Labor and Delivery
The OB said he doesn’t like to let moms of twins go longer than 37 weeks. The 37 week mark was my 27th birthday. We scheduled the cesarean section for 37 weeks 2 days. Some twins like being twins but hate sharing a birthday. I didn’t want babies to have to share my birthday, let alone have the same birthday. I made a mental note to always have two cakes. Singing twice seemed a bit over the top for me.
At 36 weeks exactly, I started to have a pretty bad headache with seeing spots and ringing ears. I knew my blood pressure must be out of whack again. I decided it was time to head in to the floor for another check up. It was Wednesday, July 26th.
I got there and the old routine started: all the questions, pee in a cup, strip down and put on this gown that only covers about a third of me, and lay down. I got hooked up to monitors and machines checking my blood pressure, heart rate and oxygen saturation. The nurses squirted gel on my belly and started trying to find the babies heartbeats to keep tabs on them. I knew from the many ultrasounds where the little hearts were better than they did. So I’d point and they would start there.
Between the babies moving around in utero and me moving out of discomfort, we would inevitably lose one or the other from the monitor. I would have to search for the heartbeat again. With all the slip sliding gel, it became difficult to even have the monitor stay in one spot. Once we found the heartbeat again, sometimes Ryan would have to hold it there. Sometimes I had to push down hard to get the heartbeat to register on their little contraption.
Per hospital procedure, I wasn’t allowed to have any food for six hours prior to a cesarean section. Since a cesarean was the plan, I hadn’t had anything to eat or drink for a few hours. Not a fun feeling when you’re used to a constant buffet going in your mouth. I was super thirsty. I was starving hungry. But if we were going to deliver some babies in the next few hours, I guess I wasn’t allowed to be comfortable.
They checked my cervix. I was still only dilated to 2 centimeters. But I was almost fully effaced. The doctor was concerned about my blood pressure. He said that it was time to start thinking about delivering soon. I might make it to the scheduled cesarean date, but I might not. I could leave if I wanted, but I’d probably be back in a day or so. It was all up to me. My body was the problem. The girls were fine.
The OB said we could start a pitocin drip now to start contractions and deliver vaginally since both girls were head down. I was scared because Ryan and I had scheduled birthing classes, but it never worked out to attend. I told him I never took the class. He said it was fine. He and the nurses had done this a million times and if I wanted to try, they could talk me through it. I turned to Ryan hoping he wasn’t all in. He seemed hesitant also.
The OB re-informed me of the risks of cesarean compared to vaginal delivery. I re-informed him of my concern for vaginal birth for Baby A and emergency cesarean for Baby B. He couldn’t deny this, but it isn’t a likely scenario.
Considering that my in-laws had to make a 5 hour drive to get to the hospital, I knew we needed to wait a little while. Ryan was calling his parents while I was trying to talk to the doctor. Ryan was so sidetracked that he didn’t even think to walk out of the room to call his parents. He was talking loudly while the doctor was trying to talk to me and find out what I wanted. I tried to wave Ryan out, but he just looked at me and kept chatting away. The in-laws were prepared with time off for the 37 weeks 2 days schedule that we had been planning for. But they knew it could happen at any time.
I wanted to just make a decision already so the doctor could get on with it. He wanted to go home or deliver some babies. I knew my father in law had his days off starting Friday the 27th. Did I want to schedule my babies birthday around my father in law’s work schedule? That seemed silly, but I asked if we could plan a cesarean for Friday morning. That would give the in-laws some time to get down here. The OB checked the schedule for Friday morning – all booked up. But there was an open spot the next morning. I guess if they hurried, Ryan’s family could get here in time for a 6am delivery.
I looked to Ryan to see if this seemed okay with him. He shrugged and said that his family was getting ready and would be leaving shortly.
My mom turned to me and said with tears in her eyes and patted my belly. “Talk to your babies and see if they are ready.” I immediately teared up. With all the people in the room, I really couldn’t concentrate. I was done being pregnant. But I wanted healthy babies. My blood pressure had stabilized enough that I could be released.
After probably twenty minutes of back and forth debating, I said, “Let’s do it tomorrow.” I felt so much relief knowing that I was only a few hours from being “done.”
I was released with strict instructions for the next morning. Be here at exactly 6am. Do not have anything to eat or drink after midnight. It’s best to shave your pubic area because our trimmer painfully pulls the hairs. Shower before you come. Use this antibacterial sponge scrubber in the shower. No deodorant or perfumes or makeup.
I went home with a flurry of thoughts. My babies would be born tomorrow. I had done my best and 36 weeks was pretty dang good.
I had so much to get done the night before. I needed to do a final check of my hospital bag. Don’t forget the pillows. I have to charge my cell phone. I need to check my email. I need to get the phone numbers for the insurance company. I need my insurance cards and drivers license. Where’s my chapstick? I can’t forget my contacts. I had to make phone calls and let everyone know that tomorrow was the big day. I had to eat and drink everything I could right up until midnight because I was going to be a long six hours after that.
