What It’s Like To Have A C-Section

My girlie-friend Amy is having a baby.  She and I have history and oh-wowweee-kazoweee do we have history.  We have matching tattoos.  I’ll just leave it at that.  Anyway – she lives far away in Utahland, and I haven’t seen her in years but here we are, having babies at essentially the same time.  So I got an email from her last night asking what it was like to have a C-Section, as she’s scheduled to have one next week.

And since nobody in my life escapes this site, I’m answering her here.  Honestly – it’s mostly because before I went in for my own C-Section, I had the same questions as her.  And one doesn’t want to find out the answers on the internet because lets face it people.  The internet is full of salacious and fantastic lies.  So this is from me to Amy, and the rest of the world.  The nuts and bolts of a C-Section, not anonymously written, but from me to you.  A friend’s account.

In the recovery room, about 1 hour after Smith + Sheppard were born.

Amy!  Hi!

Ok so first of all congratulations on being an old mom like me.  HA!  Second, I have some great information from my readers, here, describing their experiences with C-Sections.  But let me tell you about mine.  Yes, me me me.  Let’s talk about ME!  This is how it went down for me – and maybe it will be similar for you.  But my biggest piece of wisdom is this – regardless of your experience, it is YOURS.  You will be telling it to your baby-to-be.  You will be relating it to friends and then sometimes strangers.  So just try to sit back and enjoy the story that unfolds.  It’s yours.

First, when you get to the hospital they will get you ready for the Operating Room.  This includes shaving your pubic area, or at least part of it.  I dove right into that didn’t I?  Well, it’s true so there you go.  It’s really no big deal but it surprised me that they go in that low.  I was glad though.  No scar showing for when I am wearing my belly shirts! [Note:  Um….actually there are no belly shirts in my future.  That is my gift to the world.] Also they ask for a urine sample which for some reason always gives me problems.  Stage fright or what have you – just don’t go for a while before you’re admitted so you don’t have to sit in the can for like 1/2 hour like yours truly waiting and praying to be able to pee.  Sheesh.

The hospital staff will get you into the OR, and it’s totally big and bright and cold.  This is when the spinal epidural is done, and let’s be honest, it’s not that awesome.  However, it’s not all that bad.  Remember when we got our tattoos?  How at first it sucked a lot and then it actually wasn’t that bad?  Same deal.  Except the insertion only takes a few seconds and if you just breathe deep and relax, it’s dunzo quick as can be.  After that’s done, they lay you down and prep you for the procedure.  You’re numb so you can’t feel anything and that’s when a catheter is inserted.  Too much info?  Naw, it’s best to know.  Keep reading.

After you’re prepped, that’s when your baby-daddy comes in and stands next to your head.  A few anesthesiologists and nurses will be there as well, and the surgical team.  It’s a full house.  They’ll put a sheet up at about mid-ribcage so you don’t have to watch the procedure.  This is nice of them.  Then, it all begins.

I don’t know what they do.  I’ve never wanted to know how they go in or what they’re doing with my organs.  So this part is just the blind faith that a surgeon is doing what a surgeon does.  You’ll feel some tugging, and no pain.  It’s kind of like you’re on a rollercoaster.  Your body will be feeling a bit of movement, but it’s thrilling and then…what?  That fast??  Suddenly the pressure that’s been squashing all your insides for the past 9 months is relieved, you can breathe and it feels really good, and then…crying! For me it happened just  a few minutes into the whole deal.  I was shocked how fast they got the babies out.  Seriously like 5 minutes into it.  When you hear your baby cry, it is indescribable.  You may cry, I did.  And everyone around you celebrates and says congratulations, and at this point, your baby-daddy can go over to where they’re checking the baby out, take pictures, and come show you.  The rest of the time, they’re putting you back together – I don’t know for how long.  Maybe 1/2 hour or 45 minutes?  Time is weird then….you can hear your baby, you can see the pictures, you’re so happy and have no feeling in your legs.  It’s just surreal.

Your baby will look like one of these. Somewhat.

As soon as I got into the recovery room, they brought my babies in, and I was able to breast feed them and hold them.  I was sleepy like crazy (the spinal has a long-acting morphine-like drug.  It lasts for around 24 hours which is lovely because for real, for that time you don’t feel bad at all.  Very little pain, very relaxed.  I mean, what can I say?  I’m a fan of morphine as it turns out.) But even sleepy and drugged, holding the babies for the first time is electrifying.  They know what to do when you put them up to your breast, and just start sucking.  They are tiny and vulnerable and beautiful and kind of ugly and just….yours.

