Due date

It came at 7 p.m. tonight.

Just a little reminder from Google calendar like you might get if you had an appointment the next day.

Only here's what it said:

Reminder: Baby Brigid is due @ Fri Jul 29, 2011

Ouch.


I'd forgotten I had even set up a Google calendar.  I did it while I was on bed rest in an effort to match up the many, many offers of help we were getting with the many, many needs that we had.  I put that date in there so people would know there was an end in sight.  A goal.  A light at the end of the tunnel.  It was so I would know, too, and remember that soon enough the nightmare would be over and we'd at least have one of our little girls.  And of course I knew that she'd likely come early, but that just meant that we'd have her sooner, so unlike all three of her brothers, she'd definitely be here by her due date.  I never expected this.  This date had been in the forefront of my mind for months and months.  And now it's here.  And she's not.

There are always a few dates that a pregnant woman remembers.  At first, it's her LMP date, which she promptly forgets in exchange for her due date.  And then, usually, it's the date that she actually delivers. 

But this time, it's so different, and there are so many other dates I'll remember.

There's the date we found out we were having twins -December 27th

Then there's the date I remember being really excited for: March 9th.  It was the one where we'd find out if we were having girls or boys.  I wanted girls, but seriously weighed it against the possibility that five little boys under five might very well qualify me for automatic sainthood, and that was looking good too.  Either way, of course, we'd be thrilled.  Unfortunately, we never found out the gender of the babies on that day.  What we learned instead was that they had TTTS and that it was bad.  It was a horrible day.  The first of many, as it turned out.

I found out they were girls on March 10th when I called back, crying, to ask.

There's the date we had the laser surgery, March 15.  Followed by the day we learned that Fiona had died, March 16.  (There was no corned beef and cabbage for dinner this St. Patrick's Day.)

Then, in what felt like rapid-fire succession, there was the date that Brigid was born (May 8th), the day we buried Fiona (May27th), the day Brigid died (June 23) and the day we buried Brigid (June 30).

And then now, the only date left.  Their due date.  I'll be glad to have it behind me. 

It seems that Fall will be the only season untainted by our experience. The only one in which there won't be a date that makes me cringe a little.  I always liked Fall best, anyway.

Today I had my follow up appointment with my OB.  It was supposed to be at six weeks, but that ended up being the day of Brigid's funeral, so I had to reschedule.  It was sad not having any babies.  Usually, you bring your baby.  Show her off a little.  I started crying as soon as I got back to the room.  The doctor came in crying.  She'd been the one who did my c-section.  We just passed the Kleenex box back and forth the whole time, and I got to share a little with her about why we're doing okay.  I'm glad for that, because I'm sure I won't be the only person she sees who doesn't have her baby with her at her six week check up.

And I think that fact is the reason that we went through this.  I never would have imagined that I could be doing okay on the other side of something as devastating as this has been, but God has helped us so much.  Through the kindness of friends.  Through the support of family.  Through His own words to our hearts, reminding us of how much He loves us and how He has not left us alone.  Reminding us that He is good and that He has a plan and that we can trust Him.

It's funny - before this, nothing proved to Patrick or me that we could trust God's plan for our life more than our meeting each other.  The timing of it and how perfectly we feel like we had been chosen for each other helped us to know that after years of both of us being lonely, it didn't just happen randomly.  It strengthened my trust in Him.  And I think He used that to prepare me for this.

Tomorrow will still be a sad day, but really, we're doing okay.

Developments

So much has happened since my last post, I almost don't know where to begin.

Let's start with Wednesday, May 4th. At 4:30 in the morning, I rolled over in bed and felt a gush. My water broke after exactly eight weeks on bed rest. The boys were sleeping, but I woke Patrick and told him we needed to get to the hospital. Our neighbor came to stay with the boys and we headed to the hospital, where it was confirmed that my amniotic sac had indeed broken, but I wasn't dilated at all, and I was admitted. I was 27 weeks and 5 days pregnant and I was scared to death.

I spent several days at the hospital, on magnesium, antibiotics, and IV fluids, with minimal contractions, trying to keep baby Brigid safe inside for as long as possible. Every day, the perinatologist would come into the room with a portable ultrasound machine, check on Brigid, and say, "Looks like you're going to be pregnant for another day!" She was doing well, moving around and not showing signs of stress, other than her lack of amniotic fluid. Occasionally, I'd have some contractions. They were painful with no fluid in there to act as a cushion, and it was also very painful when Brigid would move around. My uterus felt bruised and sore.

Patrick brought the boys in to visit me a couple of times and a thoughtful friend had some photos taken of them and framed for me for Mother's Day since she knew I'd be spending it in the hospital. They brought that to my room on Saturday the 7th and it was so good to spend time with them. I'd missed them so much. Being on bed rest at home was bad enough, but being on bed rest in the hospital was lonely and difficult. I had incredible nurses, who were all so caring and kind. I wore monitors continually that would check for contractions and track Brigid's heartbeat and everything was looking really good. For four days.

Sunday morning, May 8th at around 4:00 a.m., I had a few contractions. I'd had 3 in 30 minutes. This wasn't many, but it was more than I'd been having. I decided to call my nurse to let her know because sometimes the monitor wouldn't pick them up. When Kate, the nurse, came in, she began moving the heart monitor around to find the baby's heartbeat because sometimes Brigid would move and we'd have to relocate it. It usually only took a few seconds to find it again. But this time was different. This time, it took what felt like an eternity. And as Kate is moving and pressing the monitor into my uterus to find the heart beat, I kept contracting. They were coming about every five minutes now and Kate put me on an oxygen mask so I didn't hyperventilate as I tried to breathe through each one with no pain medication. I was panicking because we couldn't find a heartbeat, panicking because I knew that I was probably going into labor right now, and panicking because Patrick was not there with me. Finally, Kate found the right spot and we heard Brigid's strong heartbeat. I grabbed her arm, sobbed, "Oh Kate!" and burst into tears. She did too. It was one of the scariest moments of my life.

