I am speaking at the local Mothers of Multiples club on a panel about the NICU and hospital stays. Regular readers will know that I have *many* opinions on this topic. In fact, I have so many opinions on it that my first stint on lockdown is what started the words pouring out.
So below is a plethora of unsolicited advice: Doing time in the NICU is rough. It’s overwhelming.
They truly are life’s little miracles. (Hence the moniker: Million Dollar Miracle Muppets). Yes, it’s a commercial. But it made me smile.
The U.K.’s Guardian recently posted an article about a 23-weeker. “Nathan was born at 23 weeks. If I’d known then what I do now, I’d have wanted him to die in my arms.” At first glance this seems like a horrible statement – who wishes death upon their child?
(This post is the latest in the recent series, “Down the rabbit hole: What the hell happened this past year.”)
Last year, on April 13, I posted the following on my fledging StreamDoubleTrouble blog.
I am normal! After what seemed like eons since our last visual visit with our little ones, Jon and I returned to the doctor’s today to see how the twins are faring…Our high-risk perinatologist, Dr. Crites, smiled at the four of us and proclaimed, “Congratulations. You are having a perfectly normal twin pregnancy. You are now RELEASED!”
I’m normal! I’m still paranoid, but we are no longer classified as high-risk. My next appointment is with my regular doctor – who serves the general population of pregnant people. (Although appointments every two weeks mean I’m still being monitored very closely. I bet it’s “normal monitoring.”)
Go ahead. I’ll wait. When you’re done laughing uproariously at the absurdity of my bravado in announcing such a silly thing, and shaking your head at the now well-chronicled reality of the situation, the rest of this post awaits you.
Today was a three hat day.
Several weeks ago I went hat shopping with a friend and purchased a lovely Easter bonnet. Shortly thereafter, I acquired an adorable black and white plaid pageboy cap to go with the muppets Sunday best.
For my baby shower (welcome home muppet shower), we got a ballcap with a sheriff badge for our little mini-mes. On Christmas, Uncle Paul and Aunt Steph presented the muppets with their very own USC Lil’ Trojan hat.
And to go with all our spiffy new hats, “Three Hat Day,” a Reading Rainbow classic, is our newest acquisition and favorite quirky love story. I’ll be sure to post pictures of us reading together in our Easter hats.
Midway through a conference call with England this morning, my phone buzzed.
Hi Mom!
Six weeks ago one of my college girlfriends called me. She was 22 weeks pregnant and had just been placed on emergency bedrest. She was terrified. Yesterday, she happily announced she had hit 28 weeks. The third trimester – it does exist! (I’m going to laugh when she ends up getting induced at 41 weeks. “Oh no, Mom. You successfully put the fear of the world in me. I’m staying put. No plastic incubator box for me, no sir!”)
I smiled when I realized the date. I was in the midst of planning a baby shower for my friend who is 32 weeks pregnant. She and her baby boy are doing well despite several pre-term stints in the L&D unit thanks to a klutzy step off a curb and a rather unfortunate bout with a food-borne illness (and the resulting intimate encounter with the United Airlines barf bag).
Another girlfriend, who I’ve known since I was 12, is pregnant with her second little one. (There must be something in the water.) She emailed me yesterday morning (the very same “Happy Third Trimester to my college girlfriend” morning). She is 27w5 days today. If she were in my shoes, her little pumpkin would already be a day old.
I’ve watched Grey’s Anatomy since season one. I was utterly addicted for the first few seasons – speaking during my Thursday night drama viewing was completely unacceptable.
I remained loyal even through the Dead Denny Duquet story line. (Which was absolutely ridiculous, and bumped the show from Must See TV to Must Watch At Some Point After DVRing. What can I say? Grey’s has McDreamy and McSteamy, I have my McStreamy.)
This season’s major plotline is Callie’s pregnancy. (It involves a whole nightime soap arc of a lesbian lover who slept with a friend while the significant other was in Africa, but now the three of them each have a vote in how the kid will be raised plus Callie’s “very special vagina vote,” but for the purposes of this post, let’s just stick with the fact that Callie’s pregnant.)
The term “Muppet” first appeared on the scene in 1956. Allegedly, Jim Henson combined the words “Marionette” and “puppet.” Although another source claims it was just something he liked the sound of, and he made up the “marionette/puppet” story while talking to a journalist because it sounded plausible. I’ll buy both versions.
At 6:26 a.m. on that fateful day in May, as medical personnel scurried about prepping an OR, Jon posted a cryptic status update on Facebook. “It’s time to play the music/It’s time to light the lights/It’s time to meet the Muppets on the Muppet Show tonight!”
The nickname stuck.
