Post-Delivery Introductions

Dahlia pushed Mom’s bed, while Nurse #2 and I pushed the babies’ carts, and we went up the elevator and to the baby floor, or whatever it’s called.

We found our excited parents waiting outside of the room with Mom’s brother and his fiance.

I’ve never been good at hiding my emotions.  My facial expressions are usually a dead giveaway.  (This was a concern of Megg’s about having me in the delivery room, but my poker face served me well.)  I’m sure I was grinning ear-to-ear as we introduced those two tiny babies to our families.

The babies and I stayed in the corridor with our families as Megg was helped into the post-delivery bed that she would be hanging out for the the next few days.  Our family “oohed and ahhed” at the babies and each family member told me who each baby resembled.

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Mom was finally able to hydrate and I presented her with her treasured blue Gatorade.  She was advised to take it slow with the fluids because of the anesthesia, but it wasn’t that easy.

In a matter of minutes, she started puking, giving back all of her new-found fluids.  Her soon-to-be sister in law, who’s a nurse, was quick to grab a bin of some sort and pull Megg’s hair back.

It just kept coming.  Sorry, but it did.

Puking isn’t really a big deal to me, but after the whole ordeal she had just been through, this puking episode had me on edge.

After emptying her stomach’s contents several times, we settled into the room and looked at our new babies, along with those family members who didn’t leave when Megg started puking.

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They were really here.  Finally.

Those two little specks that we saw on the ultrasound screen so long ago, were now two real people, swaddled in the standard hospital receiving blankets.  Those blankets, by the way, are probably the most photographed piece of material on this planet.

Now that they were here, we didn’t really know what to do with them.  I mean, they didn’t really do much.  Just kind of laid there.  Like really new newborns are supposed to, I suppose.

Coolest story ever: our best friends had just delivered their baby two days prior and they were down the hall from us.  They came over to check out our new goods, and just like that, it was like old times: hanging out with our friends, like we’ve done for the past ten years.  But now we all had babies.

I guess this was our life now.  Not too bad.

Off to the Recovery Room

Mom and babies were wheeled out to the recovery room and I followed, holding my wife’s hand.  As soon as we were placed in our small, secluded spot, we finally had some alone time.

The alone time lasted about 30 seconds.

Before we knew it, the nurse was taking our babies from their little incubators and bringing them to Mom, who was exhausted and still lying on the hospital bed.

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She quickly pulled down Mom’s gown at the top, as if there was nothing there that she didn’t want the whole world to see.  I know my wife is a modest girl, so I just kind of looked away, knowing that she wouldn’t be totally comfortable with this whole thing either.

Then they put the babies, both of them, on Mom’s chest.

Oh yeah, the whole skin-to-skin contact thing that I had heard about.

Not quite.

My wife was a mom now, so apparently she was expected to breastfeed immediately.  They quickly put our new baby girl on Mom and instructed Mom how to ensure a firm latch.  The kid was less than 20 minutes old and they were forcing her face into feeding position, squeezing her cheeks and stuff to make sure she was feeding.  Then came Baby Boy onto the other side.

What?  Seriously?

Wasn’t this tandem breastfeeding for like, professional twin moms?

Megg was a novice, being forced to try a pretty overwhelming task, while still pretty loopy from the drugs that were just being fed through her spine from the twin delivery.  It was daunting, to say the least.

Actually, it was insane.

Again, my wife is tough.  She can handle almost anything.  And she can certainly put anyone in their rightful place if needed, but she laid there passively, letting this rough nurse manipulate her and our newborns.  I can’t even imagine the whirlwind of emotions that she was experiencing.  She just kind of laid there and succumbed to the instructions of the staff.

She was softly crying, which is a miracle, because I would have been a wreck.  This was all so new to her.

Rough Nurse saw her tears and said, in a tone too judgmental for my taste, “Want to talk about it, Mom?”

“No,” was her reply.

Damn right she didn’t want to talk about it!  She probably couldn’t talk about it if she tried.   So lay off, lady!

Super tiny Baby Boy just couldn’t latch, so they put him on her chest where he just laid and looked at me.

Cute little guy.

My son.

Crazy.

Rough Nurse, who must have skipped the chapter on bedside manners when she was in nursing school, asked, “What’s his name?”

“Griffin”, I told her.

“Oh, you might want to reconsider that name.  He’s pretty small.”

Strike three, you’re out.

She was implying that my perfect son, who only weighed 4lbs 10oz, was too small to live up to his name, Griffin.  Just because a griffin is a mythological creature, a lion with an eagle’s head, doesn’t mean the name won’t work for my sweet son, despite his size.

At that exact moment, I became a dad.  My passive nature dissolved and I defended my family.

