I Like the Night Life, Baby

Now that I am not working anymore, it’s time to buckle down and really start getting ready for these new arrivals. I am officially in the third trimester, my shower is this weekend, the nursery is being painted even as we speak, and my mom and sis are coming to help me get things all buttoned up. The reality of this whole thing is starting to really sink in. I hate to admit it, but after what we went through to conceive these babies, it’s been hard at times to accept that this will result in actual small cranky human beings coming to live in our house.

The girls, in the meantime, have done all that they can to declare their very real presence, even being so intent on their mission that they now wake me up nightly just to be sure I don’t forget while I am sleeping. Thanks, ladies. Their movement in the last couple of weeks has gone from lovely taps and flutters to what sometimes feels like full-fledged kick boxing matches, complete with referee, in my uterus. You can actually see them move from across the room now, and I learned the hard way this morning that if I put my iPhone on top of my belly they can quickly deposit it on the floor. Sometimes if they start when I am not expecting it, their movements actually make me jump. Surreal. They have settled into somewhat of a routine:
7am-8am Yoga
1pm-2pm Tap Dancing
7pm-8pm Gymnastics, including floor exercise, vault, trampoline
2am-4am Cage match to the death

One thing I have learned the past 7 months is that pregnancy is not a cure for infertility. I still visit the blogs of friends struggling with this issue, some of whom have gone on to have pregnancies and some who have not, and I still feel the same kinship with all of them. I kind of thought that conceiving would erase all of that, that we would get so lost in the excitement of being parents that the reality of our struggles would melt away. I guess it’s not that simple. Soon we will have decisions to make about siblings, about the frozen embryos that are waiting across town, and about how to tell our girls the story of how they got here. I have started to work on my pregnancy scrapbook, which of course includes the IVF saga, because to me it’s an important part of the big picture. I guess they will just assume that all babies got to earth via a Petri dish until we tell them otherwise. How long do you think we can put that off for? 16 years? 18?

A note, while I am rambling on, about pregnancy brain. It is, without a doubt, a real phenomenon. I am willing to accept that I am not world renown for my memory, it’s actually pretty crummy, BUT it’s getting much much worse. Example: Dearest and I are sitting on the couch after a hectic but productive weekend. I turn to him and say “Wow, we did a pretty good job of keeping ourselves busy this weekend!” Dearest looks at me like I have grown a second head. I’m like, “What?!” and Dearest replies, “You just said that. Like literally 30 seconds ago. Yes, we were very busy today.” My perfectly logical response was to reply by bursting into tears. Hormones, anyone? Oy.

Anyway, we have an appointment with the Maternal-Fetal Medicine specialist on Tuesday, and hopefully the nursery will be completed this weekend, so I can put some pics up. To my friends and family in the Midwest: stay warm! Come visit!