I missed the Nerd Revolution and I’m bitter about it.

Another blogger posted a thought on FB the other day which is one that has been percolating in my brain for a few years now…

When did it become cool to be a nerd? 

Nerds rule the world and they are the new cool kids.  Sheldon and the gang never have to fear rejection from the masses.  The Doctor wears a friggin bow tie and makes it look cool.  Because they are cool, ya know…  bowties…  There are entire weekend long conventions across the nation for nerds of all kinds.  The internet is their domain, for sure.  Chris Hardwick has not one, but TWO television shows and a podcast dedicated to nerdom.  He even coined his own term for today’s nerds- Nerdist.  Because they are elite now. 

I mean, yeah, I get it, nerds are awesome.  I’m one of them.  (Although, I might classify more as a dork b/c I was never asked to join the National Honor Society, nor was I ever in any academic clubs or anything). But whether one is a nerd, a dork, or a geek, your time is NOW.  You have permeated pop culture.

What’s bugging me, I guess, is that I was a dork before it was chic. And that blows.

I never got asked to prom.  Didn’t have my first kiss until college.  Had glasses and braces and loved Anne Rice before it was en vogue.  In my formative years, in the height of my own geekhood, I was invisible, a non-entity, and I’m bitter about it. 

Why couldn’t nerds have come into power about 20 years earlier?

Gah.

 

 

If Scroogy wrote for Soaps

This month marks the epic 50th anniversary of General Hospital, a show near and dear to my heart.  As I watch the events of the 2013 Nurse’s Ball unfold, I can’t help but want to write my own versions of these story arcs.  (Note: I have not watched today’s episode yet, so…)

Ahem:

  1. After Duke’s and Anna’s sexually charged tango performance, we find that someone has again been impersonating one half of one of GH’s legendary supercouples.  Except this time?  It’s Filomena impersonating Anna!  She’s been alive and obsessed with Duke all these years and has come back to PC to claim him.
  2. Richard Simmons reveals the reason for his angry outburst…  He is Sam Morgan’s father!  He blames Lucy and her vampire delusions for the danger Sam & Danny had been in at the hands of Stephen Clay and vows his revenge on everyone who has hurt his daughter and grandson!  It is Richard Simmons who will finally take out Heather Webber after he is taken to the same psychiatric facility for the criminally insane.
  3. Frisco, heartbroken over Felicia’s rejection, turns to his old pal Rick Springfield for solace…  and finds true love!  He serenades him with a rewritten version of Lady of my Heart entitled Laddy of my Heart.  Springfield follows up with a new version of Jessie’s Girl called Maxie’s Dad.
  4. Shawn Butler, jealous that he was left out of the Magic Milo number, storms the stage and goes Full Monty.  The entire place buys a round of congratulatory drinks for Alexis.  She is named the new Mayor of Port Charles and her first order of business is to declare that Shawn must be shirtless 80% of the day.
  5. Sabrina and Patrick, having finally professed their love, are shocked when Britt reveals that her parents, Faison and Evil Dr Obrecht secretly created both Sabrina and Patrick in a genetic superlab, and their offspring will be born with the blood that is the only cure for HIV/AIDS.  They will then reveal that Robin is alive, but she is succumbing to the virus and the only way to save her is for Patrick and Sabrina to procreate.

I’ll be waiting for ABC’s call…

Haha.

Medicated Mommy

*sigh* You guys.  *sigh*

I’ve been in therapy for a couple of months and my therapist suggested I see a psychologist for a medication evaluation.  I knew this day would come.

Part of me is like, “Sweet!  Finally!  I can be a functioning member of society again!”

Another part of me is like, “Nooooo!  I am Scroogy!  I can handle this ON MY OWN!!”

A third part of me is hiding under a blanket and refusing to acknowledge it.

I’m trying to just let the idea sink in a bit.  Trying not to have unrealistic expectations for pharmaceuticals.  Trying not to feel like I’m surrendering to the big, bad, Dark Side.

I have an inkling that I’ll have more motivation to get out of the house, off the couch, to step away from the TV or my laptop and really live.  I hope that I’ll be a better, more present and focused Mommy.

But what if I don’t, Peeps? 