I scuttled around the house doing last minute this’s and that’s. I sat down and wrote my final letter to the girls before they were born. Tomorrow, my life would change forever. Was it really so many weeks ago that I found out I was pregnant? Was it really that long ago that we were having only one and then it was twins? It seemed just yesterday that we found out we were having two girls. It had been me and Ryan for months. Now the next time I walked through that front door, I would be a mother of twins. We would be carrying two car seats and a diaper bag. This was all happening so fast.
I thought I couldn’t sleep well when I was pregnant and really tired. Now that I knew this would be the last “good night’s sleep” I would get for a long time, I could hardly sleep at all. I was excited and scared and nervous and anxious all at the same time.
The Morning Of
After a horrible non sleeping night, I woke up and remembered that I couldn’t have anything to eat or drink before the cesarean section surgery. A woman pregnant, let alone with twins, is hungry and thirsty every minute of the day. It is hard to not eat and drink, but when you start to get sick, that’s no fun at all. I took my shower and scrubbed with my hospital issued antibacterial scrubber. I also tried to shave my pubic area, which I couldn’t see and could barely reach, without cutting myself and needing to get stitches beforehand.
I started to get dressed without putting on deodorant, lotions, etc per instructions. It felt strange. I did my hair, but didn’t do my make up or bother putting in my contacts. Ryan was starting to get ready too. He was going to wear one of his phrase print t-shirts that I think a teenaged boy would get in trouble for wearing to school. I reminded him that we would be taking a lot of pictures today, pictures that would be looked at by many eyes. He decided a plain t-shirt would be more appropriate. Good choice.
I thought about any last minute items to pack in my hospital bag. I was ready 45 minutes before we were supposed to leave. I didn’t have a thing to do. Those were long minutes. Ryan was still getting ready. Maybe I would’ve shaved my legs, or folded some laundry, or done some dishes. But I really couldn’t concentrate. My mind was all over the place. I really started to feel unprepared for the day. But I had done all I could do.
By the time Ryan was finally ready, I asked him to pack my bag and pillow out to the minivan, which was waiting at the ready with carseats installed. And I was itching to go. One last thing before we leave: take one last side shot of mom’s tummy. I look back at that picture now and am so completely glad we took it. I felt big, but I didn’t feel that big. Such a good picture to show for shock value!
Ryan and I locked the door and walked hand in hand to the minivan. I reminded him that the next time we were both here, we would be bringing two babies with us. It made both of us pause for a moment. It was all so surreal.
We drove to the hospital, with the light of dawn and the slow flow of traffic. There was a sense of urgency, but we weren’t in a hurry. We arrived at the Labor and Delivery Entrance in plenty of time to have me slowly waddle to the doors. I picked up the phone and told the woman on the line that I was there for my c-section. The doors opened and we walked in. I went to the desk and they smiled and said they’d be right with me.
My nurse for the pre-op stuff was a nice lady who, of course, knew my mother. The aides and other nurses all knew my mother. Everyone introduced me to the next employee as “Kristi’s daughter, you know the one that’s having twins.” I was among unfamiliar friends. I was there to deliver Kristi’s grandbabies. This was my name for a while. I honestly didn’t care. There was too much going on in my mind.
Ryan and I were escorted to a room. I was to undress and put on a double size gown (it covered most of me), pee in a cup, and lie in bed until she came back in to start the IV.
She came back and tried to start an IV. The first stick she thought she ‘got it’ but the vein blew and I ended up with a key lime sized bruise on my arm for about 9 weeks. She then ‘got’ the second stick just fine. Boy was it uncomfortable. I’m not scared of blood or needles, but that thing hurt! It hurt for a long time.
She asked me all the usual questions about first pregnancy, no miscarriages, blood type, weight, height, fetal movement, medication, contractions, and other symptoms like headache, nausea, vomiting, diarrhea. It was a flurry of boring questions I had answered many times before. Everything was status quo.
I was expecting a lot of visitors while all of this was going on. Since my mom knew the ins and outs of the system and the winding hallways, she was supposed to be there early to usher in the in-laws. Basically, she would be their tour guide and tell them what would happen next. My in-laws must have been excited because they got there just a few minutes after my IV was started. Mom was no where around. I felt bad, but the in-laws were too thrilled that it was ‘time’ to care. They were there and the babies would be there soon.
Once my father-in-law, mother-in-law, and 14 year old brother-in-law were in the room and updated as to the current happenings, it was time to get embarrassing. The nurse asked, “Did you shave your pubic area?” I’m sure my face went bright red thinking of my father-in-law and brother-in-law standing there listening.
“Um. I tried.” “Well, let’s see how you did.”
I went from embarrassed to mortified. I looked right at my in-laws and said, “PRIVACY PLEASE!” They backed to one side of the room and the sliding curtain was drawn.
