So, before put myself to sleep with all this typing, I really should get out some details for family record purposes. If I don't write it down, it won't exist a few months from now when I (hopefully) come out of this sleep-deprivation fog.
Jack and Margot were born the day after Christmas, late in the evening. One of these days, sooner rather than later (again, hopefully), I'll write out their birth story. Their first night in the hospital was spent in the NICU for observation, but they were allowed to leave the NICU and move up into the Mother/Baby floor the next day around noon. Billy and I spent the next 36 hours with the babies at the hospital, trying our best to get the hang of keeping them alive while supported by an endless rotation of doctors, nurses, lactation consultants, etc. I wasn't ready to leave the safety net come Friday night, but we had little choice. It'd been 48 hours and our insurance kicked us out.
The weekend was a blur. There was a doctor's appt on Saturday to check Jack and Margot's bilirubin levels, blessed help from my Mom overnight, and some stress and anxiety over possible exposure to the chicken pox virus and a stomach flu virus. This anxiety hasn't entirely dissipated, and I'm kindly asking my friends and family in the area to give me some time before I feel comfortable with visitors. I feel like a mother bear guarding her cave, so as much as I want to show off my cute little cubs, I just may bite off your head if you show up at my house, your seemingly germ-free hands itching to hold my babies.
Sunday night Connie came over with Liam, Isla, and Wren (they'd been with the Snyder's since the twins' birth) and for the first time Billy and I had all our kids together under the same roof. I'd missed them so much that just the sight of them made me cry. My heart felt so full. "These are my kids" I thought to myself, "all of them. This is us." And I felt so complete. I hope I can tap into this joy in the future when the reality of FIVE kids throws me into the inevitable stress freakout or poor-me pity party or CAN I JUST PEE BY MYSELF moment.
Monday afternoon I took the twins into the pediatric clinic for yet another bilirubin check up. This time the news wasn't good. Jack's levels were fine, but Margot's weren't and the doctor said she needed to go to the hospital for an overnight stretch under the "bili" lights. The prospect of having to go back to the hospital with both babies by myself was more than I could handle, and I cried a lot. In the end, it wasn't so bad. The nurses were kind, Margot slept hard and well in her warm little bed, and Jack was pretty easy on me. The next morning brought great news too. Margot's levels had dropped significantly and we could go home, but before we did she pooped her way through 5 diapers, proving the lights really did allow her body to metabolize the bilirubin.
Tuesday night was uneventful. Connie came to help out overnight and oh how merciful her service was. Between Connie and my mom and good friends, Billy and I are really coping pretty well. So thanks guys.
Another check up yesterday. Jack's bilirubin was down, and so was Margot's. The doctor put them in the clear and promised no more heel pricks. Hooray! They had also gained 2 ounces in 2 days, both weighing in at 5 lbs, 6 oz, just 3-4 oz. down from their birth weight.
Then, this morning. I don't even know where to start or what to say because everything is still so fresh and raw and open to infection so I am just going to go for it and hope for the best. This morning the babies were in their cribs, just minutes into a nap, when I decided to go check on them. I found Margot lying in her crib, spit up pooling in her mouth and nostrils, her body rigid, her eyes wide open in panic. I hurried and picked her up, turned her over and patted her back hard. I wasn't too worried yet, thinking I could just pat the fluid right out of her. This didn't work though. She continued to arch her back with all her strength, grunting every few seconds as if she were trying to get something up out of the back of her throat. I ran downstairs with her to grab the suction bulb, and by the time I had it I was very, very scared. I could feel the fear in my tiny little girl and I wanted so badly to take it away from her. Luckily Billy was home, working in his office, so I ran in there and gave her to him. "I think she's choking," I said. He worked hard to get whatever it was in her mouth out and after a minute or two he told me to call the doctor. "The doctor or 911?" I asked and I felt sick when he said 911. Billy is not one for panic or overreaction of any kind. If he thinks I need to call 911, than it really is as bad as it looks. The next five minutes were awful and I don't really want to talk about them. I can say that Billy saved my little girl's life, even though he would argue he didn't, and that I know my prayers were answered in the most merciful way of my life. By the time the paramedics arrived things were looking better, but they decided to take her to the hospital for an x-ray and tests. She's home now with a clean bill of health and angel over her shoulder. That's all I can say about that for now.
Here are some pictures.