I called Patrick to say that things were progressing, but Kate had put a call into the doctor, who said to try some nubain for the pain and to see if that helped the contractions to stop, so I told him that maybe I was wrong and I'd call him back if he needed to come in. It only took a few minutes for Kate and I to realize that we were never going to have time for nubain. Contractions came faster and stronger, and I texted a one-word message to Patrick: "Come" as multiple nurses found their way into my room in response to the dinosaur-like noises coming from my mouth. People were pressing the monitor into my contracting uterus and I kept pushing their hands away. I had the oxygen mask on and someone telling me to look at her and breathe while she held my hand, and then the doctor came in and wanted to check to see if I was dilating at all. I wasn't anymore. I had dilated completely and Brigid's little buns were trying to make their way into the world. The doctor decided she wanted to try to deliver her breech and started getting the room ready for that, but I insisted on the c-section that our perinatologist had said we were going to need, so off we went to the OR. I was petrified and spent the ride between the rooms praying out loud. I'm sure my nurses thought I was crazy.

At 5:30 a.m. on May 8, 2011 - Mother's Day - Brigid Eileen Tully and Fiona Jane Tully were born. Patrick arrived at the hospital just as Brigid was born, and was able to follow her right to the NICU while I recovered from surgery. She looked good, weighed 2 pounds 11 ounces, and was 15 inches long. In the recovery area, Patrick and I were able to see and hold Fiona. It was difficult to see her, though I'm sure some of my medication from the surgery made it a little easier for me. The nurses were very kind and offered to make some hand and foot prints for us to keep and to take some photos for us. One was even able to make plaster impressions of her hands and feet. They put everything into a box for us to take home and look at when we're ready. I haven't been ready yet. Jack and PJ knew that Fiona had died and that she now lives in heaven, but they had no idea that her body was still in there. We're happy to keep it that way for a good long while.

Brigid did relatively well in the NICU of our local hospital until the day I was to be discharged, when the carbon dioxide levels in her body reached dangerously high levels and she had to be airlifted to a higher level NICU in Hershey, Pa. Today, she is twelve days old and has been at Hershey for eight days. She has had some issues, mainly with her lungs, and continues to have difficulty getting rid of the CO2 in her respiration. She has required very little, if any, excess oxygen, which is unusual for preemies, but we are learning that NICU life is, as bedrest life was, one day at a time. She has some good days and some bad days, but fortunately, we've been able to go and visit her every day. She has amazing nurses and doctors and respiratory therapists taking very good care of her.

She is a beautiful little girl with a thick head of dark hair. It's hard to capture her size in a photo because it's not easy to use something universal to compare her to. It's ideal to keep her in a dark, quiet environment that is womb-like, and flash photography is not conducive to that, but we do have a few photos from her time in the original NICU from the hospital where she was born.

This post is so very long, but we are thankful for your thoughts and prayers and would be grateful if you would continue to keep our little Brigid in your prayers. This has been such a trying time. I find myself somewhat detached from her - like I'm visiting someone else's child in the hospital - and I'm sure that some of that is good when I have to leave her each day. I felt bonded to the boys after their first few days of life, though, and I don't totally feel that yet with Brigid. I can't wait to be able to hold her more and get to know her better. We have been through so much together so far, she and I, and we are praying that she would continue to show that she is living up to her name - Brigid the Strong. She is so strong for such a tiny person!

Days in Waiting

It's clear to me that the Lord is trying to teach me to put each day in His hands.

After having some contractions on and off this past weekend, we asked a neighbor to come and stay with our boys once they were all in bed on Sunday night and Patrick and I headed into the hospital. It was a scary time. I was crampy and contracting fairly regularly and we were worried.

Once I was taken back to triage, they put me on the contraction monitor and could see that they were coming at a steady pace. The first order of business was to get them to stop. The nurse gave me a shot of terbutaline, which is appropriately named because it made me feel like my heart was in turbo mode, and it wasn't until after she'd administered it and left the room that I thought to ask what it might do to little Brigid's heart, which certainly doesn't need any more issues. Shaky and feeling weird from the medication, I sat there looking at Patrick and fearing that this was going to be it. We'd deliver not only our deceased baby, but our live baby at a pre-viable age and have to hold her while the doctors were unable to do anything to help. It is my biggest fear right now.

The ultrasound tech came in to measure my cervix to see if the contractions were serving to shorten it and advance labor, and from the measurements she took, it seemed that way. I started to panic a little.

I was admitted for overnight observation and Patrick went back to the house to relieve our kind neighbor since it was now almost midnight. They hooked me up to IV fluids, gave me another medication to stop the contractions called Procardia, and hooked me up to the fetal heart monitor and the contraction monitor. Then they suggested I try to get some sleep.

How?

That was Sunday night. Since then, contractions have seemed to stop and then restarted a couple of times, I've gone off my IV and then had to go back on, I've increased the frequency and then the dosage of the Procardia. I've had an ultrasound to confirm that Brigid is doing okay and that my cervix was not shortening like we'd thought. I closed my eyes for a little while this morning, and, just as I'd had a brief vision of the Lord welcoming baby Fiona into his arms a few weeks ago, I had another this morning of a nurse bringing a healthy baby girl to my bedside, and it gave me hope. Thanks to a sweet nurse who took some time this afternoon to pull up a stool beside my bed and ask me what I was thinking about or afraid of, I learned today of a baby boy who was born in this hospital at 23 weeks and is now a thriving two-year-old. She wears his photo on her name badge to remind her why she does what she does every day. She sat and asked about our story and cried with me as I recounted all we've been through in the past four weeks. She was so very reassuring and encouraging, as I've had lots of time alone in this hospital bed to think and worry about things the past few days.

