The real deal: one woman's pregnancy journal - Parenting

Some women have mixed feelings when they discover they're pregnant. But at age 28, working full-time with good medical benefits and in a good three-year-old marriage to a great man, I was ready. And as the little pink "positive" on my home pregnancy test proved, I was able.

So when I began my pregnancy journey in August 1995, I had a pretty positive and realistic attitude about the aches and pains and emotional ups and downs I would experience, or so I thought. Two years earlier I had been pregnant for 15 weeks before I miscarried, so I figured I knew what pregnancy was about. Hah! What I didn't know could fill a book. This journal, offered in the interest of sisterly sharing, is a little of what I learned along the way. I guess you could call it "One Woman's Tale of How She Survived Pregnancy and Lived to Love Her Babies."

Month One

I've never been much of a record keeper when it comes to tracking my periods, so it has taken me a week or so to notice that I'm late. Recently my husband, David, and I took our trip of a lifetime, a roadie from Chicago to the Grand Canyon and Las Vegas. Today, six weeks and one MIA period later, I rely on a home pregnancy test and a doctor's gestation wheel to deduct that it was during our vacation that The Deed was done. We're pregnant! And to think we complained about some of the cheap hotels on the road. I guess those lumpy beds aren't so bad after all!

Month Two

You know the sing-songy kid's chant: "First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes a baby in a baby carriage"? Well, I'd like to insert before the last line "then comes a whole bunch of doctor visits where you are pricked, prodded and pumped, then comes baby in a baby carriage." At my first doctor's visit, I'm thinking I only have to prepare myself for having six vials of blood drawn. But that needling is nothing compared to the shock I get two minutes into my first ultrasound when the doctor speaks these immortal words: "You're pregnant math

The moving picture of two hearts pumping is overwhelming. I can't believe my luck. Or fate. Can I handle two? Can we afford two? Exactly how big will I become? (I already weigh nearly 200 pounds, far too big for my five-foot-four-inch frame.) Somewhere between the doctor's office and the walk to meet my husband, the thought hits me: Maybe this is God's way of blessing my family with both a "new" baby and the one we'd lost.

Dave and I meet on a downtown corner at the height of lunchtime. People are walking by us quickly, on their way to take care of business. And I'm about to tell Dave that his life is going to change forever. Here he is thinking I'm just going to confirm the home pregnancy test. That alone would make his day. But I've got bigger news. "Dave, I was going to make up a story to play a trick on you, but I can't. I just have to tell you this straight out. Yes, we're pregnant and guess what? It's twins." I think the man actually staggers. He's stunned, I'm stunned, we're ecstatic. The next evening we get our parents together to tell them that their only children are pregnant with twins. We videotape their yahoo reaction. Life is great.

Month Three

Life sucks. Or rather, food sucks, throwing up sucks, going to work sucks. I'm not having a good month. I've lost 15 pounds, can't keep food down and am tired of driving to and from work with a plastic hurl bag at the ready. I had to celebrate my birthday clean and sober - no giddy toast with girls and our brandy alexanders. My only joy is that I'm enduring all this for the eventual treasure of having children.

We're taking lots of precautions. When I miscarried, the fetal tissue had an extra chromosome that would have caused severe defects, so now my doctor wants to do his best to ensure that these fetuses are genetically healthy. That's why I just went for a CVS (chorionic villus sampling) test, which checks the genetic makeup of the baby. It's a doozy. Using an ultrasound to guide him, the doctor stuck a long needle through my abdomen, uterus and placenta. My bladder had to be full so that the ultrasound would be most effective. Because the doctor was pressing down extra hard on my belly and because they had to stick me twice - with about an hour between tries - I thought for sure I'd pee on someone before the afternoon was over. I didn't. We'll have to wait a week for the results, and we don't even want to think about what we'll do if they come back showing something is wrong.

By the end of this month, Dave and I are relieved to learn that both babies have a perfect 23 pairs of chromosomes. We also learn the genders, but have decided to tell only our parents. With all this good news and my moving out of the iffy first trimester, I finally tell coworkers that I'm pregnant. it feels good; it's amazing how people rally around the beginning of a new life.

