I'm Waiting

In a Quandry Re: Clinic Ettiquete

2009-12-01T16:48:00.004-05:00

Yes, I'm in a pickle. And it's not baby/fertility/IVF related. Well, not directly related, anyway. And I'm wondering if I was wrong. Did I make a poor decision?

I had an appointment at the fertility clinic today. This was a just a talking appointment, as I wanted to get their thoughts about our situation, and about doing a single embryo transfer.

The doctor we used last time was fine. He was efficient, and obviously successful at what he does. Hence my twins. But I found him to be a little cold and all-business, and a little bit difficult to talk with. So, I made this appointment with his partner, a very nice (and a bit more easy-to-talk to) doctor whom I had seen for a few visits when he was on call.

From the beginning of the appointment, he seemed confused why I was there to see him. Then he asked my why I was seeing him, not his partner. I was taken a little off-guard and said that I didn't particularly care who I saw, first available, etc.

We continued with our previous discussion, and he stopped mid-stream and asked again. So I said, frankly, I wanted to just have a discussion about our case, and I found his partner harder to talk to. That I'd seen him on occasion, and thought he would be good to talk with.

After that, I just felt plain awkward.

Now I'm wondering, what do I do? Frankly, I don't care who I see. I didn't realize I was creating a great faux paux, I certainly don't want to cause a hulabulu. Who do I make my next appointment with? Should I feel awkward when I inevitably see the other doctor at an appointment?

Uggggg. What did I do?

Emotions of BabyMaking

2009-10-13T16:12:00.003-04:00

Uggg. Babies are so emotional. I mean, making babies is so emotional. Ooops. Making babies the ART way is so emotional. So much for clarification.

I've been so proud of myself lately. I've approached the thought of having another child with maturity, careful deliberation, and very little emotion. But then I get to my OB/GYN's office today, and it's like freaking waterworks.

Which is why I'm so hesitant to go the IVF route. The emotions of it all, getting tied up in successes and failures. The hormones. Gawd, the hormones.

The visit was pretty much as I'd expected. There's nothing she can really do for me. I'm healthy. My cycles are normal, I ovulated, yaddah yaddah yaddah. There's really only one way to deal with male-factor infertility, and that's at the RE's office.

She did, however, reassure me of a few things. One, that just because I had premature twins, another pregnancy does not automatically mean a high risk pregnancy.

And two, that having a conversation with the RE about the potential success of a single-embryo transfer would definitely be worth my while. My RE practice is the one that she respects the most, the one she thinks is the most thoughtful about their medical practices, and she tells me

According to their 2007 reported results, in my age bracket, the percentage of transfers resulting in singleton live births is 34.5%, but their percentage of pregnancies resulting in twins is 35.9%. I don't dig that. In 2004 (the numbers I had available to reference when we were first trying to get pregnant), they were 46.5% and 25%. I don't dig that either. Why in the world has their rate of singleton live births gone down and twins gone up?

So, I've made an appointment. For a conversation. In December. Whew.

Damnit. I'm back.

2009-10-06T15:11:00.002-04:00

Waiting, waiting, waiting. Isn't that my story?

I'm reminded of the Dr. Seuss book "Oh The Places You'll Go." It's a favorite with the 3 year old set, and there is a passage that just reminds me of my life right now.

You can get so confused
that you'll start in to race
down long wiggled roads at a break-necking pace
and grind on for miles cross weirdish wild space,
headed, I fear, toward a most useless place.
The Waiting Place...

...for people just waiting.
Waiting for a train to go
or a bus to come, or a plane to go
or the mail to come, or the rain to go
or the phone to ring, or the snow to snow
or the waiting around for a Yes or No
or waiting for their hair to grow.
Everyone is just waiting.

Waiting for the fish to bite
or waiting for the wind to fly a kite
or waiting around for Friday night
or waiting, perhaps, for their Uncle Jake
or a pot to boil, or a Better Break
or a string of pearls, or a pair of pants
or a wig with curls, or Another Chance.
Everyone is just waiting.

Yes, I think I'd like another chance.

It came out in conversation the other night. My husband seemed, to me, to be quiet and pensive. So I started hounding him about how he was feeling, what was going on in his head, his level of happiness with our life, etc. etc. All of the horrible things that women do to our men!

Honestly, he's fine. He'd just had a long day. He's a generally happy guy! But when he turned the tables on me, the dissatisfaction reared it's ugly head. And what came out of my mouth was:

"Well, I think I'd really like to have another kid."

Whhhhhhaaaaaatttttttt?

But there it is.

And, like in conversations past, when we'd said that if it happened on it's own, that would be cool, I expressed my lack of desire for more IVF and all that it entails. For two reasons, mostly:

(1) Multiples. Multiples. Multiples. Let me say it again: multiples. I cannot - will not - have twins again. Premature birth. Overwhelming. Mental instability. I could go on and on.

(2) Disappointment. The way we've been going (i.e. no birth control, but obviously not much success), I don't have a lot invested. Thus, when I get my period, I'm slightly sad, but nothing - NOTHING - compared to the overwhelming loss that comes when you've invested your time, money and heart in the procedures.

He surprised me and said that if I wanted to do IVF again, he would support that idea. As long as we "got the show on the road" and did it now. He does not want to wait.

Oh God. Do I want it bad enough?

Perhaps so. I'd tracked my ovulation this month, had the requisitly timed sex, and then had some 'symptoms' of pregnancy this month. And I bought a test. And I took it. And it was negative.

But my brain was working. It made me think I was really pregnant. And I was excited.

I don't know. I'm afraid I'll never know. But, I did make an appointment with my OBGYN for next week. I know she can't do much, but I wanted to talk to her before I go all Crazy Doctor RE on everyone. To make sure I do everything I can possibly do before going the IVF route.

Maybe she'll do a little bloodwork for me? I do miss her!

My Old Lover is Back

2009-03-04T17:15:00.005-05:00

Oh my God. I feel like I'm cheating.

On so many levels. First, I thought this blog was done. Finito. Terminado. But over the past month, I've been lurking around my old blogroll. I excitedly saw that Tertia is expecting a baby. I bought her book. Sunny is pregnant, and with twins! There are a number of "They told me I couldn't conceive on my own" type babies and babies-to-be floating around there on the owners of those blogs.

For awhile, I was just reading. Good stories, sad stories, happy people and those still in waiting. But then, I found myself getting more and more involved. I've been thinking a lot about those "next" babies, analyzing my thoughts about in vitro, etc. and caring about it more than I expected.

Uh oh.

I'll admit it ... I have unresolved issues. So, so, so many. I'm not wanting to get into all that just now, but they're pretty run of the mill (so grateful to have twins, but... wouldn't it be nice to just have one. To be pregnant, for a full nine months. To try breastfeeding again. To have a vaginal birth. To be able to run around with just one baby strapped to my chest. Not that I ever strapped both of the twins to me at the same time...wouldn't that have been a sight!)

Now comes the time in a toddler's life, when mom and dad start relaxing. Wow, they feed themselves. They follow basic instructions. They can climb in the car by themselves. Most importantly...they go to preschool three mornings a week! And at this point in a toddler's life, mom and dad might start thinking that this is a good time to bring Jr. a little brother or sister. Imagine, the joys of a two-sibling house, and what fun will be had by all!

About nine months ago, this was quite obviously the thought on the minds of all my friends. I developed a close group of girlfriends when the babies were tiny, and we all had our first child/children about the same time. Three of the five have "fallen pregnant" with their second child (the other two had twins, like me), and two babies have thus been delivered in the past three weeks. One to come later this spring.

Months ago, when my very minor baby pangs started making themselves apparent, I decided these friend's new offspring would provide a litmus test for me. I would feel their growing bellies, quiz them about pregnancy symptoms the second time around, lend them my fabulous and little-worn maternity wardrobe, and finally, hold their newborns and stare thoughtfully into their brand-new faces.

***INTERRUPTION **** BABYSITTER ARRIVING **** Going out to movie with husband!!

Many hours later ...

Back to my test. If, when the babies cry or squirm, I want to give them back to their mommies, perhaps it's a sign that I desire no additional babies. If I just want to love them and squeeze them tighter, maybe I should think twice about this.

I've been about 50/50 thus far, and it scares the crap out of me.

To put it bluntly, I've been stalking my husband in bed, and when I felt the twinge, the mettelschmerz, I pounced. Today, I perused the lower shelf of my medicine cabinet, where I found my old sharps container. I fondled it, I tell you. And a blue vinyl case with the pen and extra needle tips. I got excited. How awful.

I really don't want to do IVF again, and i don't think that will change. But niggling in the back of my mind, is the hope that it just happens on it's own.

Who knows, I'll probably feel different next week. Or not.

Life is Good

2008-09-01T18:11:00.002-04:00

If anybody is still checking in (why in the world would you be?), I have a new blog:

http://www.aspiringartistry.typepad.com

I am finally (what, after two years of having children?) finding peace with my life as a mother, a stay-at-home-mother at that. I've struggled with my identity, who am I now? I realize that life comes in stages, and I need to embrace this current one.

So, I'm embracing my creative side, and am enjoying it immensely.

The twins are delightful - two years and full of joy, defiance, and always something new. I am struggling with the questions about more children - my husband would like an answer now, and I'm not prepared to say yes or no definitively, although I am leaning in one direction.

But we shall see .. I'm embracing life as I know it now.

Closure

2007-11-17T13:13:00.000-05:00

Breaking up is hard to do.

Sometimes it's an angry occasion - perhaps you've been cheated on, or maybe betrayed in some unforgivable way. You hurl dishware, or maybe a wedding ring. You yell. You scream. You're mean to each other in the way we shouldn't treat other human beings.

Other times it's sad and devastating. Maybe you've been taken off guard, dumped without warning. Consolation comes in the form of good friends, copious bottles of wine, and many, many pints of Ben & Jerry's New York Super Fudge Chunk.

Sometimes it just happens. It's sad, but it's okay for everyone involved. Perhaps a mutual interest or friend that initially drew you together no longer exists. Maybe one of you has accepted a job that's consuming all his time and focus. You treasure the time you spent together, but recognize that it's time to go your separate ways. You'll bump into each other at cocktail parties, and hear news of each other from friends, and you'll certainly Google each other (secretly, of course) to see what's going on in life. It's the happiest of sad endings, but the photo album that you filled with memories of the two of you together still remains on your shelf, and is browsed through frequently.

I had a bit of an epiphany today. The kids were up, dressed, fed, and playing happily in the kitchen. I, on the other hand, was still in my pajamas, still nappy and unkempt. I dreaded knowing that, since J is out of town, I had to take the kids up to my bedroom with me and try to keep them out of the toilet water and somewhat entertained while I attempted to dress and make myself up for the day.

And then I realized what I could do. We marched down to their bedroom, picked out a few special toys, made sure the door to the attached bath was closed, and then I slowly and quietly exited the room and shut the door. I was able to have 10 minutes to myself, and they were fine. Yes, their room was a wreck when I came back, but all was well. They were happy, entertained, and I actually looked and felt pretty good.

They're growing up. They have opinions, MyGirl says "No!" with frequency, and MyBoy is turning into a devastatingly charming little boy. My days and nights focus so much on them, and not on so many of the other sad and scary thoughts that used to fill my mind. Life is good. We are so happy.