What if it’s NOT clinical depression and it’s just that I suck as a human being?

What then?

First Blogiversary!!!!

One year ago today, Peeps, I entered the wonderful world of blogging.

Last year I was yearning to find myself again, feeling hollow, lost, alone, and scared.  I knew that my mojo was out there somewhere, waiting to be reclaimed.

I’m glad to say that thanks to the soul searching and creative lift I’ve found here that my mojo is back.  It could also have something to do with being free of that terrible Mirena and its evil hormones.  Or because I finally am seeking treatment for my anxiety and depression.  Or that I made it to 38 after all.

But thanks, my faithful Peeps, for being there on the other end of the interwebs.

Cheers to my second year of blogging!!!

Growing old gratefully (and gracefully)

Many thoughts rambling through my noggin today about aging.  I hope I don’t bungle this blog post.  Feeling a cold or something coming on.  So foggy, you guys…  Apologies in advance.

My high school/college friends on FB are all turning 39 in quick succession.  Yes, it’s true…  We, as the class of 92, are on the brink of 40-dom. 

Within the next 12 months, we will officially be too old to be a character on that show Thirty-something.  Do you guys remember that show?  They were always so dreary and depressed or drunk.  So old and boring.  Could it be that we are older and more boring?

Shut yo’ mouf!

We are taking up new hobbies- running, roller derby, painting, belly dancing… 

We have regular exposure to the newest music, the latest trends, new ideas and themes all through the magic of social media.

We can access the latest breakthroughs in wrinkle erasers, hair dye, teeth whiteners, and 24 hr gym memberships.

40 is the new 30.  I do believe it.  Stop laughing.  It’s true.

I begin to feel like this “getting older” gig ain’t so bad after all, Peeps.

Then, I see this AOL article about a grandma in the Guinness Book of World Records for having the tiniest (surgically altered) waistline.  She looks like Jessica Rabbit, but with wrinkles.  I don’t know why she was so concerned with her mid-section, but didn’t go for botox or a face lift.  I don’t get plastic surgery at all, though.  Whatevs.

It made me confused.  I felt sad for her.  And worried. 

I was beginning to think this next decade would be a peaceful easing into finally accepting ourselves the way we are.  At last, we could be comfortable with our bodies.  I mean, we’re 40 something…  Shouldn’t we know by know that it’s our souls that matter?  Shouldn’t that poor tiny waisted lady have known that way before now?

I dunno, you guys.  I’m not saying we should all let ourselves go.  Not by any means! But shouldn’t we be more focused on feeling good, being confident and accentuating the positive?  Aren’t there more important things in life than our belt size?  Am I being hypocritical by endorsing going to the gym and whitening our teeth but looking down my nose at radical plastic surgery?

Growing old, as they say, is a privilege denied to many.  We should grasp these middle aged days with both hands and squeeeeeeeeze all the goodness out. 

So, if goodness to you is looking like Jessica Rabbit with wrinkles, then, I guess, more power to you.  As weirded out as it makes me.  😉

Clear

Last night I watched Sunday’s ep of TWD (The Walking Dead- not to be confused with TVD or The Vampire Diaries…  Keep it straight, will ya Peeps?  Geesh).

The episode, titled Clear, was so emotionally moving and interesting that I almost didn’t miss sweaty dirty Daryl Dixon.  (Mmm…  Daryl…)  One sec:

Image

Whew…  okay.  I’m good now…

This day in the zombie apocalypse found Rick on a supply run with his bad-ass little boy Carl, and the even more bad-ass Michonne.  The title of the episode came into play almost right away when they passed a hitch hiker on the road and didn’t even slow down.  Their compassion for strangers clearly gone.  See what I did there?  Ha.  They didn’t even blink as he yelled for help, begging, pleading.  No reaction.  What a difference a year makes.

They pass a typical zombie car pile-up, and, in trying to avoid the wrecks, Rick gets the car stuck in the mud.  (or was Michonne driving?  Gah…  I need to start writing stuff down.)  Anyway, they have to kill a handful of walkers and then get out and use a really ugly dress and some rocks to get the tire clear of the mud.  See….  again…  I’m tellin’ ya.  There’s a nice father/son moment where Rick shows Carl how to get out of the mud, and it’s almost normal.  So many dead zombies around, but there is still father/son time.