Month Four

My oily, pimply first-trimester face gives way to what friends call my pregnant glow. My bloatedness starts to turn into a "showing." And my overall health gets thumbs-up from the doctor. Life looks up. Still, the physical and emotional changes are a trip. My hair is already rejecting a relaxer (I had heard that hormonal changes in later months sometimes cause this), so it's looking pretty rough. And I'm noticing that my scalp is flaking a lot, a problem I've never had before. I'm fairly irritable too, especially if my must-have evening naps are interrupted. And dry skin? Whoa! Is it ever. I'm now weighing 186 pounds, and surprise! I'm okay with that. Because what I used to hate - the roundness of my stomach - is now a source of joy.

Month Five

Ummm, oranges, Popsicles, hot sauce, Snickers bars. These are a few of my things. But I have to watch carefully so as to avoid indigestion or gas - last night I was in the grocery store and found myself looking for an empty aisle to fart in. I used to control those suckers, but now they control me and are relentless. I hope this part of pregnancy passes, pardon the pun.

Oddly, my growing stomach makes me feel a little sexy. I wonder why. Meanwhile, anybody who asks to touch my stomach is welcome - I'm so amazed by its firmness, bigness and enclosure of life that I understand how others could be, too. One coworker, deep into his African- and Native-American heritage, went so far as to perform a blessing on my stomach the other day, blowing incense around me and chanting calming words. Now that was a first. And it's confirmed: At week 18 I'm feeling real movements, not those silly butterfly flutters" I'd read about.

Month Six

I no longer feel sexy - just big. But I also feel big movements. This is the most amazing part of my pregnancy. The babies are not these abstract beings anymore - they are moving, stretching, hiccuping people with personalities. Twin A is a rocker and a roller, rambunctious at night, often waking me up and certainly shoving the other twin around at times. Twin B has movements that are more fluid, less jerky. I think this one's going to be pensive. Sometimes I just sit around and think about who they will be, what they will look like and what I'll look like after they are born.

Already I'm starting to swell in places other than my stomach: A ring was stuck on my finger for several days, and my feet are too big for all but two pairs of shoes. My waistline is about 41 inches, and the stretch pants that were too big in the waist and hips two months ago are now well stretched. Yesterday I got stuck in my car for a moment, trapped between the seat and the steering wheel. I must've looked like a circus attraction as I tried to get out. And my hair is just pitiful. I feel like making a button that says, "I'm not normally this tacky-looking and slow-moving, I'm just pregnant and tired."

Okay, enough of these put-downs, girl! I'm pregnant and just have to realize that emotionally and physically I'm just not my normal self. Crying spells, cursing frenzies, moody blues and laughing fits - they are all a part of me for now. Even my hubby ain't looking so attractive to me; that old he-got-me-into-this-mess thing. But other men? I'm spottin' cuties left and right - at the very time that I don't want anybody looking at me!

Month Seven

I'm really beginning to fill out the maternity outfits my mother and aunt made for me, and I'm starting to feel pregnant in new ways. First of all, I am no longer sleeping with case. Just as I was getting used to sleeping on my back, my increased weight and the abdominal pressure make even that position uncomfortable. The sleep deprivation leaves me cranky, especially when I'm awake while Dave sleeps soundly.

Second, I now have two hemorrhoids. Until this moment I've never paid much attention to TV commercials showing old people grimacing while holding up boxes of medicated cream or pads. Now I've got my own cream and a new inspiration to eat fibrous foods - I'm doing all I can to make sure I have easy bowel movements.

Next, contrary to popular belief, pregnancy does not relieve you of the need for sanitary napkins. I don't have a menstrual flow, of course, but I do have vaginal secretions caused by all the estrogen in my body. The estrogen is also causing me to develop more and bigger moles and pigment changes. Some women get the mask of pregnancy on their face; my darker skin is on my neckline.

Everybody's telling me that the glory months of the middle trimester are over and that I had just better get ready for the hard part of pregnancy now. The bigger my belly gets, the more inclined people are to dig out these horrific stories of tragic labors and deliveries. I think the hardest part of pregnancy is learning to tune that stuff out.

Month Eight

My fashion options are quite limited now. I wonder if my coworkers are mumbling to themselves, "Here she comes again in those black pants." I'm mixing and matching pieces so much, I feel as if I have on Garanimals. I miss wearing belts. The only one I've worn for months now is a thick elastic number to ease back strain. And it has been forever since I've worn high heels. My feet are so big that when I'm not tit work, I wear my husband's sneakers. Finally, though, I've found pantyhose and tights that fit! Before, in maternity stores, I could only find one-size-fits-all hosiery - what a lie! My hips are as big as a 12-year-old is tall; one size does not fit me!

