We had the babies weighed today. Amelia has gained nearly an ounce a day, right on target. Josephine, however, has not gained any weight, she's stayed at 8 lbs 2 ounces for 10 days...this is cause for worry. We have to try to force her to eat more, which is nearly impossible. I'm overjoyed she's finally breastfeeding, but also concerned because she's not very good at it, and it might be part of the problem. She's not getting as much to eat. This is stress. We have a plan to try, and if it doesn't work we'll have to go back to force feeding every two hours...I love my babies at this stage, but I just wish it wasn't so riddled with worry.
I must be under more stress than I care to admit. I had the worst nightmare of my life last night. To begin with, there was another set of twin girls born at almost the same time as our girls, admitted to the NICU. Their mother was, um, sad. An eighteen-year-old, unwed, overweight drug-user. Her girls were born at 27 weeks (yikes!!!). She was not a pleasant patient to pass in the elevator; the poor girl always smelled like smoke. We called her "Cinder." Anyway, my nightmare was that I was suddenly giving birth again to another set of twins. No doctor was there to help, and when they were born they were whisked away to the NICU, just like my girls. Only they lost Baby B. When I asked where she was, they responded, "We thought she was with you!" They also told me that the girls I had already given birth to, Jo and Millie, were actually Cinder's babies, and I had to give them back to her. In fact, while I was giving birth to this new set of twins, one of which was lost, the "authorities" had come to my house and taken my babies and given them to Cinder. I didn't get to say goodbye or even see the home they were going to. When I tried to call the NICU to plead for Cinder's phone number to beg to have my babies back, the phone never connected, it just rang at other people's houses or was disconnected. I was pulling out my hair and weeping.
Bad dream. Hung over me all day like a fog. So I'm thinking my subconscious is eeking out, and letting my anxiety spill all over. So I had to do something I love, like look at art. I decided to take the girls on their first outing - and before you panic thinking 'They are too fragile!" - I kept them bundled in their stroller and didn't let anyone touch them, and was only inside for about fifteen minutes. And it did my heart so much good. I got to take a sneak peek at the upcoming Victorian art show which is going to be fabulous, see old friends, and walk around the sculpture garden, which was extremely gratifying considering how important it has been in my house for the past, oh, year.
And, most importantly of all, I got to see my mother's quilt hanging in the annual Quilt Show. So cool to see my mom's name next to a work of art!