HEY, LOOK AT THIS ULTRASOUND PICTURE...IT HAS TWO BABIES THAT YOU CAN'T SEE IN IT!!!

Following Holly's birth I discovered that every new mother felt compelled to share the details of her own delivery with me.  Most of the stories sounded very much alike: 97 hours of terrible labor, utilization of very effective breathing techniques, absolute refusal to take drugs of any kind, etc.etc.etc.  They always seemed to conclude their stories by asking me if I had given birth naturally, as well.
"Yes," I would reply, with complete honesty.  "It was very painful, so it was only natural that I would want to have drugs while giving birth."
"Oh," they would say, with their disapproval evident. "But what about the baby?"
"The baby? Oh yes, she liked them, too." was my standard reply.
At home though, as any new parent can attest to, my husband and I found our lives transformed.  So enchanting was this baby of ours, that within days of her birth we could no longer imagine a life that didn't have her in it.  Everything that had passed before her seemed insignificant, and everything that followed was magical.  We marveled at our good fortune.  I did feel sad, however, that she was destined to be an only child. I had no intention of ever giving birth again, so unless we adopted, our family was complete.
You can imagine my surprise then, when I went for a follow up visit at my doctor's office. After I had regaled him with tales of how remarkable my child was he asked how I was feeling, and then proceeded with my exam.  He concluded by telling me that I was healing wonderfully, and that I was now free to resume relations.
"Okay...." I said, truly curious. "What kind of relations?"
"Relations with your husband." he said to my complete disbelief.
I returned home to find my husband waiting for me. He inquired, as to if, the doctor had said anything of importance to me.
"Yes, he did, as a matter of fact." I answered immediately. "He was very emphatic, that I NOT resume relations at this time, and couldn't even hazard a guess about when I will be able to in the future.  I can't stress to you enough how serious he was about this."
"Okay....." my husband answered with a puzzled expression on his face. "You better not do that then.  What about having sex though?  Did he say anything about that?"
I shook my head in resignation, and left the room.
Time passes though, and with it too, dims the memory of the pain.  I realize now, of course, that this is a trick God plays on women to ensure that they will continue to procreate.  If not for this, no woman would ever consider giving birth to more than one child.  In my case I found myself pregnant again, when Holly was the ripe old age of a year and 7 months, and I was truly joyful to hear the news.
My pregnancy progressed beautifully, so it wasn't until I was six months along that the doctor finally suggested that it was time for me to have an ultrasound.  My husband asked if I wanted him with me but, since at Holly's ultrasound the only thing we were clear about was that neither one of us could actually see any baby, I told him that he didn't need to come.  I went alone that day excited at the prospect of finding out the gender of our new baby.
As my doctor did the procedure though, he seemed oddly quiet.  Finally, after some time had elapsed,  I asked him if something was wrong.
He turned the monitor, so that I could see it better and then said, "See Amy, here is your baby's head."
I pretended to see it, and then said, "Great, I am glad everything is okay.  You scared me for a minute."
"And see here, Amy," he continued. "This is the other baby's head."
I looked at the monitor with amazement, and the doctor and I shared a quiet moment together. A few months ealier I had suffered a miscarriage, and the doctor was aware of the sadness that I had experienced.
"Amy, I think that God has chosen to give you another baby to help you over your loss of the other." he said quietly. I found myself thinking the same.
Once the information sank in I was filled with unparalleled joy, and I shared that fact with everyone in the office.  The doctor gave me my ultrasound picture, and I made the drive home, barely able to contain my excitement.  It took all my restraint not to pull the car over whenever I saw a passerby.
I wanted to call them over to my car, and say, "Hey, look at my ultrasound picture.  You know, the ones that show a picture of your baby, but no one can actually see it.  Well, guess what??  This is even better!  My ultrasound picture has TWO babies you can't see in it. I'm having twins!"  It was very hard for me not to do this, but I managed to keep on driving.
I called Dave as soon as I got home, but initially, his reaction was not as enthusiastic as I had hoped.
"Oh my God, I am going to have to work overtime everyday of the rest of life." he said at first.  But then it occurred to him that he must be extraordinarily virile, in order to have produced twins, and after shouting something of that nature to all of his co-workers his enthusiasm began to equal mine.  We were very happy.
The remainder of my pregnancy was uneventful, except towards the end when things began to get very crowded.  The last three days, before I delivered, I slept upright in a chair, because it was too hard to get up again if I tried to lay down.  I do remember clearly though, that about this time, I began to regularly say a prayer to God.