She whipped back my gown and said, “Well, it’s crooked, but it looks like you tried. Let me just finish up for you.” Sigh. I was humiliated. I was 8 months pregnant with twins and had just met my father-in-law 11 months earlier. I was way past uncomfortable and just beyond horrified. She had no tact or sense of privacy. I am so glad there was a curtain there, but I would have preferred a sound proof wall. She turned on the buzz cut style electric trimmers and proceeded to “finish me up.”
Now, because of my job, I deal with a lot of annoying people. Some citizens I honestly wish would lose the phone number for the police. I enjoy helping people who need help, but some days…! Well, let’s just say I like my “Hold” button. But this nurse topped them all. She loved to hum and “La La La” sing-song style to herself while she wrote her notes down.
Why did I tell you that? Because she hummed and LaLa’d to herself while buzz cutting my pubic hair. Just sit back for a moment and imagine that. Your in-laws are standing six feet away from you, separated by a thin curtain. Your husband is trying to take each moment in and remember it to tell stories for the kids. And your nurse is having a good old time buzzing your privates. Now, that is…, I don’t know WHAT that is.
Isn’t it interesting the small things you remember?
Well, the trimmers were turned off and I was re-gowned and the curtain was pulled back. At least now everyone knew that I had freshly shaved privates.
It would just be a few minutes more. In the meantime, my mom showed up and took the in-laws on a quick tour of the floor. Why couldn’t she have been even five minutes earlier?
Ryan and I were told to wait there and the c-section room would be ready for me shortly. I had to wear a hair net surgical hat and Ryan was handed booties, a hat, and a gown to wear. We took a few more pictures as we waited.
The nurse walked in. “Rachel?” It was time. Ryan helped me off the bed and helped hold the back of my gown closed while I slowly moseyed down the hallway to the c-section room. I gave my mom a hug and she said she would make sure that the in-laws were well taken care of.
As a last minute bonus, my mom asked the charge nurse if she could ‘catch the babies.’ During a cesarean section, the doctor pulls the baby out of the womb and passes the baby off to a nurse waiting with a sterile towel, the ‘baby catcher.’ I had heard my mom use the term before. I had heard her tell stories of her catching other babies. Why not mine? I never even thought of this fun little option until Mom asked me if it would be okay. What a fun story to tell to the babies: the first one to hold them besides the doctor was their grandma! Thankfully, the charge nurse that day agreed, as long as my mom clocked in for the delivery and gowned up as necessary. Done!
The Big Moment Arrives
Once I reached the ‘red sterile line’ where only people having surgery or taking place in the surgery could go, I said a temporary goodbye to Ryan and my mom and was escorted to my surgical table by another nurse who had a trainee. I was fine with trading my humming nurse for a quiet nurse and her trainee. No need to get my blood pressure up any more than it already was.
So, the nurses took me in and hung up my IV bag. They had me sit on the table for a while as they prepped various towels and tools needed. I was waiting for the anesthesiologist. He finally entered and asked if I was allergic to any medication. No. I opened the backside of my gown and hunched over to receive my epidural. The nurses held my arms and stood in front of me so I wouldn’t tip off the table. A quick poke and some deep breaths and I was more than ready to lie down.
“Is this table supposed to be crooked?” It was slanted down to my left side. Once it was explained that they didn’t want me lying flat because it could cause the weight of the uterus to press on my aorta and cut off blood flow, I understood that I would lie on a crooked table for the delivery of my children and the subsequent stitching. It seemed quite odd. But it made sense.
The belly curtain was raised, my arms were laid out beside me on little cushioned boards so they could access my IV’s. My bottom half was now completely naked except for a blanket on my legs and hospital issue socks on my feet. The nurse and her trainee did one last shaved privates check. By this time, I knew any people who knew me weren’t looking at my nakedness. I didn’t care anymore. There was so much going on. I knew Ryan would be able to come in soon, but it seemed to be taking forever. I needed the support.
I can’t imagine what women who are going through an emergency c-section must be thinking at that point in time. This chaos was completely planned and expected. I knew my babies were fine. They had been moving around a lot, probably wondering why I was on a hunger strike. Women whose babies were in trouble would be having a very hard time comprehending what was happening in the flurry of tubing and towels and gowned hospital workers. I thanked my lucky stars that the babies were okay thus far.
Finally, Ryan entered the room and was told to sit by me. I honestly can’t remember if the doctor was in there yet or not. I do remember starting to feel completely nauseated. I said, “I’m gonna throw up.” The anesthesiologist passed a small puke bucket my way and Ryan held it near my face. It was more of a dry heave, but I did manage to throw up small amounts of liquid. Just a reaction to the medication given in the IV’s and epidural. Very common. Well, that was fun.
It was closing in on 8:30 in the morning. Things were ready.
The doctor started to cut. Thank goodness our hospital didn’t allow video recording devices in their surgical rooms. I would have wanted it all on tape. Ryan would have passed out at the first sight of blood, so we wouldn’t have gotten much video anyway. Oh well. This will just be a private, special moment between husband, wife, baby “A”, baby “B”, grandmother, doctor, doctor’s assistant surgeon, surgical tech, anesthesiologist, nurse, and nurse trainee.
