I was busy composing an e-mail to the Principal of the elementary school yesterday afternoon regarding Emily’s participation in the enhanced learning program next year when I looked over and witnessed the exact opposite of intellectual superiority. The twins, Cameron and Quincy, were taking turns giving each other a wedgie and laughing hysterically. I just knew it would be a matter of time before one of them got hurt and sure enough, it was Quincy who damn near permanently altered Cameron’s anatomy when she managed to pull the underwear all the way up to the back of Cameron’s head. The look on Cameron’s face went from, “Oh my God, this is so. darn. funny.” to “Oh my God, my butt crack is on fire!”
Something tells me that I won’t be composing a similar e-mail to the Principal on behalf of these two down the road. If they even survive that long.
To be honest, I can’t believe that we’ve made it this far…ALL of us. They turn five today and though I still vividly remember the horror of breastfeeding two at one time (Greg managed to snap a picture once and y’all can exhale because I’m never posting that sucker, not in a million years), trying eight grillion (yes, there is such a number) ways to soothe two babies with colic, and changing what now seems like an Everest-like mountain of crappy diapers, it really did go by in the blink of an eye.
Believe it or not, we were actually sober when we decided to add to our little family of four. For the conception, not so much, but definitely sober for the decision to have one more. Greg wanted to close out our hat trick of children by producing a boy and I…well, I basically agreed. Little did we know that God was about to play a very cruel joke on bless us.
I like to blame the conception on having consumed one too many chocolate martinis. Madison was only about 8 months old when Greg and I got a babysitter for a night out on the town – that would be Denver. We went to dinner at this great place that obviously had chocolate martinis on the menu, and then to the opening party of the Cherry Creek Crate & Barrel. I think we were just giddy from the taste of freedom (and add in those darn martinis) and boy, when we got home and the babysitter closed the door behind her… **Cue Marvin Gaye singing “Let’s Get It On”…. No, wait a minute. I’m not going to drag this blog down there. I’m going to keep it PG. Sorry folks.
At any rate, a few weeks later I took a pregnancy test and whaddya know. Pregnant. After a few days, though, I started spotting so I freaked out and called my OB’s office and they of course said to come right in. So we did. I peed in a cup and then found out that they were going to do a sonogram to see if there was a heart beat. Since I was coming in on short notice, I wasn’t able to see my real OB so another doc did the sonogram. A few minutes into the exam, she excused herself and went to get my OB, Dr. Dan, who came into the room. They looked at the screen together and finally he said, “No, I see what you see, but I don’t think it’s what you think it is.” Huh? Yeah, that’s right. She thought it was twins but he dismissed it. Greg and I breathed a sigh of relief because a.) I was still pregnant and b.) it wasn’t twins. Or so we thought at the time.
It was about 2 weeks later that I had my first official OB appointment and Dr. Dan had me lay down for another sonogram just to check and make sure everything looked good after the whole spotting scare of 2004. So I hopped up on the table to get poked and prodded and what do I hear but, “Well, well, well. We’ve got twins here.” Excuse me. We?! I thought I was going to faint, but instead I just laughed. And laughed. And laughed.
And then I sat in the car by myself holding the sonogram pictures of both babies and cried.
Let me just state for the record that this appointment was the only doctor’s appointment that Greg ever missed so boy-oh-boy did he ever have a surprise waiting when he got home from work that day. He was so shocked he was speechless which, for Greg, is pretty amazing.
Then I started to grow. And I grew.
And I grew.
And I grew…until I achieved what I thought was “freak show” status.
*WARNING: Those of you who have a weak stomach may want to turn away from this next image.
Just like Cameron’s facial expressions yesterday, I went from “Gee, this is so. darn. cool.” to “Oh my God, let this be over please!” I can’t even tell you how much weight I gained because I quit looking at the scale when I weighed in at the doctor’s office because you know, when you have twins you have to see the doc like every other day it seems. And yeah, the outfit I have on in this last picture is pretty much what I wore for the next 3 weeks until I delivered because it was the most comfortable…and because it was really the only thing I could fit into. We (yes, that would be Greg AND I) slept on the couch for the last trimester just because it was so hard for me to roll from one side to the other in bed. He just wouldn’t allow me to suffer alone. What a good man.
So five years ago today Cameron and Quincy were born at 1:14 and 1:16 p.m. respectively. I had walked around dilated to a five for a couple of weeks so it is really amazing that I didn’t just pop those suckers out going up and down the stairs at home. Oh, and did I mention that I had already been to the hospital a couple of times and they gave me some medicine to stop the labor? And that I got this crazy rash a couple of days before I delivered that made we want to just scratch my skin right off? Or that my hips hurt so badly that I thought I’d need a cane to get around? Or that my feet were so swollen that I could barely fit them in my tennis shoes? Okay, well now you know.
Dr. Dan said that 37 weeks is “full-term” for twins and we could deliver at any time after that. He told us that he would rather induce so that it was more of a “controlled” environment. And since I was already so far dilated he worried about how quickly I would deliver. So at 37 weeks on the dot, with my mom in tow, we checked into the hospital early, early in the morning.
They put that stuff on my cervix to get things going and it got things going alright, but not enough. So after a couple of hours they hooked me up with the good stuff. Shortly thereafter, I demanded politely requested the epidural. Because a multiple delivery brings more risk, they take you into an operating room to deliver if anything goes wrong and they have to operate to get the babies out. So my mom and Greg had to get suited up for the finale.
Here they are. Ready for action.
It wasn’t long after I got the epidural that Dr. Dan came over on his lunch hour to check me and see how I was progressing and decided it would be a good idea to just go ahead and break my water. So he stuck the knitting needle up there and break my water he did. And before he could walk back over to his office – IN THE SAME BUILDING – I was ready to push. They called him back STAT – I love that word. He rushed in like a super-hero with a stethoscope and a white coat and helped push me into the operating room across the hall where eight grillion (yep, I said it again) people were standing there ready to watch someone deliver twins. Because, you know, it doesn’t happen every day that someone has twins so they call in every Tom, Dick, and intern to “watch and learn”. Come to think of it I really did feel as if I were in a fish bowl. I think it was even a round room and every inch of it was occupied by somebody. If I were a withering violet I would’ve been pissed, but because this wasn’t my first rodeo I didn’t mind so much.
I know it sounds complex but the actual delivery was really simple. You should SO seriously try it. I pushed once and out came Cameron weighing 5 pounds 6 ounces. Two minutes later, with the next contraction, I pushed again and there came Quincy who weighed a beefy 6 pounds 11 ounces.
Two beautiful girls. They turned our lives upside down five years ago, recently announced that they were no longer sisters but best friends, and delight in the simplest of things like giving each other wedgies.
Happy birthday to you Camalamadingdong and Quinkydinkydoo!