Archive for December, 2009

I called Julie an attic last night.

She put a leg off the couch and heard each knee creak, both hip sockets give a loud pop and the sharp intake of air made her sound like a rickety attic from my childhood. Except rather than being a receptacle of memories and the occasional pot plant, this attic was my wife who is severely pregnant with twins.

While I was doing her bidding during her lovely nesting phase last weekend, we discovered the winning piece of “guess Julie’s girth!” yarn from her baby shower with our first son. Just a few days off of exactly two years prior and 8 weeks earlier in the pregnancy, Julie is a good 7 inches rounder with this twin pregnancy. So she’s pullin’ more weight, rounder than Santa, and miserable when trying to move, think about moving or complaining about the lack of being able to move.

The area she is now pretty specific in body pain is near the pelvis. Her exact words were “It feels like my pelvis is broken.”

Does this sound familiar to anyone else who’s experienced a twin pregnancy? Is she supposed to feel wishy washy around the hips and in between?

I offered to have a look, but all I saw was the ghost of Christmas past pullin’ a four footer sitting on a magic mushroom, that was immediately after she belted me with her hit stick.

Yes, she keeps a hit stick near her at all times now. It keeps our son about 2 feet away from dropkicking her belly, allows her the ability to accentuate syllables in her orders at me and she can move things closer to her when i politely set them 2.5 feet away on the table. I’ve also seen her itch things with it.

One day I will sell a hit stick and call it “The Twin Pregnancy Multitool.”

We’re hoping to hit February 2nd, 2010 before we have the twins. Let’s hope her body cooperates.

I wouldn’t want to punish her for not following MY orders, since I’ve done every damn thing she’s asked of me since she got all “crazy with babies in her bell.”

I KID! She’s not crazy.

She’s certifiably insane in the membrane. If the membrane was her vajayjay.

We’ve had more ultrasound visits than I care to count. If there was a radiation factor to each scan, I’m pretty sure my wife’s vag would be frickin’ Chernobyl at this point. (Remind me to tell you about the time about the vodka bottle and the Geiger counter. ROWR!)

So far we’ve see Leah the beautiful on many occasions. She is the social uterine-fly we’ve always dreamed of. When the wand sends out its pulses of soundwaves, she waves back. We’ve already contacted three modeling agencies to take pictures while still in the womb and pay us in large amounts of baby swag (read: diapers yo).

Yet, every time we go through the growth scans or quick peeks, the little lady of the vag is all smiles and showing off, while my son Mason has only graced us with clear shots of his ass and coin purse. We have actually seen in real time Mason flip from facing out to completely facing the spine in mere seconds, once the wand is turned on. Maybe he can feel the tepid blue goo squirting onto the bell bell, who knows? We’re beginning to think things are amiss.

Not amiss like something is wrong with him or something dire like that. No.

I’m under the impression that he works for a shadow agency for the American government. He has been commissioned to listen to the mindless chatter of womenfolk who come in contact with my wife. *I’m making the chatty motions with both of my hands.* He must be armed with a device that allows him to process classified military intel at such a high rate that the drivel that the rest of the male population hears spewing forth from the female population is just yadda-yadda-yadda-yadda-and then i says to the gal-yadda-yadda-yadda.

My son is a double agent in a double sac with a double placenta and a 100% chance of being fucking adorable. Armed with his umbilical cord, transparent liquid shit and the ability to barrel roll like a hotdog underwater in a soggy bun, Mason is a man on a mission.

If he isn’t working for the American government, maybe my trip to Russia in 2002 was actually a front and I was receiving robot implants in my seminal vesicles.

YEAH, THAT SOUNDS GOOD.

Having Twins Now: Seminal Vesicle Implants.

You can’t make this shit up people.

So yeah, every time we go to get a shot of the kids in their fetal glory, my lil punk ass kid flips his shit around and moons me!

FINE DUDE! WE’LL JUST KEEP SHOWIN’ PICS OF YOUR SEESTER THAN!

