Oomph

As I take another peek at my swollen-like-Fred-Flintstone feet, I can't help but feel a little dizzy.

My twins are almost three weeks old, but today was supposed to be their birthday. :)

If any of you ladies have ever had a c-section (or like me, the double whammy of a c-section with multiples) you know how hard it is to recover from this kind of surgery.

I was clueless.

Frikking clueless.

This is not necessarily a bad thing.

I think if I had ANY idea how hard my pregnancy and delivery would be I might have chickened out.

Holy crap. Just.....HOLY CRAP.

Don't get me wrong, I would not trade my boys for anything. They fill me full of joy that I have never known, and I am truly blessed that it was my destiny to be their Mommy.

But crikey Flowers. They nearly killed me.

The last month of my pregnancy was awful. In and out of "labor and delivery", never sleeping more than twenty minutes at a time because I could not breathe, barely being able to get around, going on bed rest from work and losing my Independence...

That's the cliff-notes version, but just trust me when I say it was BAD.

I kept telling my doctor I was not going to make it to 38 weeks (Jul 28th). There was just no frikking way. He was insistant....but look who was right! :)

I developed a condition that put me in the hospital, and a couple days later my doc had to take the boys. I was the weirdest combination of relieved and frikking TERRIFIED. Along with not understanding how difficult a twins pregnancy would be, I did not exactly understand the whole c-section process.

UGH.

Hated it. Hated it. HATED IT.

HATED.

IT.

The anesthesiologist MISSED on my epidural. My husband could hear me screaming in pain through the O.R. door. It was unreal.

They finally got me in the right spot and allowed my husband in the O.R. He walked in just in time to see them slicing me open (I found this out later of course). He saw my guts.

Let's stop and think about that for a second.

Ewwww.

I was pretty panicky the whole surgery, but never said anything. I would like to believe it was because I was strong or something, but it was probably the morphine. ;) I vaguely remember the boys being brought over to me, and someone took our picture. Then we went off to recovery. I have no idea how long we were there. I have vague memories of my parents, my aunt and Cougar coming in the hospital room to meet the boys.

I did ok that night. The next day, we had a thousand visitors, and I TOTALLY screwed up. I was feeling pretty good thanks to meds, and I didn't pay attention to my pain meds. I got off schedule, and that night, BAM! Got hit like a ton of bricks. That was absolutely positively the most painful, awful night of my life. I spent the next three days in the hospital in hideous pain most of the time. I still don't understand why they didn't give me something stronger.

I'm skipping over a ton of stuff here, but it is almost feeding time.

Quick wrap up -- on the way home from the hospital, I swelled up like the Micheline (sp) Man, which my doc refused to give me meds for, which is surprisingly miserable by the way, then ran out of pain meds in a couple days and my doc refused to renew my prescription.

I HATE MY DOCTOR.

Obviously, he is a MAN.

Growl. Hiss.

After my six week appointment I am dumping that man, my doc of nine years, like a hot potato.

Buh-bye!

I skipped over a ton of stuff that, like I said, I just don't have time to type out. I'll just say it was all hideous, but the boys are a joy. I'm still a little scared of them to be honest, but I love them desperately. They are beautiful, sweet, and so precious they make my heart pound.

Annnnnd......I hear the starting of the "Hunger Call" (the cutest cacophony of little squeaks, soon to be followed by a ROOOOOAAAAR if I am not fast enough), so it is time to publish this thing!

I heart you, my pretty pretty Flowers....