Compromises

We have a great cloth diaper package all set up and ready to go. I researched everything, bought what we needed, pre-washed our diapers, got the wipes and wraps ready to go, and then we brought home the babies:

The newborn size wraps are still way, way too big for them, so it's disposables for now.

Just the first -- or maybe 3rd or 4th, I don't know -- of many compromises we're already making. Yesterday I ventured out of the house for the first time by myself, for the first time that was somewhere other than the doctor's office. I went to Target. I bought about a hundred diapers and rushed to get home in time for their next feeding. But I had that hour to myself in the car and the store, and that hour kept me human for a day.

Nora and Milo's first Christmas:


Here is another cute picture in lieu of content. We took this last night after noticing that the babies had somehow migrated towards each other in their crib and Nora's head was resting on Milo's arm:


I hope they'll always be close.

Wow

So this having babies stuff can kick your ass.

9 days in and things are getting a lot better. I knew that having a c-section would be hard, but I didn't really understand in what way it'd be hard. I was warned over and over again about healing up in the belly, not carrying things, not going up and down stairs too much, but nobody told me about the massive swelling post surgery and, in my case, the out-of-control rash that took over my entire body.

Think Austin Powers, and the character of Fat Bastard. Now think Fat Bastard with leprosy. That was me.

Add in a cold and a healthy dose of crying for no good reason, and we've got one scary mama. What we've been doing is feeding them every 3 hours, although especially in the beginning they were both too sleepy to want to eat anywhere near that often or as much as they were supposed to eat. So we spent most of every day trying to wake the babies up enough to feed them, then feed them, then put them down for maybe an hour before starting the whole process all over again. So basically it goes like this: wake the babies, try to nurse (they were born small enough that nursing was hard for them -- basically they fell asleep on the breast immediately), supplement, pump, cry, maybe sleep for a while, then do it all over again.

Thank goodness my mother is here, or I don't know what would have happened to us. Without her we'd probably be wandering around like crazed zombies, but we're spared that because she helps to feed/change them, she shops, cooks, washes bottles, does laundry, and takes care of all of the millions of little things that I am nowhere near capable of doing right now.

The other thing I have to say is thank goodness for their daddy. He is amazing with the babies, very comfortable and relaxed. He does everything that I do, except breastfeed and pump, and he probably does it better than I do. I can't imagine what any of this would be like without him here doing half of everything, but more importantly without him here just...being who he is. Making me happy, being sweet with his children, singing his songs as he wanders around the house, just being him. God, I'm lucky.

The babies are getting stronger every day. Although they were small, they are healthy and didn't need any special care or time in the NICU. They're already getting more vigorous and alert, and they eat more easily now. Milo can nurse for half an hour sometimes before he conks out, and Nora can nurse for 15 minutes on a good day. I know it's going to get easier.

It's going to get easier.

Welcome to the World

Photo and video editing at www.OneTrueMedia.com

Promises

I promise I'll never make either of our babies wear those weird scratchy head bows. Okay, that'd be a really strange thing to put on a boy, but I'll spare our daughter from that as well, even if she's totally bald.

I promise that I'll never create a cheesy Christmas letter in which I outline a bulleted list of baby accomplishments that includes things like "first inconsolable crying jag". Instead, I'll just create a self-indulgent blog about it.

I promise that I won't buy a minivan. No, really. No. Really. I know everybody who owns a minivan probably once said that, but...really. Instead I'll buy a station wagon, which is WAY cooler and hipper. Yeah.

I can't promise that I'll make Halloween costumes. Every time I try to be crafty, somebody ends up getting hurt and something in the house ends up destroyed. These kids might end up being stuck with the crummy store-bought mask with the eye holes that never line up right and the too-tight rubber string with the staples that always break 10 minutes into the trick-or-treating extravaganza. However, I promise I'll make chocolate chip cookies, the good kind from their great-grandmother's recipe.

I promise that I won't start totally neglecting our animals just because we have babies in the house. (Am I being naive?)

I promise that I'll still love our kids even if they become Nascar fans and join the Young Republican's club.

I promise that I'll never, ever forget how hard we tried, how long we waited, and how much we wanted these babies.

