Prom Dates

Good news. I’ve secured the muppets dates to prom. It will be a twinsplosion of adorableness.

Remember the Lovelies? Back in February, Maureen announced was pregnant. And there were two. Twins! To reiterate: DOUBLE TROUBLE IS TAKING OVER Y’ALL!

Identical girls. (Destroy, aka Casanova, is *thrilled* – remember boys, only date girls whose daddy’s have less guns than yours.)

And then a week after we celebrated, I received the news about their 12-week ultrasound – that magical entry point into the second trimester when everything is supposed to be ok. It wasn’t.

As Maureen and her husband were basking in the glow over the revelation that their prenatal Skype session was with identical twin girls, the technician grew quieter. And the minutes began ticking by slower. But hearts were beating, tiny people were moving, and they were completely in love.

“Everything ok?” It’s a throwaway question – simply used to fill the silence.

“The doctor will be back to explain everything.” Take it from me, these are ominous words. Worse are when the doctor begins, “I’m sorry to tell you….”

Five words that turn your world upside down.

Based on the scans, Maureen was informed that due to a cyst encompassing the developing babies, there was less than a 40 percent chance of her little lovelies surviving the 2nd trimester. If there were any chromosomal abnormalities present, there would be no chance for them. Given the severity of the cystic hygromas, medical professionals warned Maureen to anticipate heart failure within the month.

She was going to lose her girls.

She was going to have to wait. Wait for death. Wait for “there is nothing more we can do.” Wait to make a decision no mother should have to make about children already loved so dearly.

An eternal interminable wait – time to decide if you are being selfish or kind. Cruel or hopeful.

And I was angry.

These were not my children. But these were my nieces. And I was desperate for Maureen to experience the pregnancy I never got. Selfish? Absolutely.

This shit was unacceptable. Loss was not an option.

The muppets’ guardian angel, Baby C, had some serious work to do. I was not having this. (Yes, this was my friend’s heartbreaking issue. But this is my blog, and I will rant as I see fit.)

Today she begins week 24 of pregnancy. If I’ve learned anything from being a MoM (mother of multiples), it’s may the odds be damned.

The cysts left on their own. It’s looking more and more like multiples are and adventure in the making. Literally. From the very beginning. There’s a reason we call them miracles.

Welcome to viability baby girls! It’s a fabulous look on you! (And I assure you the muppets will look dashing and dapper when they escort you to prom 18 years from now.)