Twins & Teaching: Always Outnumbered: The Kirtwin's Birthday & More!

Well, hello!!
My last post was written a day before our boys, our beautiful, adorable, sweet boys were born. It was my 34-week update.
What we have below is a very detailed account of the Kirtwin's Birthday, when I was 34 weeks and 3 days. Get yourself a glass of vino (because I haven't had any yet...gasp!) and snuggle into whatever furniture you're seated in right now.

Monday, June 1st was by far the most emotional day in my 27 years.
I'm not sure much could've prepared me for the tsunami of emotions I went through on that day. (Not much could've prepared my poor husband for helping me deal with those emotions, but he was a real champ. A patient, patient champ. I'll get you a trophy or something, Kev.)
I had made it to the end of the school year, lasted every day with my awesome 7th graders in my first year at a new school, and third year overall. I'm pretty proud of that.
The last day of school was Friday, May 29th. I attended my district's graduation ceremonies on Sunday (teacher contract day) and then our singular work day on the 1st. HAH. Just kidding. I attended 2 hours of my work day.
I went to breakfast with a group of teachers, and then huffed and puffed up the stairs to finish packing my room and getting some things squared away for the summer and slightly prep for August.
I left for a doctor's appointment that morning at 10:30, another non-stress test to check the boys' heart rates and make sure they were increasing and decreasing as they should. The nurse practitioner wasn't thrilled with their activity that morning, and I fought for my boys since we were always there at 3:30 in the afternoon at the other NST appointments. Any woman who's been pregnant can attest to the fact that their babes were more active at certain points during the day. And as a teacher, as I was so active during the day, the boys weren't as active until the evening when I was relaxed. But my argument was essentially unheard, as she walked me back to a room with a table covered and paper and proceeded to check me. (That was fun.) She said I was dilated and was also concerned because I had some light bleeding over the weekend I had called about, and they didn't want to let that go.
This is when my life really began to change, but I didn't know it until about 30 minutes later.
They gave me orders to call my hubby and head to St. V's (the hospital my OB goes to that also has a NICU) for more monitoring, with a casual mention at the fact that that day could be D-Day I asked if I was going to the ER, and they said no, I was headed to Labor & Delivery. My heart skipped a few beats when they said that.
I made it out the door and into the parking lot before I started to cry and lightly hyperventilate.
So I call Kevin and tell him I'm picking him up. It was about a 10-minute drive up 75 N to where he works, and I sobbed the whole way. On the way there, a nurse from my Dr. office called and said not to eat or drink anything, because "there's a good chance this is happening today." And I lost it. So that was a safe drive.
We get up to the 7th floor of St. V's, the Labor & Delivery, as well as Post-Partum level of the hospital. (As well as my home for the next 4 days.) I walked onto that floor and didn't leave until Thursday night. I was fully convinced I'd be leaving and be home for dinner that night.
We walked to registration and met the nurse who knew I'd be showing up. I explained that I was told I'd be there for extra monitoring, a detail I latched onto thinking I'd be there for a few hours and be sent home. Hah. She said that it sounded like a 4pm C-Section was in the works. Heart-beat skipping, yet again.

The following 2 hours is a blur of multiple doctors coming to talk to me, my amazing nurse taking care of me (and probably thinking I was an absolute nutcase), my own uncontrollable crying, and my amazing husband holding my hand.
Finally, around 2:30, a doctor who has to be about my age came in for the second time, but this time asking me to sign a C-section consent form. It really had to happen that day. I didn't want it to. I wasn't ready to be done being pregnant. The medical community was collectively telling me, "Too bad, sweetheart!"
So, I cried some more and signed that paper. Reluctantly, I might add. Kevin told me later that he was afraid I wouldn't sign it. I figured by then if so many people were telling me it had to happen, I shouldn't argue.
I didn't want this going down by C-Section. I knew it was a possibility, but the boys had both been head down for weeks and I was seriously hopeful to do this the real way and get some of the greatest bragging rights in the female community. But, again...
We called our parents and my best friend to tell them it was the Kirtwin's Birthday.
At this point, I had accepted that it was happening. Or, so I thought. At 6pm, a few nurses arrived with my chariot to take me to the OR. As they wheeled me out into the hallway, I started to cry uncontrollably again. Those tears that, no matter what you tell yourself in your head, no matter what other people tell you to try and comfort you, absolutely cannot be stopped. I don't really know why I was crying, either. I was nervous for the surgery, but not enough to cry. I should've been more excited than anything, but I think the reality of this transition was hitting me and I don't do well with change like that. The entire pregnancy I was pretty calm, with no crazy hormonal changes. Everything caught up with me that day. (Seriously. I got off easy emotionally until this day!) I had to have been the hottest mess those people have ever seen. I will be the woman they tell other patients about to reassure them that they are handling things just fine. They will laugh for years. (It could be worse.)
At 6:40 pm on Monday, June 1st, Owen Donald and Payton James were born. Not even a minute apart.

My stay at the hospital lasted through Thursday evening, and the boys were released on Saturday afternoon. To keep the rest of this short and sweet, I'll just say that recovering (and experiencing) a C-Section is something I'd like to not have to do again. NOT that it wasn't totally worth it but...holy crap, that was brutal. It turns out the bleeding I had was from an abrupting placenta. We were informed in recovery that it was 50% abrupted already, which is not a good thing. (Did you know the placenta can come out before the baby?!) I wouldn't have made it through that week with that going on. So in the end it was the right decision by my doctor...shouldn't have doubted her or the others that talked to me in the hospital for a second.

The boys are now a month old and have each gained over 2 pounds since birth, which is unbelievable in itself. We have a routine-ish of feeding them every three hours (thank you, NICU!), and we go through approximately 25 diapers a day. They hate bathtime and being naked, which I know will change drastically, but for now I think we'll enjoy having children that enjoy being clothed. I'll be the cliche new mom who keeps saying "I can't believe it's already been a month!"
The transition is going well, though, as they sleep a lot, and there's only been a handful of overwhelming moments and then they're over as fast as they started. Overall, we're loving it!