The prayer went something like this:
"Dear God, please let me have these babies soon.  I am only five feet tall, and there really isn't enough room in my body for three people. Someone has to move out of here, and they need to be quick about it. I would appreciate any help you could give me concerning this matter."  He answered my prayers on December 18th.
The actual delivery was nothing like my previous one.  I arrived at the hospital and gave birth an hour and a half later.  I didn't even have time to ask for drugs, until the first urge to push hit.
My doctor had just arrived, and was still dressed in a suit.  He did a quick exam, and then said he was going to change into his scrubs. A nurse asked how long I had to go, and he said the first baby was already crowning.  He left the room, and the first urge to push hit.
"What was that????" I yelled to no one in particular.  In my prior experience I had received an epidural, so I was not familiar with the strength of this urge. I was wheeled quickly into the delivery room where I reverted to my old pattern, and began utilizing a steady stream of profanities.  I was vaguely aware that someone kept talking to me, and finally the words clicked.
It was the anesthesiologist, and he repeated for about the third time. "Listen to me.  I am your new best friend. Do you want drugs to make you feel better?  If you will roll over and keep still I am going to give you a spinal, and you are going to feel a lot better."
"By all means," I said. "Please give me drugs. You have my full cooperation.  I promise I will be very still... except for the times when a baby keeps trying to come out, because I find that very distracting."  He successfully gave me the spinal.
Within minutes, Gina was born. A beautiful little girl who weighed 6lbs, 7 ounces.  Three minutes later, she was joined by her identical twin sister, Jamie, who weighed in at 4lbs, 7 ounces.  It seemed like there were about a hundred people in the room at the time, but all I could see were my two beautiful babies; happy and healthy.
A few days later we brought them home; tucked inside giant Christmas Stockings that volunteers had made for the occasion. With great joy we introduced them to their new big sister, Holly.  Holly was not quite two and a half by then, but never once did she demonstrate any kind of jealousy towards them, that I can remember. Not only did she seem to love them immediately, but was also quickly aware that they could be used to her advantage.
In preparation for the twins arrival we had redone Holly's bedroom; painting it her favorite color, and giving her a brand new, "big girl bed."  She quickly caught on though, how exhausted Dave and I were, and how important it was to us that no one wake the babies up, once they had fallen asleep.  About their third day home, Holly turned to me after we had finally gotten the twins to sleep.
"Mommy," she said sweetly.  "I don't want to sleep alone in my room anymore.  I want to sleep in your bed, with you and daddy."
"No, Holly," I replied. "Remember you have your own special room, and a big girl bed. You need to sleep in there, so that we can all get our rest."
"Okay, mommy," she replied. "But if you don't let me sleep in bed with you and daddy I am going to start crying right now, and wake the babies up."  The next few years were a blur, but to the best of my recollection, Holly slept with us for most of them.  Dave and I don't make dumb children.

I WOULD HAVE SLAPPED THE DOCTOR, BUT I WAS IN THE VICE-LIKE GRIP OF AN EARLY MILD CONTRACTION

Reflecting back on the births of my children I was struck by how each experience was as different as the children themselves. The only real constant with every birth was how joyful I was to be having a baby, and how that joy was multiplied upon giving birth.  Having children is a wondrous thing, but, just like snowflakes, no two experiences are ever alike.With my first child I was like a blank slate; devoid of any preconceived notions of what lay ahead. Each new development felt like a surprise; beginning with the diagnosis that the ulcer I was suffering from was actually a condition known, in technical terms, as "pregnancy".
I was extremely fortunate to be referred to a wonderful doctor by a friend of mine, and he was the one man, not including my husband, that I shared each of my subsequent pregnancies with. Initially though, I had some doubts to the wisdom of that referral.
Already nervous when I went for my first pregnancy exam I was truly astounded by what the doctor said to me.  Although he spoke impeccable English, despite it being his second language, he did occasionally phrase things in a different way than I was accustomed to. That was how the problem arose.  The conversation went something like this:
"Okay Mrs. Valente, you do not have an ulcer, but you are about 2 to 3 months pregnant.  What kind of sex do you like?"
In a state of shock, at the utter audacity of his question, I squinted angrily in his direction, and in a voice dripping with reproach said, "PARDON ME......WHAT DO YOU MEAN BY THAT?????"
The doctor looked back at me with a puzzled expression, and then repeated himself.  "I said, what kind of sex do you like....a boy or a girl?"
We experienced a "pregnant" pause as I processed this information, and, then, tried to articulate an answer.  Finally, I replied, "Oh.  That is was what I thought you meant.  I am hoping for a girl."