Getting Ready

For some reason I found it extremely important to make my mother and my husband to go out this past weekend and procure the world's largest cat toy:

The cats, of course, think this was designed for their entertainment.
Why was it so important to get a Christmas tree? I don't know. I need to have everything in place before the babies come. We must have a tree for Babies' First Christmas (tm). Not that they're going to care, or notice, whether or not we have some giant glowy thing in the corner of the room. Is this really going to make it into their consciousness? Will it have any effect on the general white noise buzzing that will be going on in their brains? Maybe they'll like the lights. I'm sure the presence of stockings will matter a great deal to newborns. Not to mention presents and Christmas cookies and gingerbread and candy canes. Obviously the babies aren't going to care, but for some crazy reason I want everything to be just right for the Babies' First Christmas (tm).

If this is what nesting means, it certainly isn't very practical!

Every time I go into work now, the women say "I can't believe you're still here!". The men try to schedule additional meetings with me and ask me to squeeze in extra service tasks before I give birth. My students are sending me emails asking me to comment on their thesis ideas or the latest theoretical construct they've encountered. I really suck at saying no to stuff. I don't want to say no because I don't want to end up pigeonholed as a non-serious scholar because I am having babies. I guess that's why I dragged my enormous self through the ice and snow today to a meeting, so that everybody could see that I'm still showing up, and I'm serious, damn it.

A final ultrasound today, in which the babies were measuring at 6 lbs 4 oz and 6 lbs 2 oz. There is a half-pound error of margin, though. But even so, if I'm carrying 12 pounds of babies right now, then hey, I'm pretty bad-ass.

I Love My Job

36 weeks today. In the midst of all of my discomfort it is important to remember how great it is that we have reached 36 weeks with babies still inside. I have been worried for the entire pregnancy about the pre-term labor that is so common with twins. Well, that is, once I got over worrying that they were dead. Given my size, and my age, and my troubles in the beginning, and my failure to gain the kind of weight I was supposed to gain (BAD pregnant lady), and all of the contractions, the possibility of early labor has been in the back of everybody's mind for months. But now I've reached 36 weeks, which is a good outcome for twins, and hopefully we will be able to keep going for a while longer. Every extra day is great and I'm finally starting to believe that we might actually bring home real live babies -- although I feel like I'm tempting fate just by saying that.

Not only that, but I was able to find the one medical practice in town that doesn't routinely prescribe bedrest for twins as a CYA measure, so I've been able to continue moving around and working and going through my daily life. 36 weeks AND no bedrest -- I couldn't have asked for more!

My ability to keep working is a real bonus considering everything that needs to be done by the end of the semester. Teaching is just a small part of that, and a tiny part of what I do overall. What I really need to get done involves finishing up two grant proposals, making final changes to a joint journal article, finishing up revisions for a practitioner-oriented book manuscript before the editor's head explodes, making sure the last round of data collection ends smoothly, completing a new-course-series proposal to present to a group meeting, and attending the roughly fifty thousand (or at least 10) meetings scheduled with various grad students and faculty members to discuss everything from dissertations to student projects to program adjustments. Ideally, all of this is supposed to happen before the babies arrive, so I should probably get cracking instead of pontificating about it all here.

But despite the pressure, I really do love my job. It is a dream-come-true job. There are lots of times when I am on campus, or walking to and from work, when I stop and marvel at the fact that I even have this job. Holy crap, I'm a freakin' professor! Being a professor is an incredible career, especially for somebody like me who likes to sleep in. In all seriousness the flexibility of a job like this is a wonderful privilege. I am responsible for getting a lot of work done, much of that self-imposed if I want to get tenure, but I have a lot of freedom in deciding when, where, and how I accomplish what I need to accomplish. I can work from home a great deal, and I do because I am much more productive at home. The students in my program are amazing, and spending time with them is one of my favorite parts of the job. I love teaching them and mentoring them and just being around them. I also have the rare advantage of being housed in a department that is actually supportive and helpful. I am at a high-pressure R1 university, but one of the advantages of this environment is that more senior colleagues really do take their mentoring roles seriously. I like all of my colleagues and feel fortunate to work in my department.