Being born is soooo exhausting.

In the following few days in the hospital, your doctor and the nurses will be asking you if you’ve “passed gas from below” until you answer yes.  It’s an odd thing to have conversations about, but it is an indicator that your intestines are waking up and functioning, so they want to be in the loop.  Just go with it.

My only complaint with the experience was that here in NYC unless you’re super lucky or super smart enough to get a private room, you have roommates.  They come and go, usually at like 3 in the morning and for some reason they all snore.  Get a private room so you get some sleep.  I didn’t get a good night’s sleep the entire time I was in the hospital.  That sucked the most.  It did motivate me to get home though – I had the babies on Tuesday and went home Friday.  I could have stayed longer but seriously?  I wanted out of there.

So.  Healing.  I’ve had two birthing experiences.  Roan was born vaginally, the twins via C-section.  I don’t think one way trumps the other.  My biggest fear with the C-Section was that I’d not be able to lift my babies or that I would have pain while breastfeeding them.  Turns out neither of those things were the case.  I could hold them and carry them from day one, and they were so tiny, they didn’t touch my incision.  It is absolutely terrifying to move.  You won’t want to.  You will want to stay in bed because you have an incision that is about 5 inches long on your body.  But move you must!  After the first day, the best thing you can do is slowly get out of bed, slowly stand up and slowly walk laps around the hospital floor.  Did I mention you won’t want to?  You won’t.  I didn’t want to.  But as you move, you feel better.  And that is the truth.  So do it!

The only thing that tripped me up was that I had a nerve that got cut or tied up in my stitches.  This delivered white-hot-searing and blinding pain.  But it resolved within a few days, and it’s not a common thing to happen.  It won’t happen to you.  You are luckier than me.

And one last thing: hospitals and nurses and friends and family will all urge you to “room-in” with your newborns.  Having them in your hospital room is awesome.  You will not want to stop looking at your newborn.  You will want to smell your baby, hold your baby, even lick you baby.  (Do that in private).  But for me – and for the record, this is just me – I loved being able to send them to the nursery to sleep for the night.  The intent was for me to rest which I’ve mentioned I was unable to do as there was much snoring and roommate musical chairs happening.  But – seriously.  You will be rooming with your baby plenty when you get home – and if you want or need to send him to the nursery, so you can rest, do it sister.  Do it without guilt or regret.

You may smell your baby's head in public. Do not lick it in public.

Ok.  So there’s my play-by-play.  Take pain medication, drink lots of fluids, get rest, and bask in the light of being a mama.  It is truly the most magical of times, regardless of the path they take to get out of your body.  Somehow the pain and discomfort don’t end up being all the important because you will just be mesmerized by that wrinkly-faced squishy little sweetheart of a baby that just entered your life.  It will get so big, so fast, and turn from this:


To this……:

5 minutes later

…….so super fast that you don’t even need to sweat the small stuff.  It’s one day – their birthday.  And you have so so so many great days ahead.  Relax.  Enjoy.  Fall in love.

I am so happy and excited for you my friend.


PS – If any readers have anything to add, please do!  Questions?  Comments?  Outrage that I got it wrong?  Leave it here…


Sheppard and Smith

Oh you guys – – thanks for waiting for me!

I really thought I would post before this, and I’ve meant to every day, because I’d like the wide world to know that things are amazing in my corner of Brooklyn.  The C-Section went beautifully.   The boys came out all slimy and as they pulled Sheppard out (who is, by the way, a full minute older than Smith) my first thought was, “I can breathe!!”  And not as in, “I’m so relieved”.  It was a literal sensation of being able to inhale fully, where before all my parts have been so squished that there was really just not a lot of room for air.

And then I heard him cry, and I started to cry and then I was just in love.

And then I heard Smith cry, and I cried some more and then there was just more love.

Anson and Roan checking out Mr. Smith

And then the anesthesiologist started trying to wrench Anson’s camera from his hands, as he was really loving that camera.  I’m not kidding.  As Anson was trying to snap the first moments of his new twin sons’ lives, this guy is all, “What ISO are you using?” and saying to his fellow doctor types, “this camera is awesome, you could pay for an entire semester of college with it”

The camera made this look good. Good camera.

Maybe he got his degree online?