Eventually they make it to town.  Now, I have no idea how I missed this, if it was discussed beforehand, but the town they go to is the one that Rick, Lori, Shane, and Carl all came from.  This seemed really deep and heavy to me.  I would not want to go back.  It would break my heart too much.  Ugh.  Imagine…  Oh there’s where we went for ice cream after Carl lost his first tooth.  There’s where Lori and I had our first date.  There’s where Shane and I used to pick up chicks…  All burned down, crumbling, or run over by zombies.  I’d rather keep my memories intact.

They head to the police station for weapons and ammo to find the place has been cleared out.  I’m not even trying anymore, it just keeps happening, I swear.

So they start walking to get more supplies and find a block of the town all jacked up like some crazy mouse trap.  Spikes and pulleys and cages of rats and pigeons…  They snake their way through, and nearly get killed by a masked gunman on a rooftop.  After some sneaky quick Michonne maneuvers, Carl ends up shooting the masked man in his wooden bullet proof vest and knocking him out somehow.  This part wasn’t clear.  I totally did that one on purpose you guys.  Rick takes the mask off and its…  drumroll please…  MORGAN!!!!  Gah!!!  We’ve been wondering what happened to him since the first season.  Yeah!!!  Morgan was the first person Rick found when he woke up from his coma to find the world was ending.  Morgan saved his life.  Rick has so few good memories these days.  Morgan represents the first hope he ever had during the series.

Michonne & Rick argue for a minute, but he convinces her to help carry Morgan up to his apartment.  Not sure exactly how they found his place, but I’m thinking it had to do with all the color coded arrows and warning messages leading to his lair.  Before crossing the threshold, they cleverly avoid the dagger pit under the Welcome mat.  Smarty pants.

Once there, they lay him on a cot and start looting his place for weaponry.  Michonne takes a chip break.  “The mat said ‘Welcome'” she snarks between crunches.  Love it.  She’s a woman of few words, and that was an amazingly funny line.

Eventually, Carl whines enough about being sufficiently kick ass to go on a run on his own.  Michonne goes with him.  Mostly because I think Morgan’s crazy wall writing is causing her more than a little concern.

All over the walls, he’s written words and phrases about doorknobs and knives and guns and so-and-so turned or this-guy cleared.  This is where I start to think, hm…  What could Morgan mean by Clear?  Does this mean he saved the person from the walkers, like he’d saved Rick all those many moons ago?  Or something not so heartwarming…?  I’m thinking the latter.

Michonne and Carl leave and of course he tricks her and runs off, or tries to.  I was glad to be able to finally utter last season’s catch phrase, “Wait… Where’s Carl?”  *Drink*

Michonne is, like, ninja fast, so she catches up with him and is all, “What the eff, little dude…”

He sort of gets all Rick on her and basically tells her she’s not one of them, and that he doesn’t need to listen to her or need her bad ass sword wielding help- neener neener.  She doesn’t take his shit and just shrugs and keeps following him.  “You can’t stop me from helping you.”  Neener neener.

It was actually a pretty great scene.  The interaction between them in the entire episode is fantastic.

Back at Morgan’s lair, Rick is reading the psycho wall and realizes that Morgan’s son Duane was turned.  He’s wracked with guilt when he finds Morgan’s walkie talkie.  Ya know… the one he gave him and told him to turn on every day at dawn so he could help keep Morgan and Duane safe…  yeah, that one.  I don’t remember Rick using his walkie talkie since they left the CDC.  Do you?  Nice going there, Sheriff.  Dammit.  I blame Shane.  Why?  I dunno.  Just because.