I don't know how all of this is going to change with having twins. There are some positive signs and some concerns. It's no secret that having a baby while on the tenure track tends to kill women's chances for tenure, while men's rates of tenure go up when they have kids. One woman in my department had two kids pre-tenure. When she was pregnant with her second, another professor in the department gestured to her belly and told her "so much for tenure, huh?" Although that is a disturbing story, she did get tenure -- starting a new trend as she was the first person to accomplish this ever. Our good friends in the department just had a baby recently, and they are both pre-tenure, so the trend continues. I'm the third one to get pregnant pre-tenure. So far the department seems pretty supportive, at least in the abstract.

This is helpful within the context of a university that generally does not support people having families. There are no tuition benefits for kids of professors, the university-based daycare is fine but not specifically for faculty and would cost 30K a year for two kids, and my institution does not have any family leave policy. So I can rely on the FMLA, and that's it. This means I can have 6 weeks of paid leave. 6 weeks leave doesn't do a whole lot. I'm pro-rating my 6 weeks leave to count for a course release in the spring, which basically means I won't have to teach but I'll still have to do all of the advising, meetings, service, and research tasks that make up the bulk of my job. I'm not sure how this is going to work out with two small babies. I am in the rare position of having a husband who is committed to equitably sharing childcare, which is a topic for a whole other post, and we'll have lots of family help for the first few months, which will make a big difference. I imagine we'll just find a way to make it work.

It'd be nice to take a full semester off, or in some Utopian world (i.e. Europe) even longer, but aside from the need to put food on the table and pay the mortgage, you can't exactly drop out of the work force for any length of time in academia. Plus, maybe I wouldn't really want to do that anyway. I do love my job. I'm just terrified that the decision to have kids will ultimately prevent me from keeping this job for life. Or, even worse, that having this job is going to make me a craptastic mom.

Husband enigmas

Somebody please explain to me how husbands can:

• Go to the store to buy 4 cornish game hens and come home with 2 chickens instead, because pound-for-pound it's a better deal.

• Hang up the phone after a 30-minute conversation and then relay the entirety of that conversation by saying "Oh, he's doing fine. Nothing much is up with him."

• Say "this pregnancy has aged you" and not expect to get into heaps of trouble.
  

• Engage in the following conversation in all seriousness:

J: Holy cow.
A: What?
J: Robots are finally becoming a reality!
A: Finally? Like you've been waiting all this time with baited breath?
J: Haven't you?

No. No I haven't. Well...maybe a robot maid would be nice. And where's my jet pack?

Mathematical Literacy

Matthew Yglesias has posted a graph showing National Election Survey data on the question of the role of women in society. You can view it here. I'm interested in the blue line he plotted, which shows the percentage of respondents who stated that women should have an equal role with men in running business, industry, and government.

Yglesias writes "This is one respect, at least, in which the United States has become a far less conservative country since the 1980s."

Well...maybe. "Far less" is open to interpretation, but the graph he produces sure does look impressive. Of course, the highest percentage of people who thought that women should have an equal role occurred in 2004, and it was 57%. That percentage is better than those in the 80s, which mainly hovered in the 30s, but 57% is not all that impressive. However, it sure looks impressive when you choose a y-axis scale that goes from 0 to 60, instead of one that goes from 0 to 100.

I've re-created the graph of the blue line with a y-axis scale that actually represents the true possible range of scores from 0 to 100:

One reason why mathematical literacy is important is that it empowers people to make critical judgments about information based on data presented to them. I don't want us to become complacent with the fact that 57% of respondents thought women should have an equal role in 2004, even when faced with a graph showing what looks like an extremely dramatic change due to its funky y-axis scale.

Oh Come ON

This is a disgusting entry, so the squeamish should stop reading now.

If there's one thing I've always been good at, it's farting.

I'm the most flatulent person I know. I fart all the time, every day, during any time of the day. This has nothing to do with pregnancy; I've been a champion fart producer my entire life. I can produce a multitude of different types and levels of farts, and the sheer power and scope of my farting abilities has understandably scared away more than one man. You'd be hard pressed to find somebody more capable of emitting a stronger, longer exhalation of gas.

