It's Not Me, It's You: Subjective Recollections From a Terminally Optomistic, Chronically Sarcastic and Occasionally Inebriated Woman (18 page)

“Okay.” Then five minutes later, “Mommy, no more hos-pit-able?”

The next day I went to be monitored. Everything was still fine.

Monday Jon took Elby to school while I went to be monitored one last time before my babies would be born on Thursday. And again, everything was fine. Next, I met Jon across the street at the high-risk office so Old Uncle Remus could get one last look-see. He started out as his usual annoyingly cheerful self, but then said nothing during my examination and abruptly left the room. “I’m having these babies today,” I said.

“What do you mean?” Jon asked.

“He’s not whistling. Something’s wrong.” Uncle Remus walked back into the exam room.

“Well, Sadie needs to come out, so you’re having the babies today.”

Lying on a bed in a hospital room with my C-section looming put a sense of urgency into naming Baby A. I mean, at this point I really didn’t care what we named her, as long as it wasn’t
any
of the suggestions my husband had made. Thumbing through a magazine, I spotted the name Matilda—cute, old-fashioned, and not reeking of Connecticut. I sprung it on Jon when he finally appeared minutes before I would be wheeled into surgery. He’d gone home to make arrangements for our daughter and to pack me a bag. “I kind of like that name—yeah, I really like it.”

“Done,” I called out as I was being wheeled off to get a spinal.

Now on the operating table in a fetal position on the verge of a panic attack, I tried to steady my breathing while the anesthesiologist attempted to find the exact spot between
my vertebrae to insert the IV. He made small talk while he worked. “So what do you do?” he asked, poking a needle around my back.

“I’m a writer,” I said, starting to shake.
Please, let my babies be okay,
I repeated over and over in my head like a mantra.

“You’re kidding! Fantastic! What do you write?”

“Huh?”

“Have you written anything I’ve heard of?”

“I’ve written on a few crappy TV shows and I’ve written a couple of books about motherhood.”
Please, let my babies be okay, God. I promise not to bitch endlessly about my pregnancy weight. Just let them cry when they come out.

“That is such a coincidence. I’m a writer, too.”
Was this guy kidding?

“Well, I hope you have your anesthesiologist hat on today,” I said just as I felt the sting of the needle find its place in the soft spot of my spine. My toes started feeling ever so slightly numb.

“I wrote a medical book on anesthesia for other doctors. It’s a very different market, that’s for sure. Who’s your publishing company, if you don’t mind my asking?” My legs were now useless. He had me right where he wanted me.

Nurses and doctors started to pack the tiny room like a balloon filling with air. There was a team of about six NICU doctors and nurses for each twin, plus my OB, her assistant surgeon, and about fourteen others moving around. Two of the NICU nurses on the team closest to me were having a
conversation about their recent vacation to Palm Springs as if nothing out of the ordinary was going on. I had to try to keep reminding myself that I wasn’t some huge medical mystery—I wasn’t a guy with a record-setting forty-pound tumor or the recipient of the very first chimp to human kidney transplant. I was just a woman having babies a few weeks early. This was probably fairly routine to them.
But only the most foreign thing ever to happen to me.

“No offense, but I’m about to have a two-pound baby and I’m scared shitless. Can’t you push a little Valium through that IV?” I asked the anesthesiologist, ignoring his full-court networking.

“Sorry, can’t do it. But I’ll get you the good stuff as soon as the babies are out. So, Random House?”

“Simon Spotlight,” I grunted. I certainly didn’t want to lose my good drug privileges.

“How are they with publicity? My book hasn’t done as well as I feel it could have. Textbooks are a toughie to promote.” At this point I would’ve put a foot up his ass if I had any feeling in it whatsoever. Luckily, just then my husband was brought into the room, which, thankfully, ended our little book chat. I’ve never been so happy to see him in all my life. Jon had been as anxious as I was, especially since he suspected Sadie may not be much bigger than a six-inch sub.

A blue tent was draped over my body from my neck down.

“Here we go,” came the disembodied voice of my OB. My husband gripped my hand, and I cried as I felt some pres
sure and then heard a mewing sound, like a newborn kitten. But it was Sadie and she was crying—all two pounds, six ounces of her—followed minutes later by a crying Matilda, who weighed in at a monstrous four pounds, four ounces. The most impossibly small babies were placed next to my face so that I could take in their new baby smell and see that they were all right, and then they were whisked off to the NICU while I was left to wait for feeling to return to my legs. It had finally returned to my heart.

“So, did you do any TV appearances for your book?” The ambitious gas passer popped back into my line of vision. Jon had gone with the babies, promising to return soon, and it was just the two of us left in the room. I gave up.