Anyway…  I’m getting bored recapping this so thoroughly.  How do those folks at TWoP do it?  Pffttt…

Three more big poignant moments:

1. Morgan goes all apeshizzle on Rick when he wakes up.  He stabs Rick in the collarbone shouting something about how he will “clear him”.  This is when I am certain that Morgan means that dying without coming back as a zombie is “clearing”.  He intends to not only kill all the walkers, but kill all the people he sees in a way that they cannot turn.  They will die clear.  He also snaps back into reality enough to realize who Rick is and to share what he’s been up to since they parted.  His son was killed by his Zombie Mom.  He’s hella bitter that Rick never had to see Lori or Carl as walkers.  That he has been cleared of that burden.  See, so many meanings you guys…  Rick tries to talk Morgan into coming back to the prison.  Morgan looks at all the weapons they are looting and is like, Um, no… I’ll pass.  Thanks…  Besides, it’s his destiny to clear.  Right?  See?  He intends to keep killing people and destroying zombies until he can’t anymore.  Clear the world.  Scary and sad and poignant and telling.  All wrapped in one.  This part of it really got to me, as a person who suffers from depression.  Wait, hold on… I don’t want to murder anyone.  But, sometimes you feel so lonely, so lost, that all you know how to do is clear the day.  Whatever it takes to just get back to sleep.  I can really relate to Morgan’s isolation, his fear, his pain.  I think Rick does too, and realizes that he’s not quite that far gone.  That he has more to live for.  That was really powerful to me too.  So many layers, TWD, so many layers…  😉

2. Carl’s whole mission is to enter some walker-ridden cafe to steal a snapshot on the wall of Rick, Lori, and Little Carl from happier days.  He says it’s for Judith, so she knows what her mom looked like, but I suspect it’s also for himself, and for his crazy ass Dad.  Michonne is actually wonderful and not only doesn’t tell him he’s taking a foolish risk, but she helps him retrieve it.  Once by setting rat zombie traps to distract the walkers on the way in and hacking their way out with her swordiness.  Then next by using those sneaky quick Michonne moves to slip back in to get the pic and a cat sculpture while Carl kept the zombies attention at the cafe door.  It was pretty sweet.  Not just like sa-weet, but like, awww…. how sweet.  I think Carl and Michonne are gonna be BFFs.

3.  On the way outta crazy Morgan-ville, Carl stops and apologizes to Morgan for shooting him.  Morgan tells him to NEVER be sorry.  (Um… Carl… back away from the crazy man, mmkay?  Good boy.)  No, really, I get what Morgan was saying.  It’s kill or be killed out here.  And Carl has made it farther than many many adults.  He should never be sorry for having mad zombie apocalypse skills.  But my favorite part of this episode came next.  Michonne is helping Rick load the last of the supplies into the trunk, and she confronts him for his Crazy-Lori’s-Ghost-Chasing-ness.  She says it’s ok, she used to talk to her dead boyfriend.  It’s the new normal.  He smiles and asks if she wants to drive.  “I mean, I see things…”  They chuckle.  Aww… Rick’s making friends!  Yeah!!  Everyone has mental problems!!  You are not alone!!!  See…

At the end, they pass what remains of that hitch hiker at the beginning.  They back up, stop the car, and someone hops out to get his back pack.  That shit is free and clear…  See?

Ahh…  I can stop now. 😉

Cult freaks me out

Yes, peeps, I used proper grammar.  I mean, cults DO freak me out too, but I was referring to the new CW show Cult.

I watched the pilot episode last night, and immediately realized it was going to be one of those shows that are a bit, um…  meta?  Maybe that’s the wrong term.  It’s like one of those stories that feed into my innate paranoia about evil and danger and blur the line between fiction and reality just enough to keep me awake at night.

Ever since I first saw Nightmare on Elm Street as a tween I have feared that the concept of a show or movie could be real.  It could, shut up.  I truly was terrified for ages that my nightmares might just kill me.  Then The Ring made me a little skeeved about watching videos, but…  soon DVDs took over, so…  Yeah.

Now THIS show.  Ugh.  Man.

The concept is that there is a show within the show called Cult (Oh no, I’ve gone cross-eyed!) about a former cult member who joins law enforcement to take down her former cult leader.  This show has legions of followers who obsess over the plot, the characters, the hidden clues, and whatnot on chat rooms, websites, in fan bars (the one on the show is called fan-dom-main or something like that), and through cosplay.  So as a (not-so) closeted Fan Girl myself, I was like, um…  Wait…  I wanna go to fan-dom-main…  I’ll wear a fez.  Or a bowtie.  No!  A space suit.  Yeah… definitely a space suit.