This is kind of what they do all the time. ZZZZZZZZ.

Baby Feet! I'm not the only one who thinks that's cute, right?

Not ready for their close-up, obviously.

Still, we were able to refocus back to the freaking miracle of life and not the miracle of my husband’s camera, and Anson kept snapping pictures and showing them to me as they put my humpty dumpty parts back together again.  It was so surreal and fine and funny and beautiful and my reply of, “Yeh I get that a lot” when the surgeon mentioned that I had nice Fallopian Tubes brought down the house.  Always ready to sneak a joke in…..that’s me.  Well, me + morphine.

This is Sheppard Nelson Call – born at 9:04 AM, 11/09/10, weighing in at 6.8 lbs:

I know. Makes you wanna kiss him. I know.

Sheppard has a nice profile, no?

And this is Smith Nelson Call – born at 9:05 AM, 11/09/2010, weighing in at 5.6 lbs:

I know. Makes you wanna eat him up. I know.

Smith, totally taking it in.

My friends, they are lovely.  And their brother Roan?  He’s been a trooper.  His grandmother came to Brooklyn to care for him, and she made him feel like the king of the world.  He loves his brothers, smothers them in kisses, and is especially proud when he coaxes a burp from them.  Or when they poop.  He thinks that’s some funny stuff.


And this? Makes me die.

Roan with Grandma Carolynn - Smith's namesake.

I will have stories, I already have stories to tell from here until the end of time.  But mostly I am just currently consumed with bone-crushing, head-spinning love for my husband Anson who has stepped up his already stellar game in taking care of me, and our now super-sized family.  This man.  Suddenly, I just don’t know what to say.  Just play an Air Supply song and then you kind of get the idea.  I know, disgusting.  I’m so sorry.

And also a shout out to my friends and family who have also circled the wagons and encased me in love and care and help.  They’ve put me in this place where I can honestly say that bringing these boys home, and caring for them and my firstborn son RoRo has been nothing but a pleasure, so easy.  Because my people are taking care of everything else in my life.  It’s a gorgeous time now.

Proud Big Bro.

And now, I need to change two poopy diapers.  Yes, Shep and Smitty are talented and thoughtful enough to poop at the same time.

[And a P.S. from Jodi: Since Smith and Sheppard have been born, they’ve had two new friends also enter this world.  Welcome to the jungle, Booker (my niece’s baby boy) and Luna Rose (my sweet friends Eddie and Katie’s newest girl)!!]

Ok, Seriously, It’s About To Happen. Seriously.

[Another Note from Jodi: I wrote a piece for BlogHer about a 4-year-old boy who was expelled from a private school for growing his hair long to donate to a program that makes wigs for cancer patients.  Check it out here.]

Hello.  What’s New?

Hi, how are you today?  I’m fine.  It’s cold outside where I live.  Is it cold where you live?  So, what’s new?  Nothing much for me, I’m just giving birth to twins tomorrow morning.  Have you seen any good new shows lately?  I’ve enjoyed Nurse Jackie, and Fringe.  Looking forward to starting Sons of Anarchy soon, if Netflix can ever get it to me.

Oh, what?  The giving birth to twins part?  Freaking out?  Me?  No no no, not at all.  Just another day, figure I’ll be done by 10 AM, EST, which will leave me plenty of time to make it to Parent/Teacher Conference by 4:00.  Afterwards I may enjoy a game of mini-golf or maybe bowling, if time allows.  I’ll probably be crazy-town hungry and eat some curly fries at some point.  Maybe a chili-cheese dog.

Denial?  What?  Hmmm.

Well I just wanted to say thank you ever so much to each person that wrote in with their story or ideas about C-Sections.  Yes, even the freaky ones did me good – I just like to have an idea of the spectrum of my immediate future.  I feel remarkably calm and energetic, and mostly just anxious to get on with it.  I really do want to wear my combat boots again which has been a real challenge what with the big lace-up and tie committment.  I can’t reach.  Unless I give up breathing.  I choose breathing over boots.  But I miss my boots.  And that’s a good reason to birth these two babies, no?

I’ll be in the hospital until Friday or Saturday, and hopefully bringing these two clowns home with me then.  All signs point to them being ready and willing to come on out tomorrow, and Roan is going to be their very first visitor.  I just cannot wait to see that happen.  I have no idea how or if I’ll be able to post any pictures or words, but if I can, I will.  In between naps.