I constantly compose posts in my head, yet they never make it to page or screen. This was my journal of want, of waiting, and finally of success. I think it's time for us to move on.

I have some thoughts about another blog, and if you want to know I'll be happy to share with you when the time comes. In some freaky way, I'm addicted to your lives and stories, so if you're on my blogroll, I'll be checking in on you just like I used to.

I wish you all heath and happiness, peace and resolution, and an end to your waiting, whatever it may be for.

Bath Toys

2007-10-28T13:04:00.000-04:00

The best toys for children in the tub, recommended (I think) by Emmie. Guarantees many consecutive minutes of concentrated play, pouring water on ones own head and on ones brother's or sister's head.

Originally intended to direct soup into a jar or leftovers into a Tupperware, they also encourage children to try and "catch" the water. Allows mommy to catch a few minutes to peruse a favorite magazine:

The best toy for mommy, sitting next to the tub, trying to simultaneously supervise bath time, encourage hair washing, discourage beating brother/sister over the head with above referenced toy.

Originally intended to support child's neck while sleeping in the car, this wonderful toy also supports Mommy's very important orange juice glass full of wine, keeping it from toppling over into the nearby tub:

An Early Thanksgiving

2007-10-26T15:25:00.000-04:00

I belong to a small group at my church, which I've spoken about here in the past. It's a group of women, all under the age of 40. While it is technically a Bible study group, we do some of that, but also read spiritually-focused literature (some fiction, some non-fiction) and have a wonderful tradition of praying for each other's needs, hard times, and thanksgivings.

I am certain that this group, and the prayers and support from each individual woman, played a significant part in the happy fact that I now have two wonderful children. They provided a safe place for me to speak my frustrations at the inability to get pregnant, meet women who'd had similar issues, and support me through my pregnancy and the difficult early months of the twins lives. It's rather amazing, to me, to be on the 'other side' of the infertility issue (certainly not over it), and to be able to provide some support to women who are in the same spot I was just a few years ago.

It was in this group a few weeks ago that we talked about prayer, and specifically, how we pray as individuals. A number of women said that they always pray the Lord's Prayer. Some reverted back to childhood prayers as they lay in bed. And a few of us said that we always start our prayers with our thanksgivings.

In thinking about how I pray, which I must admit is a subject I never gave much thought to, I realized that I also give thanks before I ask for anything, for myself or for others. I suppose it's because I have so much to be thankful for.

In my pre-baby days, I always thanked God for giving me such a wonderful husband and a supportive family, but immediately followed up with a gratuitous and pleading request for children, somehow, somewhere. As time passed, I asked for patience and faith in God, that he knew what was best for our family. Near the end of that particular journey, I desperately pleaded to just make it work, make it work. And if it didn't, to please find me the magic cure to coping with more disappointment.

I find myself overflowing with thanksgivings in my prayers these days. Sure, I still ask for patience (of a different sort) and wisdom to do the best job I possibly can. But more and more, I list all of the wonderful people, situations, and circumstances in my life, and say thank you for showing me what a lucky woman I am.

J was in a serious biking accident a few weeks ago and sustained some really dire injuries. He is on the mend now and should recover okay, but during those early hours after it happened, I thought quite seriously about what my life would be like as a single mother to two young children. Or as a wife to a permanently disabled husband, trying to juggle care for all three. I know there are women out there who never imagined themselves in that situation, but now they are.

Those emotional and practical thoughts that occupied my mind in the wee hours of the morning have now renewed my gratitude. We all have tough times, we all bitch and moan about the things that go wrong, and I do it as much as anyone else.

But I know now, for certain, how very lucky and blessed I am. I hope I will never forget.

Where I Get The Goods

2007-10-19T19:58:00.000-04:00

When faced with a new and unfamiliar situation, I turn to research, both qualified and legitimate as well as anecdotal. My experiences with infertility, the exciting (terrifying) news about twins, and then prematurity and all it’s delights led me to books and manuals galore, as well as chick lit type novels for ‘research’ and distraction. And don't forget the fabulous world of Dr. Google, blogs, and every pregnancy/parenting site in existence.

Most recently, the challenges have been toddler-related. Woof … this stuff is tough (of course, when compared to the above challenges, this is a piece of cake, it just draws on reserves I didn’t know I had. And frustrates to no end. But hell, it’s not the threat of perpetual barrenness or the insecurity of leaving your babies in the NICU each night.)

Toddlers times two. Approaching 18-months, these two delights (terrors) are all over the place. Up, down, around, inside, outside, loud, loud, loud. The good is sooooo good, though. The squeals of happiness, the ‘mama’ and ‘dada,’ the mischievous wheels turning in their head as they decide whether to obey or defy. As a pair, they are adorable. They’ve begun playing Ring Around the Rosy, holding hands when we go out, and ‘giving love’ to each other (hugs and squeals, then rolling on the floor).

The challenges are typical, as I understand. MyBoy is clingy beyond description – arms around my legs, head in my lap, and pushing his sister out of my lap. Tantrums happen with great frequency, and his arched back and ear-splitting shouts are like background noise in our house. Early wake-ups (from naps at 2:30, when it used to be 4:00; and in the morning by 6:30, usually 7:30) continue to keep me a bit bleary, and MyBoy pretty cranky. His love/obsession with me, while frustrating, is so endearing that I cannot complain too awfully much – he is so sweet and dear.

My sweet girl is attitude through and through. She’s courageous, defiant, curious, and outspoken, yet pretty easygoing. She loves her daddy, and would rather be with him than anywhere, but isn’t pushy about it. She is obsessed with shoes and socks. When she is prematurely woken by her brother’s siren-like screams, she simply rolls on her back, pulls up her blanket, stares at the ceiling as if to say, “What, again?” She demurely smiles when I come into the room, and just after I pick her up, she’ll look around and ask “Dada? Daaaddy?” While she would sleep in if allowed, she’s been really fussy going to sleep at night.

So I turn to research. For the instruction-manual-type info, I’ve been reading this book, which likens my toddlers to chimpanzees and Cro-Magnan Man (quite accurately, actually!).

For real-life-experience advice, I turn to the ever-present Ask Moxie. I’ve read all about the 18-month sleep regression, the accompanying 18-month grumpy phase, and ever-important controversy on toddler shoes.

And for fun and entertainment, I just finished this book, which just made me giggle. Because everyone needs a good laugh every now and again.

I Do Like Sports, I Swear... Ice Skating and Gymastics.

2007-10-07T12:48:00.000-04:00

I am eavesdropping, listening to my husband and Male Buddy have a telephone conversation using words and phrases like "spanktravision" and "can of whoopass."

Yes it's football. But WTF? Do people talk like that in real life? I thought it was just on ESPN.

Ahhh, no. I do remember a phase when "taste it, frat boy" was the phrase of choice.

God help me until football season is over.

Such a Total Dork

2007-10-01T09:32:00.000-04:00

I love this thing.

I'll fully admit to being a gadget dork when it comes to cell phones, PDAs, digital cameras and basic computer stuff. I grew up with a gadget dork father (our first computer was a Commodore, maybe, hooked up to a small black and white television), and have managed to keep my gadget-dorkieness under control. I still secretly read product reviews and dream about what it must be like to have the newest, coolest thing (i*Phone, anyone?).

And when one of our gadgets goes on the fritz, I'm first in line to go check out the new ones so that I have a truly justified purchase to make. I don't usually give in to new ones, as the gadgets I covet are typically pretty expensive.

But I gave in on this (and it wasn't really expensive in comparison to, say, a new laptop or something). And I love it!

You talk to it. It makes your shopping/errand list. Press button, and voila! A little list for you to stuff in your wallet along with all of the other lists!

You should have seen me, sitting in my backyard (adjacent to a very busy alley with lots of pedestrian traffic), trying to get this thing to recognize my shopping list:

"Arugula."
"Aaaa ruuuu gaaa laaaa."
"Aa RUUU gela."
"Lettuce."

I can only imagine what the homeless man, digging through the dirty diapers on top of the pile in my trashcan, hoping for a morsel of goodness, must have thought about the crazy lady speaking nonsense into a grey box instead of whipping out a pencil and paper like the rest of the world.

Desperate Times Call for Desperate Measures

2007-09-14T14:45:00.000-04:00

In anticipation of a party-filled weekend (it's been so, so long since I've said that. In reality, it's just a cocktail party tonight and an engagement party tomorrow night. We are the hosts, however, for the second one.), I thought it best to do a bit of body-maintenance.

While time is limited during naptime, I thought I could accomplish a brief buffing of the face, removal of nail polish, and repainting of said nails. I took a short, but luxurious bath - including shaving!, and lotioned down my legs and other potentially-exposed body parts.

As I gathered my astringent, nailpolish remover, and nailpolish, I realized I was missing one key tool. Cotton balls or pads.

I searched through the bathroom, high and low, behind all sorts of waaay-expired beauty products, with no luck. But low and behold, on the shelf devoted solely to my lady parts, wedged between the red sharps disposal box and the Clearbl*e Easy Ovulation Monitor (which, yes, I am using), a barely-used package of Kot*x pads.

From first glance, I thought they were pantyliners, as they were so very thin. But upon closer inspection, I discovered they were indeed ultra-thin pads (I was only a consumer of these oh-so-comfortable products after the birth of the babies...I hate them!).

And surprise, surprise. They make remarkably good nail polish remover pads (so absorbent when I practically spilled all over my bed!). A bit rough for the facial astringent, but when in a pinch...

Note to Self

2007-09-11T20:52:00.000-04:00

When adorable 16 month-old twins rummage through the pantry for a little something to play with, and then pull out a half used envelope of hot chocolate mix and proceed to sprinkle it all over the floor and themselves, do not, I repeat DO NOT, be too lazy to pull out the vacuum and then use sopping wet paper towels to clean up the powder.

It makes for chocolate babies who thoroughly enjoy licking their own sticky fingers, toes, legs, and arms, as well as all exposed body parts of the other twin.

Edited to add:

Additional note for times when children, no matter what, will not follow you into the bathroom/kitchen/bedroom/car:

A small laser pointer, intended to stupify your felines, is the perfect tool for corraling small toddlers. Follow the red dot...

This Duck is Stuck ...

2007-09-04T12:31:00.000-04:00

We have a box of "conversation questions" that sits in our dining room. I'm sure you've seen them - nicely printed square cards, encased in a cool Lucite cube. The questions are usually interesting, and sometimes J & I pull one from the box, and each of us answer it.

A recent question was "What are your top three pet peeves?" I jumped on this one, as I usually have so many that I cannot limit it to just three. But for the sake of the game, I managed to choose my top annoying pet peeves. As follows:

Chewing. People who chew loud.
Not crunchy loud - you just can help making some noise when biting into a crispy potato chip, and I certainly don't begrudge anyone the right to crunch into a taco. I mean mouth noises. You know the noise ... wet, smacking, gooey noises. Gross. I grew up with loud chewers, and refuse to deal with it as an adult.

Diagonal walkers.
When I'm in the car, and I politely stop to allow someone to cross the street (with or without a crosswalk or stop sign), the walker, instead of taking the direct route across the street (straight!), chooses to meaner diagonally from point A to point B. This leisurely stroll results in me, having tried to do something nice, cursing the walker and vowing to never again give right of way to a pedestrian. It's wrong, I know, especially since I myself am I diagonal walker.

