Nine months ago we thought, "Hey, let's have another baby. It's what we want. We can do it." Chloé was a year and a half old, that would make the age difference two years and three months, the same as between my sister and me. Chloé was a good baby: happy, healthy, more or less agreeable.
So we did what we had to do to instigate this plan, and low and behold, we were instantly (well, within one month) successful! I pretty much knew I was pregnant when I didn't get my period, and a pregnancy text confirmed it, albeit with a weak positive. I also started to feel other common symptoms. But one didn't strike me until later: I was incredibly hungry, and I had to eat all the time, or else collapse in energylessness. They say, though, that every pregnancy is different, and you can't compare the second to the first. So I figured, that's how it is this time. Okey-dokey.
So I made an appointment with my gynecologist, for two weeks later. During those two weeks I somehow managed to instill in myself the fear that I wasn't pregnant at all (recalling the home pregnancy test) and was just having a freak month. Looking back, I have no idea how I did this. I was so nervous at that appointment that I checked the pregnancy test in the garbage in the lab to make sure that my doctor wasn't going to laugh at me in the next few minutes. Alas I saw a firm positive. Whew!
So into the doctor's office I went, was congratulated and then brought to the dignity-eradicating stirrupped chair to allow the doctor to search for a tiny embryo implanted in my uterus. I have to say: my doctor LOVES ultrasounds. In the books I read, they try to document pregnancy without ultrasound unless there's some problem they don't understand. Not so for me. I'm ultrasounded every time I walk into the exam room. Maybe it's because I have private rather than state health insurance..?
At any rate, on we went to the ultrasound - internal, of course. Still relatively innocuous compared with some of the stuff done in a gynecologist's office. She's maneuvering her wand around (yikes) and we're both watching the screen. As a layman I don't feel particularly comfortable reading and commenting on what appears on that screen, and I know that with every movement of the wand, what you see changes. So when I saw two darker areas about a centimeter in diameter, I thought, oh, shit, two?! and then, no, it's just the same one twice. Until I saw her looking at me with a funny little smile as she asked, "Are you seeing what I'm seeing?" and I thought again, shit.
Apparently it was two. At that point I started to feel a little suffocated. But I was stuck on that table fixed by a wand attached to the machine with the screen displaying those two dark areas. Trapped. So I tried to breathe. "There are two. Congratulations," my ever-considerate doctor said.
Breathe, I reminded myself.
"This is good - here you see they each have their own amniotic sac and Dudelsack," she tells me. Dudelsack? Did she say "Dudelsack?" German for "bagpipe?" My two new dark spots have their own bagpipes? So I can expect some hardcore Scottish tunes in the next months?
"Is it okay that the white areas are different sizes?" I asked. They were. I was trying to concentrate. Surely she didn't say "Dudelsack."
"Yes - you can see the Dudelsacks are the same size, so I think that won't have any effect on the embryo." It still sounded a lot like Dudelsack. Focus. "This is good. They both have their own environment and their own placenta, she continued. "So there are fewer complications and a better chance for survival for both."
So definitely two sets of bagpipes?
Later I had the chance to look up this word. It's "Dottersack," or yolk sac. Pretty close to Dudelsack.
And now we're 39 weeks pregnant with twins, waiting for them to make their move.