These boys will be named Smith and Sheppard – I’ve been asked that a lot.  They are being named after my mother and Anson’s mother; each boy’s first name is a grandmother’s maiden name.  Middle names will come from my father, my maiden name – Nelson.  And then the Call name will bring up the caboose of our last-name festival.

The unfortunate thing is  that I’ve learned too late that there is a Fox News Anchor named Shepard Smith and while that was almost enough to blow the homage, we’re sticking with it anyway.  We will always simply introduce Smith first, and hope nobody makes the connection.  Cruel irony, tying me up with Fox News.  Cruel Cruel Cruel.

So for now – thanks for all the support and the stories and the encouragment – it means a lot to me.  I’ll be back soon – count on it.

Give Me The Scoop, The Skinny, The 411.

[Special note from Jodi:  For my NY peeps, Baby Loves Disco is teaming up with H&M and Planet Awesome Kid this weekend to raise money for the Lemonade Tour 2010.  The fun times will be to raise money for Alex’s Lemonade Stand Foundation, a non-profit organization devoted to finding cures for childhood cancer.  This event will be held on Sunday, at Le Poisson Rouge, and will be, of course, awesome.  If you want to do a little dance, make a little….difference….., and get down tonight, I highly recommend attending this event.  If you’re NOT in NY, but would like to donate $10, you can text “Lemonade Disco” to 85944.]

I Need Your Help

There is a problem with Google.  The problem is that it is always there, always on, and always has answers.  I know that it is the bane of the medical world’s existence what with people self-diagnosing and then self-treating and learning what the Top 5 Mistakes Your Doctor Will Make With Your Upcoming Surgery are, and then flipping out.

No siree, not me.  In fact, I must say that I am refraining from indulging my Google-binge tendencies because it’s all fun and games until I have a panic attack because of the horror.  The Horror.  People are probably more inclined to write about The Horror rather than the good because The Horror is sensational.  So, as far as C-Section information goes, what I have is a brief earful from my doc yesterday talking about yadda yadda cutting here, spinal blocking there, sewing up, and (God bless her) a long-lasting Morphine based substance that will make me almost pain-free, and probably unreasonably happy for the first 12 or so hours.  Yay!

Fortunately I also have some friends around me who are willing to share their own stories of C-Sections, and so far I’ve only heard from the ones with the good stories.  I understand there are the stories that are not-so-good.  But for now, I’m enjoying the innocence of the good times ahead.  And I’m asking my readers for more – if you or your partner has gone through a C-Section, how was your experience?  What do you wish you would have known?  What would you do differently?  Should I try to go liquid diet the day before?  How tonka-tough does one need to be to rock in the C-Section world?

But please – don’t freak me out.  Be honest.  But don’t try to freak me out.  I’m fragile and have damn near 13 pounds of baby in me.  It’s a precarious place to be in.  Also right now I can actually see two heads and one set of baby buns protruding from my belly.  So I’m just sayin’….I’m walking around already a little freaked out as is.

Caution: Taking Pictures Of Pregnant Ladies Can Be Dangerous

Angst at 6

Anson got a new camera last week.  Not like a digital point-and-shoot camera, but like a CAMERA, in all caps, italics and bold.  He and his (very generous) father had long talks on the phone which led to a camera coming to Anson in the mail, and I’ve never seen my husband look more like a 5-year-old child who just received his first Hot Wheels set.  His eyes are bright when he holds it, and he practically levitates when he shows off what it can do.  It’s sweet to see Anson get something for himself – he rarely spends money on anything that is just for him.  Except beer.  But even that has been downgraded to a money-saving beverage I don’t trust all that much that comes from the corner Bodega and smells more of skunk than hops and barley.


Back to the camera.  So Anson loves this thing and will hardly put it down.  Which means he’s snapping the living daylights out of Roan, and even taking a few of me.  I typically don’t mind these photo sessions because Roan and I will basically ignore the man behind the camera, and just do what we’re doing, never really having to see the resulting images of us mid-word, mid-blink, or mid-about-to-take-a-bite-of-food.  But did I mention that Anson is excited really I mean it excited about this machine?  So after a long day of trick-or-treating yesterday, we talked Roan down off his sugar high, got him into bed, and Anson began showing me the great shots he got.

Zombie Baseball Player, Storm Trooper, and Dragon Ninja on the BQE Footbridge.

