He promised me he would live to be a hundred...

Last week, on Friday the 13th, my father, my kids grandfather, passed away. 58 years old and perfectly healthy, he died in his sleep from a massive cardiac arrest. We never saw it coming...

Life will never be the same without him.

Goodbye, papa. Goodbye grandpa. We love you.

Still in time, right?

Freely translated: We wish you all a 'fairy' nice 2012!!!

Oh how I love need photoshop! There's no way in hell I could ever get all three of them looking even a little bit decent in just the ONE picture. And it saved us having to buy a second and third Kabouter Plop costume... ;-)

One out of every ten children...

- One of these three kids is a big fan of jigsaw puzzles...
- One of these three kids is very very VERY strong-willed...
- Two of these three kids are twins...
- One of these three kids is the best hugger in the whole wide world...
- Two of these three kids are constantly trying to win but never do because they are too busy crying about maybe NOT winning...
- Two of these three kids are starting school (not pre-school, not daycare, no, honest-to-god SCHOOL) in just a couple of weeks... Yikes...
- One of these kids is napping right now...
- Two of these kids are finally caught up with their peers lengthwise...
- One of these kids is a lot skinnier than most people want him to be (f*ck them, I love him just the way he is)...

- All three of these kids are mine...
- All THREE of these kids were born prematurely...

- So is one in every TEN children born into this world...

Today is World Prematurity Day. A day to cherish every single one of those children. A day to celebrate the ones who are still with us. A day to remember those who never made it out of the hospital alive.

And a day to tell others about them!

Please tell me about yours...

I don't get it...

...I really don't...

I don't get why anyone would impersonate a cop to be able to gather as many CHILDREN as possible around him. So he can easily SHOOT every single one of them. To then walk around and shoot them all AGAIN to make sure they are really dead and not just pretending. To then start walking around searching for anyone else alive. So he can keep going. And going. And going.

Why that someone would surrender as soon as the real cops come. Would willingly confess to his hideous crime. And would go on to say that what he did was terrible, but that he doesn't think he should be punished for it.

This was not an act of someone who was desperate, someone who didn't know what he was doing. Not an act of desperation by a confused teenager bringing a gun to school. Or a sudden burst of anger by someone who's lost his way and thinks he will never be able to find it again.

This was well thought through. Planned until the very last second. 'Doelbewust'. And very, very sick.


Just thinking of all those young people, a lot of them still children, and what they had to go through before they died (or by some miracle made it out alive) makes me physically ill.

Thinking of their parents at home, having just send their loved one off to youth camp, a place where they undoubtedly felt their child would be safe regardless of the political nature of the event.

When that bomb went off in Oslo they probably thought: "Thank God my child is safely tucked away on that island. Thank God my child wasn't where that bomb was!"

Oh, how they were wrong.


How will those parents, those brothers and sisters, those children who did get safely off the island, how will they ever be able to live with what they have gone through? What they are still going through? What they will be going through for the rest of their lives? How will they be able to keep going? How will they live with those images burned into their brains?


I just don't get it...

Oh, the joys of potty training

I missed the right window with Ivo. He seemed to be ready a year and a half ago, only just two years old: staying dry for long periods, telling me when his diaper needed changing, not wanting to poo unless in bed. Because I was on bedrest with our youngest at the time I just couldn't do it. There was no way I could rush him to the potty every time he'd ask for it. So I decided not to tell him the thing existed. He completely lost interest by the time our youngest was born fifteen months ago.

After numerous tries on my end starting last summer (a couple of weeks at a time, going back to diapers every time they proved not to be ready yet), having them sit on the potty with their diaper on, going cold turkey (naked in summer, clothes on in winter) and even full on bribery (stickers, toys, chocolate, ANYTHING), I was ready to just give up.