TAKE THAT SECRETIVE LITTLE MAN UP INSIDE MY WIFE’S VAGINA!

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Peep my son’s grapes.

Don’t send me pictures of your kids grapes, because I can assure you that your child’s grapes are shite compared to my genius of a son’s grapes.

“Are these freshly picked from the vine in Napa?”

Hell no bitch, these is fresh grapes straight off my kid’s brain stem yo.

Well done boy. Well done. You get a new hotwheels (read: for dad to play with and act like it’s for you).

Thursday, December 3rd, 2009 we did our normal routine of hitting up one Dr.’s office and then moving on to the next.

We first had a cervical scan at High Risk OB at Delnor Hospital with Rita and Dr. Kalchbrenner. Of course the staff was awesome and the scan proved encouraging, as Julie is now measuring at 44 and is, supposedly, sporting a cervix that even women carrying singletons would admire.
The people at HROB are dependable and you never leave feeling like they don’t have their shit together.

I wish I could say the same for Focus On Women’s new merger partner Fox Valley Women & Children’s Health Partners.

We were informed of the merger about a month ago and while at the time it seemed like something that wouldn’t necessarily impact our doctor/patient relationship too much, but now it seems like the common courtesy to “READ YOUR PATIENT’S FILE BEFORE THE APPOINTMENT” went out the window with their old business cards.

Some aspects of the merger seemed convenient, like an office about 25 minutes closer to our home, and, well, that was basically it. But the addition of a dozen new doctors into the fray makes us feel like we’re on a speeding car, sitting shotgun, and the driver keeps changing spots leaving us headed towards oncoming traffic too frequently.
It’s unsettling.

While getting Julie’s blood pressure taken and the heart rates of the bebes, the MA asked Julie when her C-Section was scheduled for.

Excuse me? What C-Section? Julie looked like she had been hit with a frying pan (not that I’ve ever attempted to hit her with a frying pan, she’d kick my ass).

The MA said it was just a routine question, but it was one we had never been asked because when we first met with Focus On Women it was determined that that would be a judgment call come time to deliver. If baby A (Leah the beautiful) was head down, we’d proceed with the vaginal birth. If not, we’d move towards a C-Section. But to hear it asked of us like we were unprepared for not having one scheduled was a bit unnerving. It seems this new practice we’ve been thrown to has a policy of ONLY performing C-Section births for multiples, no matter what. We wish we would have know there was no natural option with the new doctors.

About twenty minutes later the midwife came in and did her best to act like she had read Julie’s file, but it was clear that she had no idea what the hell was going on because all of her questions raised more and more questions from us.

We immediately ask about the C-Section issue and she goes on to tell us that the two groups have not agreed on a standard for the practice yet. “But what did Focus On Women tell you?” she asks. Julie starts talking and no sooner than a dozen words come out the midwife is interrupting her telling us where her practice stands.

Did you just ask my wife a question? Will you let her finish? We understand you are more important than us, but isn’t the purpose of this appointment to see how Julie is doing and progressing in the pregnancy not hearing your opinions on which practice’s stance is better in your non-doctor opinion? This woman seemed nice, but completely snobbish to us because we had come from the other practice.

“So you’re 29, about 30 weeks pregnant, and O negative, when did you have your Rhogam shot?” the midwife asks.

Again, what? You’re the doctor/person in charge of that. “We were told at our last visit that I would receive it or set it up at this visit.” Julie replies.

“Hmmm. We’re a bit past the cut off, but it should be alright.” The midwife spits back.

So let’s just clarify something here, our original doctor group’s doctor told us we were okay to do it at THIS visit, and you are now claiming we’ve “missed the boat” and should have had it earlier? Is this some sort of professional catfighting between original practitioners of one office who have been invaded by other practitioners and there is a bit of animosity between the two groups?