It's now Wednesday night. I have had only five contractions all day, and the doctor seems to think that I should be able to go home on this medication, because, even though the dosage makes me feel very strange since they've increased it, it is working. I miss my home. I miss my boys. If you can believe it, I miss cooking and grocery shopping and running the vacuum (especially since we just got a new one and I haven't gotten to use it yet)!

We are, as we have been from the start, in waiting. That can be frustrating at times, but it's also somehow peaceful and reassuring knowing that things are not in our own hands. There are things I can do: staying in bed, drinking 200 ounces of fluid per day (!) and taking my medication. But the outcome is in the hands of our trustworthy and all powerful heavenly Father, who works all things together for our good and loves us very much. In happy times, when things are going well, it's easy to forget Him as the giver of all good things, but during these days of uncertainty, I feel myself drawing close to Him for comfort and peace. While I am often tempted to fear and worry, there are more times that I feel close to Him and confident that He is more than able to bring us a healthy baby girl.

But for now, we wait.

Some good news

There's our beautiful baby girl.

Patrick and I had a follow-up visit at CHOP today, two weeks out from the laser surgery, and were unsure what we might learn. Last week, the cardiologist was really hoping to see some improvement and instead saw that things looked a little worse one week after the surgery, so we were just praying that there would be some small step in the right direction this week.

We saw the OB technician for our anatomy scan first, and she was happy to tell us that Brigid was measuring right on track for her dates, whereas before she had been measuring a little large for her dates because of the excess fluid her body was trying to process. Her abdomen had been enlarged, and this week it looked just right. She looked beautiful, and both the technician and the OB specialist seemed encouraged.

Then we had our cardiology scan, which checked the blood flow in her brain, her umbilical cord, and her heart. The technician takes a series of doppler measurements, which show up as waves on the screen, but of course we had no idea how to interpret these and 30+ minutes of wave readings had us biting our lips wondering if they were better or worse.

They brought us into the consultation room afterward to meet with the doctor, and we just prayed yet again that she'd have made a change in the right direction. The doctor smiled as he told us that he saw significant improvement over what we had seen last week. He explained that there is still some mild thickening, and a little bit of leakage across the valves, but when I asked, "But it is looking a little bit better?" he said, "Not just a little bit - she's about 90 percent of the way to where we want her to be." Patrick and I just grabbed each other's hands and said, "Thank you, God!" The doctor explained that if we had continued where we had been last week, he'd have suggested we might want to deliver the baby at CHOP for the extra cardiac care she would need, but that this was such a significant change in the right direction that he didn't feel we needed to come back for another month and possibly not at all after that if things still looked good.

I am still on bed rest for the remainder of the pregnancy because of the separation of her amniotic sac, but we are thanking the Lord for answered prayers and a good report for our baby girl!

Not quite out of the woods yet

In fact, I'm thinking we're actually going to be living IN the woods for a while. We can pitch a tent, keep the food up high in a bear box, and sing songs around the campfire. Care to join us?

We had our follow up appointment at CHOP today, one week after my surgery, and while we hoped to see leaps and bounds of improvement in baby Brigid, what we actually saw was not too different from the scan we had the day after the surgery. Her ventricles in her heart (the bottom two chambers that do the actual "pumping" work) are thickened and a little weakened from having had to handle so much excess blood, and her valves are not closing as well as they should for the same reason. The cardiology team will follow me weekly in hopes of seeing improvement, and there is a medication that I can take that can help her heart (which is amazing to me), if it does not improve well enough over time. She looked beautiful, though, and was moving all over. I've been feeling her kick and move so much more since they removed the excess fluid and it's been a reassuring feeling that's reminding me every day that we just need to take things one day at a time. Every day that I carry her and feel those kicks is a blessing.

The scan also showed something that we knew was a possible effect of the surgery. That is, that my amniotic sac has detached from the chorion it is usually fused to, and fluid has gotten behind it. This does not really affect the baby at all, I am told; she has enough fluid for herself. The risk is that it gives me a greater potential for premature labor, and so I am to stay on bed rest for the entire remainder of the pregnancy. The longer this period is, of course, the better. This is quite daunting, but again, something we'll have to handle one day at a time.

We are so grateful for meals, childcare and offers of helping with chores and errands that have been pouring in. It is incredibly humbling to have someone over to your home for the first time and to watch them vacuum your living room while you're sitting on the couch. Patrick and I like to be self-sufficient, both individually and within our family. "No thanks - we can handle it!" But this may be part of the lesson that the Lord is trying to teach us - to humble ourselves and ask others to help us, because the reality is, we don't have another choice right now.

Bittersweet

To say that we have had an emotional week would be the understatement of the decade.

Patrick and I had an appointment last Wednesday, the 9th, to see our twins for the first time since my 9 week ultrasound, pictured in the last post. We knew we were having identical twins and couldn't wait to find out if we were adding two little girls or two little boys to our family. What we learned from the ultrasound, however, would change our lives.

The twins looked beautiful to me. Both were moving around and it looked at one point like they were facing each other, each with their arms reaching out to the other. The technician was kind, but a bit tight-lipped, skirting around some questions I had and spending a lot of time looking at "Twin A's" heart in particular. When she spent significantly less time on "Twin B," I became suspicious that something might be wrong. The doctor came in shortly after and told us that our babies were very sick and in danger. They needed immediate intervention if they were to have any hope of survival. He diagnosed us with something called Twin to Twin Transfusion Syndrome (TTTS), and said he would like us to be seen at Children's Hospital of Philadelphia as quickly as possible.