I remember pressure and tugging and pulling. My mom was standing by with the sterile towel for baby “A.” I remember looking at Ryan and watching his expressions. He seemed to be watching the clock.
“Rachel, there’s clear fluid in the first sac. That’s a great sign.” My mom was trying to give me a play by play of what was going on over the curtain. Clear amniotic fluid means that the baby from that sac was not in distress. Meconium is essentially baby poo. If there is any meconium in the fluid, it’s a sign the kid was in distress at one time. It’s not great for babies to be ‘inhaling’ this poo into their lungs, but it’s not the end of the world. Per Grandma NICU nurse, the worse thing than breathing poo is why the child was in distress to poo before it was time to poo.
“Oh! So much dark hair! Where did that dark hair come from?” Dark hair? My kid has dark hair? Is this a joke? I was a redhead and had been my whole life. Ryan was born very blonde, but now was a dirty blonde to light brown color. His beard whiskers were reddish, so I crossed my fingers for redheads. I expected a blonde baby, or a bald baby. A redhead baby would be awesome. Did she say dark hair? I felt more tugging. I heard a little baby screaming.
“It’s a girl! Baby A, time of birth: 8:41am.” My mom ‘caught’ her, started wiping her off and brought her over for us to look at. Mom was talking to me and saying things like, “Isn’t she beautiful?” I couldn’t tell you exactly what was going on. It was fast forward, all of it. The whole morning and whole pregnancy at times seemed to go a snail’s pace. But now, I couldn’t slow it down. All I remember was, my baby was skinny, looked quite dark skinned, and had lots and lots of almost black hair. It was a shock. I had a baby, a baby that was alive and well and screaming her little head off. And there was another one coming in a minute or two.
My mom whisked her just a few feet away in another room to the waiting NICU team to clean her off, suction, put her under the warmer, put on identifying bracelets, etc. I could still hear her crying. Mom returned quickly with another clean towel. I’m sure she was still mentioning things about cute, healthy, beautiful for the first kid. I could only hear my baby girl crying. I felt more tugging.
“And another girl! Baby B, time of birth: 8:42am.” More crying. Lots of crying. Lots and lots of crying. I guess we should get used to that. Mom again showed her to us while wiping the gunk off of her. She looked just like her sister: dark hair, dark complected, skinny. Mom was saying things to us about the girls. I couldn’t comprehend them. She took “B” to the other room as well.
Ryan asked, “Can I go?” I told him of course he could go. He watched as they cleaned and took care of “B” for a while.
In a few minutes that seemed like an eternity, in came a nurse with “A” all wrapped up with a hat on. I got to really look at her squished little face for the first time. I couldn’t say she looked like me or Ryan. She just looked like a squished and swollen faced little baby. I was able to move my IV tube laden arm just enough to touch her. The nurse held her up close to my face so I could get a good look. My mom came back in holding “B” and held her close to me on the other side. I was being stitched up but I didn’t care because I was looking at my two beautiful, dark haired babies.
Ryan and I were able to spend a few minutes with them before they had to be taken to the nursery. Ryan left and wheeled the girls down the hall where eager new grandparents were waiting. I was now stuck in a surgical room, getting all put back together. The surgical staff was chatting away about this and that, but I didn’t really hear them. I couldn’t think of a thing besides my girls: my healthy, screaming girls.
The Recovery Room
I was finally just one person again and was wheeled into a small recovery room and monitored for approximately one hour. Blood pressure, pulse rate, comfort level on the 1-10 pain scale, were all documented every few minutes. I asked for ice chips or water. I asked for saltine crackers. I asked for pain meds. I was also was feeling nauseated. Whatever the anesthesiologist gave me was wearing of quite quickly and I was getting very uncomfortable. The nurses said they wanted me to tell them any symptoms I was experiencing. Well, I hurt pretty bad. No sense in letting pain get out of control. As I ate my gourmet meal of crushed ice and saltines, I hoped my pain meds were coming quickly. The nurse and her trainee were chatting about this and that. I mentioned that I was out of ice and my pain was still a 7 or 8. They would document it but never mentioned anything about giving me meds. I started to get frustrated. I was really hurting. I had tried to be verbal about this. I figured if I said I was hurting, they would bring me something. After all, I had just had my guts and womanly parts outside of my abdomen. Certainly, I was entitled to some form of pain control for that.
I was done being patient with them. I was getting frustrated, and in my hormonal state, tears were not far away. I finally said, “I need some pain meds right now.” Oh, okay. We’ll get you some. I was finally given a shot of something in my IV. A few minutes later, it still wasn’t helping. I told them that I’d like to try something else for pain because what they gave me wasn’t working. The doctor would have to order it. They offered me an oral pain pill. I’ll take it! Anything!