Obviously poor grammar/spelling.
Again, I'm sure I've been an offender as well as the offended, but I just can't let it go. Tops on my list are there vs. their, ending sentences with prepositions, and that vs. which.

As we all know (don't we??), you use which following a comma, and that when no comma is used. Wait ... let me pull out my AP Style Manual ... it is quite old (1996), but I'm sure the rules haven't changed ...

Ah ha! It all goes back to essential and non-essential clauses. That is preferred for essential clauses. Do not uses commas for essential clauses. Which is preferred for non-essential clauses. Use commas for a non-essential clause.

Now let me pull out a favorite children's book Duck in the Truck. It has topped our most-read list of late, and each time I read it, I am painfully aware of the following passages:

This is the Duck driving home in a truck.
This is the track which is taking him back.

Teeth grinding ... must continue reading ... children love this book ...

These are the feet which jump the Duck down
into the muck, all yucky and brown.

So my question is, would I be considered totally anal-retentive if I was to correct the grammar in my children's board books??

Help with a Sensitive Issue

2007-08-21T10:31:00.000-04:00

There is a tough issue going on in our world, and I could use any thoughts, advice, experience or guidance.

I have a dear old friend who is going through a horrible ordeal, and I'm not sure how to deal with it. She and her husband started trying to conceive not too long after J & I. After two IVFs, PGD, and who knows what else, they were lucky enough to conceive twins.

I found out recently that, due to a condition the parents didn't specify, one of the twins is not going to survive after birth. It will continue to grow in utero, though. They are approximately four months along.

I am devastated for them, and for this horrible trauma, surrounded by the joy of a much-wanted child, they will all have to endure. I cannot stop thinking about how parents deal with a pregnancy that will inevitably have such a sad outcome, while maintaining the excitement about bringing home a healthy child. How do they deal with well-wishers who have no idea? How do they deal with the daily conversations about the pregnancy? How can they create positive memories and have a meaningful experience surrounding the conception and birth, and death, of these children?

I could go on and on, I think about this constantly, and have a hard time speaking about it. I think how it could've been me, and how can someone bear such pain? More to my immediate point, though, is how I can be supportive.

I want to help her celebrate this pregnancy and these children, but I don't know how. I haven't spoken with her since this news, just a very brief email, but I want to be prepared when I do. Someone asked me recently about wanting to get her a gift for the baby, and I gently reminded them that there will be two babies. She will give birth to two babies. And only bring one home.

God, I can't even write this without crying ... I'm so sad for her...

Any thoughts or experiences? I don't want to avoid her out of my own discomfort, and she needs as much love as possible.

Naptimes: Two to One

2007-08-17T20:55:00.000-04:00

I thought it would be so easy. So simple, more like when we switched from three naps to two. But this process has been a bit more difficult that I expected, probably because it's a bit too early for them to give up one nap, and because I haven't been as diligent as I should. We started on Monday, July 23, and I suspect we're almost finished with the transition ... one can hope!

Caroline asked for more information about the nap-switch, so I am happy to oblige.

On the two-nap schedule, the twins were waking up around 7 a.m., nap at 9 a.m., nap at 2 p.m., and bedtime around 7 p.m. My goal was to push the morning nap later and later, and shorten the afternoon nap shorter and shorter, until they meet in the middle, more or less (technique courtesy Moxie).

The first day went like this:

Out of bed: 8:00 (what crazy luck!)
Breakfast: 9:00
In bed for nap: 10:30 – 12 noon
Lunch: 12:15
Play, errands, snack, Children’s Museum
Nap in Car: 3:40-4:20
Dinner: 6:00
In bed: 7:30

A week later (July 30), here's how a day went:

Out of bed: 8:00
Breakfast: 8:30
Activity: B&N, pet store (a thwarted attempt at bookstore storytime ended up at the pet store)
Home & snack
In bed for nap: 11-12:30
Lunch: 12:45
Activity: play with grandmom & snack
Nap in bed: 3:45-4:45
Dinner : 5:30
In bed: 7:30

And here's how today (August 17) went:

Out of bed: 8:00
Breakfast: 8:30
Play: 9:00 - 11:30 (snack in their somewhere)
Lunch: 11:30
Nap: 12-2
Snack at 3:30
Dinner at 5:30
Bedtime at 7:30

I had a really hard time enforcing the very short early evening nap, because I so enjoyed the peaceful, quiet time to myself (or do get dinner ready!). I often let them sleep quite a while (4-5:30 or so), which is why I started out just driving them around in the car. That worked quite well when J was out of town for so long, but got old quickly, once someone was expecting an adult dinner!

Luckily, I had a babysitter this morning, who brought her toddler son over, so it helped to keep the kids awake and busy when they would normally be tired. I'm really hoping that today was the big hump they needed to get over it, and that perhaps we'll start having some of those long, luxurious afternoon naps I keep hearing about.

More to come soon: the exciting results of the 15 month checkup (which happened closer to 16 months), and thought about the big 'more babies?' question...

Faking It

2007-08-08T19:44:00.000-04:00

Ever since J took his big trip (did I tell you where? That great northern state that is above Canada!), we've tried to take some solo-baby time. Meaning I take one child and he takes the other, and we go about our business. This is usually on the weekend, but occasionally in the late afternoon during the week if he's come home early.

I like to pretend sometimes that I only have one child.

There, I said it. I feel bad for saying it, but it's true. And it's kind of fun - to pretend to live like everyone else does. Like my friends do. Oh, I have fifteen errands to run, but it's no big deal because my ONE BABY is really easy and happy, and I can just pop him/her out of the car seat and go into a store without a stroller! (If I did go in with a double stroller and just one child, it might look kinda funny, right?)

So last week I was determined to Get Stuff Done Outside The House. With a child. Which is something I don't usually try to do, because between food, schedules, strollers, and gear, it can be fairly overwhelming.

I first took MyBoy out for errand time. He was wonderful - peaceful and happy, always smiling and looking around, pointing and grunting as he does. And we got so much done, but by the end, I was lagging. That child is heavy, waaaaay heavy, and he doesn't hold on with his legs, so it's basically like toting a bag of lard around on your hip.

The next time, I took MyGirl, thinking hey, this chick is tiny and light, with the grip of a vice. And she was equally as delightful, plus more. The girl was so happy to be out alone with me, and was entranced with everything she saw, everyone that paid attention to her, pretty much everything. And she wanted to touch it, feel it, eat it, pull it, or poke it.

On our girl's day, I was out to look for a few cute new outfits to take on my upcoming Girl's Weekend. We went from boutique to boutique and I had more and more trouble trying to keep her contained, especially in the dressing room. We ended up exiting all the cute stores rather quickly, and guess where we ended up?

The regular backup shopping excursion...Target. Might as well have had both babes with me!

A Very Long Two-Week Wait

2007-08-07T11:56:00.000-04:00

I’m feeling victorious.

Three weeks ago, I was full of dread and angst as my husband began packing for a two-week adventure. Without me. Without the twins.

Which of course means that we would be left here to fend for ourselves. Now, I’m used to taking care of the kids by myself during the day, but I really look forward to the evening when J comes home and plays with the kids while I make dinner. And, obviously, the adult companionship and such.

It was a hard two weeks, but we managed by doing things that were different and keeping busy. We went to a friend’s house for dinner, visited practically every park in the area, and went to the zoo. Surprisingly, it was a fairly solitary few weeks in that visits from my mom were noticeably absent, our regular playgroup was cancelled, and lots of friends seemed to be out of town. However, I did manage to get a sitter a few times to have a girl’s night out and attend a few meetings. Oh, and we made it to church.

I was surprised at how little I actually got accomplished, for myself. My time was simply spent maintaining the existing atmosphere as opposed to starting/completing new projects. More time cleaning, doing laundry, cooking, and stuff like that. I fell into bed exhausted, and quite early, each and every night.

I did read a few books, which I haven’t been able to do lately, and have semi-accomplished a big task for the twins.

They are starting a two-morning-a-week preschool in the fall, and I’ve been paranoid about their naptime. They don’t adapt well to schedule changes, so I know that can’t just show up in September and expect them to be fine without a morning nap.

So my goal while J was gone was to start the transition to one nap a day. Previously, naps were at 9 & 2, each for about 1 ½ - 2 hours. I’ve gradually started pushing that morning nap further and further, and now they’re going down at 11. As that first nap started getting later and later, the second nap was to get shorter and shorter. So my plan was to exhaust them during the afternoon (hence all the playground/park trips) and then let them have a 30-40 minute nap around 4:00 or so. Since we were usually out and about, I just let them have that nap in the car as we drove home or just drove around listening to music.

It was going really well, until J got home. Now, they’re still going down for nap at 11, but the afternoons have been really quite horrible and I can’t figure out why. Yesterday, they wouldn’t take an afternoon nap, stayed up happily at a friend’s house until 9:00 p.m. (unheard of!), and still woke up at 7:00 a.m.!! Luckily, we’ve still got about three weeks to get it all worked out before school starts … I really think it’ll be fine.

It was, all in all, a really challenging two weeks, and I thought often about the women for whom this is just a fact of life, not a blip in their schedule. We women are strong, aren’t we? I wonder how men would handle being alone with two children for 14 days straight?

J won’t have the chance for two full weeks, but will get to try his hand at it this weekend, as I take off for a much-anticipated girl’s weekend!

What We Love

2007-07-28T11:07:00.000-04:00

We love this book. "We" being MyBoy and MyGirl. I, on the other hand, am sick to death of it. They bring me this book every naptime, every time we play in their room, every bedtime. They will cry and scream and protest, unless I read it through. Many, many times over.

“This baby wants her mommy … ma ma!” “This baby is hungry … yum yum!” "This baby is hiding ..... peekaboo!" “This mama wants a break … yahoo!”

As the pages are slowly disintegrating, and are dutifully repaired with white duct tape, I realize ( hope! ) that perhaps it will one day be unrepairable. Because we have many, many more baby-picture books waiting in the wings.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

MyGirl and MyBoy are getting very good at following some basic instructions. I almost can't believe that they actually understand me ... it's like I thought they'd be infantile forever.

They can touch their noses, clap their hands, "wash" their hair, find their belly and a few other things. Amazingly, I thought it was great that they can take their wrapped up diapers to the diaper pail (the non-poopy ones, of course).

Until this:

While I wish that they had just put their wrapped-up diapers in the Diaper Champ, it was not so. It was sippy cup and Green Frog. Nice.

Two Evils?

2007-07-26T11:49:00.000-04:00

Wow. The 11 a.m. viewing hour in my area has two main network choices: Rachel Ray or The View. I'm usually not watching television at this hour, but due to our nap-in-flux schedule, I've found myself checking email, doing dishes, folding laundry, getting lunch prepared, or something equally thrilling.

I started watching RR when the babes were little, and they had an 11 a.m. feeding. They'd be propped in their bouncy seats, me perched in between with a bottle in each hand. Enjoying 20 minutes or so of uninterrupted gab and cooking. I immediately started to tire of RR and her bountiful enthusiasm for, like, everything!! Including her dog! Oprah! EVOO! Yum-o, everyone!