I had a great doctor's visit today. I got to see the twins again, via my third ultrasound. The doctor checked the babies' size to make sure that they are sharing nutrients and that one baby isn't growing at the expense of the other. They are lying in a bunk-bed position, Twin A on top and Twin B on bottom. Now I know why I feel as though I'm getting kicked in the ribs. It looks as though the babies are beginning to turn and settle into a normal headfirst position and that I have a good chance of having a vaginal delivery.

Month Nine

I've stopped working. Twins are often born around week 36, so the doctor and Dave have pretty much confined me to the house. Rather than listen to the clock tick while waiting for the babies, I do stuff. I talk to my mother, who's visiting. I crochet the babies' hats (I'm bored before I finish the second one). I address announcement envelopes. Nothing keeps me from wondering When, oh when, will my water break?

At the baby shower given by my girlfriends, we have a contest to guess my waistline. The answers range from the mid-40's to a high of 86 inches! Dag, do I look that big? I'm about 49 inches and proud of it. My size and the length of my pregnancy are signs of healthy babies. So are the results of my weekly NSTs (nonstress tests) that monitor the babies' heartbeats for consistency. Still, I can't help but have a few bad dreams about labor and delivery. I don't think I've ever prayed as much in my life as I have this month.

Month Ten

I wasn't supposed to make it this far! At week 38, 1 can hardly believe it. What happened to that "twins are born early" theory? Here I am, still carrying my 211 pounds to the doctor (twice a week) to get poked, prodded and asked to pee into a cup. Even the parking-lot attendant is impatient: "Are you still pregnant?"

I know it has to end soon. My doctor hints at inducing labor shortly if the babies don't come on their own. A friend tells me to swig mineral oil and orange juice, which she claims is a midwife's way to bring labor. I do, and end up with a mild case of diarrhea, much to my hemorrhoids' pleasure. Others tell me to "walk those babies out" or watch a funny movie and "laugh them out." I do, and end up winded from the walking and broke from the movies.

At week 39, my dilation hasn't progressed well, so the doctor will induce labor. I wanted a traditional labor, one where your water breaks suddenly, you run through the house screaming at your family, then you zoom to the hospital, where you holler and grunt, then pop! out comes a baby. But now I want whatever it'll take to end this forever-long pregnancy and give me my babies. I am to report to the hospital on Tuesday at 7 p.m., the end of my fortieth week.

Epilogue

My labor began near midnight that Tuesday evening-assisted with IV drops of oxytocin, a drug that causes the uterus to contract. Soon I had the most incredible cramps ever and decided there was no sense being a martyr: "An epidural, please," I said. "Numb me. Make me woozy. Knock me out." Two hours later I still had no epidural pumping into my spine and realized I'd been too polite in my request. "Give me drugs!!" I yelled. That time it worked. For nearly three hours the pain was manageable. Then the real fun began.

It was Wednesday morning, and I was told to push. To give me resistance, Dave held one leg and a young nurse held the other. Despite the fear that my pushes would send all three of us flying into a wall - I mean, my legs must've weighed more than that nurse - I pushed and moaned and delivered Twin B, Gregory, at about 9:30 a.m. Victoria, Twin A, was having a more difficult time, taking longer than the traditional 20 minutes or so to be born after the first baby. There was some talk of doing a cesarean section, but Victoria had a healthy heartbeat and I felt I could push more, so we labored. I didn't want to face healing from both a C-section and an episiotomy (a cut between the birth canal and anus to provide more passing room for the baby's head). Finally, Victoria made her entrance, some 90 minutes after her brother. Both babies were healthy and beautiful, a total of nearly 14 pounds, and Dave and I were overwhelmed with joy,

Most amazing is that in spite of the discomfort of the next days - chills, headaches, cramps and contractions, pain from my episiotomy stitches, horrible fear of having a bowel movement, and sore, sore nipples from breast-feeding - I had done it. I had survived pregnancy and lived to love my babies.

As a result of her experience, Kimberley Evans Rudd plans to open a store that caters to new mothers. This is her first piece for Essence.

COPYRIGHT 1996 Essence Communications, Inc.
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