Despite this less than auspicious start, we got along famously.  In fact, I believe him to be one of the finest doctors I have ever known.
The rest of my pregnancy unfolded beautifully, and I awaited each new development with great anticipation.  I began to wear maternity clothes around five months, despite the fact that I didn't even look pregnant. I explained to all the women that I knew, about what it felt like to have a baby move, regardless of the number of children they had already given birth to. Even my pregnancy classes brought me great happiness, and I looked forward to implementing all my new found knowledge about natural childbirth and breast-feeding...then I went into labor.
On the morning that I went to the hospital I was filled with all the serenity and peace, that any woman who doesn't have a clue what she is getting into, can possess.  I was ready to participate fully in this amazing event accompanied by the man that I loved.  Those feelings were short lived.
After being admitted I calmly got into bed and began to read the book I had brought along to pass the time. A nurse came by, and asked me if this was my first pregnancy...she then left the room with a knowing smile.  I was confident at the time, that she had recognized my high tolerance for pain and admired my composure, in spite of my lack of experience.  It was about then that the screaming began.
I had only read a couple of paragraphs in my book when I heard a woman down the hall from me screaming at the top of her lungs. Filled with great alarm I put my book down, and then waited to to hear the intercom alerting all the medical staff to a code blue, or whatever it was they said when someone was dying.  In the ensuing  moments I guessed at what terrible agony had befallen this poor woman.  The first thing that came to mind was an organ transplant performed without the benefit of anesthesia. Finally, with the screams unabated, I spotted a nurse walking calmly down the hallway.
I yelled out to her, "Excuse me, nurse...what is wrong with that poor woman.  She sounds like she is in a lot of pain, and no one seems to be responding!"
The nurse chuckled, and then replied, "Oh don't worry dear.  This is her first child. A lot of first timers are real screamers."  I felt the dark dawning of reality hitting me.  I had been lied to.
About two hours later my labor pains had become unbearable.  No one had prepared me for the terrible pain I was experiencing, and since my only refuge lay in cursing and swearing I utilized this tactic with  gusto.
At around this point the resident doctor came in to check on me. Since I was fully aware that I was now in the throes of an extraordinarily painful delivery I was somewhat surprised by what the doctor told me.
"Wow," he said. "You think THIS is bad?  Just wait until you actually get close to delivering the baby.  THEN you are going to feel some pain."
I was enraged by his comment, and had I not been stricken by the vice-like grip of a mild contraction I would have leaped out of the bed and assaulted him.  Wisely, he left the room.
A little while later my own doctor came to sit with me.  Beside me on the bed, he watched the monitor that was tracking my contractions.  This was accompanied by the steady stream of profanities that I had embarked upon a few hours earlier.
Calmly, after some minutes had passed, he decided to comment, "Amy, perhaps if you spent a little less time swearing, and a little more time practicing your breathing I think you might feel better."
By way of reply I began a new tirade; one that included comments about all the men that had propagated the lies that were told during childbirth classes about how practicing breathing techniques would  alleviate pain. He ignored me, and continued to watch the monitor.
Finally, after what seemed like days of suffering, I experienced a moment of clarity.  I was at a hospital, I remembered!!!  Hospitals had narcotic pain killers in them!!!
"Nurse," I shouted. " I want narcotic pain relievers, and I want them now.  I hate natural childbirth and I am sure that my baby hates it, too.  We both want drugs and we want them immediately!"  I was given an epidural, which, while not as good as morphine, did bring me back to some semblance of sanity.
It was about 12 hours since my arrival, when they finally wheeled me into the delivery room.  I was now filled with all the peace and serenity that is supplied by way of an epidural, and was looking forward to finally giving birth to my daughter.
Much to my surprise a nurse then asked me, "Are you alright, dear?  You don't look very well."
I explained that I felt fine. She then explained that she was referring to my husband.  He looked very green, and was somewhat wobbly on his feet. They brought him a chair, and together we shared that amazing moment when a new life enters the world.  It was magnificent.
Back in my room my husband and I took turns holding the baby, and marveling at what a wonderful child our combined DNA had created.  After a while we sat in silence, and just stared at this precious life that we had managed to bring into the world.  A couple of minutes later though, I remembered that I hadn't had a beer in nine months.
"Let's go out for a burger and a beer as soon as I get out of here!" I suggested.
My husband happily agreed, and then we were hit with our new reality.....now we would need a babysitter when we went out! And thus it began...our lives as parents.