29 and Counting

After being home for a week, I went to our regular ultrasound appointment and learned I had dilated to one. The doctors panicked and I went straight across the street back into the clink. Lucky for me, Bryan and I had packed my bag just in case there was an issue. I spent one more week in the hospital and was discharged. But I was told if I had to be admitted again, there would be no escaping until the babies were born. It's too high of a risk. I still have contractions but they have no rhyme or reason. Nothing too strong and no scary patterns emerging. After being monitored for contractions for two days straight, my doctor decided to pull the monitor off. The nursing staff was freaking out about all my contractions and calling the doctor every hour. I think she'd finally had enough of hearing them worry for no reason. I just have a really tiny body that allows any tiny ripple to be felt by the monitor and these babies move a lot and with force. Baby boy give Chuck Norris roundhouse kicks and baby girl squirms around like a wiggly worm, twirling and flipping from head down to head up and then back again.
Tomorrow the twins turn 29 weeks. It has been 5 weeks since the first night at the hospital. We've come a really long way, my belly too. It's stretched out pretty thin now, and I'm finally starting to show the stretch mark battle scars. I was really excited to see the first one, as though I'd proved my worth, but now that they're growing in number and increasing in length, I'm wishing I hadn't been so proud. Kind of funny I feel that way since I've never felt comfortable in a bikini nor have I ever been one to show off my tummy. The size of my belly has also made it extremely difficult to climb into and out of bed as well as make the short walk to the bathroom and back. Turning over in bed is a chore and I've woken Bryan up several times with my grunts and groans, worrying him silly that something bad is happening. Nope, just got to turn over, so I can push myself up on my side, swing my legs slowly over the bed, then adjust to the edge of the bed to alleviate the pressure, slowly stand up to make sure I don't have dead legs that will give out under my weight, and last, slowly, every so slowly, waddle to the bathroom while wincing at each step because it is very difficult being the master of my bladder. So far, I've gained 43 pounds. At that last ultrasound, baby boy was 2.5 lbs and baby girl was 3 lbs (the doctors claim the difference is due to wimpy white boy syndrome, but since all my doctors are girls, maybe they're just discriminating). From all our research, 5 lb babies would be ideal, so I've still got to gain at least 4.5 lbs for their combined weight, which doesn't include all the items in each of their 'homes' that provide the perfect growing environment. I have no idea what weight my body will finally scream out uncle and decide the babies are big enough to be born, but I hope it's not for another 5 weeks. The hardest part of this ordeal has been met, I've reached the hill's — no mountain's — summit and the slippery slope is all that's left. I hope all three of us make it to the finish line without anymore hiccups.