Even Zombie Baseball Players Get Stoked for Chocolate

And there were beauties.  Beauties of the kids we were with.  So sweet and Halloween-scary.  Beauties of our friends we were with, all put together and gorgeous, our friends.

Stoop Sitting, Brooklyn Style

And then there was me.  Boo hoo.

Let’s just state the obvious and that is that at 37 weeks pregnant with twins, I am not looking my most amazing glamorous best of all time forever and ever amen.  But the good news is that I have a special filter in my head that must allow me to see more of my earlier self than my present self when I look in the mirror.  And that filter unfortunately did not come with my husband’s camera.  Oh, how I wish he would have paid extra for that filter, because it may have prevented my little mini-self-hating-temper-tantrum I threw while looking at the pictures, which resulted in my calmly handing the computer to Anson and saying, “I cannot look at one more picture of myself”, and then stomping down our stairs with a frumpy angry “Good night!” and some more boo hoo while I threw all the covers and pillows over my head.  And I was mad, at him.  Because….he….should have known….how I looked in these photographs….and he….should have….never have taken them.

“But I think you look beautiful….” was the confused voice of Anson that followed me down the stairs.  Hmph.  Bah.  Clearly drinking too much skunky cheap beer.

And in true mother’s talk fashion, I told my friend Lola this morning how awful these pictures were,  to which she replied totally matter-of-fact, “It’s just too soon, and in a year you will look at the same pictures and think they’re great.”

So, maybe she’s right and I owe that guy an apology.  Could be.  We’ll see in a year’s time….but I think she could be right.  Because I look at the funny big-bellied pictures of me when I was pregnant with Roan, before I knew who he was, and I adore them.  I adore them now because I know how much love and sweetness and awesome magical power came from that wonky belly.  I suspect there is more magical super power coming out of this (currently titled) abomination I call my belly, and that later I will look back on it with the sweet tenderness I feel for my pics of Ro and me, before I even knew how we fit together.

I know at the end of this post I should post one of the pictures I hate, but no.  It’s not been a year yet.  24 hours later, and I still am not digging them.  Sorry!  But here’s one to melt your heart:


10 Tips, Advice and Warnings for The Pregnant

Image from: http://www.noob.us/pictures/pregnancy-dos-and-donts/

Here are my observations as a professionally pregnant lady about pregnancy, being pregnant, and a little advice sprinkled in on what to do if you find you are…pregnant!
  1. The world kindness quotient increases by about 150%.  I don’t know if mankind is hard-wired to protect all pregnant ladies, or just the ones who are looking mighty mighty (that’s secret code for being huge like me) but everyone from the crossing guard to the typical grumpy transit worker is more than happy to go out of their way to stop traffic, or hold up public transportation just so we can waddle our life-creating machines on board.  Weird, but true.
  2. Your body is public domain.  Along with extra kindness, comes the warning that everyone – and that does mean every last person you come into contact with – has the right (and will likely exercise the right) to give a statement assessing how your body looks.  Suck it up, buttercup – and hang on tight to your sense of humor.  Phrases like, “You’re going to pop!” and “What, are you 12 months pregnant?” are often the price we must pay for that seat on the bus, the kind smile that comes after the assessment/harassment, and the hearty good-natured belly laugh that ensues from the commentors as they marvel at your tenacity to be as pregnant as you are.  Don’t take it personally, and remind yourself that each person you come in contact with doesn’t realize that the 50 people you saw earlier in the day said almost the exact same thing.
  3. Sometimes a partner can best communicate love, support and that intimate knowledge of what really really really makes you happy,  by sleeping on the couch.  Especially if that partner is snoring.
  4. Hemorrhoids: not just a myth.  I mean, I won’t really get into it but listen.  Your body is full.  It is full of baby and fluid.  And that baby is squishing things out of your body and it’s just disgusting and weird but anyone who has been pregnant has probably experienced it so you’re not alone in being disgusting.  Take comfort in that.  In that, and in Preparation H.
  5. Sometimes you will feel tired beyond what is normal.  It is at that time that you must take drastic action and talk yourself out of organizing and alphabetizing the spice rack.  Go put your head to a pillow and twist your mouth into a smile and breathe deep because this is one real perk, perhaps as payment for the hemorrhoids.  We are encouraged, applauded and revered for taking naps.  It falls under “taking care of the baby” but baby, sometimes that baby is you.
  6. I can’t say this is universal, but I’m thinking the way I’m inclined to eat in these last weeks of being in the motherly way is the way I should continue to eat after the babies are out.  There is no room in my stomach, ever, and fatty rich foods have no appeal to me because they just sit, strangely close to where my heart is, and make me burp.  However, fruit and vegetables satisfy me and have little to no gastric consequences.
  7. Right when you find out you are pregnant, your clothing choices become instinctively more baggy.  As it moves on, and especially at the end, baggy is no longer your friend.  Rather than tenting your entire look from the apex of your belly, go tight and proud.  It may, or may not, encourage more comments, but at least everyone knows that it is a baby pushing the limits of your clothes, and not the pizza/cheeseburger/milkshake diet you’ve tried.  Trust.
  8. Don’t marry yourself heart and soul to one idea about how your childbirth should go.  I’m lucky that included in my pre-packaged simpleton nature, my philosophy on childbearing goes something like this: Please get the babies out of my body.  And that’s it.  Universally applicable, morally sound, and medically compatible with pretty much any technique.  So my impending C-Section is not bad sad or rad news for me, it’s just the plan.  Surprisingly, childbirth is like magic and witchcraft with little control given to the mother about what circumstances will arise.  Make choices and preferences but stay flexible and fluid.  Just get the babies out, safely.  And then be happy.
  9. Ok, last mention of private parts.  Here is the one reply that all partners of pregnant ladies should memorize, and use often, as described by a reader named Danielle, and left as a comment in my post “I Understand That I Am A Crazy Lady“:

When I was at the end of my first pregnancy and bossing my husband around, I got a glimpse on day of just how crazy I was being.  So I profusely apologized to hubby, his response was golden and I think speaks to what most of those men are thinking, “I will do just about anything you ask as long as it’s not to squeeze a basketball out of my nether-regions!”

Well played, husband.  Well played.

10.  I’m leaving this blank for you – leave me your most insightful impression, advice, idea, or memory of being pregnant – or being around a pregnant person.  I have a feeling that I missed a few things…but I’m listening.  Unless I need a nap.

I Understand That I Am A Crazy Lady.

[I’m Totally Stoked Note from Jodi: The Today Show picked up my post about Roan wanting to get his ears pierced.  Look at my name under the hot lights of the Today Show Logo here!]

And Now, Crazy Town:

This weekend I began my countdown.  Only 17 days….now 16….now 15….not so much because I’m anxious to have these boys, but because there’s just so much to do! For instance, what would happen if I went into labor, and the hall closet hasn’t been organized yet?  What if our returns to Zappos haven’t been processed by the time these babies arrive?  Worst of all, imagine if all the umbrellas on the floor of the coat closet are still on the floor when the twins are born, as opposed to being hung neatly on hooks which I’ve clearly expressed my wish to have happen?

The worst kind of crazy is the kind that you can see happening, but have no ability to dilute.  Welcome to my special edition/confession of  The Jodi Crazy, and please utter a phrase of hope for my poor husband, who in his ever-earnest quest to take care of me during this pregnancy has not complained even once, as I task-master the living daylights out of him.  My only consolation?  I’m not the only crazy pregnato.  This is just what happens, what with some delicate balance of hormones and babies and chemistry and science, we just get like this.

In fact, while Anson was on his 6,932nd chore of the day which took him to a local hardware store, he ran into a fellow father-to-be who in the interest of confidentiality and not throwing this father under the bus I will call “Freddie” instead of Eddie.  So “Freddie” was also at the hardware store, buying flowers to plant in his backyard.  Anson wouldn’t give up their conversation in full to me but I have a feeling it was one of commiseration, empathy, and camaraderie, as “Freddie’s” wife is due with their fifth (!!!!!) child right at the same time I am.  And all my husband could/would tell me was that as husbands of pregnant ladies, who are almost done being pregnant ladies, these husbands agreed that their wives were slightly psychotic.  And you know?  I couldn’t even get mad at that because geez.  It’s true.  Can’t get mad at the truth.  I mean, I could if I wanted to, because I’m pregnant.  But I won’t.

Fear not though, the weekend wasn’t all work!  For me, at least.  Other than making lists of things to do for my main man, it was all fun and games.