TTTS occurs when there are abnormal, unbalanced vascular connections between twins who share a placenta. The arteries of one twin (the "donor") pump into the veins of the other (the "recipient") and both twins are in danger. What I experienced physically was a huge increase in the size of my uterus over a short period of time that I did not know was not normal for twins. I was very large and very uncomfortable. This happens when, in an effort to process all the extra blood, the recipient urinates much more frequently than normal and makes excess amniotic fluid. The donor twin, however, had very little fluid and was sort of "stuck" to the side of my uterus. She did, however, have a visible bladder, which was a good sign.

Patrick and I spent a lot of time crying and went home feeling a little numb. I was sad that we came away from the appointment learning about this terrible syndrome and yet still not knowing whether the babies were girls or boys. We also had no ultrasound photos of our babies. It was a very empty feeling. I called the doctor the next day and asked him if he was able to see the gender of the babies, and he told us they were girls. It felt good to learn that and we tried optimistically to imagine our family with two little girls in it.

We reached out to the TTTS Foundation, letting them know what we learned and asking for information and help. Mary, the founder, was wonderful and supportive and called to answer our questions and to offer us hope. She suggested I remain on bedrest until our appointment at CHOP on the following Monday and mentioned to be aware of an even greater increase in fluid. She also suggested that we name our babies so that we didn't have to just keep referring to them as "donor" and "recipient" or "Baby A" and "Baby B." We decided to name our donor baby Fiona, which means "fair," and our recipient baby Brigid, which means "strong."

Friday night into Saturday, I felt the increase in fluid that Mary was referring to. I had much more pressure under my right rib, felt a little lightheaded, and was really having a hard time breathing. I knew I'd been having some anxiety attacks from the upset of our diagnosis, but this was something more. On Saturday morning, we decided it was best to go into the hospital. Unfortunately, this was also the day of my little sister's wedding. My parents came to get the boys to bring them to the wedding and Patrick and I went into the hospital.

I was seen by the OB on call and we learned that our perinatologist was in his office and would be able to do an ultrasound to see what had changed since Wednesday. What he saw was actually an improvement. Our donor twin appeared to be moving around more and to have some more fluid in her amniotic sac. This was encouraging, but because she was moving more, he was also able to see her umbilical cord better and to determine that it looked rather fragile. It was a velamentous insertion into the placenta, which means that rather than inserting directly into the mass of the placenta, the vascular connections of the cord extended off the very edge of the placenta and went along the surface of the sac's membrane before connecting to the baby. This could be contributing to baby Fiona's poor growth, as she was much smaller than her twin sister.

We went home slightly more hopeful and anxious for our appointment at CHOP, where we could get a better idea of what we were up against and determine a plan of action.

Monday's appointment at CHOP consisted of hours of testing. Ultrasound echocardiograms for the babies, genetic counseling, more anatomical ultrasounds and finally a consultation with the doctor. We could see that little Fiona had no more fluid around her and her bladder was no longer visible. It was evident that her heart was struggling from the syndrome, as was Brigid's, which was overworked and straining. The tests were overwhelming and exhausting, but the staff and technicians were all very sympathetic and encouraging to us. One even printed out some photos of the two girls for us, which were both sad and beautiful. I put them in a folder and have not been able to look at them since. Seeing those babies struggling in there and just wanting to reach in and help them or hold them was so frustrating and upsetting.

During our consultation with the doctor at the end of the day, we learned that not only did we have TTTS, but that it was complicated by something called Intrauterine Growth Restriction (IUGR), which is what happens when a baby has only a small portion of the placenta, as our little Fiona did. The doctor suggested that she actually only had less than 10% and that she was already showing indications of brain damage as a result of the lack of blood supply. He told us what our options were: we could do nothing, in which case our babies had less than a 5% chance of survival; we could terminate the pregnancy altogether, which was not an option for us; we could "selectively terminate" Fiona since she was already so severely damaged, giving Brigid a better chance at survival, which was also not an option; or we could have a surgery to stop the abnormal blood flow between the two babies. This surgery was going to be the best chance at saving both of them, and for us, it was the only option. The doctor said he'd like to do the surgery the next day because of the urgency of the situation, and told us that if Fiona did not survive until then, not only could they not do the surgery, but it was likely that Brigid would die as well. If Fiona survived and if the surgery was able to help her, he warned us that she would likely be born with severe neurological problems, including cerebral palsy or worse.

That was one of the most difficult nights of my life.

Sleep did not come easily. I prayed for my babies. I prayed for the doctors. I prayed that Fiona would survive until the surgery and even beyond the surgery. I slept fitfully and woke very early in hopes of feeling some kicks that would give me an indication that the babies made it through the night. Once I did, I prayed they could hold on for a few more hours until the surgery.

We returned to CHOP and they got me ready for the surgery. Just before I went to the OR, they did one last ultrasound to determine that both babies had indeed made it through the night, and they had! The procedure is an amazing one: the doctors insert a 4mm wide instrument into the uterus that has both a camera and a laser on it. They map out all of the connections between the babies on the surface of the placenta and determine which ones are the unbalanced (vein to artery) ones. Then they use the laser to cauterize all of these connections to ensure that each baby is only getting her own flow of blood to and from the placenta. I was only under a twilight sedation, so I did have some awareness of what was happening, but I didn't really feel any pain, just some discomfort. After the surgery, they also took out some of the excess amniotic fluid from Brigid's sac. They removed 2.5 liters and my stomach was half its size! It was remarkably quick - only about an hour and a half - and the doctors were so encouraging and compassionate. I went back to my room and slept for most of the afternoon. They kept me overnight and would do another ultrasound after 24 hours to see how the babies were responding.