They suddenly decided they didn't want to wear diapers anymore (while awake) about three months ago. Just like that. It went great with anything liquid: Ivo managed to poop on the potty/toilet every other time, but Robin just didn't know how to let go of her poop sitting down. Weeks and weeks of washing out dirty underwear several times a day ensued. At one time I was so so so sick of it that I was on the phone with my mom, crying "They will NEVER get this! I will be washing out their pooped-in underwear until they go to college!! Oh wait. They probably won't even GO to college... I will be washing out their poopy stuff until I DIE!!"

Of course my daughter was in the bathroom with me right at that very moment. And there she went. Pooped on the toilet successfully for the very first time. For Grandma. Of course. Sigh...

About two weeks later they both decided they didn't want to wear a diaper at night, either. Or during long car rides. Oh oh... Shit!

But it appears they themselves knew they were ready before I did. I have had to change the bedding only three times in two and a half months. Twice in the first week, once after they had a very busy few days. There have been quite a few daytime accidents, but those were mostly 'not quite getting to the toilet in time' (Ivo with peeing, Robin with pooing). No real accidents in the past two weeks.

I had a box of m&m's in the fridge in the beginning: they could have one after every successful pee/poo. We hadn't touched it in weeks, they just stopped asking for it one day and I didn't remind them.

Just Yesterday I said to them "You know what? It's time for a celebration! You are both big kids now, we don't need those anymore. Let's go eat them ALL!!"

They dug into it like there was no tomorrow! Chocolate was EVERYWHERE! And after it was all gone they were so proud of themselves. "We are BIG kids now, aren't we, mommy?"

My kids are growing up. Sometimes it seems to take forever for them to get there. But mostly it just happens so fast I see them walking in front of me, chatting away at each other, and just don't know what hit me...

Only a name

When we stopped using birth control over 8 years ago my (then boyfriend now) husband gave me a baby-names book for my birthday. We worked our way through it in the car the next week, on the way to his parents. Giggling at most, laughing out loud at some, writing down others. When we got to his parents house we'd found one name that was IT for both of us. It was a name that could be used for both a boy and a girl, but we instantly reserved it for our firstborn girl. She would be named Robin, and she would of course be born within the year (because we were still blissfully ignorant and stupid back then).

For many years, we would dream about our baby girl Robin. It's not that we preferred a girl over a boy, not at all. But we couldn't agree on any boy's names. And having a name for our imaginary girl made it easier to fantasize about her. Dreaming about 'some kid' is a lot harder than imagining holding hands with the little girl you already know the name of.

So for many years, we held onto that image of our little girl, Robin. She started of as a little baby all those years ago on the way to my parents in law, our little daughter-to-be. As the years went by and the children around us grew up, so did she. With every year that passed, I'd think about how old our Robin would be, had we gotten pregnant right away. I'd imagine what she'd look like, what she would be doing, how we'd cuddle her and play with her. After a couple of years I even started imagining her playing with the little sister (told you we couldn't agree on any boy's names) she might have already had, had we not been infertile. Our imaginary daughter playing with her imaginary sister.

They were what kept us going during all those years. Through all our treatments, at all my hospital visits, they were what kept me 'sane'. Our two little girls.

Then, after 4 years of dreaming and a whole bunch of fertility treatments, we finally saw those precious double lines. We had transferred two, and for some reason we both instantly referred to the still unknown inhabitant(s) of my womb as "our children". When the ultrasound 3 weeks later showed TWO heartbeats, we weren't surprised. We freaked out, cried, got scared and wondered what the hell we'd gotten ourselves into, of course. but we weren't surprised. Those tiny heartbeats couldn't be anything else then our two baby girls. We'd been imagining them for so long, we were sure they had finally come to us!

Imagine our surprise when the 20-week ultrasound showed a BOY! They couldn't see what Baby-A was going to be: s/he was doing everything humanly possible to stay out of sight. But Baby-B was most definitely male.

It took us a couple of weeks to wrap our minds around the fact that we were going to have a son. We dug up the babyname book and frantically started discussing boys' names, never agreeing on one for longer than a few days. What the hell would we do when Baby-A would turn out to be a boy as well? We couldn't even agree on the ONE name, let alone TWO!