Roan and I went to a fashion show sponsored by the Brooklyn Indie Market, which is run by an awesome woman called Kathy Malone who took me by the hand and marched me to the front of the line for the bathroom when I mentioned that I had to go.  Brooklyn Indie Market understands pregnancy, I’m just saying.  So they had a Steampunk fashion show.  Via Wikipedia, Steampunk:

A sub-genre of science fiction, alternate history, and speculative fiction…in other words, based on a Victorian perspective on fashion, culture architectural style, art, etc.  Steampunk is often associated with cyberpunk.

Ya dig?  More or less it is just an awesome array of fabulous costumes that I knew Roan would be ga-ga for and as it turns out, so was I.  Check out a few snaps:

Kathy Malone's Back, A happy guy, and my sis Lori Steampunking it up

Performance by the Lola Lola Dance Theater

Steampunk Dude Seriously Working It

Corsets seem especially cruel, but beautiful

This woman was breathtakingly gorgeous. She made Ro giggle.

And the most beautiful image of the day?  I came home to a coat closet that looked like this on the door:

The calming feeling of umbrellas that have a place to go. Now I can have my babies.

So. Very. Special.

Sometimes, being special is super cool.  For instance, being special enough to win the lottery is super cool.  Or having a special ability that helps people is super cool.  Even knowing how to bake a cake is a cool kind of special.  Sometimes, however, being special is super dumb.  Like me, the way I’m special today.  I am so super duper special, that my twin boys have done something that only happens 1.5% of the time in twin pregnancies.

That’s right.  We’ve  done something that 98.5% of twins just cannot do.

My boys have managed some advanced fetal yoga, and twisted their bodies into the letter “T”, with Baby A’s face squarely planted in Baby B’s bum.  Grrrrreat, huh?  So these positions will not be changing because ther is no more wiggle room.  Baby A is breech, and Baby B is transverse (and nestled comfortably, horizontally across and inside my rib cage.  That feels good.  Wish I could share this feeling with everyone.)  And it turns out that this is magical special formation makes it impossible (duh) for me to deliver them in any way other than a c-section.  The good news is that I am not a person that is married to any one idea of how I want to have these babies.  Honestly if I could get someone else to do it for me, I’d be into that.  So the c-section news is not bad news to me, it’s absolutely fine.  The thing that makes me a little grumpy?  The doc said that since this has been such an effortless pregnancy (really?  Because I remember a few times I’ve had to exert some effort.  Like moving my giant disproportioned body from any point A to any point B) but anyway – no complications and such – and my weight is good and my blood pressure is quite lovely, and my uterus hasn’t exploded (sorry sorry sorry sometimes I go too far) she wants to push this pregnancy to last as loooooong as possible, ideally to 38 weeks.

YAY!!  Because I was a little worried that I might not have the chance to outgrow each and every piece of my biggest maternity clothing.  Opportunity comes people, when you least expect it.  Believe.

Anyway – I’m being stupid to complain of course.  It’s only an extra 9 or 10 days from when I was hoping we’d be meeting these guys.  And the reasons are solid.  Baby A is a big Roan-sized giant, and could be born today without any forseeable NICU time.  But Baby B needs to put on a little more weight.  So I’m gonna hang on to him long enough to get him big and fat because honestly skinny babies are soooooo 1980’s.  And also it would break my heart to only bring one baby home, leaving the other at the hospital.  That would be a tough situation, for sure.

So mark your calendars: November 9th I’ll be wearing lipstick, a hospital gown, and be giddy as hell because that’s the day we’re going to get these boys on out of this body.  Unless my body kicks them out first, which is unlikely based on my pregnancy with Roan – 2 weeks over due, 9 pounds, and I had to be induced.  But who knows?  Being so super duper special, I may just go into labor tonight and have them in my bathtub.  One never knows.

Five Thoughts

In the spirit of my tangential trains of thought – trains that seem to jump tracks and go at the speed of light, I have a few things I need to say – but it has to be quick and dirty today – I’m on my way in to see the doc to see if these boys have decided to un-yin-and-yang themselves (they’re hanging out sideways in my belly) and get into a proper position yet?  If not, I’m on my way to c-section land (not today, but soon), and you know what?  I’m cool with that.  I know it’s supposed to freak me out a little but honestly all the options of getting a baby (eh…or, babies)out of a body are totally wonky, they all seem equally wonky to me.  At least this way I get a cool little scar that I can show the boys at the bar.  So.

