Four years and four days ago today, while pregnant with you, Miss-Miss and Bubba, I was told my blood pressure was dangerously high. I was immediately placed in the hospital for observation.
Four years ago today, my OB told me he was inducing labor because my blood pressure wasn't coming down and my body and your bodies were going haywire. And so, my sweet ones, our adventures began.
Four years ago today, at 4:12 PM, you were born, Miss-Miss. You were impatient. Four hours after being administered pitocin, my wussy self begged for an epidural and as I was given said epidural, you decided you'd had enough. You, my sweet girl, wanted to make a grand entrance. After ten minutes of trying to convince the nurses that My daughter is coming out! and said nurses scoffing It's your first pregnancy. Your daughter is not coming out. and finally checking just to shut me up they declared She's at 10 cm! and all Hell broke loose. Before I could blink and take a deep breath, both of your grandmothers and friends were replaced with your Papa, two warming tables, two neonatologists, more nurses than I could count, my OB, and a mid-wife. Suddenly, there you were. All four pounds, six ounces of you. My beautiful daughter.
As I was looking across the room at my sweet girl, I was vaguely aware of my OB saying OK, Heather, I'm going to reach in and get Bubba's foot. Yeah. Reach in. That made me flinch, too, even through the epidural. And before either of us knew what was happening, I contracted and instead of my OB grabbing your foot, he grabbed your scrotum. Bubba, honey, that was in no way planned. Not an auspicious beginning at 4:16 PM. No wonder all four pounds and 10 ounces of you squalled. My handsome son.
I had just washed my hair that morning, the first time in four days. The magnesium sulfate made me feverish and hot and I had already cried over the craziness and wonderment of meeting the two of you for the first time. So my first picture with you both leaves me looking like the Heat Miser from The Year Without a Santa Claus.
Two days later, you were both still in the NICU, too tiny to eat on your own. I was still on the magnesium sulfate (read: worst muscle relaxant EVER) and was so loopy, that I decided to name my ever-present I.V. pump "George." I hadn't been able to hold you since your births (because the magnesium made me so weak the doctors worried I would drop you) and I was itching to get my hands on you.
Your poor Papa was exhausted. He was trying to take care of me and spend as much time as possible with the two of you. He visited the NICU whenever he could, changing your diapers, feeding and burping you. Snuggling you. All the things I couldn't do.
Finally, on that second day, I was able to hold you both. Not just stroke your heads. I could finally cuddle you. Except I was still so tired and weak.
Three days after your births, I was discharged, but you were going to stay in the hospital for another 17 days, getting bigger and learning how to eat and breathe simultaneously while I recovered and gained strength. Every day, I visited you. I was so worried that if I missed a day, you would forget what I smelled like, what I sounded like, that we wouldn't bond.
And for 20 days, you snuggled each other, slept, ate, grew, and learned how to suck down eight bottles of formula each day.
And three years and 345 days ago, you came home.
And our house of two became a home of four.
And here we are. Four years later. Miss-Miss, you're a beautiful young lady, full of life, laughter, and curls. Bubba, you're such a handsome little boy who makes me laugh and gives me unsolicited hugs. And with J-man, we're a party of five.
Happy 4th Birthday, my sweet twins! These four years have been awesome and incredible and I can't wait to see what the future holds for us!