Two weeks ago (and one day if we're being precise), everything changed. At 35 weeks pregnant with twins, the babies (and my VERY tired and VERY rotund body) decided that without further ado, it was GO TIME! Of course, it wouldn't be a Schwab story if there wasn't a little drama, some bodily functions, and a bit of awkwardness. The game plan was to go 37 weeks, have a pleasantly timed delivery (without pooping the table) with Shane holding my hand as I gently glistened with perfectly coiffed hair. Clearly, birth scenes from Hollywood led me to believe that this is the norm.
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| Curse you Hollywood and your birthing story lies! |
However, this is where our story stops being the ideal Hollywood birth scene. Early on Monday, March 4th, Shane made me promise to not have the babies as he had to fly to New Mexico for a business meeting. "Of course!" I promised him. "I'll be fine and they'll marinate away." Thanks to bed rest, I had anticipated a day filled with Downton Abbey, naps, and reading. I realize that am a control freak, but I've learned that I cannot control the weather, birds, or when babies will arrive (this is foreshadowing, fellow English nerds).
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| Never trust a Beluga Whale when she tells you anything about when she might give birth. |
Later that day, I found myself in my OB's office having an out of body experience as my Doctor informed me that instead of going home after my appointment to get caught up on The Walking Dead, I would be wheeled to the hospital and have the babies. Trying to keep my cool, I texted Shane from the office. I believe the sentiment was something like hey, remember that time when I promised to not have the babies while you're gone? Well, get here fast cause the jokes on us - it's go time! Seriously. Like, get here now.
Fortunately, my parents were around and they hung out with me in the hospital while we waited for Shane. Bless moms who hold their 31 year old daughter's hands while getting IV's (and hold their hair while they puke all over). Luckily, Shane was able to duck out of his businessy thing and catch a flight, so he walked in 15 minutes before my water was broken. We were back on track for the Hollywood delivery....or so I thought.
The contractions started and weren't so bad. I sort of thought maybe women had been milking this part to get sympathy, (well played Ladies, earn those push presents!) but just as I was admiring my ability to rock at labor, things got weird. A contraction started with a ferocious pang. Suddenly, I felt like a magician's assistant being cut in two. Rachel Greene did not deal with this crap on Friends, I guarantee it. The minutes rolled by as the devil contraction got worse and worse. It's not a crystal clear memory, but I'm quite sure there was puking, moaning, sweating, and perhaps cursing. The situation quickly started to feel less Scrubs and more Grey's Anatomy. Warning tones began blaring, indicating that the babies' heart rates were dropping rapidly. The room quickly filled with nurses and doctors in scrubs. Without time to process the ordeal, I was wheeled into the OR for an emergency C-Section.
Fortunately, the bambinos made it out just fine. In my drug addled state, I vaguely remember looking at my son and sort of thinking that he resembled a goo covered alien (a'la ET). I'll wait until he's old enough to laugh at that before sharing that particular observation. I'm pretty sure the Doctors showed me my daughter, but again, I was hopped up enough for memories to be murky, yet just coherent enough to be completely mortified to be so naked in front of so many strangers. In the end, I didn't get my glamourous Hollywood delivery, but Shane was there holding my hand, and I didn't poop the table. I'll take my wins where I can get them.
And so, on March 5, at 12:00 am and 12:02 am Jackson Lee Schwab and Avery Violet Schwab joined the party. Welcome to the world kiddos; it's a wild ride.
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| Avery and Jack in their first tupperware crib. |
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| Already partners in crime.... |
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| Jack is (usually) very mellow and can be made happy with a hug or a pacifier. |
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| Avery the wild child. She loves her musical caterpillar and is a spitfire! Good thing she has a brother to help look after her. |
