They're Here.

They are here.  Our twins.  Esme and Ezra Rigg.  I kind of feel like that's all there is to say and it is enough to bring me to tears.

But I will say more.  They are perfect.  People say that about babies a lot.  I will say a lot of things that people say about babies, because now I know why they say those things.  Because they are perfect.

Once, when Esme was quietly snuggling in my arms, I could feel my heart breaking because it was so full of love for her.  And then there was the night she was sleeping in the crib, with her head in a pool of clear blue moonlight.  And when Ezra was born, having a hard time "transitioning," they brought him to me and put him on my chest.  He was so little and so brand new.  We laid together in that hospital bed and he began to do better.  And so did I.  And that is what people mean when they say babies are perfect.  At least that's what I mean.

We are a family of 4 now.  Paul is a dad.  I am a mom. They are ours and we are theirs.

Okay, now for the story of it all.  You all know the story by now...but for the record!  Please skim as you wish and forgive the details that seem oh so interesting to me.

We will begin at the beginning.  On November 22nd (34 weeks into my pregnancy) we woke up not too early and got ready to go to our baby shower at Barbara McCarrey's.  I had previously already enjoyed 2 baby showers thrown by my work friends and now this one was with my church friends.  On the way out the door I realized I was having a little spotting, so called the Dr's office on our way.  They called back just as we arrived at the McCarrey's beautiful sunshiny home full of people I love, so I took that call in the bathroom.  My Dr was out of town so I spoke with Dr Ha who thought it would be a good idea to come in to get checked, just in case.  I asked her if it was urgent since I was at my baby shower right now.  We decided it would be fine if I came in after the shower was over.



So we ate food, chatted, opened 8 million presents and enjoyed the sunshine.  I must admit, I was a little anxious, wanting reassurance that everything was fine with my babes.  After the festivities we stopped by our house so Paul could get his work badge in case it took a while to get this check thing over with.  Paul asked if I wanted to come inside to get anything and I thought,"no I'm fine."  Ha.

At the hospital they hooked me up to the monitor and asked if I was feeling any contractions.  I non-chalantly said "No."  They said, "Well, you're having one right now."  Hmm.  How about that.  Actually I was having pretty regular contractions, 2-4 minutes apart.  Dr Ha came to check me and I was dilated to a 4.  That sent the nurses into a tizzy.  "You're in labor!" they said.  And so I was.

That day I got to a 6 and a half and there I stayed...for the next 3 weeks.



They moved me out of Labor & Delivery (aka ice chips & broth land) up to the Prenatal Unit (home of a wide open menu).  And it all started out feeling like an adventure.  We called it The Great Hospital Vacation.  All I had to do was read books, drink milkshakes that Paul brought me, visit with friends and watch ABC Christmas Specials one after the other (thanks to the Iverson's Netflix account!).

We celebrated Thanksgiving with AMAZING food brought to us by the Pulinis.  We were pretty stoked for this meal.  

Rachael and Mary brought us construction paper and we made paper chains to decorate our room. And Paul wanted to get in on the big belly action.  

One thing that is great about Paul is he always keeps me entertained.  We were laughing pretty hard over his floor juggling attempts.  

Every day when my Dr came to check on me he would ask in disbelief, "Is your husband still sleeping here on the couch?"  Well, of course.  Paul was working the whole while on the evening shift at his new job at the hospital.  Then he would come "home" to our room and we would stay up late hanging out.  And he enhanced the pain scale faces on our white board.

But then...we started to get a wee bit...umm...irritated by the...umm...nurses.  Maybe more than a wee bit.  At one point it took all my self-restraint not to chuck my water jug at the retreating head of one of those women.  There was a lot of monitoring.  And not any changing.

So besides an incredible amount of swelling (really, truly an incredible amount) my blood pressure got pretty high.  Because of that my awesome Dr decided to break my water at 37 weeks, on 12/13/14.

 

The night before I was to deliver we were pretty excited.  It's weird to know that you're going to have a baby (or 2) tomorrow.  I always pictured waking Paul up in the middle of the night saying, "Honey, I think my water broke." Or something like that.  You know, like in the movies.  We were scheduled to be downstairs (in Labor & Delivery again) at 5:30 am, and were super happy when there wasn't a room available for us yet and we got to keep sleeping.  We slept as long as we wanted that morning, for the last time in our life.  The nurses told us they were ready for us around 11:30 and we were downstairs a little after 12:00.  Here's a final belly shot before we headed downstairs. 