Baby-A and Baby-B decided to show themselves to the world two months early. We named Baby-B, our firstborn son, Ivo. We now know it fits him like a glove, but had he been born a couple of days earlier or later, he'd have been given a completely different name. We named Baby-A, our firstborn child and daughter, Robin.

Our son was GIVEN his name. Our daughter was BORN INTO hers.

We have a second son now, too. Born from the same IVF-cycle as his big brother and sister. He was GIVEN his name, same as his brother. Our bonus-baby. Our Joris.

We still have one name waiting. Waiting for a child to be born into. A daughter. A little girl.

She will most likely never be born. We are infertile. We are all out of embryo's. We will never start another fresh cycle. We've been there, done that. We are well and truly DONE with treatments. Besides: never in our wildest dreams had we ever thought we would be the parents of THREE children. We hoped for TWO, but for a long time feared we'd never even have ONE. Three is nothing short of a miracle!

She will forever be a part of our family, though. Growing up together with her two brothers and her big sister. She will always be a part of me, even though she's never actually 'been'. She's only an image. Only a dream.

Only a name...

Boy, time flies when things are going well...

The past year there were NO hospital visits (apart from that first week in neonatology), NO physiotherapy appointments, NO pre-speech/eat-therapy, NO cardiology scares, NO cognitive testing, NO worries...

As a result, time has flown by so fast we didn't even see this coming:

The past year was one of giggles, of cuddles, of playing, of laughter. You have learned to roll, to eat, to crawl, to pull yourself up on everything within your reach. And you have learned all that without any special help from us. You have gotten to know your big brother and sister: you play with them, laugh with them, are cuddled and kissed by them. And you have learned to duck when they are throwing things your way, a lifesaving skill you will probably enjoy and perfect over the years to come.

They have gotten to know you, too. They now know puzzles and drawings are things to be made at the 'big' table, where your little fingers can't reach them and they are safe from being eaten. They know they have to be careful with you, they just choose to ignore that knowledge whenever they see fit. They love 'reading' and singing to you just as much as they hate it when you take (and eat) things that belong to them. They see you growing up and are celebrating every little milestone with us. They probably won't know what hit them the minute you start taking your first steps...

You have learned to love, and be loved by, everyone around you. You are a joy to be around and we love you to pieces!

"Is it his birthday? Is he one now, mama?"

Yes, you are ONE!!!

Three years ago, today...

Three years ago, today, we got to take you both HOME for the very first time.

Three years ago, today, you slept in your own little cribs in your own little room for the very first time in your life.

I know today is not your actual birthday. For me, though, January 22nd will always be a very special day...

I love you both so, so much!

Look at us now!

Just over three years ago the last in a long list of treatments gave us 5 tiny but oh so precious little embryo's. Two of those turned into our now 2 1/2 year old twins. Their start in life was scary and premature and there were times when I feared for their lives, their futures. But against all odds they have since grown into two of the most amazing toddlers the planet has ever seen.

A year ago today (well, okay, yesterday) was the day a very faint blue line told me the third and last survivor of those 5 little embryo's had settled itself in my uterus and dug itself deep down into my heart. His start 7 months later wasn't nearly as premature or scary as that of his big brother and sister, but he is just as big of a miracle as they are.

Look at those three little eggs now!



Just over three years ago I had almost lost hope of ever becoming a mother. That last IVF was brutal. I was just about ready to throw in the towel. With every injection all I could think was "After this cycle, I am NEVER going to empty another syringe into my belly! I give up!!" I almost DID give up. The very last shot was delivered by my husband, their father, because I just couldn't do it anymore. I was done. Beaten. Without hope.

And look at me now...



I am a mother!!!

We're home, and all is well!

Yes, it IS a boy! He was born on March 4th, at 36w1d. A very respectable term, considering all that's been happening with this pregnancy the past couple of months. We never expected to get this far!