“Yeah.”

“Oh, wow. Any suggestions on how I could get on TV to help get the word out there on my book?”

“Maybe you should try getting a job consulting on a medical show, then they could put your book on their website. Or find a private PR company that specializes in textbooks.”

“Hey, thanks! That’s a really good idea. Do you have any contacts?”

“That depends—do you have any better drugs?” My legs got enough feeling back to move me to recovery right in the nick of time.

These days, Sadie and Matilda are happy, healthy, running around, and, most important, sleeping through the night.
But it wasn’t always this way. The babies developed severe colic when we got home from the NICU. At first I thought I would lose my mind between the constant screaming, post-partum depression, the worry, the endless doctor’s visits, the mounting medical bills, and the crushing sleep deprivation. There were days—and especially nights—I didn’t think I would make it through. I complained incessantly. I ranted and raved about how horrible and hard it was. Jon buried himself in work and the Internet, while simultaneously taking on night feedings so I could sleep, ordering us take-out food, and attending every doctor’s appointment he could. One evening the babies were being particularly colicky, and Jon was calmly trying to look through the mail. In a fit of frustration, I yelled, “Why is this so easy for you and so hard for me? Are you made of stone? Don’t you hear them screaming? I don’t get it. I don’t get
you.
”

Jon said so simply and so sensibly, “I’m having a horrible time of it, too, trust me. But we deal with things differently. I figure the whole first year is going to suck. Just like the Pirate Ship.”

He was exactly right. Just like the Pirate Ship, I needed to cry and scream and commiserate with anyone who was in the same boat, I needed to let Jon know that I wanted to get off, that we’d made a mistake. And just like the Pirate Ship, Jon stood right there by my side, knowing there was nowhere to go and intent on videotaping every moment until we made it to shore.

I am unbelievably lucky to be part of the whole SSE family but I would especially like to thank Patrick Price, my editor, for being my Sherpa, helping me shape this book with your expert eye, and most of all, knowing when to hold my hand and when to let it go. The big cheese, Jen Bergstrom, your sense of humor, effusiveness, loyalty, and friendship mean everything to me! Jennifer Robinson, your hard work, dedication, and endless supply of postage make my books possible. A huge debt of gratitude to Michael Nagin for the kick-ass cover.

Andy Barzvi, the easiest agent I’ve ever worked with and that’s saying a lot! Thank you for your endless enthusiasm, wisdom, and for always taking my calls!

Thank you Brian Frazer, Chris Mancini, and Irene Zutell for reading chapters and giving invaluable feedback. And also
to Lisa Sundstedt, Cecily Knobler, Kelly and Miriam, and everyone in my circle of friends for your support.

Thanks to my kiz, Diana Horn, for constantly being my sounding board, my stylist, my bagel buddy, my photographer, and my platonic life partner!

Very special thanks to Heidi Lipka and Carolyn Lindsey. You knew how it was back then and how great it can be now!

Thank you to all my blogging pals for your support, laughs, comments, community, and encouragement. You kept me sane through everything that was going on while I was writing this book.

If I didn’t have my brother Michael Wilder and sister-in-law Racquel, I would be residing in a loony bin somewhere far far away where I couldn’t be a danger to other people. You’ve both gone way beyond the call of duty as family members—saving my life over and over—being my best friends and the greatest aunt and uncle my kids could ever wish for. And you’ve only gotten multiple orders of steamed dumplings in return. I owe you so big time.

I couldn’t have written this book without my life preserver, the Jaguar, Lizbeth Gonzalez. Thank you for providing my twins the very next best thing to me while I was crying over having twins and then writing this book while
having twins
. You are joyful, loving, funny and I’m so grateful to have you in our lives. P.S. Wanna take it outside?

Elby, my ladybug, I love you more and more every minute. Seriously. It’s crazy. I had no clue being a mom would be this cool. And yes, I want to see you dance. Daily.

Sadie and Matilda—my little sweet miracles: Your smiles make it all worthwhile. I appreciate you finally allowing me to sleep.

Jon—my deadlines are as hard on you as they are on me. Thank you for your patience, for letting me share things about our life, for being my rock, for making me laugh even when I’m crying, and for telling me what a Sherpa is. But mostly, thank you for making the last ten years the very happiest time in my life so far. I’m proud that you are my husband. In the immortal words of Bryan Adams, everything I do, I do it for you.

And lastly, to Oprah. Thank you in advance for most probably making my book your newest book club selection (I can’t see why you wouldn’t)! I’ve already told all my friends so let’s make this happen!