The time went slowly and, knowing the babies experienced the same sedation I did, I didn't feel many kicks to let me know they were okay. It was frightening and yet we felt a peace, knowing that we did everything that we possibly could do and the rest was in God's hands. We knew he loved our babies even more than we did. For a few minutes, I closed my eyes and I had a vision of Jesus welcoming our little Fiona into heaven, and then the technician came in to do an ultrasound.

I watched the technician's face, looking for any sign of what she was seeing on the screen, but couldn't tell. Then she went to get the doctor and his face was a little easier to read. He seemed encouraged and then dismayed. "Did we lose the donor," I asked. "Yes," he said, compassionately. He showed me the screen and told me that Brigid looked to be showing some improvement already, but he also showed me that little Fiona's heart was no longer beating. The range of emotions was difficult to process. Sorrow over the loss of our little one, thankfulness that she was able to hold on until the surgery, encouragement that Brigid seemed to be doing better, fear that there was a chance that we could still lose Brigid in the days and weeks to come. Patrick and I held each other and cried. It was so terribly bittersweet. I asked the doctor what would happen to Fiona, and he said that she will just stay until Brigid is ready to be born. Thinking about what that day will be like is terribly overwhelming and for now, I try not to.

I had to stay in the hospital for a little longer to finish my dosing of post-surgery antibiotics, and then we went home. I am on fairly strict bed rest now (only up to use the bathroom and shower), hoping and praying that our little Brigid gets stronger. Having our boys here is like medicine for our aching hearts. We have been so overwhelmed by the outpouring of love and support from our friends - offering childcare, bringing meals, helping with groceries. It is very hard for my Type A controlling personality to sit on the couch and watch others run the house or to delegate to people who are here and asking how they can help, but I think I'm going to have to get better at it for at least the next two or three weeks.

The whole experience has been surreal. We were not trying to have another baby right now, but we learned that we were. Then we learned that we were having twins. We learned they were identical and that felt special. Identical twins is something that happens to other people, not to me, but here we were. Then we learned that we had this syndrome and I was going to have in utero surgery and that, too, seemed surreal. Losing a twin makes it feel like that specialness has been taken away. The dressing them alike, comments from strangers - all that has been taken away and it feels like a void even though they haven't even been born yet. It's only the second time I get to use the "twins" tag on a blog post, and yet, it's the last.

I will be going back to CHOP on Tuesday for a follow-up appointment and to determine how well Brigid is improving. Knowing that she has almost the entire placenta is both sad and encouraging. Having to tell the boys what happened was very difficult, and I knew Jack would take it very hard. He was so excited about having twins, and he was especially thrilled to learn that they were girls. His innocent questions have been so hard to answer, and he is acting out in a way that shows he is still having a hard time processing everything.

I'm praying that God will heal Jack's little heart. I'm praying that Patrick will have the patience and stamina to do his work and to take on more of the housekeeping and childcare as well. I'm praying that little Brigid's heart would continue to show improvement and that she would grow strong and healthy enough for a full term pregnancy. And I'm praying that our hearts would heal as well and that our faith would be strengthened. We feel the sting of our loss but are trying to stay positive and encouraged by Brigid's improvement, trusting that her future rests in God's hands as well.

It's hard not to dwell on the what ifs. What if we had caught the TTTS sooner? What if we go on to lose Brigid too? We are hopeful. We are prayerful. We are anxious. But we know that God is sovereign and He is good, and His ways are not our ways. We are also encouraged to trust that one day, we will get to meet our little Fiona in heaven - and so will her twin sister and her big brothers.

Catching up...

Su, this one's for you. xx

Things have been a bit busy in the T house since Jack's birthday. A few days before Thanksgiving, two big things happened:

(1) Thomas started walking.

He was just a few days shy of 10 months old, which is right around when his brothers started too. (This is fun when the first baby does it, but much more difficult when subsequent babies do as there are more little folks running in opposite directions to chase around.) This has been uniquely challenging with Thomas, also, because he is very very tall. Tall enough to reach items on the kitchen counter already, yet young enough not to understand danger or consequences. It's forced me to have to rethink what items I can just leave on the counter to go help someone with the potty, for example. Thank God he's never been hurt by anything, but I've seen his little fingers just about ready to grab some of my sharpest knives and it's very frightening.

(2) We found out we're expecting again.

This came as a complete and utter shock, as we were definitely not trying and instead working to give ourselves a little more time to decide when we might be ready to have another. Apparently, God made that decision for us and while it took a few days to sink in, we were both happy about the prospect of adding a new little somebody to our family.

We visited family for Thanksgiving and even got a little snow that day. It was such a nice holiday.

Christmastime had me really feeling nauseous and tired. Exhausted, actually, and really nauseous too, I guess, since we all got a stomach virus the week before Christmas. It just picked us off one by one, starting with Thomas, and ending with me. I'm pretty sure I spent all day Christmas eve in bed with a trash can. Not exactly a holiday to remember, but the boys got to play with their new toys all day, which they loved, and I just tried to get myself to keep down a few sips of apple juice. It was weird to wish I was only feeling the pregnancy nausea and not the virus nausea, but I was praying for that several times a day.





A few days after Christmas, I had my first ultrasound for this pregnancy because I was feeling a little bit bigger and the doctor thought perhaps my dates were off.

Wrong.

Here's what we saw.


I'm glad I had a little inkling (I knew I was feeling larger than usual, and I also knew that my dates were probably not wrong), otherwise I may have just rolled right off the ultrasound table. So, rather than adjusting to the idea of one new addition to our family, we're mentally preparing ourselves for TWO! And the idea of five children under the age of five. It's been scary and overwhelming and exhausting and daunting, but also exciting and amazing (and did I mention exhausting?) and leaving us feeling tremendously blessed. Five years ago, as blissful newlyweds, we could never have imagined that we'd have five children one day, and now, here we are. The doctor is pretty sure they're identical twins, and while we usually wait to find out the gender, we'll be finding out this time around. Our big ultrasound for that is on March 9.