It was a very speedy birth: exactly 4 hours and 5 minutes from the first contraction till the moment they handed him to me all covered in blood and goo. We only narrowly avoided a c-section, since his head was tilted the wrong way and he started to show signs of distress. Same as with the twins, but this time there was only one baby, and it was all going so fast that they decided a natural birth might get him out quicker than a c-section. That is, with the assistance of a very scary pair of scissors and the gyn putting all his weight on my belly to help push him out. And out he came!

All was well right after birth, his apgar scores were (almost) perfect, his weight was good for his term, and he was allowed to stay with me the whole time. No rushing off to the NICU, no taking him away for testing. He was just there. On my belly. Where he was supposed to be. It was perfect! It was everything I didn't dare dream of or hope for...

They moved us to a private room, where we could hold him and look at him and cuddle him as much as we wanted. No glass cage, no alarms, no nurses rushing into the room every so many minutes. Just us.

His big brother and sister came to visit with grandma when he was just 3 hours old. They gave him careful little kisses and said his name and he instantly belonged with them. We were a family. For one day and one night, everything was perfect!

And then the next day things started to go downhill. We thought 36 weeks was perfect. Only one week short of 37 weeks, that's almost full term, isn't it? Wrong. 40 weeks is full term. Anything short of that means there's a chance the baby is just not quite ready to be born. A lot of times, 36 weekers do just fine. But there's just as many 36 weekers that struggle. And ours struggled. Nowhere near as much as his brother and sister did, but he struggled nonetheless.

When he was a day old, he stopped drinking (we'd been cupfeeding him because they needed to run glucose tests the first 24 hours, so just practising breastfeeding wasn't enough, he had to drink 15 cc's every 3 hours). He would let us pour milk in his mouth, but he just wouldn't swallow. He missed 3 feedings in a row. It's not that he was sick, he was just too tired. He did everything he needed to do: he kept his temperature stable, he passed the glucose tests, his saturation was great, his breathing stable. He just didn't have any energy left to feed himself. All he had the energy for was sleep. Oh, and he was turning yellow, fast.

And so on the second day the neonatology-pediatrician came in and told us he needed to be admitted to the high-care nursery where they would put in a feeding tube so they could give him enough fluids to help him get rid of the waste-products that were turning him yellow. They would run some tests to check his liver values and he might need to be put under a uv-light.

Nothing major. Nothing scary. No brainbleeds, no breathing problems, no life threatening complications, no NICU. But there I was again, alone, like I was 2 years before. And all the emotions from that first time, that I'd stuffed away somewhere deep inside, came flooding back up. Together with all the fears that had surrounded this pregnancy. He wasn't sick, he wasn't even that premature, he was just tired. And so was I...

Long story short: the next 3 days he spent sleeping. And sleeping. And sleeping. Being fed through the feeding tube meant he didn't need to waste energy trying to feed himself. He could just sleep. And sleep. And sleep more. In those 3 days, he was awake maybe 4 or 5 times, and only for a couple of minutes each time. He was so tired. When he was 3 days old, his liver values shot up, and they put him under a uv-lamp for 24 hours. And that did the trick. The next day he started waking for his feedings, and he started drinking again. He would take the breast for a couple of minutes every other feeding. And he'd drink. Just like that.

And as soon as he'd gone downhill just a couple of days earlier, he went uphill from there. It was amazing to see his little eyes open, to see his personality emerge from that deep sleep he'd been in. And before we knew it, we were going home. Together! We were both discharged exactly a week (and 3 hours) after his birth.

He was feeding himself. He was growing again. He was still sleeping a lot. But he was fine. He IS fine. He's HEALTHY. He's wonderful. He's PERFECT!!!

And all has been well since...

Back in the hospital

But the news is terrific: It's a boy!!
Born early on the morning of 36 weeks and 1 day he was in time for breakfast. The first day was very very good and spent together.
The downside of being in the hospital is that Mijke is offline again, so for now you'll have to make do with a second hand story -instead of waiting longer.
Mom is doing fine (except that everything hurts, why did nobody tell her you can't sit, stand or walk properly?) Baby is mildly annoyed at having to feed himself, prefers food delivered through a tube, because that way he can sleep and grow. Although sometimes it's nice to get the milk directly from the source... The yellowness is being conquered with the help of a lamp and getting better, other than that he is doing well, being kissed by his sister and all.