Just as I was at my wit’s end with pain and was swallowing the pain pill down, in comes Ryan pushing the bassinet with my two precious babies. My mom followed. I held both of my babies and for the first time. Mom asked if I wanted to try breastfeeding. Sure.
Now, I’ve been a very modest and private person my whole life: partly due to being chubby, and partly due to religious beliefs. (Quick side note on modesty: Ryan and I had a hard time deciding on our girls’ swimwear: he wanted bikinis, and I was adamant that they have one-piece.) So, I never really liked getting pelvic exams, getting ‘checked’ by the doctor to see how dilated I was, etc.
But there in the c-section recovery room, I bore my boobies to the world (the two nurses, my mom and my husband felt like the world) and attempted breastfeeding my girls for the first time. It was strange and comforting to have my mom guide me in how to hold the girls, and how to bring them to the breast.
They latched on well right away. Breastfeeding was going to be easy if this is all it was. They sucked and sucked. I was in heaven except for the pain of the c-section. It was a nice moment.
I was updated on the goings on while my girls were in the nursery. Baby weights were “A” 5 pounds 9 ounces and “B” 5 pounds 7 ounces. Both 18 inches. Baths and foot prints and antibiotic eye goop and the like.
My goal was 6 lbs each. I was a little disappointed. As far as birth weights, anything lower than 5 pounds 8 ounces is considered a ‘low birth weight baby’. So by a single ounce, our little “B” was at risk for diseases and conditions and health problems that “A” wasn’t. Oh, whatever. Did I make the right decision by deciding to do the c-section so soon? I still question it to this day. But then I remember that my girls had no NICU time and no health problems. I was happier to be not pregnant anymore. Everyone was healthy and happy. And you can’t complain about that.
I was almost done with my ‘one hour stay.’ The girls were still latched on and sucking away. My mom asked if I’d like her to call my dad and let him know he was officially a Grandpa. Sure. She stepped just outside the room and called him.
They had been divorced for 15 years and barely spoke. They lived two states away from each other and that was just fine. He came to visit us but wasn’t usually welcome at her house, but could come in for special occasions. Even during family emergencies when Dad needed to be aware of the situation, it fell to one of the kids to call him. Ryan never understood this relationship. I had lived with it for years and knew it wasn’t ideal, but until Ryan and I got married, I never realized how silly all this actually was.
But, there she was, in the hallway of the recovery area, dialing up her ex-husband to spread the happy news. I don’t remember much of what she said, but I do remember this: “The girls are beautiful. They don’t look like your side at all.” It wasn’t a malicious statement, but she was proud to report this. The words she used would be repeated by my father to all who knew their post-marital ‘situation.’ At least Dad found it funny.
I was finally ready to be released from the recovery room and wheeled to my post partum room where more family was waiting. I was happy to be leaving the ‘care’ of the quiet nurse and her diabolical assistant. Hopefully the nurses on the post partum floor would be more caring. We tried to extract the girls off of my boobs for the journey upstairs, but they wouldn’t have it. So, we just covered me up and I was wheeled to my room with them still sucking away.
I was a mommy. Ryan was a daddy. We were a family of four. Nothing could stop us now, except maybe a poopy diaper.
At First…
Everyone starts calling you “Mommy” when they find out you’re pregnant. I certainly didn’t feel like one yet. But now my kids were born, breathing, and sucking away at my breasts. I was finally a “real” mommy.
I was wheeled into my room and greeted by my in-laws, nurses, Ryan and my mom. My sister who lived in town, also decided to join the party.
The nurses had me move over into the post partum bed, not a comfortable task. I was worried about my bum showing through the open gown, but no one cared about me at the moment except the nurses. Everyone was admiring babies.
I got settled and was given more crackers and ice water. The day nurse introduced herself as Rachel and seemed very sweet. She asked about my pain. Maybe she’d understand. I told her I was very uncomfortable and hadn’t been given much since the delivery. She seemed concerned and checked my chart. Rachel determined that it was definitely time for more pain medication and I was grateful. I was quickly given a dose of IV pain meds. She came back every so often and asked my pain number on the 1 to 10 scale. She said anything over a “3” needed attention. I was glad to finally be in compassionate hands.
I sat in my bed watching people coo and smile at my babies. We’d compare “A” to “B” and look for differences and similarities. For fraternal twins, there really wasn’t much difference. Everyone also speculated on who looked like whom. “I think A looks like Ryan.” “No, A looks like Rachel and B looks like Ryan.” I didn’t have an opinion except that the dark complexion and almost black hair didn’t look like anyone in the room. For being fraternal, it was certainly hard to tell any sort of difference. It was funny that people thought they saw differences and I didn’t. There were twenty fingers and twenty toes. Healthy and happy.
Coworkers and neighbors came to visit and gifts. Some brought a pair of matching outfits, others brought a loaf of fresh specialty store bread and honey. An officer who had twins brought diapers, wipes and open bottom pajamas. All were very thoughtful gifts. The only trouble was it was just more stuff to take home. Ryan was assigned to take excess baby and mommy stuff anytime he left for home. I’m glad I only had a few non-family visitors here and there. Things were chaotic enough.