My constant need to fart can, of course, be somewhat socially awkward. One time I ate a bowl of French onion soup for lunch and then spent the entire afternoon in sheer agony because I couldn't get away from people long enough to release the inevitable gas build up. I haven't had French onion soup since.

I should note, by the way, that my husband's tolerance of my disturbingly stinky aura is just one of many reasons why he is a saint. I'm probably the stinkiest person I know, what with all of the constant farting. A few weeks ago I actually woke him up out of a sound sleep with the sheer vibrational force of my fart, and the after-effects weren't exactly pleasant. I'm a complete hypocrite about stuff like this -- if somebody were to do that to me, I would get indignant, turn on the fan, complain loudly, and generally make the farter suffer greatly. J woke up, startled, sniffed the foul odor and sort of delicately choked back a gag reflex, and then just smiled and started laughing, as if to say, "Oh, you silly farter, you." Like I said, he's a saint.

My long history with farting is the reason why I am so mad about what is happening to me now. I cannot fart. Yesterday I went about my business feeling relatively fine, considering I'm about 100 weeks pregnant with twins and my belly is about to burst open like an overripe tomato. In the evening I started getting terrible belly pains, and after a couple of hours had passed it was so bad that I couldn't sit up straight, stand, or walk without crying and shaking. I called my doctor, who seemed like she'd been sleeping before I disturbed her, and she assured me that it wasn't anything to worry about regarding the babies and I should try things like taking a bath or moving around. Reassured that I wasn't experiencing a bowel obstruction or anything scary, I proceeded to just...suffer.

I've spent 5 hours in the bathtub, and this did relieve some of my pain and even produced a little bit of gas movement. I can see giant gas bubbles in my intestines sitting on top of my belly. I mean, they're clearly visible. These gas bubbles range from about 4 inches to 10 inches long and are as big around as my wrist. This doesn't seem right. Moving, sitting, standing, walking, and existing are all incredibly painful. I haven't slept. I feel like I am never, ever going to get rid of this gas.

I know pregnancy is no walk in the park, but come ON. I've been pretty accepting about the normal discomforts, which are so mundane they're not even worth listing here, but to lose my ability to do the thing my body does best, the thing I do without even trying...that's just cruel. There is only one thing that is keeping me from freaking out about this. I'm only 3 weeks away from being full term for twins. So I know this won't last forever. If I had to, I could probably live like this for 3 weeks. But in the meantime if anybody has fart-producing folk remedies, bring 'em on, because I could use some relief.

Duck and Cover

I have a candidate for the worst pregnancy book of all time: Your Pregnancy Week by Week.

A dear and wonderful friend and colleague gave me this book, and every week J and I would read the next installment to see what we could expect. In the beginning, it was pretty neat to read through each week and see an actual-size picture of what the baby should look like. But then I started to notice an alarming trend. It turns out there are apparently all sorts of things that can and might go wrong with your pregnancy!

Week 5: Ectopic pregnancy. "In the past 10 years, ectopic pregnancies have almost tripled in number."

Week 12: Fifth disease. "Fifth disease, also called parvo virus B19, was the fifth disease to be described with a certain kind of rash."

Week 18: Pyelonephritis. "A more serious problem resulting from a bladder infection is pyelonephritis. This type of infection occurs in 1 to 2% of all pregnant women."

Week 27: Discovering a Breast Lump. "Discovering a breast lump is important, during pregnancy or any other time...treatment complications during pregnancy include risks to the fetus related to chemotherapy, radiation, or medication, such as anesthesia or pain medication for a biopsy."

Okay, I just want to jump in at this point and say that I just opened the book at these arbitrary weeks to see what I could find. Obviously by Week 27 they're starting to scrape the bottom of the barrel in terms of normal pregnancy complications, all of which can and do scare the crap out of me, and have turned to more bizarre possibilities, such as breast cancer. I mean, come on -- breast cancer as a pregnancy complication?