Will forward your comments to the hospital e-card system, and will find out about pictures soon.

Back home. For now...

Guess what? I managed to escape the hospital... I passed their "walk up and down the hall for 30 minutes"-test or whatever they call it. Still having light contractions a couple of times an hour, with a couple of extra scares thrown in just for fun. But since the steroid shots have had time to do their very important job, and having passed the 32 week mark, they have changed the flags in my file from "Oh shit! Keep that baby in!!!" to "Well, s/he should be kind of okay if s/he's born now, so when s/he wants to come, we'll let her/him..."

Which means there's really no point keeping me strapped to a hospital bed. I might as well wait it out at home. So home I am. With strict orders to stay in bed as much as possible, with bathroom priviledges and 3 30-minute strolls through the house a day. If anything changes, I am to come in to the hospital ASAP (thank god it's only a 10-minute drive).

The past couple of days have scared the crap out of me. But because they decided to keep me there after my check-up last Tuesday and managed to stop labour just in time that same night, I am still carrying our baby. For that, I am unbelievably greatful!

We will see how it goes from here...

32 weeks and 2 days

She is doing great!
The first night in the hospital was rough, with at it worst contractions every 3 minutes (!!) . With the medication dose doubled however peace and quiet returned. More hours were won for those little lungs. We were joking on the phone that while other people count down the weeks from 32, she is counting hours. Like 12 hours more than the twins already. And then one more night, and another.
Today she will try to walk for half an hour, three times during the day. If this goes well she can go home Saturday (bedrest remains to be seen) and hopes to make it to 34 weeks.

The good news of making it past 32 weeks is that even if the little one decides to come "now" is that she can go/stay in the hospital close to her home town and shouldn't need the specialist hospital with NICU much further away. (Although I imagine it will be hard enough running back and forth with the twins to a nearby hospital)

I discovered the hospital has an E-card system: you pick a card online and they print it and bring it around to the patients room the next day. I've been forwarding your comments already, so between phone calls, Internet, and printed paper she knows we bloggy friends are cheering her on. Thank you!

(And Mijke, I hope I haven't scrambled your information and your blog too much!)

Bedrest

Message from a friend.
Mijke just called and told me not to be scared, and just post a message for her saying that she is ok, and hanging in there. In a hospital. I suppose the good news is that the baby is hanging in there/her as well. If I remember correctly she had her weekly check up this morning and was told her cervix was getting too short now. Time for hospital.
As a precaution she was given steroids to mature the little lungs, something she missed out on with the twins. She is also on anti contraction medication, and it is working, everything is quiet now.
She is on bedrest, so only allowed to get up to use the toilet. While I was still shocked she was already reassuring me that she was fine. That this is probably just a scare, and that in a couple of days she might just be home enjoying weeks and weeks of pregnancy. That for now she will enjoy the time off, like maternity leave. Read a book. Have a rest. She sounded like her cheerful normal self.
The only bad news is she doesn't have internet access, just TV. And for now that doesn't worry her.

Tomorrow will be 32 weeks.

29 weeks and counting...

Wow. 29 weeks... Almost into the 30's... a little less than 3 more weeks and this little one is at the same term the twins were when they were born. And look at THOSE two now!

I knew this pregnancy was going to be a scary one, what with my background. But I didn't know my fears would consume every waking (and almost every sleeping) moment. To be honest, they didn't really, up until viability. I had some fears, yes, but as long as I hadn't hit that 24-weeks mark things still seemed a little "unreal".

Then suddenly it hit me: "If anything happens NOW, they MIGHT just try and save our baby!" From 24 weeks on, they will try and postpone labour. From 25 weeks on, they might even try and help a baby when it IS born. And from 26 weeks on, the will do everything they possibly can to give the baby a chance to fight. A chance to LIVE.