Once a day, the pediatrician came to our room to check out both girls. Just a quick five minute exam checking muscle tone, heart and lungs, eyes and ears, umbilical cord site, etc. I was happy to have my mom there. She knew the pediatricians well and chatted it up with them, making me feel at ease. If there was any concern, I knew I didn’t have to comprehend what the doctor was saying to me. In my exhausted state, I couldn’t comprehend much. If anything was pertinent, Mom could translate.
With each exam, everything looked fine. I was relieved. We did, however, get an abdominal ultrasound for “B” due to the small cyst discovered near her bladder during a prenatal ultrasound. That checked out fine too: the cyst was now non-existent. Quite a relief.
Since the in-laws were in town specifically for the birth, they were present almost constantly during visiting hours holding, feeding and changing babies. Sometimes, my father-in-law would go to a fast food place and bring back milkshakes or sandwiches.
A few times, Ryan went home at the prompting of everyone to take a nap. I, on the other hand, was confined to the room with all the visitors: not an environment fit for sleeping. When I seemed extra sleepy and closed my eyes, the in-laws tried to stay quiet while holding the babies. But I just couldn’t sleep.
When visiting hours were over, the in-laws were still there. I love my in-laws, but it was exhausting having constant visitors and phone calls. I didn’t want to complain because they were leaving town as soon as the babies and I were released from the hospital to go home. They needed to bond with their grandchildren. I could entertain guests in my hospital room for a few days.
The nurses offered each night to take the babies so Ryan and I could rest. We declined the first two nights. These were our babies and our responsibility. Plus, the only alone time we got with them was at night. The nurses again offered that they could keep them and bring them in when it was time to eat. No, thank you. I wanted to be close to my babies. And I knew that the nurses were disappointed that they didn’t get to hold my cuties all night. Tough!
A note on nurses: Some are great, others are not. I was lucky enough to have great nurses my first and second days in the hospital. Day three was apparently all the great nurses day off. I just had to remember that this nurse was only on for twelve hours. A new nurse would be there at 6pm. The 6pm nurse was no better. Gruff and ornery. At least I get to go home tomorrow.
I knew that babies needed to eat just about every three hours and that was the schedule I wanted them on. Changing diapers, setting up to nurse, getting them to latch, keeping them awake to nurse long enough, length of time nursing, then burping, bottle feeding to supplement. It all takes time. Three hours goes by pretty quickly when you’re busy with two babies.
The days and nights in the hospital were a blur of keeping track of things I wasn’t used to keeping track of. Nurses wanted the following detailed report for their documentation each time they entered the room - At 11:15am we started nursing. “A” nursed for 20 minutes and “B” nursed for 25. Then “A” ate 22 mL of formula called E20 and peed and pooped. “B” ate 14 mL of E20, peed but didn’t poop. It was usually a group effort to keep track of times and diaper contents and formula amounts. In this instance, I was glad to have the constant visitors.
Let me tell you something here. When you are still calling your kids “A” and “B” it’s quite difficult to keep track because they still seem unreal. The nurses thought it was odd that we were calling them “A” and “B” and so did our friends and family. Plain and simple: we hadn’t decided yet. And that made things complicated.
Choosing Names for Two
Get ready for an eye rolling contest. We discussed it my whole pregnancy. But with twins, I didn’t want to narrow anything down until we knew the genders at a 100% certainty. We could talk about names we liked, but didn’t want to bother coming up with first names and middle names until we didn’t have to have four names for boys and four names for girls. And if it was a boy and a girl, which of the chosen names would we use? I didn’t want the hassle. So, we waited and discussed.
Our last name cancelled a lot of names that I chose by the fact that I didn’t want something that rhymed with the last name or had a syllable of “air”, or started with an S or was too trendy. I liked Sarah. Two strikes on that for starting with S and having the “air” sound in it. But I still liked it. I also liked Claire, but no deal. I liked family names and went through the family trees like crazy trying to find the perfect name. I didn’t need the names to be matching or rhyme. I had a few names that were at the top of the list, but I was always open to ideas.
We decided on Chloe early on, just because we both liked it. We couldn’t decide on a middle name until we knew the name for the other kid. We didn’t know which baby would be Chloe because we didn’t have the other name chosen yet. Chloe and “Chloe’s Sister” was how we referred to the girls in the womb. I liked Camille, he didn’t. He liked Jennifer, I didn’t. I wanted to name one baby after his grandmothers Ada and Maxine. He said no way. I wanted to name one of the girls after my grandmas Bonnie and June. But I can’t have one of my children with the initials of B.S. So that wouldn’t work. Maybe we could have Bonnie as a middle name. I also liked our birth stones of Ruby and Pearl for middle names, but Ryan vetoed that. It went on and on.