The little pauses and eyes darting back and forth and eyes rolling and audible sighs after we tell you what we’ve been told by our original doctor’s group and the constant INTERRUPTING is beginning to wear on my patience. I don’t give a flying fuck what your professional beef is, your job is to be a doctor, not a politician, knock this shit the fuck off.

The midwife added quickly, “But you have to have a antibody screen within four days of getting the rhogam shot, when was your last antibody screen?”
Don’t you have the computer in front of you? Isn’t what I think I’ve had a bit erroneous? I am a layman, I could tell you they tested my wife’s testicles for fucking asbestos! You have doctor-documented information at your fingertips and you’re asking my wife questions that we trust you to know the answer to in the first place!

The entire exchange between us and the midwife was confusing, as our original questions were kind of put to the side as she created more concerns rather than quell any.

A simple question that we both had was: who do we call when we’re on the way to the hospital in possible labor?

This completely stumped our fair midwife. She actually left the room to ask someone 30 grand below her pay grade to find out the “cheat code” to get out of the phone tree. Which is ANOTHER pain in the ass coming from a practice where HUMANS answered the phone! Now we get the pleasure of selecting one of NINE options when calling. Golly! The answer she came back was “Select the one that says make an appointment and that should get you to where you need to be, if not, labor & delivery at the hospital will call the doctor on call.”

Unreal. If your job was to make a family feel better about the impending birth of their children, you fucking failed lady.

So we left not knowing if we were going to be forced into a C-Section, not knowing exactly how to get a hold of the doctor on call if we’re on the way to the hospital on delivery day, not knowing if the rhogam shot is going to be given too late, and we left now knowing we don’t want to see these people any more.

To any doctors or midwives reading, read the file before you meet your pregnant patients. It’s respectful and necessary if you don’t want to backtrack and confuse the people you’re supposed to be inspiring confidence in.

Piss me off, that’s one thing.

Make my wife cry and I will fucking cut you.

Love,

Dad

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We’ve been trying all sorts of ways to save money around the house. From showering together (when we used to be able to fit in the shower together), reusing toilet paper, washing the cars with the windows down to get a little pre-wash action going on our laundry, and buying cheaper diapers.

All of the above might be a bit gross, but they all worked 90% of the time.

That is, until we discovered the bad side of using cheap diapers. We went from Pampers Cruisers at about 30 bucks a case to Luvs, which clock in around 20 bones a case. The Luvs were cheaper in every way including the sound they make. With Pampers you can’t tell when lil’ dude’s escaping, but with Luvs, when you hear the crinkle you can assume one of two things are happening, either he’s bout to fly to coop or he stole a few grocery bags and crotched em.

The Pampers contain a hell of a lot better than the Luvs, but saving ten bucks a week takes precedence over a few extra loads of laundry.

Until this past weekened when I went in to greet my lil’ dude early Saturday morning and discovered a full dipe inside his zip up pj’s. Yet when I unzipped him and went to yank his leg from its sheathe I felt these grainy type balls that were kind of wet and mushy stuck to his thigh.

Yes, the diaper was so full it had begun to degrade so rapidly that the chemicals that bond with the piss in his diaper got fed up and skipped town, aka the resovoir where this type of stuff normally lives, and ended up everywhere else besides IN the diaper.

Of course we have experienced this before, but never to this magnitude. It was stuck to every inch of his nearly 3 foot body and his recent pick up of the term EEWWW made his sentiments more impactful as he was clearly disgusted in the clingy piss balls attached to his porcelin skin.

We understand Luvs save us money and normally keep the 1′s and 2′s confined until we can get there, but we need to think about how this might be affecting his sleeping in. We change him pretty regularly when we’re all awake, but sleepytime is our church and we like to pray a shitton.

So we’re trying something new. We have purchased Pampers’ 12 Hour diapers and are using those exclusively after bathtime every night. It’s been 4 nights and so far he’s slept in past 6am every morning.

I’m hoping that by the time the twinvasion begins, he’ll sleep to around 10am.

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