I looked at her name tag and fired back.  “You’re name is Dahlia and you’re certainly no flower.”  It was my finest moment.  Ever.

My wife didn’t say a word, but I knew that once I said it, she was proud to have married me seven years ago.  Dahlia (stupid name anyway) backed off and let us have some time alone.

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We marveled at our twins and noted how our little boy was so cute and seemingly needy as he laid on her chest.  I know it sounds strange, but he reminded us of our bulldog at home.  Our sweet dog, who has cost us over $15,000 in countless surgeries and health issues, also loved his mom and she loved him more than anything in this world.  I told Mom about the mental connection I’d made between bulldog and boy, and she said that she was already thinking the same thing.  Our big girl, who actually only weighed 6lbs 8oz, was eating like a champ.  Apparently she had been doing this in the womb too, saving none for her younger brother.

Mom ate a few cups of ice chips to quench her 12-hour thirst and we waited for her body temperature to rise so we could go to the room where we would stay for the next three or four days.

Before you know it, Dahlia came back and said that it was time to bathe the babies.  I stepped aside so she could grab our new little girl, Scout.  (I hope that name didn’t offend Dahlia, but I forgot to double check with her.)  “Come on Dad, you’re going to bathe her.”

Excuse me?

No, that’s ok.  I’m hardly qualified to touch my own newborns, so bathing them is out of the question.  You can go ahead and bathe them, thanks.

Not quite.  I realized that this was a case of sink or swim.  Baptism by fire, I suppose.  So I decided to let her throw me right into the whole parenting thing, and I bathed my daughter.  Of course I was doing it wrong, wiping too gently and not actually cleaning her because I was afraid of breaking her, but by the time I had to bathe Griffin, I was a little more confident.

So with two clean babies (thank you very much), we waited for another 30 minutes or so before moving up to our room, where we would introduce our new family members to our parents and other family members.

 

And Then There Were Two

When the time finally came our twin c-section, Mom was taken to the operating room and I was taken to a hallway outside of the OR.  Here’s what transpired while I waited, adorned in my scrubs, hat, booties, and facemask.

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Mom had to have the spinal block put in, which required her to sit on the edge of the bed, hunched over, while the doctor guided the inexperienced attendee how to properly insert a gigantic needle into her spine.

Yes, the man who went to college for like, ten years, was giving pointers to the newbie who holding the potentially-paralyzing needle.  It hurt, but got the job done.

I was called in a few minutes later.  I walked into the OR to see my wife on the table, with a sheet held up around her chest to prevent peeking into the messy stuff.  I sat in a swivel chair by her head and held her hand.

I had no idea what to talk about and I hated it.

Her stomach was being literally cut open and I was expected to make conversation?  I probably apologized about the whole bee’s nest incident again and asked her how she felt.

She asked me if it was bloody.  I told her that I couldn’t see any blood anywhere, deciding it wasn’t the right time to mention the puddle of blood spilling by my left foot.

She asked me if I had the camera.  I did, and I took the lens cap off, just to show her that I was ready.

Then came Baby A.  A chubby little girl who didn’t make a peep.  I stood up with the camera, looked in the viewfinder, and snapped the first photo of our first child!

Almost.

The camera was set to “timer” and it refused to work.  (see evidence below)

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Great.

I didn’t know the timer was on.  I only knew that I had just failed to honor the one and only request that my wife had made.  My iphone managed to sneak a photo before Baby A was taken to her incubator.

In just one minute, Baby B came out.  This boy was hell on wheels.  Screaming in my face with his arms held up to his head.  Baby B was almost half the size of Baby A, and it really freaked me out.

To make matters worse, the doctor wanted to know how far along Mom was in the pregnancy, and why she had to deliver so soon, as if this information was never before discussed and we had just come in because we were bored at home.  These are not the questions you want to hear as your preemie-sized baby is being taken from the womb.  They assured us that everything was fine, and that he was just very, very small.

“Dad, you can go look at the babies while we finish with Mom.”

I probably looked over my shoulder to see if my dad was in the operating room because this “dad” term was new to me.  But then I realized it was me that they were talking to.

Oh, I could go see my babies.

But I couldn’t.

I came into this operating room with my best friend.  The girl that I have loved for twelve years.  The person who makes me laugh on a daily basis.  She needed me now.  I didn’t really know those two babies in the incubators.  It was such a strange feeling.

After a few minutes, I got up and went to look at the two strangers who had just become my son and daughter.  The size difference was incredible.  He was still wailing, and she was quietly looking up at the bright lights.  I snapped some photos, cut some umbilical cords, and held two little hands.

Then I went back to Mom and stayed with her until we all left the OR together, as a family.

My new little family.

Weird.