From One ....

.... to Three.

We had one child.  One amazingly fun and joyful little girl.  She smiled all of the time and never met a stranger (and then one day she entered middle school and left her quick smiles and her affinity for everyone, even strangers, at the front door, never to be picked up again.  She still has a great, but wicked sense of humor, though. :)

When Daughter #1 was around 15 months or so we moved from Oklahoma to the Chicago area for a short-term assignment.  I was told 6 months.  Never believe what you're told about short-term assignments.

We moved to a very small, but quaint and beautiful community west of the city.  Jim took the train in to work.  D#1 and I would walk the short distance (2 blocks) to "downtown" of this community, which was set on a river.  It was an old fashioned downtown, the kind you rarely see anymore.  The weather was still coolish when we moved and I loved packing her up, all snuggled in her stroller, and taking those walks.  I would recite her favorite books, which we both knew by memory.  One was "The Big Hungry Bear" and the other was "Quick as a Cricket" (yes, I sold Discovery Toys for a time .... until we moved).
I would recite a line and she'd shout out the following line.  Word for word, with great dramatic emphasis.  She did ok, too.   Kidding!  She was wonderful.

When it got warmer I took her to a neighborhood pool on an almost daily basis.  She grew quite blonde and quite tanned, in spite of sunscreen.  We had a blast at the pool, mostly because we had been swimming together since she was about 6 months old.  She loved the water and especially loved diving down for swim toys on the bottom and bringing them back up.

But in spite of having fun with my light and joy, I was very, very lonely.  This community, although very beautiful, was also very closed.  They did a very poor job of welcoming new comers.  So I tried to visit home as often as I could.
It was on one of these visits that  paid a visit to my Dr. and found out that we were pregnant again.
I could hardly wait to get back to Illinois and tell Jim.

Unfortunately, the day after I found this out was also the day that morning sickness became my closest companion.
I'd never been sick during my first pregnancy.  Never.  Not one time.
Well, there was that one time that I almost passed out after some blood work, and I had to go into the women's restroom, go in the wheelchair-accessible stall and lie down with my feet propped up on the wall.
What?  It was either that or pass out cold in front of a ton of strangers in a hallway, or worse ...... an elevator.  This tendency to pass out runs in our family.  My mom did it, I've done it since the age of 12, my daughters do it and two of my sons have done it.
It makes for wildly entertaining get-togethers.  Sometimes.

So I went back to our temporary home and surprised Jim with the news.  He was quite proud.
Of himself.  I think he pumped his fists in the air and said something very close to, if not exactly, "Yes!  I did it again!"
Seriously.

The days ticked by and I started spending more time in the bathroom than asleep.  And when I wasn't in the bathroom, upchucking what little I could've managed to get down, I was lying on the sofa.  Thankfully "Sesame Street" played at three different times in Chicago.  Three different shows.  I don't think D#1 would've stood for a three-peat.
She was a very good baby and a very good toddler.

But I knew that I had to get her around other children her age.  She wasn't having much of a life watching "Sesame Street" and trying to communicate with a moaning mother from under the restroom door, or on the sofa.
So I found a preschool to take her 2-3 times a week.
She had a blast.
Me, not so much, seeing as how there were many times I'd have to pull over to hurl along the road (the preschool was in the next town over).
There were also many times I'd barely get inside the door and make it only to the kitchen sink.  It became a part of our family rituals.
Jim and I would go out, with or without D#1, and upon coming back into our home I'd run to the kitchen sink.
One night after such an episode I went into the bedroom and looked at him accusingly.  "What?", he asked.
I said, "I am so sick that I can't even make it to the bathroom and you just pass me by and come in here to change clothes?!!"  I may, or may have not, shrieked that more than said it.  He looked at me like I'd lost my mind.  "You do that almost every single time we leave the house.  I'm getting used to it.  What do you want me to do?"
Well, I don't know, but it seemed like there should've been something he could've done.  Like pretended to be as miserable as I was!

I just knew that all of this morning all-day-long sickness meant that I was going to have a boy.  A big, fat,  boy (emphasis on big and fat since my pelvis was almost too small to have D1).

I continued to be sicker than a dog until around 4-5 months.  Which might have been one reason that I didn't show until that point.  I remember coming home at Christmas time and still wearing my regular jeans.  I was almost 4 months pregnant at the time.

Then, in the middle of January, I went to my ob appointment and my dr. measured me and was a little puzzled.  I seemed to have grown overnight.  She said that I was about 4 cms (which equals 4 weeks) more than "normal", and that if I was still that much bigger the following month, she'd do an ultrasound to see just how big this baby was getting to be, or if we were having multiples (I had never had an ultrasound with the first pregnancy).
The idea of trying to push out a bigger baby scared me to death.  But I really didn't think we were having multiples.  We had none in our families and I didn't "feel" like there was more than one baby sucking the life and well being right out of me.

The following week I went on a trip with my Mom and D.  My mom met me at the door and I thought her eyes were going to pop out of her head.  She couldn't believe how much bigger I'd gotten in only 2-3 weeks.  I remember lying down on the floor to stretch out my back and her saying, "You're HUGE!"  Thanks, Mom.
I didn't feel that big, but I was starting to feel better so I imagine I was preoccupied with trying not to picture pushing out a semi, and eating while things sounded good.  I had lost 10 pounds at the point (and gained none).
Two weeks later I returned to my ob, who got out her measuring tape, measured me .... did a double take and measured me again.  For good measure.  Ha!
Then she declared that I needed to come back the next week for an ultrasound, as I was now measuring 7 cms (weeks) ahead.
Back in those days they didn't do ultrasounds at the drop of a hat so it had to be planned in advance.  I made an appointment for Jim and me to go in.
When that day came, Jim couldn't take off of work.  Of course.  Don't get me started on that topic.

So I went in by myself.  And watched the screen while my dr. rolled that thing over my abdomen.  She pointed out a head, the eyes, the nose, the mouth ..... all while I was focusing on another round circle just to the right of the circle she was blabbering on about.  Again, I had never had an ultrasound .... nor had I ever seen an ultrasound or a picture of a baby in one.
But I knew that if that circle on the left was a head .... then the circle on the right was ALSO A HEAD!!

And I stammered, ".... Ummmm ......." and nodded toward the right side of the screen.  She stopped focusing on the number of vertebrae on the left and looked where I had indicated.
She immediately took the "wand" to that side of my abdomen and closed in.  Then she yelled for her nurse to get in there quick so that she could see TWINS!!!  She was very, very excited.

Just as the nurse was running in I announced, "I am going to pass out." and I indeed started to pass out cold.  The ultrasounding stopped,  the nurse grabbed my legs to hold them up in the air and the doctor grabbed some towels, ran them through some water and then slapped them onto my face and head.
From that moment on I could not lie flat on my back, or I'd pass out.  It seems the weight of the babies compressed the aorta behind them, causing me to black out in seconds.
Fun times were in store for sure!

So at 5 months, I found out that we were having twins.  No gender info was asked about, or volunteered.  I blame it on having a soaking wet, cold head in late Feb in Chicago.
Talk about brain freeze.
Ha!

That's it for today.
Yes, I realize that it was probably way too much, but I seemed to be on a roll.
And there was a lot to tell.

In our next episode:  The Twins Are Born!
Maybe.
Unless I change my mind, or forget, or some shiny object catches my attention.

Have a great 4th of July, Peeps.
Happy birthday, America!
:)


P.S.  Again, this is for all widowed/grieving people .... there's a blog that I think you might be interested in.  If so, please email me.  My email address is at the top of this page.
Thanks!