The lead is Alaric, or actually his name is Jeff or whatever in this show, but he’ll always be TVD’s Alaric to me. Alaric is a reporter or a blogger or something.  Alaric’s little brother was a Fan Boy of this show Cult and he left Alaric some cryptic clues before mysteriously disappearing.  So now Alaric is hooking up with one of the pages or production assistants that actually works on the show to investigate the lunatics, I mean, legions of fans. 

In “real life” and on the “show”  people keep uttering the same phrase before either dying or killing themselves:

“Well, hey, these things just snap right off.” 

BTW, there is already a tumblr for this.  So…

This starts the merry go round of over active imagining in my cranium.  Wait, do they mean that there really are crazy people that act out violent and creepy plot lines in shows?  This makes me see other shows like SOA and The Following and American Horror Story in a whole new light.

I need to get on medication, I think.

Right after I get that T.A.R.D.I.S. tattoo.  (Just kidding, Mom.)

You’re doing good Mommy! Keep up! Keep up!

I bit the bullet and did two things in the past two weeks that I always wanted to do, but never had the balls.

One was to get a tattoo.  More on that later, Peeps.

The other was to register for a 5K.

Eek.

Yes, me.  Scroogy.  ME.

I am going to run/jog/walk/crawl/roll 5 kilometers.

I will.  I swear.  Stop laughing, you guys…

I started training a couple of weeks ago with the advice of my friend Aims who is a more accomplished 5k-er. She’s started me out super slow, just walking 15 to 20 mins a few times a week.  I’ve been waking up with Hubby and walking before the twins wake up.

This morning, my bed was just too lovely to leave.  I had to stay up and watch the Oscars after all.  So, I debated going after Hubs got home this evening, or doing something radical and including my daughters in my training.

It’s a lovely winter day here in Bmore.  High 40s and sunny.  No wind.  Delightful.  So I asked dear Lala and Loopsy if they wanted to walk with me.

“To the playground, Mommy?”  Lala asked.

“Not this time.  Remember when I told you I am going to run a special race?”

“Will there be a finish line?”  Loopsy pondered.

“Yes there will!  I am walking today to get stronger and healthier so I can run to the finish line.  Will you help me?”

“Yes!  Yes!”  They bounced up and down.

I explained that I needed to walk as fast as I could without stopping.  So, we couldn’t check out any leaves or branches or dead bugs. They totally got it.  Really, they did…

Loopsy, especially, was an incredible motivator.  She jogged ahead of me, encouraging me to go faster and faster, warning me of cracks and bumps and sticks, telling me I was doing great.  Lala was wonderful too.  She mostly stayed by my side, occasionally reminding me to breathe.  haha.

The only part of the walk they faltered in their enthusiasm was the brutal up-hill portion at the very end.  Both slowed down, both wanted to stop.  But they soldiered on.

When we got back home, Lala even did my outside stretches with me and both girls did my stretches inside on the living room rug.

They even said it was fun.

Who knew?

I am so proud of them, and so glad for the opportunity to teach good fitness habits to my little ones.

I give myself a good star for the day.

Oh, and here’s my tattoo…

Image

Eviction Day for the Twincesses

So to continue Monday’s post…

Tuesday February 12, 2008 was dulls-ville. I kept collecting my pee, getting my BP checked, talking to my fetuses, watching TV, texting Bestie… I did finally beg a nurse for some toiletries and took a shower. Haha. The nurses were insistent that I’d be going home that night or the next day, since my blood pressure was fine. We were just waiting for 8pm for the end of the 24 hr urinalysis and the lab to get the results.

8pm came and went and they told me it wouldn’t be until the morning. So… On to Wednesday, 2/13/08, Game Day, or as it came to be known, Eviction Day…

The nurses woke me up to weigh me and give me Reglan and all that jazz. They still were insisting that I’d be discharged soon. But I just knew differently.

See, Peeps, February 13 was also my Dad’s birthday. Poetic and bittersweet.

After the nurses left, I rubbed my enormous babies bump and said, “Ok, ladies, today’s the day. I’m issuing an eviction notice.” And I laughed.

