My lovely lady bump.

In the morning I give myself as much time as I need to find the right outfit. Sometimes that means a pair of yoga pants and a tank top that no longer covers my belly button. Other days, like this one, it means a short and shiny gold dress over leggings.
My inspiration: Courtney Kardashian of the reality show Keeping Up With the Kardashians.
Her style says, Armenian pregnant club girl. I guess that's what I found appropriate when preparing for my sister and mom's visit today. Granted, I'll be laying on the couch with a blanket up to my waist, but a gold dress should never stay in the closet for more than a couple weeks.
More importantly, my body is outgrowing my wardrobe options exponentially. In just a few more weeks I may be forced to wander the house in a pea coat.

Today marks day 13 of my bed rest. It's given me a lot of time to Google absolutely whatever comes to mind, such as:

24 weeks pregnant
bed rest 24 weeks
24 weeks twins
bed rest fitness
bed rest survival

Admittedly, "whatever comes to mind" is pretty much the same thought re-worded.

And of course, there are the belly pictures.
I can't get enough of them.

I'm at least daily looking for new pictures of women pregnant with twins. I recently realized that when I pass a mirror, I'm checking out my belly instead of my face. As obsessed as I am, I have a hard time taking pictures of my own. Maybe my internet searches are at fault for my modesty.
I've seen too many supposedly sweet pictures of pregnant women posed in the nude, in sexy Santa Claus costumes, or laying on their side in black lacy underwear. Apparently, Demi Moore's classic Vanity Fair cover made every woman in America believe it was acceptable to pose with their belly as though it were a prop.
A sexy prop.
And while I believe pregnant women are more than entitled to be sexual, I think it's insulting to say that you're documenting your pregnancy when you take that glamor shot, naked with airbrushed angel wings.

Hmm. I'm hungry again.

Valentines Couch

Today is Valentine's Day and I love Jesse.
When I woke up this morning he wasn't in bed.
This would normally leave me feeling bereft of my cuddle time.
But not today.
I understood something important was happening.
I could smell bacon in the air.
Out of bed, I passed my pile of stretchy pants and went for the closet.
A place I haven't visited in some time.
Trailing my fingers along the sleeves, I stopped at pink.
A pink dress for Valentine's Day.
Putting it on wasn't as easy as it used to be. I'm pretty sure another week and it wouldn't have been possible.
Around my neck I clasped a heart pendant necklace, and a fuchsia scarf.
From the top of the stairs I said, "Hey Jesse, watcha doin' down there?"
And he replied, "Happy Valentine's Day! I've made you breakfast in bed. Do you want it in bed or down here on the couch."
I opted for the couch. It turns out, breakfast in bed loses a little of its charm when you're also regularly eating lunch and dinner there too.
Downstairs I went straight for the couch and knitted patiently while he finished.
After a few minutes he entered with a grand assortment.
Pancakes smothered in syrup.
Toast topped with egg, avocado, cilantro, and tomato.
Hash browns and black berries and blue berries.
And for some reason I was most impressed that it came with both a short glass of orange juice and a cup of coffee.

This all rested on my new hospital tray, which perhaps, was the best part of it all.
Last night I was eating dinner and remarked that I needed a hospital tray. Jesse jumped up and said, "You do?"
In five seconds he was back from the garage with my early Valentines gift.
I cried.
There's nothing more romantic than someone thinking of your needs before you do.

Today's breakfast was the sweetest Valentine's gift I've ever had, and I also appreciate that feeding me was the best Valentine's gift he could give our baby boys as well.

A few hours later we settle into our routine.
I write this as big band music plays and Jesse cleans up in the kitchen.
My pink dress wrinkling beneath me, but I am determined to wear it through the sunny portion of the day.
I've never given a lot of attention to this holiday, but I think I especially have use for it this year because there's a whole lot of love going around.
Love for this man in my life, for these babies we're growing, for all the new wonderful people that have come into my life through Jesse, and for all my friends and family who are incredibly sweet and supportive with me.

The hormones don't hurt either.

xoxoxo
Happy Valentines Day.

What I've learned whilst trapped on the couch.

1. My brother also cried while watching the Olympics commercial narrated by Morgan Freeman.

2. Out of sight, out of mind. Such as the kitchen, laundry, and my car which is still sitting in the Long Beach airport's remote parking.

3. When watching HOUSE, you may rely on the fact that
a. It's cushings.
b. It's also edema.
c. It's environmental.
d. The cure will only be found when the patient reveals they've been having
an affair.

4. If you lay on one side long enough, you will get a head ache on that side of your head. For some reason this doesn't apply to sleeping. Maybe I have cushings.

5. Always have a banana within arm's reach.


I'm sure there's more to come. I'll keep you posted.

xo- The girl on the couch.

Today I begin my first day of "bed rest". Jesse and I were told the news yesterday when we went in for a routine ultrasound. I'm healthy and babies are healthy, but gravity is working a little too quickly. They want me off my feet.
I thought bed rest might be in my future the moment I found out I was having twins, but I didn't expect it to be this soon, and with so little warning.
I expected that by the time I got put on bed rest, I'd feel like laying down. I imagined saran wrap around my belly and a hand rail to help me sit up.

When we got home I reclined on the couch while Jesse made me grilled cheese.
I felt like a fake.
Like a kid trying to get out of school.
Lounging, feeling totally fine, while asking Jesse to get me a refill on my water.
Until hour two came around.
At which point I actually did start to feel achey and painey.
My back started getting wonky and every time I sat up I'd let out a little groan. I suppose I'd been told I was fragile, and my brain was responding accordingly.
By hour four, the novelty was over.
I'd crane my head around just to look at Jesse, like a muzzled puppy. Not really saying "help", just saying "hrumph".
When bed time came around I went up, and turned off the light without ceremony; completely without use for my customary unwinding ritual of reading or television.

