Tonight we went to a twins parentcraft class offered by the hospital. It focused more on pregnancy than parenthood, but was still useful, though I suffered the whole time from footwear anxiety.
I thought it was winter, but the room we were in was having a tropical heat wave. Cowboy boots + swollen feet + hospital heating turned up to 11 = severe footwear induced claustrophobia, resulting in impaired information absorption facilities. Spent the whole time wondering if removing them would be a faux pas. Noticing that the girl opposite had neat little soft pumps on made me feel desperate – I’m getting some of them tomorrow. It’s time.
The tour of the special care baby unit stuck in my mind (boot discomfort suddenly insignificant). Permanently etched on my brain is the image of a tiny baby in his perspex bed, screaming from weak, not quite ready lungs, barely making a noise, and no-one with him. Seemed like a very lonely and frightening start to a tiny life and I felt quite sad. On the other hand he probably has an excellent chance of survival with 24 hour care and machines to make up for those missing weeks in the womb. The alternative I suppose is no life at all, but it just made me determined to keep these special girls inside for as long as I possibly can. So many twins are delivered early and have to fight for their health the minute they arrive. I’d like to think these two can have the same treatment as a singleton – watch this space – I’m going for 40 weeks!