My doctor came to see me and said that she wanted to do another sonogram to be certain all was well. The lab was backed up so the urinalysis was not complete. She wanted one last check before succumbing to popular medical opinion and letting me go home.

So, soon an orderly came to wheel my gigantic self down to the ultrasound room.

The ultrasound tech did his thing. I was used to it by then. I’d been having bi-weekly sonograms since 20 weeks to check for twin-to-twin-transfusion.

“Hm…” He adjusted his glasses, kept pressing that damn wand thingie on my belly. “Hm…”

“Everything ok?” I asked.

“There doesn’t seem to be a good enough pocket of fluid around twin A.”

(Side note: When we first found out there were twins in there, Loopsy was denoted Twin A and Lala Twin B because they were side by side and Loopsy was on the right. By the time birth came around, Lala had slipped lower and was to be born first- therefore becoming Twin A officially. The doctor was talking about Lala.)

I knew this wasn’t good, and became pretty concerned. What I learned is that another side effect of pre-eclampsia is that amniotic fluid is decreased. I asked what that meant, and he said it meant that the babies had to be born.

So… they took that eviction notice seriously, Peeps. Either that, or they wanted to be born on their Grandpa Doug’s birthday. Aw, tear…

I was whisked to a labor and delivery room and my OB met me there. She was telling me what was going to happen, while gathering various and sundry tools and instruments. Then she said she was going to check my cervix.

“I’m gonna go ahead and break your water.” She said. I thought she meant soon. But she meant now.

It all happened before I realized she was actually doing it. Let me tell you, that feeling is like so bizarre. Just gooooosh. Warm and wet. Ugh.

She said that she was going to observe me for a while and then see if they needed to start pitocin.

I put on the TV (The Price is Right was on) and called Mom and Hubby and Bestie. I settled in to wait.

Here is a rundown of what happened next:

Started pitocin,
Contractions began. The monitors were only picking up a little. The nurses, my OB, even Mom kept telling me that they weren’t strong. Um… Lies!!!
Got an internal contraction monitoring catheter doo-hicky because I was in a lot of pain and the contractions still appeared to be weak. BULL. I could barely stand the touch of the doc to check for dilation. The insertion of this catheter was the worst part of the whole labor and delivery. I was in such pain that Hubby had to leave the room. Mom stayed and held my hand.
Eventually I reached the magic number of dilation or whatnot and the OB asked if I was ready for my epidural. I could’ve kissed her.
Speaking of kissing medical staff… The epidural guy was the most handsome man I’d ever seen. Or so I thought after the pain went away.
Pitocin was stopped and I was given oxygen because the fetuses were not liking it. I was quite worried, but soon after this, all went back to normal. Whew.
My OB gave me one more check and said she was going to go home, have dinner, tuck her kids in, and leave instructions for the nanny for the morning. She said that by the way my contractions were progressing on the monitor, it was going to be a long night. This was about 7pm.
I slept. A blissful, pain-free sleep. Ahhh…
10 pm, Doc is back and checks my contraction monitor, mumbles something about no big changes, still progressing slowly, yaddayaddayadda.
Then she checks my cervix and gets this shocked smile and shakes her head. “You were right, Scroogy… Your contractions were working. You’re ready to go!”
Say What?
I immediately start trembling. Like full on shakes. They are wheeling me to the OR and Hubby looks at Mom as if to say, “Okay, who’s going?” She says, “This is all you” (or something like that). And we were off to the races.
(Side note again: Even though both babies were head down, there was still a chance for Loopsy to turn during Lala’s delivery, so I had to deliver in the OR. In case I needed a c-section to deliver Loopsy. This also meant that my best buddy the epidural guy would be on hand just in case I needed a spinal whatsitcalled. So… there was my OB, two nurses, Hubby, a team for Lala and a team for Loopsy, and the epidural guy. Crowded house.)
Hubby gets his scrubs on and meets me in the OR. He is being amazing, even though he is terrified.
I start to push. I’m guessing it’s about 10:30 or so at this point.
Honestly, this was part was so easy. I give mad mad props to my epidural guy.
Hubby and I are laughing and joking, the nurses and my OB are cracking up. It’s going really well. My Doc says I get the gold star for pushing. Nice.
11:42 pm, Lala makes her debut!!! She is pink and wiggly and calm. I worry that she doesn’t cry, but she’s whisked off to her team and begins to cry. Hubby goes to see her and says she’s so cute that he wants to squeeze her and love her and call her George (from the old Looney Tunes cartoon). Doc says, “George? I thought her name was Lala?” haha. Silly doc.
Since the internal contraction monitor came out with Lala, there was no way for anyone but me to know when to push. So… I’ll admit that I was tired. I rested through one contraction. haha. Whatevs. Don’t judge.
It’s approaching midnight and the nurses are getting all giddy that the twins might have two birthdays. I start thinking, “Um, hells to the no. I want to get this over with!!”
Pushing didn’t hurt, but it was tiring.
11:54 pm, Loopsy is born, pink, wiggly, and screaming her lungs out as soon as her head was clear.
Both girls are healthy and taken quickly away to the NICU to be assessed. Hubby almost went with them, but then…
Doc starts to get all worried. She orders the nurses to give me some sort of injection.
Apparently my placenta has torn or something and I’m hemorrhaging.
My epidural starts to wear off, so I can now feel all the shenanigans of my OB making sure I deliver the entire placenta, owies. I can feel her stitch me up too.
Oh, then, just for fun, I start to barf again. Good times.
12:30 or 1:00 ish, I am back in my L&D room, and they bring me my little ones.
I hold my Lala and my Loopsy for the first time. True and undying love.

