two black blobs on the screen, each with its own teeny heartbeat, fluttering away.

More tears. More gratitude wrapped in disbelief.

The next twenty-four hours were tough because I couldn't get ahold of Andrew over the phone and I didn't want to tell him we were having twins via text. The next day, Harriet and I drove up to Duluth with the rest of my family to meet Andrew and my brother for a weekend away. They still didn't know I was pregnant. When we got to the hotel, I pulled Andrew into the bathroom and told him that I wanted him to see the ultrasound picture before we shared the news with my family. I took the grainy photo out of the envelope and handed it to him. He stared at it for a few seconds before the "twin A" and "twin B" labels clicked. "Nuh-uh," he said and stared at me with wide, wide eyes. More tears. This time, some laughter too.

So, that's what's been happening during my absence. Oh, and I took (and passed...whew) my final licensing exam. And we moved three days ago. It's been an intense couple of months, and I'm finally starting to feel like I'm catching up with life. I swore off blogging during my studying period and it was pretty much impossible to get any writing done during the move, but I know that the real reason I put off posting about this pregnancy is the fact that I have been waiting for similar announcements from my blogging friends. I have been praying and dreaming that somehow, someway Caroline, Amanda, Risa, Suz, Liz, Annie, Jessah and all of my other dear friends online and in "real life" would be able to make announcements of their own first. I knew it couldn't happen - not for all of you and not all at once - but every time I sat down to type this post, I couldn't get your faces out of my mind. I am so glad that I have returned to the blogosphere now so that I can at least offer some support and encouragement. I am with you in this.

So here I sit - thirteen weeks pregnant (but looking about twenty-five), in a new home (which I love but still feels like someone else's), with tears in my eyes because as silly as it sounds, in posting this entry, I truly feel like I'm coming home.

love

"When do you think Andrew will propose?" asked a good friend.

Truth is, I hadn't really thought about marrying him yet. We had never said the words engaged or marriage. We hadn't discussed how many children we'd like to have or where we'd want to live. Andrew had purchased a townhouse two weeks before and although he took me to see it once before finalizing the deal, it was his home. I hadn't pictured myself cooking in the kitchen or decorating the bedroom.

I threw out a wild guess. "Hmm...maybe next summer?"

Little did I know that just two days later, I'd lug a laundry basket into my deserted dorm room, covered head-to-toe in flour from a day of Christmas cookie baking, to find eight dozen roses, a bottle of my favorite perfume, a lovely dress I'd been eyeing for weeks, a pair of delicate silver heals, and a handwritten letter tied up like a scroll. The letter told me to get myself ready and meet him at the bench on campus where he first told me he loved me. I knew just where to go.

Lots of candles.
Lots of flowers.
Sweet words I've long forgotten.
And a ring.

And so it began...No, that's not right. Our story began long before that moment. Long before we met for the first time, close to midnight in my freshman dorm room - no makeup, hair a mess, ratty pajama shorts and glasses, studying at my desk. He said hi from the doorway and I startled like one of those fainting goats. Yep, romance was already in the air.

Our story started long before I was a goofy high school student whose only dating prospect was a guy who left a sickly flower in my locker with a note that said "when I seen this rose, I think of you." It started long before I hurriedly made my way to the front of the auditorium with the rest of the summer campers to pick out my "promise key," thinking, Okay...yeah, I won't have sex til I'm married but do I seriously need to wear a Chevrolet key on a fake leather string around my neck?

I think our story may have started with a wild-haired little girl, asleep in the pre-dawn stillness, only aware of her dad's hand on her little head, praying for her daily before he left for work - praying that she would know God intimately and live life joyfully, and also praying for another child somewhere out there in the world whom God was already preparing to hold her hand through the brightest and darkest moments of life. My dad prayed for me and for Andrew every single day from the time I was born. If our journey was a storybook, those whispered prayers would grace page one.

We prepared for our wedding, looking so young and thin and tan and not even realizing that a few short years later, we'd look more like...parents.

And then, six years ago today, there was a wedding. Our very own heavenly day.

Marriage is beautiful. A most precious gift. But it is certainly...certainly one we have to fight for. I can be annoyingly persistent during arguments, refusing to let things go until they are fully resolved...whatever that means. I am perpetually late and always have a half-baked excuse. I tend to over-promise and under-deliver. I'm hard on our belongings, mindlessly slamming down faucets til they leak or denting walls with my carelessness.

And my husband...is wonderful. He cooks deliciously, cleans efficiently, takes care of everything automotive, manages our bills and finances, works his butt off to provide for us, makes me laugh all the time, tells me I'm beautiful, is fully engaged in parenting, has a generous servant's heart...and he drives me crazy. His communication skills leave something to be desired, although he's getting better every year. His pride can sometimes overshadow his gracious nature. When he's tired, he gets bossy and critical. Our fights can feel incredibly unproductive, almost one-sided. We get angrier and angier - him shutting down and me pushing the issue until neither of us have a clue what we're fighting about or how we'll know when it's over. In the ugliest moments, we sling the "d-word" at one another like a hand grenade with an intact pin.

Even six years in, sometimes we suck at marriage.

But six years in, this is exactly where I want to be. With my man and our girl and our pup. We have lots of chapters ahead of us. A new home is on the horizon, and hopefully we'll follow up that chapter with one about another pregnancy, a new baby.

I read this quote by Shauna Niequist the other day...and then I read it again and again and again. Maybe some of you can relate.

"I had thought that we became a family on the day we were married. What I have found, though, is that the web starts as just one fine filament on that day, and spins and spins around us as life presents itself to us day by day. And on some days, the strands spin around us double-time, spinning us like a top and binding us like rubber cement."

Oh how I feel that! Dizzy from the spinning, sticky with that glue.

And this quote, authored by an unknown poet, I'll leave just for Andrew...

"I cannot take the chance that you don't know how much it means to me - you carrying my hopes like precious cargo and traveling with me to dreams come true. So I will tell you again and again as if it were the first time - it is an honor, it is a privilege, it is a joy to share with you the path."