Week 32 is the week when they discuss twins. The authors are sure to mention the following possible problems associated with twin pregnancies:

• increased risk of miscarriage
• fetal death or mortality
• fetal malformations
• low birthweight or growth restriction
• pre-eclampsia
• problems with the placenta, including placental abruption and placenta previa
• maternal anemia
• internal bleeding or hemorrhage
• problems with the umbilical cord, including entwinement or tangling of the babies' umbilical cords
• hydramnios or polyhydramnios
• labor complicated by abnormal fetal presentation, such as breech or transverse lie
• premature labor

Pardon me while I take a moment to calm my racing heart.

Just reading this stuff freaks me out. I like how "fetal death or mortality" (isn't that redundant?) is the second bullet point, and is just thrown in there with relatively minor things like anemia. Fetal death or mortality is not a "possible problem". It is a giant fucking problem. At this point, the book is just making me mad. There are normal complications of pregnancy, complications that are important to be aware of, and then there are the host of complications we're presented with in case we're not worrying enough. These include very rare things like seizures, asthma attacks, umbilical cord knots, appendicitis, deep-vein thrombosis, and salmonella poisoning. I could go on.

My all-time favorite problem of the week, though, has been the one that occurred in Week 25:

"Are you concerned about anthrax? Recently in the press, concern has been expressed about exposure to anthrax. Are you concerned about the correct treatment for a pregnant woman?"

Uh...no. No, I am not concerned about anthrax. I've been worried about a host of things throughout this pregnancy, but anthrax has not been one of them. I'm imagining the anthrax scenario as the modern interpretation of the more classic pregnancy concern: nuclear attack. I grew up during the cold war, and all throughout elementary school we practiced the "duck and cover" method of defense against nuclear attack. Apparently you can duck under your desk and cover your head and face with your arms in case an atomic bomb is dropped on your city. I'm sure that technique would have worked like a charm to protect us all from complete annihilation.

I can only imagine how, at the time, pregnant women were concerned about the correct duck and cover techniques. Do you cover your face or your belly? Is there a different type of duck maneuver you should employ? What if you can't fit under your desk? These are things every pregnant woman worries about. Thank goodness there is a book like "Your Pregnancy Week by Week" to alert us to these troublesome issues.

9 pounds of baby

Today I had another ultrasound and learned that our girl is estimated to weigh 4 lbs 7 oz, and our boy is estimated at 4 lbs and 9 oz. That's 9 pounds of baby, and I hope to go another full month still!

The presenting twin, our boy, is still breech. He might flip, but it is not very likely. This means preparing for a c-section in the case that he does not flip. I have spent so much time thinking and reading about natural birth that I haven't really prepared myself for the idea of a c-section.

Here is our baby girl:


Here is our baby boy:


That thing in front of his face is a cross-section of the girl's foot. They are now very squished in there! He always had a knee or a foot pushing against his face today.

We also have a photo of the boy giving us the finger. It must be his response to my command that he flip head down. Little bugger, already taking after his mother's tendency to be a troublemaker. Hopefully at least one of these kids will take after their father, who is much more easygoing, mellow, and compliant than their mother.

Perfectly Reasonable

Last night:

A: I am terribly angry because you never compliment me anymore. I must be hideous and disgusting to you. The very thought of me must make you want to vomit.*
J: I get the feeling that you'd like me to compliment you more.
A: You're being far too reasonable for me to start up a good fight. Harumph, I'm going to bed. Good night.

This morning:

J: You look nice today.
A: Oh? Really? Nice how exactly?
J: Uh....you know. Nice. You look good.
A: What specifically looks good today?
J: Uh...
A: This does not count as a compliment. You can't just say I look nice. That doesn't mean anything.
J: Your hair looks nice today.
A: My hair. In other words, not my body.**
J: Uh...your shirt looks nice. It's covering your entire belly this time.
A: So that is what it's come to. The standards are so low that I'm having a good day if my shirt actually manages to cover my belly.
J: Well...
A: Yeah, okay, you have a point. I'll take it.

*What makes you say I'm projecting?!?