Now I've never watched The View. I never understood why Bawbwa Wawa annoyed so many people, why Rosie was good/moderately bad/evil, and what the heck is up with Elizabeth?

I sit here trying out The View, and poor Martin Sheen is plopped down in the middle of four catty, catty ladies, looking every bit as uncomfortable as I'm sure he feels. I can't watch .... what are these women even talking about?...It just sounds like blah, blah, blah, blah.

Ugg. Back to RR. Ohh... cute {but dead} guy from Grey's Anatomy. And Weeds. Yum-o!

Quest for the Perfect Lunchblock*

2007-07-22T15:03:00.000-04:00

Subtitle: Healthy food that toddlers might each.

Seriously, I came across Julie's eureka! idea* for a toddler-friendly pasta that is easy to self-feed when I was reading Emma B.'s great post about her fruitful morning in the kitchen. It's been in my head for a few weeks, and I finally got the stuff together to get it done yesterday.

And I'm so disappointed ... I can't figure out what I did wrong. Well, I might know, but I could use some hints from anyone who's been successful in the creating of the ideal Lunchblock.

First try: Using a generic brand wagon-wheel pasta and a name-brand Alfredo pasta sauce. I crammed the leftovers into a container and waited. Of course, it fell apart when I tried to slice it. Should've followed Julie's directions.

Second try: I purchased a variety of Annie's shells and cheese, and for this attempt, I used the Mild Mexican flavored one. Of course, I assumed that it is created like any other mac & cheese, so I returned the cooked and drained shells to the pan, added the milk and butter, and poured on the powder. I stirred it all up and added some peas, then shoved it in a container. When I found excess space in the container, I stuffed a piece of bread on top and pressed the lid on. Surely it should've worked ... right? Well, it certainly took on the block shape, and sliced well, but fell apart when the babes tried to eat it. Tons of little shells all over the place.

So I guess I should've followed the cooking instructions, and omitted the peas, which might have impeded the stickiness of it all.

Third Try: I did it all right ... this time I went for the tried-and-true orange cheddar variety, and eschewed any veggie add-ins. I followed the directions religiously, adding the prescribed amount of milk and butter, mixing the sauce separately, and pouring on top of the cooked shells, then mixing it up.

I stuffed a container in the same manner, and yes, it was a great block. Great shape, slices, chunks. I was so excited that I'd found the perfect, easy meal ... and alas, it fell apart in their fingers. Now I have little pieces of orange and white shells dotting my dining room carpet. Yes, I know I should vacuum. Or get a dog.

But really, what am I doing wrong? I did use whole milk vs. skim, and I added 1 tsp butter vs. the 2 that's recommended on the box, but that couldn't be it, could it? Now I feel very challenged to figure this out ...

Rh Factor & Miscarriage

2007-07-13T15:16:00.001-04:00

A quick posting with some bad news and hopes of help from anyone who may have experience ...
My dear, sweet sister has had her second miscarriage in 10 years. She has no children, and was not planning any pregnancies, but was excited at the prospect.

I'm piecing together the details, as we haven't spoken in depth, but while at the hospital enduring a D&C, they told her she was Rh negative. She is overwhelmed, crushed, scared ...

Does anyone have any expereinces or resources I can share with her? What does this mean for her future and hopefully, planned pregnancies? My computer is being wanky and slow and incompaible for searching.

Bottles & Nipples & Pumps, Oh My!

2007-07-11T19:18:00.000-04:00

I started to write a comment to answer Hopeful Mother's questions about bottles and such, and realized it'd be better addressed here, rather than writing a book in the comments.

Let me preface my advice with the disclaimer that different things work for different babies. What worked for my twins might be wrong for yours. You often have to try out different brands, products, etc. before you find what works for you.

And obviously, breastfeeding makes all of this a moot point, and is totally ideal. But I'll be honest. Many (not all) mothers of twins find exclusively breastfeeding twins to be an exhausting and daunting task and find that supplementing (either with pumped milk or formula) gives a little bit of respite. I breastfed / pumped for four months, and still ended up with all this stuff!

Hopeful Mother sounds pretty darn prepared. I had one bottle 'starter kit' and that was it, as I didn't anticipate preemies that couldn't nurse and five weeks in the NICU.

I started with plain old Avent bottles, and really liked them. I bought an "adapter kit," made by Avent, that let me pump directly into the bottles. (I used a hospital grade Medela pump). I started out with the small size (4 oz), wide-necked bottles, and moved up to the larger 8-oz bottles as needed. All the caps/nipples work with both.

I had two very gassy babies, and one with really bad reflux, and when it finally got really bad, I was willing to try anything. Enter the slender Dr. Brown's bottles, which are reputed to alleviate gas/air bubbles. I found that they absolutely helped with my twins' symptoms. However ... it's a bit like setting up a crack lab, what with all the bottles, tubes, stoppers, etc. These bottles take the smaller, standard size nipples.

Personally, I preferred using the Avent bottles for a number of reasons. (1) They were easier to hold on to, and I imagine once the babies were old enough, they'd be easy for them to hold on to, also. (2) Avent makes more accessories, like the pump adapters, sippy cup inserts, etc. (3) It was easier to mix formula right in the Avent bottle, since it's roomier. (4) Less parts to wash! (in comparison to the Dr. Browns). But then again, they just didn't work for gassy, refluxy babies.

I think it's absolutely okay to use second-hand bottles, just make sure to run them through the 'sanitize' cycle on your dishwasher before use. I might invest in new nipples, though, just to be on the safe side, and make sure I'm using the right flow levels -- it's awful hard to read the tiny numbers imprinted on the side of the nipple.

In terms of pacifiers, I consider myself lucky. They started the babies on the very small Soothie pacifiers in the NICU, and they came in handy ... whenever they had to do a potentially painful or uncomfortable procedure on the babies (inserting a pik line or something similar), they dipped the pacifier in a glucose solution, and it calmed/distracted the babies. One nurse called it "morphine for preemies."

They came home with the pacifiers, and used them to go to sleep and to soothe. But they were rarely disturbed or awoken when the pacifier fell out .. it never was a problem. We never had "nipple confusion" problems. And then one day, it just wasn't necessary anymore, and away they went. Maybe around five or six months old? But regardless, during the time they used them, I stocked up so that I had at least four at any given time or location.

So, I think that answers all Hopeful Mother's questions (and probably more than she wanted to know). In my opinion (and in hindsight), I think the best advice is to be prepared, and be open to trying different things. I think this applies to breastfeeding, pumping, and bottle feeding, but also to how you raise your child/children in general. We all think we're going to do things a certain way, and maybe we will. Maybe we won't. Maybe we'll learn from our experiences, and those of all the mothers before us, try things that are beyond our comfort zone, and stretch ourselves. Because children do nothing if not make us more than flexible.

2007-07-09T23:58:00.000-04:00

What NOT TO DO When You're Expecting Twins

Do not feel the need to stock up on every possible brand of bottle. Every possible size nipple. Every existing design of pacifier. Any potential sippy cup your child might like. And whatever you do, please resist the plethora of bottles, bags, etc. that they give you when discharging your babies from the NICU.

Once your twins are home, and you feel housebound, yet at the same time yearning to see other members of the adult human race, and perhaps drooling at the mouth just to have a civil conversation with a checkout clerk, do not, I repeat, DO NOT go to T*rget and buy the afore mentioned items in even larger quantities, just in case you need more. If you find yourself exhausted and tired of washing bottles around the clock, DO NOT think that having even more, so that you only have to wash them every other day, is acceptable.

Because if you do not heed my warnings, you'll find yourself, 14 months later, in the odd position of, not having yet decided if these two delightful toddlers are enough to satisfy your maternal urges or if perhaps you might like to take another ride on the mind-bending roller coaster called INFERTILITY, IVF, and DEALING WITH NEWBORN(S), figuring out what the hell to do with all this paraphernalia.

Alas, you will pack it up, carefully organized and labeled, and decide that this is a decision better left to another day.

For your consideration:

The Great Outdoors

2007-06-27T14:51:00.000-04:00

We live in the city. We are surrounded by sidewalks, alleys, blacktop streets, and very little grass. In fact, when we first bought our house, we thought it would be a great idea to lay sod in our postage-stamp (seriously, like 10 x 12) backyard. All was well until the came-with-the-house manual mower was stolen and we couldn't seriously purchase a new lawn mower for what could have been accomplished with some pruning sheers.

When we renovated the house a few years ago, the backyard layout was somewhat manipulated, and we decided to use pavers to fill in the mini yard and the small side yard. While we've enjoyed it immensely, it leaves a bit to be desired for small children who are wobbly-walking and not walking at all.

I usually manage to pack up the kids and head to an outdoor park, playground or pool a few times a week. I'll be the first to admit that it's a hassle to get it all together, just for 45 minutes or so of fun, so I'm trying to embrace the luscious landscape that we have right here. Concrete and all.

I'm inspired by Emmie and her twin boys, and all that they do in their smallish yard and beyond. (Note: I will never, never manage to get chickens in my backyard!)

This afternoon, I put together a delicious picnic meal - hot dogs, pears, and yogurt! - and the three of us headed to the backyard. An old comforter provided a soft place to sit, and we ate alfresco, under the dripping wisteria.

In search of a favorite ball, we wandered down the side yard, and I realized that it was in desperate need of a weeding. I started pulling weeds, dropping them into an empty flowerpot, and eventually MyGirl and MyBoy got with the program and tried to help out. They couldn't grab them with enough force to extract them from the ground usually, but it was endearing.

Some things they were able to pull included:

The hats off their own heads
The hats off each other's heads
Carefully planted perennials
MyBoy was able to pull himself up to standing, while holding on my arm, in order to save his badly scraped knees (concrete pavers do not mix well with a crawling little boy)
The shoes off their feet

It was a fun "outing" and reminds me that I don't always have to choose a child-focused activity, but should try to get the twins to incorporate them into needed adult-focused activities. Now, if I could only teach them to pay the bills ...

Speechless ... Who, Me?

2007-06-20T09:38:00.000-04:00

I'm feeling much better today, after an evening with girlfriends and wine and a successful meeting this morning, over which I had been worrying and stressing quite a lot.

During the early part of the evening with girls and wine, an acquaintance I hadn't seen in a few months approached me with the following comment:

Her: Hey there, how are you?
Me: Just fine, thank you.
Her: You look great! You've been losing weight - good work, keep it up!
Me: Huh?? Whaa? Hmm...

Due to the fact that (1) I thought I looked okay now/a month ago/whenever regarding weight, and (2) I'm not trying to lose weight, and didn't think I needed to; should I be offended?

Was I so fat before that I needed to lose weight? Did she used to think I was fat, and I had no idea? I'm no skinny mini, but I'm pretty average ... Her comment left me with a weird taste in my mouth and no desire to "keep it up!"

Ages & Stages

2007-06-19T15:05:00.000-04:00

I am so conflicted right now, torn between the intense and overwhelming frustration that raising two toddlers brings with it, and the need to slow down and enjoy each very cool stage that they go through, as I'm more and more aware that this may be the only time I am a parent to a child/children at this tender age.

Did that make sense?