January brought lots of snow


and Thomas's first birthday.



My, that year went quickly! He is the most happy, outgoing baby and it's hard to imagine life without him. He makes us laugh. He tells us knock knock jokes. (Really.) He keeps us on our toes. He says Mama, Dada, knock-knock, up, cracker, ba ba (bottle), ball, hi, and bye-bye. His smile is contagious. He's a dancing machine.

I also got to visit my sister in San Francisco in January and somehow managed not to take any pictures of our time together. We had a great time doing a few things for her wedding in March, walking around San Francisco, and playing Scrabble.

It's hard to believe it's the last day of February, and March and springtime are just around the corner. This year, I could not be more thankful. It's been a long winter cooped up in the house feeling tired and nauseous with three energetic little boys. We're all anxious to get outside and play!

It's a BOY!

We still can't believe it.

I went into the hospital on Tuesday evening at 8 p.m., and

Thomas Christopher was born at 5:24 on Wednesday morning, January 27th.

I am stunned at how big he was. I was positive he was smaller than the other boys.

I think maybe I was just smaller this time.

Ask me how it feels not to be pregnant anymore.

Go ahead - ask me.

That's how.

(Whoa, look at those eyes - I definitely didn't get much sleep that night.)

Patrick is one proud papa - and a little in shock.

He was pretty convinced it was a girl too.

But no - here's our little puffy-faced boy a few hours after he was born.

Jack and PJ had been staying at my parents' house for a few days, since I had had more than a few false alarms that had me thinking I was in labor.

When the doctor gave us the okay to head in to be induced, I called Jack there and told him that the baby was going to be coming out that night. I promised I'd call him the next morning and let him know whether it was a boy baby or a girl baby.

At 7 a.m. that morning - just a short while after the baby was born - I did just that.

Here's how that call transpired:

Me: Jack, it's Mommy. The baby came out today!
Jack: Already?
(!?!?!?!?!?)
Me: Yes! Daddy is holding him. And guess what?
Jack: What?
Me: It's a little boy baby!
Jack: NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!
(Screaming, sobbing, dropping the phone and continuing while walking away)
I want it to be a little girl baby!

So...that went well.

I hoped that when he met little Thomas, things might be different.

I was right.

First, he saw that it was indeed a tiny little baby.

I think he equated a boy with another little brother the same size as PJ.
And Jack's a baby lover!

Then, this happened.

(This picture makes me cry a little.)

Then, he was thrilled to hold his baby brother.

PJ, also a baby lover, just went straight for the cuddle.

Then he was excited to see his little eyes and nose.

Some quiet time with my little guy this morning.

I love this one - the boys brought in some "Boys Rule" stickers for everyone and we put Thomas' on his bassinette
(though I have to admit the perfectionist in me wonders if they couldn't have asked someone with a little bit nicer handwriting to fill out the card).

Getting ready to head for home.

We are all doing well. The boys will spend one last night at my parents' house and give us a chance to settle in with Thomas. Then Patrick will go pick them up in the morning.

I can't wait to have all of them home together.
We are so blessed!

Due date

Well, here it is - yet another due date on which I am still pregnant.

The boys were both late, but this is different. With them, I didn't have nearly as many false alarms - hours and hours of regular contractions that ended up fizzling out, usually as soon as I call a neighbor or my parents to come and stay with the boys. This is infinitely more frustrating, mostly because so many more people are being affected.

From all the drama this little one has caused to date, I'm definitely thinking pink.

I appreciate all the votes for an early arrival.

I appreciate the vote for the due date arrival.
(Did I vote for that one myself? I may have, hoping beyond hope that this child
would inherit my own affinity for promptness.)

The day is still young...but this little one seems to be pretty darn comfortable in there.

And that's okay.

I won't be pregnant forever.

(Right??)

Guessing game

With nine days to go until my due date, I figured it was about time for another guessing game.

You know, the kind where you take a stab at when the baby might make an appearance, and how much s/he might weigh and I promise to write your name in a fancy font if you win!

How can you resist seeing your name posted online in a fancy font like I did for Aunt Devon when PJ was born?

You can't, right? I know!

So I posted a little poll over there on the right for the due date. Both Jack and PJ were latecomers (10 and 7 days, respectively - both were running on T-Time right from the start) and so I think I'll just be happy if this baby shows up in the month of January at all, but I have had lots more Braxton Hicks contractions than I did with PJ, so maybe this little one is planning to take after his Mommy and come on time or even a little early.

As for the weight, Jack was 8 lb. 5 oz, and PJ was 8 lb. 8 oz, and I have to say, I think I'm actually a little smaller this time around. I definitely don't weigh as much as I did when I was at the end of my pregnancies with them, and I didn't gain very much - only about 12 pounds according to this morning's OB visit. Which, I must say, is another thing that has me thinking pink.

So take your best (anonymous) guess at when the baby will come and leave a comment with your guess of the weight. I'll post the weight winner once s/he makes an entrance!

In a fancy font and everything!

The due date is January 24th, by the way.

37 weeks

At a little over 37 weeks, we're getting really excited to learn whether we're having another baby boy or a little girl!

Judging from the poll, I can see that most of you are thinking (or hoping) girl.


I'm not so sure. I love my boys. They're easy. I "get" them.

Plus, I already have everything I'd need.

Girls mean drama. I don't think I can handle having another person with PMS in the house.

But still, it might be fun to have a little girl...

