The news you don't want to hear, but can't wait for!

This time two years ago I was massive. I couldn't walk properly. I couldn't roll over in bed without help. Breathing was hard, eating was hard (but I managed lol) and my ankles were all a distant memory.

I went in for a scan with Dr W, the head of Maternal Fetal Medicine at The Townsville Hospital. He has been managing my pregnancy since 26 weeks along with the amazing Dr I, to whom I owe my babies lives. Routine weekly scan to follow up on my cervix (I suffer from cervical incompetence and my cervix had started to shorten at 26 weeks) and to check the chorioangioma on my placenta that was interfering with the blood flow between the twins.

In his calm, matter of fact voice he asked me if I had any plans in the next few days. 

Nothing much really. Just shopping, delivering a candy order and a friends birthday dinner.

Right, well take care of that, he says. Then come in tomorrow night. It's time to get these babies out. 

Um, excuse me? I mean, I knew they had to come out eventually! But now? And how? And what? My vagina? I need a drink! 

He calmly sent me on my way with the very last photos of my girls on the inside, and booked me in for induction. I was shaking. I was laughing (I'm the WORST inappropriate giggler ever, cue the giggle loop). I was shitting my maternity pants. 

But after 28 days bed rest in hospital, two more weeks rest at home, surviving twin to twin transfusion, a massive hormonal growth on my hand (his name was Harold and he was disgusting!) low fluid, cankles, raging hormones, pica induced cravings for ice and sand, wetting my pants when I sneezed and growing to roughly the size of a large, two story house, I knew my time was well worth it and in a couple of days I would finally meet my teeny tiny 34 week miracles. 

I just wasn't sure I was ready to actually give birth. 

But my vagina and I will tell that story on the 14th!