Every possible action, reaction, and interaction with the twins is fraught with chaos and drama. Mealtime begins with sour faces, spitting out of food that was a former favorite, tossing of cups, and swiping of food off the tray with dramatic arm-swinging. Most meals end with me, close to tears, on my hands and knees picking up the interesting and nutritious meals I am trying to feed them, while they would rather have hotdogs and macaroni.

Playtime is always loud, loud, LOUD. Sometimes the squealing is out of delight, but often is because of the antagonizing that one does to the other. Taking toys, pushing (that's a new one), pulling hair, and trying to hijack a favorite ride-on toy. One of their favorite games is to find me laying on the floor, and crawl all over me. Which is really fun for all of us, until someone scratches at my face or rams a toy car into my eye.

Nap time is a saving grace, usually. MyGirl and MyBoy are both good sleepers, once you get past the "Please Mommy don't leave me!" screaming and thrashing.

I contrast all of this with those truly wonderful moments.

When MyGirl reaches for MyBoy with open arms, I cringe. And am pleasantly surprised when she wraps her arms around him, tumbles to the floor, and they erupt in glorious giggles.

When I declare that my children are indeed the smartest 14-month olds in town, because they can respond in the affirmative to such intriguing questions like "Where's your milk/the fan/the cat/Mommy/Daddy/your brother/sister?"

I see such pride and delight in their eyes and faces when they do something right, like complete the stacking ring toy in record time, walk to the end of the hall on their own, or bang puzzle pieces together in time with the music.

MyGirl bent over my belly the other day and gave me a raspberry. I don't think I've ever felt such love.

But I feel like the painful and trying moments are overtaking these wonderful, loving ones. I actually threw food back at her yesterday (which started a food fight of epic proportions). I find myself living my days for nap time, counting down until we can go visit my parents again, and marking the weeks until their two-morning-a-week preschool starts in September.

I'm sure I tend to exaggerate the negatives somewhat, because people tell me constantly that I have two of the best-behaved, happy children they know. And I feel lucky in that way, but want to tell them to come to my dining room at lunchtime and take a look.

I will be the first to admit that I, personally, and stressed and overextended. I have committed to helping out on more projects than I should have, and am now paying the price.

I know it's a stage. But this stage is hard. I had no idea.

New Infertility-Related Book

2007-06-01T14:14:00.001-04:00

I've been a big connoisseur of infertility-related reading in the past few years, and I find I tend to stick to personal stories and been-there-done-that memoirs. Medically technical and ethical arguments have been a bit beyond my how-to scope of interest. The sole exception I can remember is a fascinating article I read in Mother Jones last year about the plethora of frozen embryos, our "moral paralasys" is determining what to do with them, as well as implications for stem cell research. (Ah ha! As I just looked up this article, I see it was also written by the author of the book below.)

I picked up a new book at the store yesterday, and am looking forward to jumping right into it. Everything Conceivable: How Assisted Reproduction is Changing Men, Women and the World is written by Liza Mundy, who is a feature writer at the Washington Post Magazine. Here's how the publishers summary begins:

Skyrocketing infertility rates and the accompanying explosion in reproductive technology are revolutionizing the American family and changing the way we think about parenthood, childbirth, and life itself. In this riveting work of investigative reporting, Liza Mundy, an award-winning journalist for The Washington Post, captures the human narratives, as well as the science, behind what is today a controversial, multibillion-dollar industry, and examines how the huge social experiment that is assisted reproduction is transforming our most basic relationships and even our destiny as a species. more

Dear Everyone ...

2007-05-24T09:47:00.000-04:00

A newspaper column forwarded to me from a RESOLVE newsgroup. I think it speaks well to the basics of being a good friend, or even a respectful aquaintance, to an infertile person or couple.

************************************

Dear everyone... What to say to a childless couple

First, consider saying nothing at all, says Amy Hibbard, of James City County. Your words of wisdom and comfort may be received as hurtful and insensitive. But if you want to talk about infertility, be prepared to listen, too.

By AMY HIBBARD Daily Press ** May 6, 2007

Dear everyone,

Often, many of you feel the need to ask a childless couple, "When are you planning on having kids?" While that may seem like a harmless question and a natural progression for a married couple, it can also be an extremely painful topic for many people. You never know what someone may be going through.

Please don't make it your mission to ask or chastise childless couples about when and how to have kids. It's really not your business, and odds are they are dealing with emotional issues that you will never understand. It is shocking to discover that as many as 1-in-8 couples in the United States are dealing with infertility. That is a huge number, and chances are great that someone in your life is living with or has previously lived with the heartache that is infertility.

Many couples suffer in silence because it is somewhat of a taboo topic to discuss. If you ask when they plan on having kids, they will put on a smile and give an answer they think you want to hear. They are then likely to walk away and fight back tears. If you are bold enough to ask, you should be prepared for the answer. It may make you uncomfortable to hear about my struggles, but it helps me to get it out and hopefully it will make you -- if you are uncomfortable with the topic -- think before asking someone that very private question again.

This brings me to how to approach, help or treat someone who you know is experiencing infertility.

Please be supportive of your friend. Be there to listen if he or she wants to talk. Offer support if he or she is going through treatments, or help him or her get to and from appointments. If you disagree with the choices a couple has made, it is best to keep those opinions to yourself. There are many options for infertile couples, including medications, procedures, international and domestic adoption, foster care and living child-free. But it is the couple's personal decision.

The best thing to do is to let us determine how much we are comfortable talking about. Don't pry. If we want to open up, we will. But if we want to be left alone, sometimes we need that, too.

Probably the most-hated comment heard by people going through infertility is "Relax, you're too stressed." Many of us have diagnosed medical conditions that are the root cause of our infertility, and no amount of relaxing is going to change that.

Please try not to make comments like, "Maybe this is for the best," "Everything happens for a reason," or "God only gives us what we can handle." You may think comments like this are well meaning, but they are hurtful. Believe me, a person struggling with infertility is already doing enough internal questioning. Infertility and miscarriage can be a very lonely time for people. Everywhere you go, you see babies, children, pregnant women and happy families. There are always situations that remind us of what we don't have. Baby showers, holidays and birthday parties can be very hard for us to attend. Please be understanding if we decline invitations or excuse ourselves early. It is nothing personal against you, it is our way of dealing with our own pain.

What I would like to stress to people who don't have firsthand experience with these situations is: Be sensitive and use good judgment. The best thing you can do for your friend or loved one is to listen. You can't change their situation, but you can be there for them. Showing them you care during this difficult time means the world.

Amy Hibbard, James City County

http://www.dailypress.com/features/lifestyle/dp-now-deareveryonehibbard,1,7672881.story?ctrack=1&cset=true

Doing the Right - or Wrong - Thing

2007-05-21T18:51:00.000-04:00

I'm feeling a little bit bad. I am once again considering using my feminine wiles to advance my agenda.

God, that sounds so much more scandalous than it actually is. I've been trying to make more effort, ahm, in the bedroom, lately. I realize that when both of us are more satisfied in that arena, that life simply tends to function more smoothly. And I don't think I'm alone in admitting that the marital bed is not where my interests or energies tend to lie these days. So I took a trip to VS to restock my pathetically depleted lingerie stockpile. I dressed myself up (underneath, you know) before a night out with friends, and all turned out quite well later that evening. I've continued making the effort, and it has been (mostly) smooth sailing in our home.

Back to my agenda. We're not actively searching for a new house, but there is one particular area in which we'd like to live eventually, and homes that have the qualities we want (namely, grass) are few and far between. In driving home from church on Sunday, through our Desired Neighborhood of course, we saw a For Sale sign. On the perfect house.

Of course, it's more than we want to spend right now. Five years down the road, maybe, but today, not so much. But this house, or one like it, probably won't go up for sale any time soon. So, we've set an appointment to go look at it.

And I keep calculating. No, not if we can afford it, the monthly mortgage payments, or if we should even think about it, but how I can best Keep My Man Satisfied (to paraphrase a Cosmo cover line). And if I Keep My Man Satisfied, would it ease the pain of a potentially financially straining situation? And is a Satisfied Man in his dream home going to be satisfied for long?

Obsessions & I Heart TV, Part II

2007-05-17T15:03:00.000-04:00

I have serious problems. Serious, in regards to my pocketbook and my time available for doing necessary, but mundane things, like cooking, cleaning and generally keeping up with life.

The first regards clothing and outfitting my children. I do not by any means find it necessary to have them in expensive dress-up clothes every day, not do I find it endearing to put them in preppy, smocked jumpers (which are what all the in-the-k to look like now babies and toddlers around here wear) while gallivanting around the grocery store.

But I do want them to look nice, and more importantly, I want them to look like the BOY and GIRL that they are. Of course, I can tell the difference quite obviously, but I’m tired of asking me about my two sons. MyGirl will get hair eventually, and everything about her is girly, but the adorable mohawk with the curl at the front just throws people off. Go figure.

So, I try to find her clothes that are girly, but not cheesy or princess-themed. And it takes some doing.

Ditto MyBoy. I just haven’t found a lot of little boy’s clothes that I like – most around here seem to emphasize fishing, hunting, baseball or NASCAR. Just not my style. So I hunt and I hunt. And when I find the good stuff, I tend to go, ummm…overboard. The past two days have found me at a local children’s boutique, a children’s catalog company store, and the local ritzy consignment store. I found some goodies, more for her than him. But enough to tide me over for a bit.

On a similar front, to satisfy my children’s clothing obsession with my crafty obsession, I decided that I should make my children some clothes. However, I have big ideas and not so much motivation to actually finish projects.

So, I have a lovely pile of fabrics, one bright A-line dress (all finished), a little boy’s jumper (rather sloppily finished, but finished nonetheless), and a dress that I’ve messed up beyond all compare. Perhaps I’ll try and fix it, or perhaps I’ll just go shopping …

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The next obsession is of course that damned black screen in my basement. I always seem to be behind the curve on popular shows and series. I finally caught on to Sex in the City just as it was about to go off the air, so I spent what seemed like weeks catching up with DVDs. Same idea with Six Feet Under, and I caught up with that with Video on Demand.

In a moment of boredom, which happens so infrequently, J and I happened upon Weeds. Oh. My. God. This show is freakin’ ridiculously awesome. So awesome I missed a committee meeting last night that’s been on my calendar for weeks.

So here I sit, during naptime when I should be washing all those above-mentioned children’s clothes, on Episode 17, Season 2. I think I’ll be quite sad when I’ve actually caught up to real time. And J’s going to be a leeeetle bit mad when he comes home and sees I’ve jumped ahead of him so far.

I Heart TV

2007-05-07T14:29:00.000-04:00

I’m not pregnant, I’m not sleepless, and I’m not ill. All the usual suspects for very odd dreams can be counted out. So why the hell did I have a dream about Dav*d Hass*lhoff last night?

Hmm… perhaps I’ve been watching too much Entertainment Tonight / Inside Edition?

It was bizarre beyond description, and involved me and a friend sleeping in a camper. Excuse me, luxury motorhome. DH broke in, frantically telling us that his identical twin was trying to get us, and he was there to protect us. Chaos ensued, and there were two crazy, curly-haired DH’s bouncing off the walls of our motor home.

Unfortunately, I have no great ending to the story, just me waking up in the haze of “What the *(&^#$ was that all about?”