**Employing my secret talent of grasping the insult from the jaws of a compliment.

Seasons changing

Belly Touching and Bus Behavior

I am feeling better. Our presenting twin (the boy) is currently breech and we won't know for a while if he's going to stay that way or turn. I've decided not to get too worked up about hospital and doctor birth policies until we have a sense of which way he's facing, since a breech presenting twin will make the whole thing moot anyway.

The other day when I prepared to get on the bus the driver spontaneously decided to lower the bus all the way to the curb for me, the same way he might do for somebody in crutches or in need of a ramp. I didn't even know what was going on when the bus started lowering with a giant "beep, beep, beep" sound. You know you're big when the driver assumes you can't make that step up to the bus!

When I'm not collecting data I have a pretty ideal work commute involving either a 25-minute walk or a 5-minute bike ride on a bike path that runs directly behind my house and passes within a block of my office. The walk / bike ride is a little beyond me now, so I take the bus, which is also wonderfully convenient. The stops are only a block from my house and a block from my office. At certain times the bus can be a little crowded and the seats disappear. I have been paying attention to who gives up a seat for me (even when I don't feel like I need to sit). So far, it has almost universally been women who give up their seats. A couple of times, an African-American man has also given up his seat. So far, I have never had the experience of a white guy giving up his seat. In fact, I've never seen it happen for the elderly or the disabled, either. I've noticed seat-hoggers deliberately looking everywhere around the bus except right in front of them, where the 95-year old woman leaning on a cane is about to topple over. I wonder if this phenomenon is unique to the town in which I live.

Another interesting thing I've noticed is the habit some people have developed for touching my belly. It actually hasn't happened too often, and it has only happened with one complete stranger. She was drunk, so I forgave her. In other cases it's been coworkers or acquaintances who like to whip out the belly pat maneuver. It doesn't really bother me, but it takes me by surprise each time. One guy who always likes to pull the belly pat move is this professor in my department. He's never touched me before this, and now all of the sudden he pats the belly whenever he can catch me. I'm pretty sure he'd never dream of touching my non-pregnant belly! I've decided that it would be pretty cool to pat his own (ample) belly in return, but so far I haven't mustered the courage to do such a thing. Maybe after tenure.

Revised Expectations, or, The Politics of Birth

I've been reading a few books about natural childbirth. Most of them are pretty practical but there is one called "Spiritual Midwifery" by Ina May Gaskin that reads as if you're on an LSD trip. It was originally written in the seventies and it contains a lot of stories written by women who birthed on a commune in Tennessee attended by midwives.

Here is one of my favorite quotes. I think it captures the tone of the book:

"If all your life you never do anything heavy, there's certain passages in life that are heavy. Having a baby, for instance, is one. If you be a total paddy-ass all your life, they're going to have to knock you out when you have your kid, because you're going to be too chicken to have it. And if you do something that builds character ahead of time, you'll have enough character that you can have that kid, and it will be a beautiful and spiritual experience for you."

So the above quote is actually from a man, which gets my hackles up a little bit, because hey buddy, you've never had a kid so maybe you should keep your mouth shut about what it takes, and what it's like. But looking beyond that, I like the quote. First of all, who can resist a description of childbirth as "heavy"? Secondly, it resonates with me because every time I've had to do something hard, I mean really hard, I've drawn on the strength I've gained from previous hard experiences. I've been able to do things that I didn't think I could do ahead of time, and it turns out, I'm stronger than I think. As a semi-recent example, I never thought I'd be able to jab a 1.5-inch dart-sized needle into my hip every night for 9 weeks. Turns out I could, and did.

All along I thought that the heavy thing I'd have to face would be the pain and the uncertainty that comes along with natural childbirth. But now I'm beginning to realize I might be wrong about that. The real thing I might have to face could be something totally different. I think what I'm facing here is the dilemma of being trapped in a medical model that doesn't mesh very well with a humanizing approach to birth.