Today it drizzles. I kick back on the couch enveloped in my pregnant things. My prenatal vitamins, and calenders, and lists of questions to ask my benefits coordinator.
I wonder if this inactivity will turn me in to Jaba the Hut by the time it's over. I wonder if it would really hurt to do the dishes for ten minutes or take a walk. Most of all, I wonder if I'd even want to do those things had I not been mandated to abstain from them.

On the bright side, I think I'll have Jesse's scarf finished for Valentine's Day, and I can start back up with my Rosetta Stone Italian program.
On the even brighter side, I thought I heard a baby call to me from upstairs while I was on the couch last night.
In three to four months that will be real.
And I wont be bothered with finding meaningless distractions for a long, long time.

Last night I dreamed that my body was an oven. The babies were growing in my broiler. I slid them out to check on their progress, and found that they didn't have any amniotic fluid. From there I can only remember that I scrambled to do something for them, but was not really satisfied with the results.
Like so many of my baking projects.
On any given morning I can recall at least four dreams. This is partly due to being pregnant, partly because I'm waking up all night, and partly because I've always been good at remembering my dreams.
Last night I dreamed that I was in the flight deck talking with the captain. The plane began to plummet rapidly. I told the pilot to do something, but he said everything was fine. At the last minute he pulled up and we narrowly averted a hillside. Once we landed I refused to work the next leg of our trip.
I pretended to be asleep when they came to get me and it worked.
They couldn't bare to disturb me when I looked so content.

Then I dreamed of water.
I dream about water in all sorts of scenarios, pretty often.
In this one I sat on a tiny shore as huge waves broke at my feet. What's interesting to me about this one, is that I seemed to be the only one afraid. Many people rode the waves by any means possible. With little pool floaties and body boards.
I've read many things about water dreams. When you're pregnant, it's said that water means you're aware of your amniotic fluid, which would certainly tie in with the earlier dream I had, but I believe it means something different for me. I think it has something to do with why I hate outer space.

When I woke up for the final time, I nudged Jesse and said "Good morning," as is standard procedure. He opened one squinty eye and gave me a sincere "Good morning to you." He nodded to his shoulder, to signal that my head should go there.
I asked him if he had any dreams and he recalled some of them for me.
I could only hold out for a few minutes, before abruptly swinging my legs over the edge of the bed.
My body running downstairs for breakfast as though eating were as urgent as my next breath.
Happy Sunday.

I'm sitting at the kitchen table with a half caffeinated coffee. My laptop in front of me. Bills, hard candy, and left over Christmas cookies spread out on the table top.
A few days ago, we found out that we were having boys, just as we had wanted.
Later that evening Jesse reminded me to write about it. He said,
"I can't wait to see how you'll memorialize it."
I'm in charge of keeping our memories.
But it's been a few days and I've had a hard time letting my mind wander, the way it needs to when I write.
I've been too busy thinking about all the big adult things we'll need to do, like insurance plans, a possible move, taking leave from work, decorating the baby room, etc.
Jesse has been my sounding board for all of it, whether I'm babbling audibly, or emitting it through silent consternation.
I really haven't been alone until today.
He'll be gone through the afternoon at a convention.
I'm thinking this is the right time.
So I stare at my cup of coffee and try to see the forest through the trees...

When I woke up this morning, I noted that it was just me and my belly.
I rolled onto my back so that all my other organs kind of sink down. This way my uterus is perfectly defined.
I laid there for a little while and traced its parameters with my hands. As though I were shaping clay.
Hi.
Hi Baby A.
Hi Baby B.

When you're little, I'll let you use my arms like super highways for your toy cars.
I'll dress you up in overalls and we'll take walks.
You'll ask me lots of questions, and I'll get the honor of being the first to tell you that,
"That's a hummingbird."
and
"That's an apple."

Jesse's scared of the awkward years, but I can't wait.

For the bad hair cuts and faltering steps toward adulthood.
For the moment they make me laugh because they told a really funny joke.
I realize I'm a little drunk off the hormones right now, but I trust my adoration will stick.

When the ultrasound technician casually told us we were having two baby boys, Jesse let out a little "Woop!" and my eyes flooded with tears. He squeezed my hand and we looked at each other as though we had accomplished something. Nodding our heads and smiling.
Clutching the pictures she let us take home, I put my sunglasses on as we took the elevator down. My nose running and my eyes red.
On the way home, we stopped for lunch and made some phone calls. You can never anticipate just how you'll react to big news. In this case, we were a lot more quiet than I had imagined we'd be. We'd been given the go on the rest of our lives.
Answers beget questions.
It's taken me this long to say as much, because of just that.

The unknown is big. And so we crave the facts.
I don't know how many times I've told people that "each baby is 8 ounces."
That I'll be "19 weeks on Friday."
It's as much as I can say so far.
And so I say it, over and over.
I think that lasts a life time.
You recite what little you know.
Like fighting an empire with a toothpick.

Boys.
I'm having two boys.

A lady asked me how "far along I am" while shopping at the grocery store tonight. Being the first time I've been asked this by a stranger, it caught me off guard. I could feel all the blood in my body go to my face and I nearly panicked.
For no reason at all.
It's not that I think it's an inappropriate question. It's actually really sweet that we can all come together as a community and adore pregnant women. But I'm not quite use to the phenomenon yet.
It still feels like the friendly woman putting spinach in her cart had just asked me what size bra I wear.
Of course, I didn't run down the cereal aisle, and we had a nice little conversation. Now that I'm home, I realize I'm still smiling over the incident.
I wish I could go back in time and say, "Hey, thanks! You're the first to ask!"
Because it seems like a right of passage in a way.