In other television happenings, I caught a brief story on the Today Show about infertility. (Who am I kidding, I didn’t “catch” it. I held off my poor, hungry children’s breakfast until I could satiate my curiosity and the piece was finished.)

Although they didn’t delve deeply into the subject matter, I thought it a nice general-interest sort of piece. They featured a woman who was told she had something like a 3% chance of conceiving, who then went on to miraculously conceive on her own; a woman who chose international adoption, and appeared to be thrilled with what looked like boy-girl twins from Russia perhaps; and a woman who, despite her years and years of struggler with treatments and drugs, was still living child-free.

The last woman brought tears to my eyes, when she spoke of walking into a room full of all her friends and their “forty or fifty children” (that’s certainly how it can feel!), and feeling like there was a big empty space surrounding she and her husband. I knew her feeling quite intimately, and hated to hear her speak so frankly of it for the world to hear, knowing it’s a world that doesn’t really understand.

They interviewed a well-respected RE, I don’t remember his name, and I thought it interesting to note that he didn’t mention male-factor infertility until Meredith Viera brought it up. And I was glad she did, since then he expanded on it a bit.

What's Next?

2007-04-30T09:07:00.000-04:00

When I opened the pages of this very fun catalog, I did a bit of a jump-back-jack. There in large letters, I see the words "IN VITRO."

That's as far as I got, as my mind wandered... what could this whimsical and kooky catalog possibly be selling? IVF comfort kits, complete with fuzzy pajamas, ice packs and designer alcohol wipes? IVF t-shirts, or perhaps beer coozies? Key chains?

Nope, it was this. Surprisingly, right in time for Mothers Day. Weird.

Well, I Never (said with a Southern drawl)

2007-04-27T13:51:00.000-04:00

I never. Did you ever play that game, perhaps in college (or high school if you were one of those crazy girls)?

In turn, each person says something that they have never done (or perhaps something that a friend has knowingly and shamefully done, but wants to keep a secret), and everyone else in the circle has to drink if they have done that thing. The things would range from innocent to downright raunchy. It was always a good game to get to know your friends better and embarrass the hell out of them (as well as get a serious buzz on).

A year ago, there are a number of things I never thought I would do.

Put my hands out, as if second nature, to catch vomit and then exclaim with a smile, "Oh look, it's just the squash that never digested!"
Show up with my two fairly new twins at the neighborhood market for a cup of coffee and wonder why all the lights are off. Realize that a) It's 6:30 in the morning, and b) it's Sunday.
Stroll with the babies around the neighborhood, casually repeating "Meow....meow...meow" simply to get a reaction from my daughter whose new favorite noise, in response to the cat, is "Maaaooo, Mao, Mao." Yes, like the questionably-preserved Chinese leader.
Pray for nap time, and then find myself missing my babies.

There are so many more, both good and bad things, that define this new life we are living, and the two new lives that have changed it. I am in awe of the fact that one year ago today, right now, I was laying on my living room couch waiting for my sister in law to bring dinner over. I anticipated even more weeks on the couch, just waiting and waiting. Little did I know that at 7:45 p.m., I'd be jumping up off that couch and running to the bathroom, only to deliver my gorgeous twins nine hours later.

A year seems like a minute, and a year seems like an eternity. Happy birthday, sweethearts.

Making Good Choices

2007-04-23T14:43:00.000-04:00

Why in the world does a tired, visibly exhausted baby refuse to lay down in his crib, instead choosing to stand up, hanging onto the bars of his crib, and scream at top of his lungs with his eyes closed and red from rubbing? Why not just give into the exhaustion and lay down like a good little boy and take a nap?

From an adult perspective (i.e. one who would simply die for a nap at 2:45 p.m.), it just seems like a very stupid choice to make. I'm just saying.

Music to My Ears

2007-04-12T20:33:00.000-04:00

There is nothing more delightful ... a moment of relaxation in the kitchen after dinner, just me and my People magazine. (Come on, it's a D*sperate H*usewife with her new twins on the cover. I couldn't resist.)

My lovely little twins are running (well, crawling) free, burning off some energy before bedtime. And then the sounds ... the cackling laughter, the hiccup-y giggles ... back and forth ... him then her. They stare at each other, then burst into new peals of laughter, making some sort of joke that mom just can't possibly understand.

The put their faces right up against each other, forehead to forehead. Someone licks someone, someone puts his/her hand on the other. And they explode, yet again, into joyous laughter. Gorgeous sounds only babies can make.

Second Thoughts

2007-04-11T14:18:00.000-04:00

My life is good. I am lucky to have a wonderful (for the most part!) husband, two beautiful children that I begged God for day in and day out, resources to live a comfortale life, health and happiness.

I think twice about my earlier bitchings now, especially when there are people out there, like Snickollet, who are not facing the loss of free time or independence, but of a spouse, a best friend, a father to her children. And she handles it with such grace.

This is Not Pleasantville

2007-04-11T09:31:00.000-04:00

I'm so frustrated, and I am simply at the end of my rope. I don't know how to get him to hear me. He processes my words, and spews them back out in some form or fashion I don't recognize.

This is an age-old dilemma, and I know that my situation is not unique. While the dilemma is age-old, the times today are different, and expectations placed upon man and woman, husband and wife, mother and father, are different than they were years ago. And they continue to change. And we have the freedom to reshape and mold our lives as they suit us, less dependant upon convention, and more dependant upon what works for our particular situation.

Pre-children, I don't think that J and I ever argued much about housework, cooking, cleaning up. We both worked, had busy social lives (both together and apart), and simply pitched in to do what needed doing. I don't recognize us now, we're both such scorekeepers and tally makers, neither willing to give an inch. I know that we are both contributors to the place where we now find ourselves.

I want J to be present and participatory when he is at home. I am taking care of two energetic almost-toddlers all day, and when J is at home, I fully expect that load to go down to 50 percent. He wonders why I escape upstairs at 7:30, to jump in the tub or read a book. It's the first chance I've had to be alone and rest.

Instead, we have mornings like today. J didn't need to leave for work until 9:00. The babies woke up early, around 6:30, and he got their diapers changed and bottles warmed up. I met them in the kitchen around 6:45. He propped MyGirl up on a pillow, and gave her a bottle. I held MyBoy for his feeding, which is simply a nice, cozy way to wake up, I think.

At which point, he starts making himself breakfast, and as an afterthought, asks if I might like some too. Such a rarity is this situation, I practically faint in shock, and when recovered, reply in the affirmative. He sits down to read the paper and watch the news. Until 8:30, when he gets up to take a shower and get dressed.

During which time, I do the following: feed the two cats, play with the children, sing "Pat A Cake" and "The Wheels on the Bus" numerous times, put away everyone's breakfast dishes, steam apples for children's breakfast, feed children apples and cinnamon oatmeal, sweep under their chairs for stray cheerios and dried remnants of yesterday's lunch and dinner. Wipe snotty, oatmeally faces, pick up stray toys and books, take children upstairs to nursery and battle keeping them out of the attached bathroom while attempting to re-diaper and dress them, simultaneously putting away loads of children's laundry that husband so nicely left sitting on the machine for two weeks (I was waiting to see if he'd ever put them away. "But I did the laundry!" he protests. My ass.) Finally get them down for a nap and myself to my bedroom to consider brushing teeth and getting dressed.

While he sat on the couch and read the paper.

And then he has the gaul to hug me goodbye, and when I'm less than enthusiastic, ask me why I've been acting so distant and angry for the past few days. I attempted to explain that I had been doing an experiment, to see if he would pitch in and be my partner while at home. It escalated into a huge fight, in which punches are thrown, tears are shed, and scores tallied and re-tallied.

He asks, over and over, didn't I want, didn't I ask to stay home to raise the children? I reply that no, as parents we are both responsible for raising our children, but yes, I did want to stay home and take care of them during the day. But that when he is home, it shouldn't still be on my shoulders 100 percent. Our conversation goes in circles, over and over. What he does. What he doesn't do. What I don't do. And on and on.

I tell him to leave, to go to work, that I can't continue this ... it's pointless. I'm feeling like crap with a horrible cold/allergy that's kept me up half the nights and he's getting ready to leave tomorrow for a 4-day golf trip with the boys. I had hoped for a little bit of forethought, compassion, and assistance.

I know, woe is me, woe is me. I have a wonderful life and am lucky beyond many expectations. But I refuse to give in to the "You-Woman, Me-Man" caveman type attitude towards family and home. There is no reason that he cannot be fully present and participatory when is is home. Period.

Then I went and picked up his snotty-ass tissue that he left on the table. Sitting next to his empty coffee cup.

Evening Delights

2007-04-09T19:11:00.000-04:00

It was a monumental mess. Beyond all messes we've encountered before. But worth it, because it was a success.

Inspired by Cecily's posting asking for new ideas for finger foods for the voracious under-1 set, I embarked upon a dinner of all new offerings. The twins food offerings have been somewhat limited, partially by my obsessive need to monitor and measure all food intake by sticking to jarred baby food, and also by my desire to keep mush out of my dining room carpet.

I've been trying to mix it up, mostly by steaming/microwaving a rotating variety of apples, sweet potatoes, butternut squash, and carrots. Can you tell I like orange, and the twins don't seem to favor all things green?

But tonight, out of my comfort zone (and onto the oriental rug. Well, just a little.) A delightful combo of cubed tofu covered with spaghetti sauce, grilled cheese on whole wheat, and a few beans fished out of my bean & bacon soup. It was a wild success, with minimal pieces thrown or discarded out of disgust. We'd tried tofu before and they hated it - red sauce must be the key.

It's also the key to the messiest dinner ever. Straight into the bathtub after dinner, which is out of routine for us. I've never wanted to get in the habit of bedtime bath, since we seem to have a family or sitters once or so a week. Before the morning nap has always been bath time. Oh well, changes happen.

The eating is cute to watch. MyBoy is all about quantity - stuff it in as quick as you can. Don't stop to breathe, don't stop to chatter, and certainly don't stop to swallow. Just fill 'er up until the point of disaster. We can usually intervene to encourage a little swallow before maximum overload. MyGirl is just the opposite. She daintily picks up each morsel, between thumb and forefinger and places it in her mouth. She will immediately light up with delight, of pronounce the morsel inedible, and squish around her tongue and lips until the offending piece is out. She will refuse an offering of more food until the first is completely processed. She's the same with the spoon, keeping her lips sealed until her mouth is empty.

Our dinner was slightly less exciting, but certainly colorful. Egg salad sandwiches are one of my favorites, especially with the residual blue tint from PAAS dye tablets. Mmm Mmm good.

I Got Me Some Work

2007-04-02T13:58:00.000-04:00

Well, not the paid, going into an office kind of work, but the free, volunteer, out of the goodness of my heart kind. Thank goodness, because I was going crazy.

I'm sure I'm not the first to admit that, as a stay at home mom, the days can get monotonous. The children, while lovely little creatures, don't provide too much stimulating conversation.

MyBoy/Girl: "Maa, maa, grwaa, ya ya ya ya ya."
Me: "Really? You think I look super-skinny today? Thank you so much for noticing."
MyBoy/Girl: "Waaa yayayay, gunaaa!"
Me: "Why, yes. I did get my hair highlighted last week. Why don't you mention it to your father so he can say something nice about it too?"