I’d research names while at work. I’d send text messages with four or five names listed. “Mya. Talia. Darby. Jillian. Piper.” I’d get a text message back saying, “Nah, what about Jessica?” I liked Jessica for a middle name. It was his sister’s name. She had passed away years earlier from cancer leaving a son who was less than a year old. The in-laws had a long custody battle for him and finally settled on a visitation schedule that was never followed by the other side of the family. I didn’t want to deny him that name although I wasn’t in love with it. Jessica would do for a middle name. But I didn’t want anyone to think we were trying to replace the memory of his sister.
He said, “What about Lyn?” I said no. He told me why he decided on Lyn as an option, and then I liked it. If you take the last name of SHARICH and the first names of RACHEL and RYAN and cancel out the duplicate letters from the last name (RACHEL and RYAN), you are left with first name letters of E, L, Y, and N. So, we figured that we could have one middle name be Lyn but maybe spelled Lyne. Many people pointed out that the spelling with an “e” on the end looked more like a pronunciation of line. You won’t please everybody.
Sometimes I wondered if the people who kept baby names a secret had the right idea. Everyone asked all the time about names. Everyone gave their input, wanted or unwanted. I smiled and nodded and did whatever I wanted anyway. We continued our Chloe and Chloe’s Sister joke until the very last. Some people got it, others thought it was cruel that we were naming one of the babies “Chloe’s Sister.” Oh, wow.
The girls were born on Thursday at 8am and by late morning on Friday, we were still calling them “A” and “B” until we could decide. Then the birth certificate clerk came in the room and asked if we had filled the forms out yet. I panicked. “Can you give us until tomorrow?” Sure. So, Ryan and I looked at each other knowing that when all the family went home, we’d be dickering about names, again. And this time, we HAD to decide. I am happy that it came down to the last minute because we couldn’t have chosen a better name for “Chloe’s Sister.”
Our final choices of Adelyn Marie and Chloe Maxine made me smile. Now, who was who? We decided that “A” should go with the “A” name of Adelyn.
The next morning, we were finally able to properly introduce our two day old babies to their family members. I was happy to choose family names and would do it again. The tears of appreciation were well worth it for naming a baby after someone. I teared up too.
In Hospital “Baby’s First Picture” Pictures
We were about to be released to go home. But first, we were given the opportunity to have the girls’ official pictures taken. We dressed them in their newborn size matching outfits, which were considerably too big. The in-laws brushed their dark hair in different configurations (that I didn’t like anyway) while I packed my bags for home.
The nurse pointed to the certain parts of the form that needed to be filled out. We spent over an hour filling out paperwork to get these pictures done. We were tired, we were confused. We wanted each baby to have her own picture and then to have the two of them together. Honestly, we got so frustrated from not understanding what was needed on the forms, we almost didn’t have them done. Almost. I started to tear up and finally told Ryan, “Let’s just go in there and they can help us fill out the form.” I’m glad we did.
So, we get into the nursery where the pictures are done and the nurse who was trained to use that equipment decided to do their hair differently than the in-laws configuration anyway. She put a little water on it and curled and spiked it as big as it would go. My mom later called this the wet hamster look, which is quite accurate. The nurse asked if we wanted pink bows in their hair. Sure.
Three snapshots of baby A. Then choose which one you want. Three snapshots of baby B. Then choose which one you want. Three snapshots of them together. Then choose which one you want. So many choices. I thought to myself: Can we go home yet?
A suggestion: To keep tabs on who is who in the ‘staged’ pictures (since our fraternal girls were pretty dang similar), keep one baby always on the left, and the other baby always on the right. I wish I would have figured that out for these shots. Our ‘way’ of staging pictures: since you read left to right, we put baby A on the left and baby B on the right. Staged pictures at home, A on the left, B on the right. Staged pictures of people holding babies, A on the left, B on the right. Since my mom was a twin and in most shots growing up never knew who was who in the pictures, it showed that even years later, you cannot tell. And my mom wished she knew who was who.
We actually filled out our paperwork with the corresponding name of the corresponding baby, but when the pictures were sent to us, they didn’t have names. They had no serial number, no order number. As it stands now, the pictures are a mommy guess of who was who. I’ll never know if those pictures are labeled right. One of the many quirks of twins, I guess.
Preparing for Home
Before I could go home, my nurse had to go through the check off list with me. She went over many tips and pieces of advice. Most seemed like common sense, but I guess for liability purposes, they have to say they told you things like: Your baby only needs breastmilk or formula. Do not give your baby water or cow’s milk. Feed your baby approximately 8 times a day, or every 3 hours. Do not let the baby go more than 5 hours without eating, and this long stretch only once per day. Keep your babies’ diapers dry. Wipe girls from front to back when changing to avoid infection. I was told we need at least 4 wet diapers and 4 dirty diapers per baby per day. I thought 4 wet was a bit low and thought that after all the meconium poop was gone, 4 dirty diapers a day was a bit much. It is just a way to make sure the babies are getting enough nutrition. (Now to just keep track of who does what when.)
