Last year this time Matt and Chiara were in Tampa. I was at home addressing Christmas cards and watching back-to-back episodes of “Celebrity Rehab.” I was 24 weeks pregnant. I had just finished writing and posting “Survivor Mom,” my most-read blog post in the whole blog,* blithely anticipating the chaos that would ensue following the twins’ arrival.
*I get about a hit a day on this post. Judging by my stats info, it’s getting emailed around. 2nd and 3rd place go to the two posts following “Survivor Mom.” Worth mentioning is that in 4th place, very close behind, is the post on the “Michael & Wagner Kovac Christmas Gift Drive.”
Before they made the trip I called my doctor to make sure it would be OK for my husband to be so far away from me. The nurse laughed to reassure me.
“Don’t worry. You are not going to go into labor at 24 weeks. I mean, never say never, but the chances are so small that I can say it’s just not going to happen.”
She reminded me that my high-risk condition: monoamniotic/monochorionic twins had nothing to do with early labor. The only reason the boys would be born between 28 and 34 weeks—in other words, premature—would be to prevent cord entanglement. But I had absolutely no factors that put me at risk for early labor.
“If anything,” the nurse continued. “You’ll get more rest with your husband and two-year-old away.”
I did get more rest. I went to two holiday parties. I read some books. I started to sort through the six trash bags of baby clothes that folks from the ballet studio had given us.
I was sooooo tired. And sooooo huge. I was starting to feel the babies move, starting recognize one movement as the Red Baby and another as the Blue Baby. And I kept pushing away the thought that I was feeling very much the way I had felt in the weeks leading up to Chiara’s birth. But that was impossible. It had to be my imagination. After all, I was only five and a half months pregnant.