  1. Maybe because I see this time as my last one-on-one time with Roan, I have just been staring at him, imagining how it’s possible I could love anyone the way I love him, but confident that I will.  I just adore this kid, have you noticed?  Even if no one ever visited this site again, I would write and write because it is a true record of how this boy has changed my life.  I also stare because he looks so cool doing his math homework in a Dragon Ninja costume.

    Homework is way more fun in costume

  2. I have this recurring nightmare that Anson has left me, and I’m suddenly back in this relationship that I was in years and years ago.  It was a loveless thing, mostly born of stupidity and youth.  And in my dream, I’m always so distraught that I’ve lost my one true love, with the only option being that I go back to my one true un-love.  Had it last night, and woke up so happy to see Anson’s sleepy face next to me.  Even with pillow-crease wrinkles in it.
  3. I’ve found out that there are seriously messed up people on the planet who delight in saying words (or emailing them) to people they’ve never met, presumably for the sole purpose of bringing unhappiness to the recipient.  Luckily, I’ve become aware at exactly the same time that these people are rendered impotent when the recipient receives emails, comments and encouragement that is one-hundred-million-gazillion more meaningful because the lovely nice people have a much better grasp on grammar than the hater.  Just saying.
  4. I’ve never been walking underneath such a lucky star as I am right now in my life.  New things I’m trying are actually working, and positive change seems effortless.  I am so incredibly aware and grateful for the good stuff in my life.
  5. I should have left to my doctor’s appointment about 5 minutes ago.

Speedy Delivery! (No, not the babies, yet)

[Special note from Jodi: I was lucky enough to get to review the BumpIt Up Bliss Pre-Natal Package at the completely spectacular Peninsula Spa.  Check out my review at Momtrends!]

When I first moved to New York with my family, my sister Lori had already been here for a few years.  Of course, I had, too.  I mean, I lived here in my late teens and early twenties, but then had to sianara this wicked little town to pull my head out of a certain stupor it landed in due to this, that and the other thing.  (Which is, by the way, one of my favorite NYC sayings. “This, that and the other thing”, usually articulated in between snaps of gum in a thick-as-syrup accent and with no sign of what this, that or the other thing are.  Catchy though – use it like this, “She was getting on my last nerve, complaining about this, that and the other thing.”    See?  Pistols + Popcorn is an edumacational website.  A+ for everyone who begins using the phrase on the regular.)

So, when I moved here again for Part II of my Living in New York story, this time with my family, I was surprised to find that my sister had started ordering things on the internet.  She ordered shoes from Zappos, furniture from Crate & Barrel, books from Amazon and groceries from Fresh Direct.  “But you live in New York.”  I had to protest.  “People come here from thousands of miles away to shop in stores.  New York stores.  You can internet shop in Utah.”  It made no sense to me.  In fact, it offended me just a bit.

But of course, if you fast forward to me today, it’s a different story.  Five years later, I am sitting on my couch, in my pajamas, afraid to take a shower lest I miss a delivery scheduled for today from the delivery trifecta: FedEx, UPS, and USPS, which are all scheduled to knock on my door today, with booty and bounty for yours truly.

We have rain boots on their way for Roan, a Halloween Costume for Roan, prezzies from my homie in Cali The Biter, a nursing pillow for tandem twin nursing (Which I’m going to consider turning into a competitive sport.  It just sounds like that much fun), an unspecified package from an unspecified sender which has been attempted to be delivered here once before, and the big ultimate dog – six boxes from a company I’m trying to get sainted as they are sending me their product to review.  A product I need.  A product that takes SIX boxes.  More on that later.

I know, right?

The moral of the story is that I’ve found out that the greatest expression of being a true New Yorker is not to frequent its many beautiful and diverse stores, but to have everything brought to your doorstep.  Of course – I’m not a true New Yorker so I get my feet pounding the tough pavement more often than not, because I’m still starstruck at each beautiful building and busy street and the smell of Nuts 4 Nuts.  I’ve just retreated, a bit because I’m full of babies and am worried that my belly with startle the citizens of the city.  Let’s face it: New Yorkers are tough and gritty, but a freakshow is still a freakshow.

Also?  The doc told me at the last appointment that these little ducks are sideways.  YAY for my children, chosing the most messed up position to hang out in.  I mean, breach is fine, vertex is fine.  Whatever.  But this sideways biz is giving me a backache.  I think I’m going to go stand on my head in the corner to see if that motivates them to move.  Hopefully the rush of blood to my head will not prevent me from hearing my front door buzzer.