Deciding to have kids, for me, was a tough decision. Even though Doug and I had said we would have kids, it was still an enormous decision that I wasn’t sure I was ready to make. My mom will tell you she didn’t think she’d ever have grandkids (surprise!). So after a couple of years of marriage, we finally decided to start trying for a baby. Two months later, we were pregnant. Doug still laments we didn’t get enough practice time in. It was a relatively uneventful pregnancy early on and we told people right away. Why not? We were excited, and I had all the partners of my law firm to tell, so that they could plot and plan my eventual replacement (oh that is such another story, for another day). We had one little scare at about 13 weeks (tear in the placenta, healed on its own) and the rest was a great pregnancy. Really. Except for the baby being up so high that I couldn’t breathe and barely eat, I felt good most of the time. Meg was born, on her due date, after two days of start and stop labor.
Life went along, and I finally felt ready for another child. It was a huge responsibility, adding to our family. I knew it would mean that I would most likely have to leave my job because of the cost of daycare for two, but we figured we would cross that bridge when we came to it. This time, getting pregnant was not as easy. Months went by, no baby. We started with the ovulation predictors; still no baby. Then finally about 8 months into trying, I got pregnant. We were thrilled. We told some people, including Meg (who was only 2 1/2). That day, I had some spotting, so we went to the doctor for an ultrasound. No heartbeat. It was devastating. Having to tell my parents, my co-workers, friends, was heartbreaking. We told Meg, and thank goodness she neither understood, nor remembers.
Six months later, we were pregnant again. I distinctly remember going to the doctor on New Year’s Eve for what was now an early ultrasound because I was considered a bit high risk due to the first miscarriage. Again, no heartbeat. This time, not only was I heartbroken, I was angry. We hadn’t told anyone outright, although the ladies in my office had figured it out. I actually went back to work after the appointment, because I had left a ton of work, and it was the last day of the year. I also remember having plans to go to a hockey game with Meg, and wishing the entire time I could go home and die. So, we did the tests which found nothing wrong, and we figured we’d try again when we (meaning I) were ready.
I was a wreck when I found out I was pregnant again. But I remember that my body felt differently than with the previous two pregnancies. Physically, I had felt off somehow with those miscarried babies. We knew at 7 weeks that we were pregnant, and had early ultrasounds again. Again, at about 13 or so weeks, I started spotting. I was totally pissed off at that point. We had just been to the doctor, seen the heartbeat, everything was golden. I had to call the same boss who watched me go through the first two miscarriages and tell him I thought I was having another one, and I’d be in to work when I could. Karen was our ultrasound tech that day. Our baby was fine. By some sort of miracle or something that I can’t explain, the baby was fine, but I had a blood clot that had to bleed out. I should have known then that Drew would give me trouble. He was born 3 days after Christmas, barely an hour after arriving at the hospital. He and Meg are almost 4 years apart.
Imagine my surprise when I found out I was pregnant again. Ok, I wasn’t totally surprised, because we had said if it happened, ok, but we weren’t trying. Because of my risk of miscarriages, we had an ultrasound early, again. Two heartbeats. Karen was our ultrasound tech again that day. She was our tech for every monthly ultrasound with the girls. She promised us that no, there weren’t more than two, and after 20 weeks, that yes, they were still girls. Given the high risk nature of a multiple pregnancy, it was the most normal of them all. I was blessed with no bed rest, no premature deliveries, no preterm labor. I had to BEG to have the induction at 38 1/2 weeks. BEG I tell you. Annabelle and Isabelle were born a good 11 minutes apart, exactly two weeks before Meg’s 6th birthday. Did I mention all the birthdays are 2 weeks apart?
I’ve been asked if we’re going to have more children. NO.WAY.IN.HELL. Not because I don’t love my children. Because we’re DONE WITH THAT, thank you very much. And while I blog about how my children cause me grief, they are the light of my life. I cannot imagine my life without them.