The Hazards of Having Twins

My boys are beating me up.

It started with a thrown back. I was worried about back problems, as I've been prone to them ever since I out grew most of the boys in the 8th grade. Plus, I spent the last 16 weeks of my pregnancy flat on my back, letting those precious back muscles atrophy while putting on loads of baby weight. Then, boom!, your children are born and you're sent home to tote around baby weight and two children all day. I was a thrown back waiting to happen. I wish I could say it happened while I was exercising, or moving a crib, or carrying two kids, but it didn't. It happened when I lifted Gray's arm to put the car seat strap over it. Yep, that's it. A 6 ounce baby arm was all it took to stop me in my tracks.

Many clouds have silver linings, though. This lining was sleep. Valium and I snuggled like new lovers for the next 36 hours in the cool sheets of my bed. It was absolute heaven. Mom, Susan, and Larry took care of the babies and I took care of me. While I would not wish those first 3 hours pre-Valium on anyone, I would wish the next day and a half on every new mother of twins. Hint, hint.

Next came a clicking thumb. Every time I used my right thumb (which was about every 10 seconds), it would emit a strange cracking sound. Change a diaper--pop, pop, pop! Open a formula container--click, click, click! It got to the point that I couldn't even change the channel to PBS Kids without my thumb popping when I pushed the buttons on the remote. It didn't hurt, but it was certainly annoying. Even to Larry. "That's disgusting," he complained. I would have liked to show him all the things in my day that were truly disgusting--like soiled diapers, nose suction bulbs, and regurgitated milk--but I was too tired to put him in his place.

Then one day I woke up and the thumb was swollen and tender to the touch. It hurt to even screw the tops on baby bottles. As all new moms know, there is absolutely no time to take yourself to the doctor, so I asked Doc about it (he is so much more than a grandpa and a retired veterinarian!). "It's trigger thumb," he said. "You're using it too much."

Hmph. How do you stop using your thumb? According to Dr. Google, you must splint your thumb for 6 weeks to cure trigger thumb and avoid surgery. SIX WEEKS! Does Dr. Google understand that I must care for two infants? Or that I need to bend my thumb in order to change diapers, open formula, bathe babies, wash bottles, pick noses, button clothes, zip sleepers, and plug screaming mouths with pacifiers? Apparently not. Luckily, Walmart has this snazzy splint that I can slide on and off as needed. And it appears to be working, as the swelling and tenderness are gone and the annoying clicking is back.

The popping thumb was followed by a popping jaw. I started waking up with the sensation that I had been clenching my teeth at night and this seemed to be true when my jaw began popping with every yawn or large mouthful of food. It progressed to popping when I talked and then started to get sore. Fortunately I had scheduled my next dentist appointment when I was still pregnant (because let's be honest--I wouldn't have had time to actually make an appointment once the babies arrived) and it coincided with the strange popping.

I told my dentist about it and he asked, "Are you stressed?"

Hmm. Does a bear make dookie in the woods? "I just had twins and haven't had a full night's sleep in 4 months." And I say things like 'make dookie' now. Okay, so maybe I didn't say that part about making dookie, but you get where I'm coming from.

"It's TMJ," he replied. "It may go away on it's own when you start getting some sleep. But if it gets worse, we can get you a splint." What is with me and splints???

So far, I am powering through it. I am pretty sure my level of stress won't go down until Ren and Grayden graduate from college, and even then I'll probably spend my days worrying about them marrying floozies who are just after them for their a) money b) green cards c) fishing boats d) autographs e) all of the above.

My final insult (and injury) occurred yesterday. Tired of toting around this extra baby weight, I daringly went searching for the lost Nordic Track in Larry's garage (those of you who have seen this Man Cave know just how brave I was to venture in there. For those who haven't seen it, let's just say "neat," "orderly," and "clean" are not in his vocabulary). After finding the Nordic Track, lugging it into our dining room, and setting it up, I was excited to get started. Hello energy, goodbye belly! Hardly. The Nordic Track is a cross-country ski machine with a large padded support right at your waistline. This support rests against you and keeps you stationary. Or in my case, it rests against my c-section incision and keeps me stationary on the couch. I must have developed some scar tissue because it hurts to lean against this pad. My outer incision is still as numb as a drunk on payday, but there is a pain deep down inside when I do sit-ups, lift too much, and now, exercise on a Nordic Track. Yea, me.

And I thought the boys were rough on me before they got here. Turns out they are way more abusive now that they are here. But you know what? When Gradyen grabs my cheeks and gives me a slobbery kiss or when Ren is overtaken with the shivers when I walk in the room, I have no doubt it's all worth it.