With that knowledge came the fear that I might miss some vital clue. That I MYSELF would do something stupid, or ignore a feeling or a sign. Something that might make it "just a day, or an hour, or even a minute too late" for our baby. But everything was still quiet, nothing much was happening. I was feeling great, no contractions, no other signs, nothing. I'd been spotting a little (and when I say little, I really mean little) bit every so many weeks, but that wasn't cause for concern. Right? Not after the 22 week ultrasound showed that the partial Placenta Praevia that had been diagnosed a couple of weeks before had resolved itself. So. I'd almost convinced myself that this time around, I was going to stay pregnant until at least 37 weeks.

Almost.

And then I hit 26 weeks. And Christmas passed. And I said to my husband: "Wow, we made it through the Holidays this time. I managed to still be pregnant at Christmas, instead of celebrating Christmas in the NICU again!"

I sighed a big sigh of relief. And 3 hours later all hell broke loose.

I started bleeding. Within 30 minutes I was in L&D, hooked up to a CTG. Baby still doing fine, bleeding had stopped, they had no idea where it came from. And then they started talking about maybe smelling and seeing amniotic fluid. And having me transferred to a NICU-hospital. And scared the shit out of me.

Fortunately a simple test (that they did 3 times just to be sure, because they couldn't believe the result) showed that I wasn't leaking anything I shouldn't be. And I was told I was allowed to go home, but to call if anything changed.

Next day, I was back. More bleeding. Not more than the day before, but they told me to call if it started again so I did. And because I was also feeling some lower-backpain and my uterus was feeling a little 'off' (no contractions, just a bit 'heavy'. Hey, if they tell me to share every little detail with them (even if it seems totally insignificant to me), I do. I am a good girl) they made me come back. Hooked me back up. Baby still doing great, kicking and squirming and being a pain because they couldn't get a grip on it's heartbeat. But hey, if it's still kicking, it's heart is probably still working too, right? This time the monitor showed very light (probably BH) contractions. Nothing unusual for my term. Then the ob/gyn came in to measure my cervix (because, well, PROM the last pregnancy and all). Still closed. Still not too short. Shorter than normal, but still okay. For now.

Back home again. But with the strong advice to take it as easy as I could. No bedrest, but as much sitting and lying down as possible with two toddlers running around. Thank god for the holidays, and my husband having taken a week off from work.

I've been having very light contractions a couple of times an hour for a couple of hours a day ever since. I've lost some more blood and about half the mucul plug. I'm in for a cervical-check every week and it's getting shorter with every visit. But it's still just on the right side of "Oops, this is not good!". So I'm still at home. Scared, but functioning. Counting the hours and the days and hopefully the weeks and maybe, just maybe, even the months.

I mean, really. It's only ONE baby this time, right? The last two put together at birth weighed almost as much as a full term baby, so I can hang on to just a singleton. Right? Every doctor I've spoken to before even attempting this second pregnancy told me "Hey, it was twins last time. Twins always come early..." and I almost believed them. Almost. But not really. And here I am, hoping to make it to 30+ weeks. And then to 32 weeks. Because that's what the twins were, and look at them now (I know that's no guarantee, but I'm grasping every straw in sight). And then to 34 weeks, because that's considered "safe". And then to 37, because then I might get to take our baby home right away.

I'm hoping. I'm telling myself to stay positive. Succeeding at it most of the time, even. At least during the day. But oh, those long long nights with nothing to do but think and dream and worry...

Happy New Year!!

Yeah for photoshop ;-)

(TWO is TWICE the fun!)

Hide and seek

It's very hard for me to blog about my pregnancy. It's not that I have nothing to tell. Not that I don't enjoy every tiny little moment it will last. Not that I am not completely in love with whatever is growing inside of me.

It's just that somehow, I feel I didn't deserve it...