I was also given instructions on how to take care of myself and my incision. One thing that is common sense, but I wasn’t told by the nurse was: eat, drink, and sleep. Anytime a friend has a baby, I remind her to eat, drink, and sleep. In the early days, I didn’t realize how much I neglected myself.
I remember the nurse asking me a lot of questions regarding general care, feeding, diapering and making sure I understood. Many things I waved off and said, my mom is a NICU nurse, she’ll show me. I probably shouldn’t have. I certainly had a lot of questions once I got home. But the nurses assured me that I could call the nursery day or night with any questions.
A friend who was due about six months after me was required to watch a one hour long video before she was released. Thinking back, I should have watched a video online of how to bathe a newborn, but I never thought about it. I wish I would have sat down and thought about exactly what I would have to do to care for a baby in one day. Diapering, feeding, bathing, etc. Maybe if I would have walked through some steps at home before the birth, even with a doll in my arms, I could have set up better and avoided some issues I ran into. If I would actually set up like I was bathing a baby, I would have realized a few things like needing a softer place to lay the baby besides the hard countertop covered in the towel. Things you don’t even think about until you come to that situation. Oh well.
The nurse made sure we had enough baby supplies to get us home and through a few hours. I asked for more diapers and more formula. We were sent home with two brand new packages of preemie size diapers and one six-pack of ready-to-feed E20 with disposable nipples.
By the time I was released, I felt pretty confident about some things, not so confident on some others. I was tired and starting to get loopy. I had slept only ten hours in four days. Normally, I could coordinate several things at once and give my opinion where needed. Getting ready to walk out of there, I was having trouble coordinating myself and my bag, let alone the babies and all their stuff.
Things I Wish I Would’ve Done…
We never got our first ‘family’ picture in the hospital. No one thought to take one until we got home. By that time, I was exhausted and in pain. I was also in a horrible yellow shirt and my lovely size 4X sweat shorts. Ryan looks completely scared because by that time, we knew just how much work we had on our hands.
I hate that picture to this day and wish we would have gotten our official first picture on day one with me in a hospital gown. I did get up early that day to shower and do my hair for crying out loud. Maybe I wouldn’t have looked so horrible.
Clothing wise, the hospital offered long-sleeved shirts for babies that had the hospital name written in big, ugly black marker. For telling babies apart purposes, I would have some infant snap-up shirts packed. Maybe I’d bring some very small, soft cotton hats and mark their names on them. The hospital did provide hats, but it got quite difficult to tell the difference between our ‘fraternal’ girls.
I had newborn size ‘going home outfits’ picked out. These sizes are for maybe 7-9 pound babies. Unless you carry to 40 weeks, chances are slim that each kid will be that big. I had average size babies for 36 weeks. They needed preemie clothes. Pack a few different sized outfits.
Another task before going home: adjust the straps on the car seats. The hospital will normally do some sort of extended testing of how the babies handle being in a car seat. My hospital did a 4 hour test in the middle of the night checking for babies’ temperature, heart rate, breathing, etc. But, they did not adjust the straps to the size of the babies. It’s a liability for them. They didn’t even mention it to us. And being a new mom, and as tired as I was, I didn’t even think about it. I didn’t remember reading anything about that in the car seat owners manual. Car seats just come adjusted to the exact size of my baby, right? So wrong! One more task to perform with my doll pre-birth.
In retrospect, we only had to drive a mile and a half home, but I wish I would’ve known to adjust the straps. We didn’t notice it until the girls were about 8 days old. We had gone a few places around town by then: grandma’s house and doctors appointments and no one mentioned it. Hmm.
Looking back, I feel like I didn’t get to hold my babies much those first few days, except when I was trying to breastfeed. Know what you want for your twin delivery. If you don’t want visitors, say so. If you think the more, the merrier, say so. It’s a nice gesture to have visitors there constantly. I really didn’t mind visitors, but the setting up camp in my room did bother me eventually. I was surprised to feel that way towards the end. Carve out some time for you and your husband to spend quality time with the kids. Speak up and ask for some alone time to sleep and some alone time with the babies. Heck, maybe they would’ve had names sooner.
Make sure you get some good pictures and lots of them. Have someone assigned to take photo after photo in the delivery room (if possible), in the nursery for first baths, and in the hospital room. We got lots of video of the girls in the nursery while I was being stitched up. I didn’t know it existed until the girls were about six months old. The in-laws took pictures and that’s all I knew about. I was happy to have the pictures, but I’m glad we have that video. We got some pictures in my hospital room over the next few days, but it was mostly of out of town visitors holding babies. I have maybe two of me holding Adelyn and only one of Ryan looking at Chloe in the bassinet. None of me holding Chloe. None of Ryan and Adelyn.
Hold them both, one in each arm, and have someone take pictures. Pass them both to hubby and get pictures. Get pictures of their tiny hands on your finger and their tiny feet next to your hand. I would dare say it’s worth hiring a photographer to come in, but that’s just one more visitor.