When we found out we were having twins, I had to change a lot of my expectations. I could no longer have a midwife, and instead had to find an OB. I could no longer expect to deliver in the local birthing center, and instead had to prepare for delivery in the local hospital. Those are unavoidable constraints when you are pregnant with twins in this town. I also knew that I would have to labor with two monitors on my belly, and an IV line ready to go in case I needed an IV at a moment's notice. I found an OB who is pretty laid back and reasonable, and she let me know about those non-negotiables in the beginning so I could prepare myself for them. She's also okay with me having a doula, she doesn't do routine episiotomies, and she doesn't have any intention of inducing me if I go past an arbitrary deadline (not likely with twins, but it's still an attitude I appreciate). So I think my OB is pretty cool, generally, but today we had a discussion that I'm struggling to process.

I was surprised when she explained that in cases with twins, she and her partners all strongly encourage an epidural and tend to push for that during labor. They believe an epidural is necessary with twins because of the amount of manipulation that is often necessary to get the second twin out quickly. I took a stab at what she meant by manipulation: reaching way the hell up inside of me to yank out that second baby? She said "yes, this is really common, and women just can't endure that without an epidural. They just can't." She then let me know that even though our local hospital has these nice birthing suites where people deliver, I won't be able to deliver there. I will have to deliver in the "c-section room", i.e. the operating room down the hall. This is hospital policy for all twin births. This is your typical freezing cold, stainless steel, bright lights type of room. My OB did say that maybe we could wheel the birthing bed into the operating room so that I could try to birth in a better position than flat on my back with my feet up in stirrups on a cold, narrow table. Oh, and it gets kind of crowded if too many people are in there, so I might not be able to have anybody besides my husband with me.

I've read all of the literature on how epidurals increase the chances for a longer labor, forceps or vacuum delivery, tearing, episiotomies, c-sections, and some minor negative consequences for babies. Beyond that, though, I had some personal reasons for wanting to avoid an epidural.

How possible is that going to be when the doctor in charge, the person with the power in our relationship, is strongly pushing me to get the epidural? Even during today's discussion I felt a hint of judgment in terms of what it takes to be a good mother. If I am a good mother who cares for her babies' health and positive outcomes, I will choose an epidural. If we need an emergency c-section and I don't have an epidural in place, I might have to get a general and this is bad for my health and bad for the babies' health. So basically, the message is that if I am willing to place my babies' health above my own selfish desires to have a natural birth, I will choose an epidural.

Hard to fight against that message. Nobody wants to be a bad, selfish mother before her children are even born.

This kind of thing is what I mean when I refer to the politics of birth. Birthing is something that only women do. Women have done it well throughout history, even birthing breech babies, even birthing twins. Birth is no longer under the control of the people who do it, though. The (male) medical establishment has taken over birth and dictates how it should occur. Women who give birth in U.S. hospitals with OBs generally have little control over how it happens. Even the choice to either have an epidural or refuse an epidural is not a free and open choice when one considers the power relationships in place when doctors and nurses encourage laboring mothers to consider epidurals, and when one considers the culture that surrounds the mystique of birth, shaping women's expectations of what it is supposed to be like. How many movies or tv shows have you seen in which birth is a calm, positive, natural, mother-guided event? How many movies or tv shows have you seen in which labor is portrayed as something agonizing, in which women routinely lose control, in which doctors must swoop in to provide relief / save the baby?

The idea that women are strong and capable is missing from our current rhetoric surrounding birth.

The interventions that doctors use don't come from nowhere. I know that my own OB is concerned with protecting my babies' health and my own health, and I know that her motivations for doing certain things stem from that concern primarily. But I have also read a lot of controlled studies, and I know that not all of these interventions are uniformly positive in all cases. The U.S. has the highest c-section rate in the world, at 30% now. We also have the second-highest newborn mortality rate among the developed nations, according to a June 2007 study by the World Health Organization. (The highest newborn mortality rate occurs in Latvia). My motivations for wanting to avoid the Pitocin / epidural / c-section snowball are not solely grounded in some selfish desire to experience a particular type of birth. They are also grounded in my knowledge about what types of births are best in terms of newborn health outcomes.

The thing is, I know I'm talking out my ass because I haven't done it yet. I can only read the stories and listen to the stories of the many women I've known who did labor naturally. I have no idea what it would be like for me, and how I would handle it. I just feel frustrated and disappointed today because I can feel the chance of finding that out slipping away.