And it would certainly be fun to be a little girl with these guys for big brothers.

We'll find out soon enough!

Baby bump

Baby T is due on January 24th. The above photo was taken at 20 weeks.

We can't wait to find out if it's a boy or a girl!

We can wait for the sleepless nights, so we've been praying since the + test that this babe might be one of those rare, sleeps-through-the-night-the-first-week-home children that you read about in fairy tales and legends.


30 weeks - pop!

35 weeks - maternity shirts are almost not long enough. Combine an already-long torso with a 52-inch waist (yes, I measured it. I have a love/hate relationship with my Mommy Measure - but love you, Pam!), and there are just not that many shirts up for the challenge. I refuse to have the belly sticking out like Rachel Green on "Friends," so I'm mostly resorting to extra-large baggy t-shirts. They're unflattering, but they cover the stretch marks.

It's hard to believe that it will only be about a month before we have a new family member!

25 weeks

This picture is from three weeks ago, but I still look about the same. It's hard to believe I'll be 25 weeks pregnant tomorrow!

And now that I'm finally feeling more "whenny" than "iffy" about the baby being born, I thought maybe it was time for another poll.

As you may or may nor know, we're not finding out the gender of this baby either. It was so exciting not knowing with PJ. And when he came out, the midwife said "It's a girl!" which totally shocked me because I was so sure it was another boy. Then, one second later, Patrick (who had a side view) said, "No, a boy! A boy!" and then I was shocked all over again. Those five seconds of excitement made the whole 41 (yes, 41) weeks of not knowing so worthwhile!

A few things have me mixed about this one. First of all, my nausea started sooner than it did with the boys, and it lasted much longer. I was queasy from about 5 weeks to 18 weeks. I'm also feeling much more uncomfortable in the...um..."chestular" area than I was with them. These things, combined with the fact that I'm much more emotional this time around (though that could be attributed to the sheer exhaustion that comes from being pregnant with two toddler boys), have me wondering if it's a girl.

However, at our 21-week ultrasound, the tech, in trying to get a better view of the spine (baby was being uncooperative) flitted oh-so-quickly past the baby's nether regions and both Patrick and I wondered if we'd seen a boy part.

It's hard to believe that in just 15 weeks - well, who am I kidding? More like 16 and a half weeks - we'll get to meet this new little person. What an amazing privilege it is.

Remind me of that about 6 weeks after s/he's born, will you?

Vote in the poll to the right and let me know if you think it's going to be another little boy Baby T for us (as is only fitting, as Patrick grew up in a household with SIX sisters!) or a little girl Baby T.

Counting our blessings

WARNING: Even though that's an optimistic title, this post is going to be a bit of a downer.

I'll just cut to the chase. We lost our baby last night. Or I guess I should say I lost our baby last night. If we're not pregnant, then we can't miscarry, right? Though this is one burden I'd be glad to share, and Patrick's doing an amazing job helping me to shoulder it.

I was going to post this weekend about the fact that I'd been having a little cramping and maybe ask for some extra prayers...but the weekend got away from me.

I won't go into all the gory details, but suffice it to say, I was only 9 weeks pregnant and it could have been much worse! I was afraid about how painful a miscarriage was going to be, but I either have a really high pain tolerance, or mine wasn't particularly bad, for which I'm so grateful.

I'm also grateful for the fact that I already have two sweet little babies to cuddle and kiss. This would have been so much more difficult if it were my first.

I'm thankful for lots of family and friends who have offered their support, including my Mom, who's been here helping me with the kids since Monday.

I'm thankful for the most amazing, compassionate, understanding, encouraging and supportive husband in the world who just reminded me that he has an infinite supply of hugs and kisses to help me get through this.

And I'm thankful that I have one sweet little baby in heaven who will be waiting for me when I get there. There's something reassuring about that.

It's surprising how much we bond with our babies when we're pregnant, isn't it? Even though she wasn't moving around in there yet, I still thought of her all day, every day. I already loved her.

It is so hard to understand God's purpose for things like this - what could possibly be the point of creating this tiny life, only to take it away before anyone got to appreciate it? But that's the thing, I guess. It makes us appreciate life so much more. And God is good, even when it hurts.

I love you, sweet little baby! I can't wait to meet you some day! - Your Mommy

I missed it!

Well, yesterday was my one year blogiversary ... and I missed it.

Nausea and fatigue have settled in like unwanted house guests and the new focus of my days has been trying to stave them off.

It's a good sign, I know, and I'm glad I decided to enjoy the nausea-free weeks of early pregnancy instead of worrying that something was wrong, like I did with the first two. Unfortunately, though, if I thought it was hard keeping up with Jack when I felt nauseous with PJ, keeping up with both of them is even harder. I have no tolerance for two-year-old tantrums - even when they're as few and far between as Jack's are. I'm ready for bed by 7 p.m.

We had a relatively low-key holiday season, which was perfect. Family came here on Christmas day, and then Patrick had the whole week off between Christmas and New Year's day. We did next to nothing, which I know bummed him out a little bit (his to-do list was posted on our blackboard weeks before vacation started and I think he got...let me see...NONE of the things on it done). But I know he was going fast and furious to meet his year end deadlines for work and he really needed the down time. We vegged out, we spent way too much time online, and we played with our boys. It was just perfect.

Oh, we also moved Jack into a toddler bed! He's so tall that he's been easily able to swing one leg up and over the side of his crib for a while now, and we wanted to avoid the eventual fall. My brother and sister-in-law gave us a toddler bed that their little ones had grown out of and we painted it black to match the furniture in Jack's room. Eventually, Jack, his toddler bed, and his furniture will be moved into PJ's room, the boys will share a room, and Jack's room will become the nursery.