 

Scroogy is a Mommy!

Scroogy is a Mommy!

Always and forever Love

Always and forever Love

The twincesses debut begins

Hi.

I’m writing this week as a little jog down memory lane for my girls to read one day.  This week they will turn 5.  Holy smokes.  5.

So we’ll start at the very beginning of our birth story:

Five years ago today, I went to my 35-week OB appointment and found that my blood pressure was elevated and my urine showed protein, so I was exhibiting signs of pre-eclampsia. 

My doctor nearly salivated at the idea of being able to induce.  It was a high risk pregnancy because I had an “irritable uterus” and since 34 weeks she’d been waiting for a reason to get the girls out.  So she cheerfully sent me home to pack and get ready to be admitted. I was in some sort of denial because I asked her why I was being admitted.  She laughed at me and said, “Um, Scroogy…  You’re having a couple of babies…”  haha.

Honestly, this part of the story is still just a blur.  I was not thinking very clearly, still in some weird la-la-land and very distracted, so distracted that I suddenly had no clue what to do next.  I called my Mom and my husband, and they left work to meet me at the apartment.  I sat on my couch and waited for them.  Just waited, twiddling my thumbs as if nothing big was going on. 

Even though I’d known this day would come sooner rather than later, I was still so ill-prepared and just glossy-eyed.  It was happening so fast, I was in a fog, detached.

Mom got there and asked if I’d packed a bag.  Um… wha???  I clearly had not.  All the baby clothes were still in big rubbermaid containers.  We were in the process of buying a house, waiting on settlement, so all of our life was in disarray and boxes.  So, while we chatted, I packed ONE set of pajamas and undergarments for me, ONE outfit for each of the babies, no toiletries, and for some reason, about a half dozen CDs.  I even forgot to pack my Reglan, which was the only thing keeping me from throwing up from week 11 on.  Morning sickness does not end in the second trimester, Peeps.  

Hubby and my Mom drove me to the hospital, where the nurses and OB on call decided to keep testing my urine (giving me a catheter- ugh), and monitoring my BP.  I hope to never have a catheter ever ever again.  Owie.  Speaking of owie…  There was a burly midwife with gigantic hands that kept checking my cervix.  I was only about 1 cm.

My blood pressure stabilized, but there was still protein in my pee, so, they decided to keep me for 24 hr urine analysis rather than jump the gun on induction.   No contractions had started.  They did a sonogram and the babies looked fine.

I was admitted, and sent Hubby and the soon-to-be-grandparents home in a snow and ice storm while I watched a lot of TV, and talked to my babies.  I talked to them a lot. 

So, here I was, in the hospital, all alone with nothing to do but think, and  It still did not occur to me to ask my husband to bring more clothes or some toothpaste.  Haha.

To be continued…