I've gotten much better about making our own fun, being proactive, and trying to learn some new skills (ie: cooking! making baby food! learning new nursery rhymes!) But I still miss using my brain in interaction with adults other than my husband and mother.

Just as I was thinking that I needed to go seek out some opportunities (of the volunteer nature - I'm absolutly not wanting to go back to paid employement at the moment) with organizations I've been involved with in the past, voila! Two phone calls arrived within a week of each other.

One request was to head up the marketing for a large charitable event with a local institiution, and the other was to serve on a committee (gotta love those committees!) for an institutional self-study at my church. Of course, not expecting the second request, I said yes to the first, and then, surprised by the second request, said yes to that one too!

I'm thrilled to be genuinly busy (not doing annoying house cleaning, closet organizing, other at home stuff) during those much-anticipated naptimes; and am positivly psyched to have real, official meetings to fill in again on my calendar. It was starting to look a bit boring, what with playdates and occasional family visits penciled in weekly.

In addition, I took a trip to an industry event that I used to attend biannually. I was a bit of a spectator this time, as opposed to an active participant, but it felt good to be in the thick of things, coming up with ideas and analyzing what was out there.

I'm starting to feel like a contributing member of society again, in my small way. And yes, I know, and believe wholeheartedly, that raising children is contributing to society, but I mean outside of my little homebase.

* * * * * * * * *

I'm hoping to get back into working out in some form or fashion. I haven't given up on the tennis, just took a little hiatus when I went on vacation, and babysitting hasn't quite worked out since them. I took another exercise class this morning, and felt invigorated. And exhausted. But I'm gonna get back to it. As the instructer pointed out this morning, bathing suit season is coming up soon, ladies. Like I need any more reminders. Thanks.

* * * * * * * * *

And simply as a distraction, I found this very fun website this morning. Mommas do have cravings too, and I love their tagline: "The Pursuit of Maternal Mojo."

Locked Up Tight

2007-03-21T14:46:00.000-04:00

My home has officially become Fort Knox.

In our main kitchen/living area, where we spend most of our time, there are three gates. One down the hall at a stairway, and I can name two or three other spots where we should have gates, but I am just fed up.

For someone who worked in the home decor industry and really loved decorating and taking care of my home, this has been really difficult. Not in an Oh my gosh, my life is over kind of way, but more of a I want my house to look beautiful like it used to, but now it's overrun with toys and baby crap!

However, I try to not have too much "stuff" out at once, and whenever possible, I aspire to provide my children with the somewhat more old fashioned and aesthetically pleasing wooden toys. (Fear not, we have our fair share of plastic, too. It's just hidden. Out of sight, out of mind.)

However, all those jail-like gates do provide for some funny times and photographic moments:

For the record, that's MyBoy on the left, and MyGirl on the right. And yes, she's winning. She usually does. Poor boy.

Back on the Wagon?

2007-03-15T15:34:00.000-04:00

This is an incredibly odd feeling.

After I stopped breastfeeding, I went back on the Pill. Chances are, due to J’s somewhat incapacitated sperm, I will never get pregnant on my own. But after hearing too many stories from IVF/twin mothers whose doctors told them, and I quote, “Your ovaries will never function properly on their own” and the like, and then they got pregnant when their twins were like three months old, I was determined that I would not become one of those stories.

And I haven’t been sure if I even want more children. J does, for much more complex reasons than mine, and I respect those reasons wholeheartedly. But I have been thinking more and more lately, and I feel confident that I could do this again, and that I want to do this again (the baby, not the IVF, etc). But they probably go hand in hand.

I refilled my prescription right before we took off for vacation, and through the chaos of packing, it didn’t make it into my bags. Subconscious or accident, you ask? Either way, I felt kind of free, and didn’t make too big a deal of it, either way.

Yesterday afternoon, I was reorganizing some of my bathroom cabinets, throwing out the eighteen jillion sample-size bottles of perfume I’ve managed to accumulate over the years. Oh yes, and organizing all my products by use (face lotion, body lotion, hair products, bath products, etc). I am slightly anal when I have the time and inclination.

I came to the bottom of the cabinet, and realized I was at the shelf. The very important shelf that, at the front, contains tampons and liners. The shelf that, at the back, contains a sharps container full of used needles, a fertility monitor and boxes of sticks, and an extra Follist*m kit.

I felt like the breath had been knocked out of me. It’s only been a year and a half since I used all that stuff daily, but you know the adage out of sight, out of mind. And while it’s never really out of mind, infertility has not consumed my daily thoughts as it once used to.

I sat down on the toilet, and pulled out the sharps container. I took out a needle on top, one of the long, thick PIO injections, and twirled it in my fingers. Am I ready to do this again? Can I stand the disappointment and hoping? I’m not as afraid of the physical pain from injections and retrieval as I was the first go around. I feel like labor and emergency c-section have shored me up on the pain-front. But I am afraid of the emotional pain, and how it might be different than it was before. And knowing that we’d have to start over from the very beginning, since we had no extra embryos, is a bit intimidating to me.

I poked around through the Follist*m kit, and marveled at the miniature (in comparison) needles used for those injections. That’s the easy part, I thought. Then I pulled out the fertility monitor, and tried to remember how to use it. Which is where I find myself now, on the Clearb*ue website, downloading instructions.

I’m not a big believer in “signs” and such, but this morning over breakfast, J asked if I’d had any thoughts about “more rug rats,” as he so delicately put it. We haven’t talked about this in months, and I thought it odd that he brought it up now. Well, now that you ask...

So as of now, we’re trying but not trying. I’m ready to give it a go a la natural, but need a bit of time to work up my courage to all of the IVF stuff.

I’m feeling a little ambivalent about it all, and that makes me feel really guilty. I know that this is the right time for our family to do this, and I know that it could take a long time, or may never happen. I don’t want to get too excited, but I’m afraid to not be exited enough.

Glad to be back

2007-03-11T21:02:00.000-04:00

My wonderful babies,

We’ve just returned from eight days away, and the last four increased in torture with each sunrise. As much as I loved being away, I wanted so badly to be with you. Many quiet moments were filled with the whispering of your father and me, wondering what you were doing at that exact moment, talking about how proud we were of you, and would we wake you up when we arrived home late at night.

We did not wake you up, but did creep into your room to gently pat your backs and run our fingers through your hair (it seems like it has grown so much in the past week!). We collapsed exhausted into bed, as our trip home took so much longer than anticipated.

We awoke to your giggles and quiet talking, much earlier than we had hoped, but you actually “slept in,” due to daylight savings time. Much like children on Christmas morning, we crept down the hall to your room and peered in the door. In return for our ear-to-ear grins, we received blank stared from each of your cribs. You, My Girl, looked nonplussed and slightly confused as to who we were and why we were there. What happened to Grandma and Grandpa? Your brother, on the other hand, was plain scared of us. I truly think he didn’t know who we were. Your daddy and I were a bit disappointed, but we knew that in a few hours, you would come around. And you did, once you saw your grandparents, and all was well.

Eight short days translates into a whole lotta baby time. MyBoy, you’ve learned to climb the stairs, and with prompting, will attempt the entire staircase. You have officially begun to crawl, although you still favor your army-style belly crawl. It was wild to see you move about on alternating hands and knees. MyGirl, you are cruising around the furniture with speed and grace, and it seems that grandma taught you how to wake.

You both seem so much bigger, and I have to remind myself that you are ten and a half months old … it doesn’t seem possible! You smiles are wider, your vocabularies, which previously included “ba-ba” and “da-da” have grown to include a wide variety of unintelligible syllables. You’ve acquired a few bad habits with the grandparents, my favorite being the spitting of food on the lucky soul who is feeding you. My least favorite are the bloodcurdling screams and thrashing about that occurs every time I try to change your diaper. But we’ve learned to do it standing up, now.

Dad and I loved having an adult vacation, eating out extravagantly almost every night, and enjoying wine with lunch. We tried to sleep in, but found ourselves awake every morning and your appointed wake-up time. We loved chatting with friends, exploring our surroundings, and catching up on our reading.

We talked about you much more than we said we would, and we certainly thought about you more than we imagined we would. We are still a special couple, your father and I, and we have a wonderful relationship, between just the two of us. But now you two are in our lives, and when we’re away, it seems incomplete.

But fear not, we will do it again, and we will love coming home to you even more. How is that possible?

Much love,
Momma

****************************************************

I guess my reward was not tempting enough to garner many responses, but what did you expect, a trip to St. Barths or something????

Seriously, loved it beyond what my words can describe. A tiny, French island that seems a cross between European country village, Caribbean island, and jet-set yacht club. And the food … oh, the food….

So Long, Farewell ...

2007-02-27T19:44:00.000-05:00

Auf weidersehen, goodbye...

I'm off on Friday for a week's vacation with J and two friends. Am currently most excited about the hours of peace on the airplane ride, just J and I. Once that excitement has subsided, I will commence being thrilled about meeting our friends at our final destination (it's a two part journey), enjoying our accomodations, eating in fabulous restaurants, and lolling about on the beach.

But for now, just one thing at a time.

A small, but oh-so-coveted gift card to Tar*get for the first person to guess the correct location, based on the photo below:

"The Baby Who's Not Supposed to Be Alive"

2007-02-24T09:01:00.000-05:00

An update to the post about baby Amillia, the 22 week preemie.

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/17304274/site/newsweek/

The article states that the mother initially messed up in reporting her conception dates at her first prenatal visit, therefore the doctor assumed that the baby was about 24 weeks when delivered.

I don't know about you, but I knew the date and time, practically to the minute, each and every step of the IVF path. I'm a little surprised that the woman and her OB didn't get all the facts straight. But who knows, in the flush of excitement over a much-desired pregnancy, I could see how things could get mixed up a bit. It might be a good thing if OBs could confirm basic facts with the RE before things get going. Can't hurt to double check the calculations.

Delightful, anyway, that baby Amillie is meeting her developmental milestones, and appears to be doing well.

Can I Interest Anyone in a Stuffed Animal?

2007-02-22T10:37:00.000-05:00

It never fails. No matter what educational, interesting or informative playthings I provide for the babies' amusement (and I consider myself rather picky and sparse in the toy department - I hate plastic!), it's the everyday "stuff" that wins the popularity contest.

To point:

As I write, MyGirl is dragging around a brown chenille throw that is simply covered in cat hair. At the same time, she is chewing on a purple bulb syringe, that is glistening with the snot of colds past.

MyBoy is confused about why a tall, slick, plastic trashcan is not the ideal piece of furniture on which to pull himself up. Sliiiiippp.....sqqeeeeaaak....thud. Oh, and then there is my nasty old brown clog. Mmmm...looks appetizing.

And both of them are so pround of themselves right now. Big smiles all around.

Why bother buying toys?

So I Know This Girl...

2007-02-21T14:46:00.000-05:00

A few years back, a woman with whom I was friendly shared that she and her new husband were trying to get pregnant. It was right around the same time that we began trying, and we were both unsuccesful. We bonded over the angst of infertility.

We had a falling out soon after -- actually, she had a falling out with me, as I stood by shellshocked and surprised by her undeserved (in my opinion) anger with me. The friendship was over, and I was very hurt, but determined not to let it upset me any further. We have mutual friends, and in the beginning, she would simply ignore me should we all be in the same room or event.

