On Friday I had a fantastic appointment with the doctor who looks at the babies. They both are continuing to wiggle and grow. They both like to kick my anatomy, open and close their mouths, and avoid any and all tests the doctors may attempt. The personal ad practically writes itself.
The general consensus seems to be that Baby B probably caught the Parvo virus, but he was big enough to fight it off without requiring serious intervention (a.k.a. The Needle of Doom).
So, with things looking so good, my doctor has decided to space out our visits to every two weeks. Then he began to broach the topic of releasing me back to my original OBGYN.
I started to panic a little. While I wouldn’t never want there to be anything wrong with the twins, the scrutiny and extra appointments have really helped me keep my sanity during this pregnancy. Most days I feel pretty confident that the babies are doing well.
In the back of head, though, I know that Charlie was supposedly doing well at this point too. When I think back over my last pregnancy, my mommy instinct tells me that things didn’t head south for my little one until the very end.
And I get scared. Scared that another “typical” pregnancy will end in disaster and I’ll be sitting in a cold hospital room wondering if the whole thing has been some sort of awful dream. It’s not rational, it has absolutely no logical basis, but it sits there in the back of my mind–the fear. I’m not superwoman–I’m not even a distant relative–I’m just a regular girl who would like to take home her babies after a couple of days and with as few diagnoses and possible.
So the thought of being dismissed from the specialty doc, while excellent news, didn’t exactly fill me with joy. And while there is absolutely nothing I hate less than appearing weak, I told the doctor “please don’t dismiss me early.” Let me tell you–that wasn’t easy for me AT ALL. He and the ultrasound tech started laughing and wanted to know why–I mean, what woman in her right mind wants to keep going to the doctor?
So I was honest, even though it was hard, and just told them both that the visits were reassuring and that I was nervous. In fact, I might have said, “if you need to check off the box that says Mom is Neurotic, go ahead.”
We all had a good chuckle and the doctor said that he’ll keep me for growth scans until the end of my pregnancy, but he doesn’t think we’ll need to do many more anemia checks.
It’s hard to admit weakness. It’s difficult to let others know that you’re anything less than serene and rational.
But sometimes you gotta do just that. Sometimes your sanity depends on it.
Less than eight weeks to go!