One woman's perspective of (twin) parenting (and other thoughts about things)
TW: miscarriage, medical procedures, panic attacks
One of the main reasons for starting this blog is that my memory is appalling (I had baby brain before I had babies).
A lot of the time this is fine, because electronic to do lists and Google reminders are a thing now.
But it dawned on me recently that I have already forgotten so much about my pregnancy, the birth and the early days of parenthood. And as we have zero plans to do any of it again, I thought I’d best write some of it down.
Heads up, though: there’s enough to break it all into two more parts, with each part still being a good five times longer than my normal posts, so you might want to get a cup of tea and a biscuit or three.
In Autumn 2019, we found out we were pregnant, after only a few months trying. By the end of the year, we were no longer pregnant (TW for link: miscarriage). I include this information here - including the link to the piece I wrote on miscarriage - because it is absolutely part of the journey (eugh, sorry, but it’s the right word here) that led us to being parents. It’s also very common and needs to be talked about more.
In Spring 2020, we found out we were pregnant again. I had very little morning sickness, for which I will be eternally grateful. I think it’s because I just ate constantly (I realised my nausea came hand in hand with feeling hungry, so that was a freebie because I love eating - 3pm Coco Pops became A Thing). I had a fairly sizable bump when I went for my 12 week scan but I was still anxious because I hadn’t made it as far as 12 weeks the last time round, and one of the signs then that all was not right was a lack of nausea. The fear wasn’t made any better by the fact that my husband had to wait in the car park. I have very very strong feelings about the whole COVID/antenatal-scans-by-yourself nonsense, incidentally.
I go in, I lie down, I know the drill by now because I had quite a few scans around my miscarriage. I say to the very lovely sonographer “My husband is waiting in the car, and we had a missed miscarriage a few months ago, can you please just tell me as soon as you see a heartbeat so that I can text him that it’s all ok this time?” She smiles and says of course. I immediately like her. Good start. Also, unlike a later sonographer who made her feelings very clear, this one didn’t mind me having my phone out to text my husband.
Then a nurse pops in to check that I’ve done all the paperwork related to the Down’s Syndrome screening I have elected to have done at the same time. Essentially, the routine screening involves a blood test and also a particular measurement of the baby’s neck, which they do as part of the scan. There are obviously consequences and decisions to make if any of these results come back as abnormal, hence you are “counselled” as to whether to opt for the screening or not. I explain that as I did it all in person for my previous pregnancy, my midwife had counselled me over the phone this time and had told me that I would just need to sign the paperwork at this scan to say I’d had that conversation.
Great, she said, she’ll just go and get the forms.
At which point the sonographer says “hang on a minute-”.
Now, a person looking at your insides saying “hang on a minute” might normally be cause for alarm, especially given the particular context, but I don’t remember being scared by it. She must have said it in such a way that I knew everything was ok, but just not quite as expected…
“- you’re going to have to re-counsel because there are two of them in there”.
…”what?”
I texted my husband.
“Good news, everything’s fine.”
“:)”
“…but the sonographer wants me to check with you that we definitely don’t have twins in the family.”
“…”
“SURPRISE!”
And so on. By text. From the car park. Bloody ridiculous (I mentioned how strongly I feel about this, right?) but ultimately also quite amusing.
I then have a crazy couple of hours. I have to be re-counselled for the screening (there are more things to consider when there are two babies because if one’s results come back as abnormal, any decisions you make about treatment potentially affect both babies), and when I go back in for my scan, one of the babies is in a very unhelpful place so I’m told to go for a wee (this was great news, I’d forgotten quite how desperate I was for a wee with everything else going on) and a walk. I ask if it’s ok to go and meet my husband briefly, which it is. So we have this surreal 30 seconds outside the main entrance of the hospital where we just stare at each other and say “twins” about 12 times and then I have to go back.
I get loads more tests, we disagree on dates (apparently this is quite normal - and problematic), I get some free photos, I make a nurse’s day (the one who was getting my paperwork, she was so lovely and Scottish and I think she was called Jane) with my reaction to the news, and then we come home to digest it all.
Turns out my sizable bump was not, as expected, 73% Babybel.
Now, of course, there was another huge plot twist to this pregnancy, aside from the bonus free child. This was 2020, the year when we all learned words like “lockdown” and bought virtue-signalling face masks from ethical, eco-conscious UK-based companies (just me?) The first lockdown started on Monday 23rd March 2020. I’m absolutely certain I ovulated on the Friday before this (despite what the sonographer thought), which means - for anybody who is counting - this was definitely not an intentional ‘lockdown pregnancy’. Kudos to you if your reaction to enforced house arrest was to create more people to share that house with you, but that was definitely not our plan! However, I’m incredibly grateful that it all turned out the way it did, because, as I will discuss elsewhere, lockdown basically gave me a pregnancy full of things I never knew I wanted.