From Hathor the Cowgoddess:

Responses to Twin Remarks

We have received a lot of remarks and questions from people who find out we're having twins. Here is my set of easy answers to all of those nagging twin questions, in one handy place for your convenience.

• "Are they natural?"

No, they're androids.

Alternate answer: No, they're supernatural. Wonder twin powers, activate!

• "So, uh, do twins run in your family?"

They do now!

This is actually what Midwesterners ask. When I travel to either coast, people directly ask if the twins are natural. Here in the Midwest nobody is that direct. J actually has two sets of twin cousins, so they do run in his family, coincidentally. I'm generally not interested in explaining to the person-on-the-street the reasons why twins do not get passed down through the father, though.

• "Do you know the sexes?"

Yes, we're having a girl and a boy.

• "So are they identical or fraternal?"

Uh...have you ever thought about breaking out that 9th-grade biology textbook and brushing up a little?

• "Better you than me!"

I agree.

Variations on this remark: people have said "Oh, I'm sorry" or "Wow, you'll have your hands full" or "You're not going to sleep for years!". In what universe are these types of remarks helpful? Unless you have personally had twins yourself, then you can suck it and keep your negative comments to yourself. (I have, by the way, talked to lots of parents of twins, and they never say stuff like that).

• "That's so cool, I always wanted to have twins!"

Thank you!

I like this response, it's a sweet one and it always helps me become more excited about having twins. Interestingly I usually get this response from a person who is a twin herself. This tells me that the twin enjoyed being a twin, which makes me hopeful that our kids will like it too. The other group of people who pretty much universally have this response is kids. I am currently working with a bunch of 8th-graders in an after-school project and when they found out I was having twins they all said "you're so lucky!". One girl declared "I have always wanted twins". Always, huh, in your vast 13-year life?

I'm pretty sure we're in for an experience we can't even imagine right now, but I do feel really lucky to be having twins. Now that I can feel them both and distinguish them, now that I know their sexes, I can't imagine not having one of them. Plus, I can think up many potential uses for twins. One can wash, the other can dry. One can bring us our martinis, the other can carry the cheese platter. As long as they don't develop one of those creepy twin languages, I think we'll be okay.

A walking pharmacy

I had a lot of lofty ideas when I began this pregnancy, and figured that I would stay away from any medications, even those as mild as Tylenol for headaches. Then came hyperemesis and along with it Zofran and Phenergan, and then a gall stone and various other drugs like liquid hydrocodone. I was starting to feel pretty guilty about loading my body up with so many drugs, especially since, you know, I'd gone to all that trouble to give up the crack habit.

Since then, it's been a pretty good few months without the need for any more medications, until now.

At 30 and a half weeks I have contractions every 10 minutes or so. This has been going on for a while, but they've become increasingly noticeable lately. So now I'm taking Nifedipine to calm them down. This is a drug given to people with high blood pressure, but it has the nice side effect of reducing contractions. My blood pressure is already naturally low, so it makes me feel like I've been hit by a truck. Hopefully it'll work and convince the babies to stay inside. Please stay in, babies. We're almost there.

Not Ready

Our baby girl and baby boy should, if we're lucky, arrive in 7 or 8 weeks. Every day I hope that we all make it that long, and they arrive big and strong and healthy. All of the sudden, 7 or 8 weeks doesn't seem like a very long time.

We're not ready for them yet. Our cribs haven't arrived. We haven't ordered our diaper package yet. I don't have a breast pump. I haven't finished reading all of the hippie granola birthing books on my list. I haven't met with the La Leche League twins group yet. We haven't packed our hospital bag. I haven't even decided what should go into the hospital bag, other than a giant piece of cake and a bottle of liquor.

Moreover, I haven't finished collecting data. I'm not done teaching my class. I haven't done the revisions for my latest article that needs revising, and I haven't submitted the other article that needs submitting. I haven't finished attending all of the meetings I need to attend. My graduate student hasn't defended his thesis yet.

We haven't gone out with our friends enough. We haven't had enough late nights. We haven't seen enough bands, watched enough movies, or seen enough plays.

We're nowhere near ready, and all I can think about is how I can't wait for them to get here.