Two years ago, when I was pregnant with our twins, I was fully aware of the fact that it took a lot of hard work to get that far. 4 hard tear-filled years. And since everyone around me had already become pregnant once (or twice, or even...) and had the child(ren) they wanted so much (or didn't want at all...) during the time we'd been trying and failing, I felt fully justified in enjoying every moment of my pregnancy. I was in love with our twins from the moment that second line appeared. And I wasn't afraid to show that love to other people.

Oh yes, I was still aware of the vast amount of people that have trouble conceiving. But I'd been there. I knew those tears. I'd cried them myself. And even though I was still afraid it was all just a dream, that I would soon wake up never having been pregnant at all, or that I would suddenly lose them, I never felt I had to excuse myself for being pregnant.

Even though with the twins I never really felt I belonged at maternity-classes, even though I felt out of place and lost at a baby-store, I still felt I had every RIGHT to be there.

This time around? I'm having a hard time with it. I have so many fears about this pregnancy. I worry so often that it will go wrong, that I will lose the baby, or that it will be born extremely premature. I can't do anything to prevent bad things from happening. I know that. The only thing I can do is love this child with all my heart, for as long as it's here to stay. Whether that's a few more days, a few more months, or forever. Those worries won't go away, but I can deal with them.

What I'm having a hard time dealing with though, is the GUILT.

In my mind, I know that we worked just as hard for this baby as we did for the twins. We cried the same amount of tears for it. It was conceived at the exact same day as our twins, during the same IVF cycle.

But.

My heart feels it was somehow too easy. This FET was basically our very first serious try for a second pregnancy. And it worked. Just like that.

Two of our closest friends started trying for their first just after our twins were born. They got pregnant their very first cycle, but miscarried at 9 weeks. And have not been able to conceive since. It somehow feels WRONG that I am pregnant now, and they are not. It feels out of order. We have our twins. AND this pregnancy. They have nothing. Just the hurt of losing their first baby, and an uncertain future. And they are not the only ones.


When in the privacy of my own bedroom, I stand in front of the mirror and marvel at how fast my body is changing. I touch my belly and dream about this new child. I wonder if that little movement I just felt inside me was our baby. I secretly try to find it's heartbeat once a week with the doppler I got off the internet. My heart skipped at least three beats when I finally found it Yesterday. And when I know for sure that I'll be able to find it again, easily, I'll let my husband and the twins in on my little secret. Let them hear it, too. Let them get to know our new baby.

But before I go out, I put on wide shirts and jeans that are at least two sizes too large. I don't fit my regular clothes anymore, but I'm afraid to dig out the maternity clothes I saved after the twins were born. Afraid I'll tempt fate, sure, but also afraid to show people I'm pregnant. Afraid they'll judge me, just a little. But mostly afraid I'll hurt them.

And so this blog, too, has been quiet.



It won't be for much longer, though. I want to write about this pregnancy so much. About the way it's changing my body and heart. About how it affects the way I look at our twins. About my worries and fears, but also about my dreams. I want to remember every little thing about it, want to be able to read back in a few years and relive every single moment. The good ones, AND the bad. And I want to share it. It's too much for just one person. Too much worry. Too much love. Too many fears. Too much joy.

If you don't want to read it, don't. But I'm going to stop hiding. This child deserves more...

Hello little bean...

Our ultrasound today showed a tiny little miracle, measuring spot on for 7 weeks. With a perfect little heartbeat.
Knowing we had two embryo's transferred, and having had twins before, it was a bit weird seeing just the one. But it feels exactly right. It feels perfect! Welcome, little bean. Welcome home!

Countdown

After 5 days, the spotting stopped. Just like that. No blood yesterday, not even a little bit. I am carefully starting to breathe again.

I feel like a little kid now, nervously counting down the nights until her birthday. Looking forward to it, but also a little scared of what that day might bring.

8 more nights until the first ultrasound. 8 more nights until we "meet" our new baby for the first time. Or our new babieS. Or nothing at all...

*** update: Shit. It's back... ***