I was pretty nervous/excited/anxious and Paul did a good job of helping me to relax.  I was still at a 6 and a half and Dr Richey broke my water.  When nothing happened, they gave me a wee bit of pitocin and I started to have contractions that I could feel.  I did that until about 2:30.  They checked me and I was an 8.  Then a couple minutes later they saw something on that monitor screen (or maybe they heard me...) that brought the nurses a-runnin'.  Yep, I was ready to go!  So they threw some scrubs at Paul (who had to find his missing shoe under the couch) and told him to get dressed while they got me onto a wheelie bed to move me into the Operating Room.  The plan was always to deliver in the operating room because they are twins, even though I was planning a vaginal delivery.  Because you never know! 

 

Aside: My plan was not to have an epidural, much to the distress of all the nurses who liked to tell me everything that could possibly go wrong and how awful it would be if I had to go under general anesthesia and miss everything just because I hadn't had the good sense to get an epidural in the first place.  I talked about it with my doctor after one particularly distressing conversation with a well meaning nurse and he said, "Well yes, that could happen...but it wouldn't be the end of the world."  Thank you Dr Richey for your good sense and calm demeanor!  You're right!  It wouldn't be the end of the world.  And so I decided to go ahead with my original plan and make my decision based on what I wanted and not based on fear.   

 

So they wheeled me in to the OR at 2:37pm.  And then I pushed.  With much excellent coaching and absolutely perfect support from my sweet Paul (which brings tears to my eyes to think about), our little girl was born at 3:52.  Man that felt good.  20 minutes later at 4:10 (with much less pushing) our little boy was born.  The other Dr Richey said, "Give this next push all you've got."  So I did.  And he got born. 

 

Right away they were best friends.  Esme was giving Ezra a hug because he was sad.  So sweet.

 

 

Paul got to trim their little cords and made sure they were okay while they got me ready to wheel back into my room.

 



 

And then they brought me my kids.  And we were happy.



People always say how much their babies weighed, but I never really know what to picture.  Esme was 5 lbs 12 oz.  Ezra was 4 lbs 13 oz.  This is Ezra.  He was little.

Here are the two of them.  Esme's the one with the cheeks.  You know how all babies look the same?  Not true! 

And thus begins the rest of our viewership's experience of looking at 8 million pictures of our awesome kids.  Sorry, they are just too cute to leave any pictures out. 

Esme.



Ezra.



And thus begins my life with Paul as the father of our children.  Man, I love him. 

 

Actually, I love him a lot.  I told some of you earlier that if I had to choose anyone to parent twins with, it would be Paul.  I had no idea then how right I was.  He is perfect.  He loves them like crazy.  He is so gentle and loving with them.  He can't get enough of them.  He is endlessly patient and is so involved in their care.  Everyone tells me to "sleep when they sleep" and tells Paul that he has to take care of everything else.  Well, this boy helps with every single feeding and every single diaper change and takes care of everything else.  And goes to work.  There is no sleep for him.  And he has been so kind and gentle, so perfectly supportive of me. 

 

 

So the little guys were born on Saturday and we got to go home on Tuesday.  We were glad to leave. 

 

 

Very glad.  But on the way home we realized we were going to need some help before my mom came on Thursday.  We made some phone calls and Macrina came as soon as we got home to hold some babies while we tried to get ourselves figured out and babies fed.  Oh man, getting those babies fed.   

 

 

Not only did Macrina come to hold babies, but Sister Pulini arrived with food, diapers, formula and everything else you could possibly think of needing.  Then when Macrina had to leave Rachael came to spend the night holding babies between feedings so we could sleep.  We were a mess.  Totally wrecked.  And these people were so easy to ask for help and were just perfect.  Thank goodness for friends.  The next day Shelby was here during the day and Natalie spent the night.  Rachael and Shelby used to be my Young Women.  They are so great!   

 



And then, thank goodness, my mom arrived on time on Thursday.  She was flying stand-by so we were praying pretty hard that she would make it.  We were in desperate need of help.  She kept saying she was in Grandma Heaven.  I would think it would be a little bit more like Grandma H*** at our house, but she sure was a trooper.  It's so nice, so incredibly nice to have my mom show up when I most need her and have her take perfect care of me.  At one point I was laying in bed, drifting off to sleep, listening to the sounds of my mom's footsteps in the other room, smelling the smells of chicken soup and apple pie and it felt so profoundly familiar to be taken care of so perfectly.  What a good woman.  I may or may not have sobbed uncontrollably when she left.  I may or may not still be crying because she's just so absolutely great.  I love her.  Her service is humbling.



But never fear, we were not left on our own quite yet.  Paul's mom came!  She's still here!  We don't think about what's going to happen when she has to leave.  (Actually we made my mom promise she would come back when we call!  So we'll see how it goes.  The thought of being on our own fills me with terror.)  Kathy has been just so great.  How do we end up with 2 such great moms?  She is not sleeping either.  Nobody's sleeping.  But she is feeding us, doing our laundry and dishes and snuggling those babies.



This is now what we do for fun.
 

And we all lived happily ever after.