Jack is very excited about this, and PJ, who adores his big brother, is going to be thrilled, I'm sure. I just hope they will actually sleep in there together.

We could never have known, when we moved into this house in August of 2006, that just three years later the bedrooms would be filled with three little children! It's unreal.

And finally, just to continue the whole lack-of-rhyme-or-reason theme of this post, following is a conversation that just took place:

Me: Jack, I think you're cute.

Jack: No, my not cute.

Me: Yes you are cute!

Jack: No, no my not cute.

Me: Okay, then I think Daddy's cute.

Jack: No, Daddy not cute. My cute.

Me: You're cute?

Jack: Yeah. Mommy cute and my cute.

Sinking in

So, a few days later and things are just starting to sink in.

Three kids in three years.

Jack will be three months shy of three years old when T3 comes. It's daunting, but I think we're up for the challenge. My guys are so sweet and easy-going. I'm thinking that they'll be good playmates for each other while I'm taking care of a newborn.

Anyway, we really are excited about another baby. Let's face it, I'm not getting any younger and Patrick and I both wanted a big (ish) family. (Big is relative, I guess...right, Duggars? Patrick's one of eight. Jon and Kate? No thank you. I have my limits. For some reason, four always seemed right to me.)

What's strange is that I didn't really have any symptoms other than running to the bathroom every five minutes. I was as surprised as you to see that big pink "+". With PJ, I knew I was pregnant at least a week before I got a positive test. My boobs The ladies were just so sore. I guess every pregnancy is different, although fatigue and my first-trimester aversion to coffee have already kicked in.

These two things do not play well together.

By dinner, I need toothpicks to prop open my eyelids.

So there you have it. We're having another baby and we both feel blessed beyond belief.

(How's that for alliteration?)

A pleasant surprise

Just Desserts

I would be perfectly happy if my diet were just desserts. I think I have a sugar problem.

That being the case, I made a new rule for myself: only one dessert per day. You'd think being 34 years old, I might already know this rule, but I don't. I had to make it "official." I did this by declaring it aloud to Patrick after a day in which I ate the following in addition to my regular three squares: a brownie, a piece of pie, two Tastykake butterscotch krimpets, some Sunkist fruit gems candies, and a handful of jellybeans. Is that wrong? Um, my wardrobe suggests YES! So it's down to just one dessert per day, and yesterday was my first day of implementing that new rule. I should be able to get through a day with no desserts, I guess, but...well...that would be absurd.

So let's talk about the wardrobe issues of a woman of childbearing age, shall we? Namely, what clothes should be in my drawers and closet right now? It's just a simple question that I don't know how to answer.

My sons are 18 months and 6 weeks old, which means I've been pregnant for 20 of the last 30 months. Pre-pregnancy with Jack, I was far from svelte, but I weighed about 30 pounds less than I do right now. So my clothes from before he was born do not fit right now. I gained about 40 pounds with his pregnancy, and after he was born, I bought a few new things that were in a bigger size. I got pregnant with PJ at a high weight - truth be told, I was almost back up to my delivery weight with Jack. (Sleep deprivation makes your metabolism run in reverse.) As a result, I tried to be careful about my weight gain with PJ's pregnancy, and ended up only gaining NINE pounds (yay me!). Don't worry, I still weighed more than my 6'6" husband, so I was hardly wasting away or putting the baby in danger. The baby and I could have lived off my thighs for another year. So the clothes I bought after Jack was born are actually a little too big for me right now.

This is my predicament.

I wore maternity jeans to take the boys to the park today and once they stretched a little from their just-out-of-the-dryer fit, I literally had to hold on to them to keep them from ending up around my ankles. (As an aside, if they made elastic waist jeans in normal, non-maternity sizes, I'd seriously have a closetful of them. They're just that comfortable, and no Dunlaps disease - you know, where your stomach dunlaps over the top of your pants? So if anyone decides to start this particular line of clothing, I'll be your number one customer!)

In my drawers right now, I still have my maternity clothes, and I'm supplementing with some non-maternity capri-length sweatpants that are on the top of my dresser. If I do the rubberband trick, I can get away with a pair of non-maternity jeans with a slight case of Dunlaps, but I'm not really comfortable doing this. My closet is full of maternity clothes and pre-Jack clothes, none of which really fit right. Oh, add that while I'm breastfeeding, there simply are NO button down shirts that will fit correctly over the "ladies" without bulging at the middle.

The wardrobe organization rule of thumb is that if you haven't worn something in the last year, you should get rid of it. But this just doesn't hold true for people who have been pregnant in that year! There is just no organizational system that will work, and I'm living out of my drawers, Rubbermaid bins, plastic bags, and piles of clothes that are just taking over my room!

Somebody help me!

Oh, I guess the dessert rule might help too, huh?

Seriously, though - how do I make this work?

Welcome, Baby PJ!

We have news! I could have bet you money that once the induction was on the schedule for Saturday, I was going to go into labor on Friday. I would have won!

Contractions started Friday morning, I called the hospital at about 9:30 am and had my parents come over to stay with Jack. We went in, I got my two doses of penicillin (thanks to Group B strep), they broke my water at 5 pm and I had the baby that evening at 8:47 pm. The labor was fast and furious, but thank God for the invention of the epidural! Patrick Joseph, Jr. ("PJ") weighed in at 8 lbs., 8 oz., and is just perfect! My MOM would have won the weight game, guessing 8 lbs 8oz on the money...but then she changed it after the belly shot! Dang it!

Congrats to Aunt Devon, who guessed 8 lbs. 10oz!!

I don't want to slam you with a million pictures....oh, who am I kidding?

Yes I do!

Here they are:

We just came home and we're all doing great! Thanks so much for all your prayers and encouragement! We love you guys!