So on I went through the pregnancy. I didn’t really have any cravings (at least not to the extent my mother had with her stories of driving for miles to find the last slice of black forest gateaux in Worcestershire) but I definitely wanted specific foods at specific times. My first trimester was all about cheese (see above about Babybels, I really did go through them), my second was red meat (turns out growing two placentas will do that to you) and the third trimester was all about the sugar and was also when I discovered quite how good alcohol-free beers and spirits are these days.
There were, however, a handful of not-entirely-ideal bits, and if you know me (or read more of this blog), I hope you realise that I find it hugely important to talk about those bits as well. Life is not all sunshine and roses, and neither should it be, in my opinion. But pregnancy really does have the potential to nudge you out of kilter in a whole range of new and exciting ways, both physically and mentally. When it comes to the latter, I have experienced varying levels of anxiety over my lifetime, as I’m certain I will explore more on this blog, but pregnancy (and post-partum) hormones really took that to a new level. I generally got away with it (I’m not sure my husband would say the same - he did very well at riding the waves) but there was one truly horrendous moment that I’m not sure I will ever forget. At the end of a long stressful week painting the nursery (beaming expectant parents joyfully wielding a paint roller on Instagram it was not), I had one of the worst panic attacks I’ve had for some time. I had just had my 20 week scan, so with 4 weeks to go until another one, obviously my body decided this was the perfect time to chuck this into the mix. I remember clearly kneeling on the floor outside the recently finished nursery, whilst my husband desperately tried to hold me and calm me down, crying uncontrollably and saying over and over again “I don’t want to lose these babies, I don’t want it to be like last time”. I talk about my miscarriage elsewhere, but here’s the thing that it’s important for me to remember - I can be as philosophical and mentally OK with it as I truly believe I am, but the voice in my head (we all have one, shh) will always say different things because it happened. And, crucially, that is OK.
Four weeks later, in a repeat performance of “you’ve just had a scan where you found out everything was fine, let’s do something scary!” (two days after my 24 week scan this time - you have a lot of scans when you are growing more than one baby, a fact that I was increasingly grateful for), I fell over on the flagstones outside our house. I had a very sore coccyx for a few days but thankfully the fear subsided and I didn’t feel the need to get checked out. As with the panic attack, the boys were obliging in moving relatively soon afterwards in a way that felt ‘normal’, and my brain told me everything was Okay.
Writing that has just reminded me about the constant barrage of “are you feeling normal movements” questions and how utterly useless they made me feel. I’ll write something about that at a later date and link back to it here. Incidentally, if you are reading this and you have similar Scary Things happen and you’re not Totally Okay with how your brain feels about it, just go and get checked out. That’s what our glorious NHS is there for, they will not mind, and you will sleep better.
Meanwhile, the WEEING. Sweet Lord I must have got to the point where I was weeing every two hours overnight. When you’re the size of a small castle and getting out of bed is really quite difficult, that is really Not Cool. On the plus side, I was definitely used to getting up every two hours. There was a time when that would have been considered a luxury.
Very briefly, before I wrap this part up, I want to just note down a few more memories about scans. As I think about these, it really does make me sad that my husband didn’t experience these with me, because even though obviously we can see the smols for real now, there’s something very magical about seeing them on the scan screen (science is awesome et c). One moment I remember very clearly was the first time one of them put their foot right up against the probe, so I got a perfect view of a perfect tiny foot. During the same scan (I think), I also saw the same baby’s hair floating away behind their head. Which was crazy. Hair. Lots of it. I don’t know why that blew my mind, but it totally did! Thirdly, I just want to make sure I don’t forget Jason, the lovely sonographer who I had my last scan with, and who coincidentally also confirmed my miscarriage a few months previously. I remember the first time I saw him thinking that I’d never heard about a male sonographer before, which is of course entirely ridiculous, but it’s what my brain offered me at the time. In any case, it felt so wonderful that he did my last scan pre-birth because it felt like I’d come full circle. Also he was just an excellent human, very calm and calming, always explaining everything he was doing and what we could see on the screen et c. One of life’s good’uns.
To finish with, here are two quick side notes about growing twins. Apparently it’s “normal” to have a second trimester burst of energy where you’re advised to do all of the nursery painting and you’ll want to nest and clean the whole house et c. I did not get that. Not everyone does, of course, but I’m reliably informed by other twin mamas that it really doesn’t happen with twin pregnancies. You just get more tired. And then more tired again. And then you’re a parent to two newborns and you’re quite certain you will never sleep again. Also, in the final trimester, there’s just no space in your body for anything else. Like food. Or internal organs. There was one awful bit near the end where my organs simply ran out of room and I had some excruciating kidney pain and spent a hideous evening in Maternity Triage being ignored (I may or may not rant about that another time).
However, all that aside, I truly had a gift pregnancy. I remember very clearly thinking “I can see why people get addicted to this bit”. No, this does not mean I’ll be doing it again. And you can “never say never” as much as you like (seriously, why do people do that?) but I’m saying it. The chance of another set of twins is high and I’d make an awful game show contestant: I’ll stick with what I’ve got, thanks!
And so, on to the birth story…
xx