Time passed, and obviously infertility continued for us both. When in a group setting, she began to acknowledge my presence, and I was glad. I thought there must be some serious pain in her life, and perhaps her blowup at me was a manifestation of something much bigger.

I have never thought that our friendship would be rekindeled, and that's okay with me, although I wouldn't push her away -- I think she's a genuinly kind person with a lot of good qualities. More time passed, and I became pregnant with our first IVF attempt. She has remained cordial during the few times I've seen her, and I know that must be hard, as they are still in the throes of fertility treatments. I don't know anything for certain, but I suspect they have done quite a few IVF cycles, and might have experienced some losses.

She is having a transfer on Friday. I was included in an email that had previously included correspondance with her husband, in which he mentioned the event. In receipt of this knowledge, I wanted to do something. I didn't know what, but I hated to know that they would be going through yet another trying ordeal. And I wanted her to know that I know, and that I was hoping for the best.

I knew I couldn't call her ... that would be a ridiculously awkward thing for both of us. So I sent a card, a simple "thinking of you" sentiment in which I wrote a short note that I would be keeping her in my mind on Friday, and wishing for good things.

I had a hard time finding a card that was just right. Most were too sappy, and too presumptuous for a tentative non-relationship like this. Or they were too clinical, referring to medical illnesses and such. I think that something like this really does have a place in our world.

With butterflies making a nest in my belly, I sent the card off yesterday, and anticipate that she'll get it today or tomorrow. I'm nervous that I did the wrong thing. I came by the information by accident, and know that it's none of my business. But reaching out just felt like the right thing to do.

Scary Days and Miracles

2007-02-20T10:20:00.000-05:00

My experience pales in comparison to this one, and to those of so many other mothers of preemies, but the fear and dread that I felt going into labor with twins at 29 weeks, and then delivering at 31 weeks, still brings me to tears ten months later.

All those days spent sitting at the incubators, peering inside, wondering if today is the day that I'll be able to hold my babies. If today is the day they won't flinch when I stroke their sensitive skin. If today is the day they will eat just a few ccs more than yesterday. Watching a baby develop, as they do within the womb, in the outside world is an amazing experience. When the twins were born, their little nipples were barely visible. One of the nurses told us that nipples are one of the last things to visibly develop ... we saw it.

Imagine the fear and dread of the parents of a 21 week-old preemie. "Neonatologists who cared for Amillia say she is the first baby known to survive after a gestation period of fewer than 23 weeks," reads the article.

She was an IVF baby. I'm frightened that I keep hearing stories of IVF babies being sicker, more frequently premature, riskier, etc. I remember when we sat down with the RE, Dr. Pleasant, and he said that many people think IVF babies are less healthy, but that there was no proof. I didn't give it another thought, but now I feel like I am overwhelmed with evidence to the opposite.

Away

2007-02-17T16:33:00.000-05:00

We went away for the evening last night, the first time we'd left the twins overnight, together (J and I together. Not the twins. Duh.) And I didn't really miss them.

J has been away a number of times, right many times (No, no, I'm not jealous. Not me. All those boys weekends ...), and I went on one weekend trip. Each time, we've left the kids in the care of each other.

We are going on our first real vacation next month, a week in a warm, warm place with another couple. My parents will come to take care of the kids, which makes me a wee bit nervous, for many reasons, but all in all they are wonderfully capable and loving.

So when we had the opportunity to join some friends in a neighboring city for a wonderful dinner and overnight, we thought it a great time to host an overnight "tryout" for my parents.

I honestly didn't think about the kids until one of the friends asked, this morning, if we'd called to check in on them. We looked at each other, shrugged sheepishly, and responded in the negative.

And didn't really feel guity at all. But that was 18 hours total. I'm nervous that I'll feel differently when an ocean away.

Always a Bridesmaid...

2007-02-12T16:07:00.000-05:00

She actually was a bride once. Practically a child bride, but a bonafide in love-idealistic-happygolucky bride. The marriage lasted for four years, the whole relationship about ten years. It ended for the best, but there was much hurt and betrayal that I know she's not over. There were no children, but I suspect that now, six years later and still single and childless, she wishes that there had been.

She has "moved on" in her life, both literally moving far across the country, and figuratively by switching careers, dating other men, and the like. But she's still stuck. No one has emerged as Mr. Right, and she hasn't found the satisfaction in love, career, and family that she has been hoping and praying for. She's still in her mid-thirties, and holds much hope for her future. She has a faith in herself, that all will turn out right, that I admire and envy.

But she's starting to think. What if ... he never comes along? The perfect career move never happens? I end up alone?

She's asked me to go to an information session on international adoption with her, and I am thrilled and delighted. If she goes this route, I want to help her, to travel the path at her side. To support her and encourage her.

She is a strong, beautiful woman. She is my sister.

The Grass is Always Greener

2007-02-06T21:47:00.000-05:00

I love my husband. I love my husband. I love my husband. I love my husband. I love my husband. I love my husband. I love my husband. I love my husband. I love my husband. I love my husband. I love my husband. I love my husband. I love my husband. I love my husband. I love my husband. I love my husband.

But I want to just yank his hair (of course I can't, because the damn (*R$^#*$(&# is bald), and scream "What do you do while I'm gone?? Anything?? At all?"

Lovely day, he comes home early from work*, at about 4:30. I'm in the midst of thinking about what to make for dinner, starting to prepare stuff. We have the regular chit chat, blah blah, and he asks "So, you're just working on dinner?" To which I reply that, yes, I am, but if he doesn't mind, I'd like to run an errand before hand, and that it'll just take a minute. The rug rats are playing on the kitchen floor, just minutes away from early evening meltdown, and I know it's a good time to escape.

"Sure," he says. "Just let me send a few emails, and then I'll take the babes."

A few emails turns into a computer that doesn't work right, and he's never seen from again, until I tell him dinner is ready. It's early tonight, since I have a meeting at 7:00.

We sit the babies at the table with us, for the first time. Honestly, we don't eat at the table much. We normally sit at the island, and we normally have dinner after they've gone to bed. But we have fun, as the babies work on some tiny cooked carrot pieces, making a completely vulgar mess of it all.

After dinner, I get most of the dishes cleaned up, load the dishwasher, and leave the bigger pots and pans sitting stacked right next to the sink. We give the babies their last bottle and take them up to bed. At which time my exit for my meeting. Lovely, the babies are asleep, it's not like I'm putting anyone out at all. For my once every two weeks meeting that I thoroughly enjoy.

I get home at 9:30, on a feel-good high, just very contented about the world, my world, etc. It's lovely when a meeting also includes wine, isn't it? But either way, a few hours with some friends, away from the grind of daily life is refreshing.

As soon as the key turns in the lock, MyBoy starts screaming. He's been asleep for two hours, not a peep while I'm gone, and now, he starts screaming. I walk back to find J lolling on the couch.

The bottles from the feeding are still sitting where I left them. The baby's toys are scattered where they fell earlier in the evening. The dinner pans are still stacked neatly by the sink. Where I left them. The formula is not made for tomorrow. And the baby is still screaming.

I head towards the stairs, and J asks me "Don't you just want to let him work it out himself?" To which I growl, and head over to the sink, where I start washing dishes, and putting things away. Rather noisily, of course. He finally asks me if something is wrong.

Are you kidding??

For God's sake. I get this one night out, twice a month, and he can't do a goddamn thing while I'm gone. More and more, I sense him falling into the Me Work You Clean House caveman attitude. We've always been a couple that splits duties, filling in where the other can't. I do stuff around the house, I pay the bills, he does his own laundry, takes care of the children, etc. We've never been tied to labels and roles, and I fear that this is the path he is headed down. And I'm not following.

I can't not do the work (excuse the double negative, a pet peeve of mine), because I hate to wake up to a house full of the previous evening's mess, but I don't want to be a nag on him. I've tried, and it simply doesn't work for him. But he's gone much of the day, and it doesn't bother him. But I refuse to be his maid.

Or his mother.

* Since just previous to the birth of the babes, J has worked at home. It has been an arrangement that suited well while trying to deal with this new life. But more and more lately, more of the childcare has fallen to me, which is okay. Someone needs to be the primary caretaker for the children, and I'd prefer it be me. Splitting it is too hard. And too often, he'd be up in his office while I'm desperately dealing with two screaming babies, and my anger towards him grows, for being there but not helping me. Because he's working. We decided that he'd start working more at his office (nearby, and he can come and go as he pleases). This allows me to "run things" more as I prefer, i.e. not picking the babies up from a nap when they start crying after 3o minutes when I know they'll really sleep more, etc. But now I'm really feeling the effects of being a true stay at home mom, alone with my kids all day.

Where do you roam?

2007-01-31T15:56:00.000-05:00

We're in the midst of thinking about our first real family vacation with babies. We've done trips to the beach, trips to see family, trips to weddings and such, but no real vacation, just the four of us.

Here are the parameters: We'd like to go in May, for 4-7 days, depending. We'd like it to be a city or town that is walkable (read: stroller-able). The babies will be just over one. A city/town that has enough to do of interest (we love wandering and exploring, eating, museums and galleries, outdoor fun, etc), but perhaps not too much that we'll be so disappointed that we have to return to the hotel for mid-afternoon naps. Restaurants where toddlers will be, if not welcomed with open arms, not shunned.

Our thoughts as of right now, are Seattle, New York .... I'm drawing a blank.

Where are your favorite cities and towns?

The Cheese Stands Alone

2007-01-30T15:35:00.000-05:00

In this case, the crab. Poor crab, noone wants him. They'd rather fight over the frog.

Is 5:45 too early for wine?

2007-01-28T17:48:00.000-05:00

I'm counting down the minutes (42) until the last bottle of the day, and the blessed, blessed moment when I can put these sweet darlin's down to bed, wash the chicken-noodle puree off my pants, jump into the tub, and loll off into a blissful sleep by the light of Sunday night television.

Good God, it's been one of those days. He must be getting some teeth, and he's certainly trying to crawl. MyBoy was up at {interruption: must go pick up all the mini plastic balls MyBoy has thrown off his exersaucer. Must attend to MyGirl in her johnny-jumper and wind her up so she can unwind with smiles and giggles. Oh no...not working. Screaming all around. LOUD.}

Anyway, MyBoy was up at least once an hour from two a.m. until seven a.m. J went to attend to him once (clearly he heard my screaming yesterday morning when I awoke, again, to MyBoy's early morning displeasure, to find him - J - asleep on the basement couch. NOT FAIR I told him), and I most of the other times. Which was lovely when we were supposed to be at church early for rehearsal at 8:15. I sent J ahead, and I made it there closer to 9, totally missing rehearsal, but had both babies fed, dressed, and with somewhat pleasant attitudes.

35 minutes to go. I'm sure J will arrive home at precisely 39 minutes. He's just like that.

Church was lovely, and as I took the babies home and got them fed, I thought about the nice leisurely walk we might all take up to the grocery store to get some essentials, and them stop off at our favorite pizza restaurant for a yummy slice. It was chilly outside, but the walk was good for all of us. Until we arrived at said restaurant, and read the sign with dismay. SUNDAY HOURS: 3-11 p.m. So, a freezer pizza it was, and a very, very quick walk home to attend to our starving adult bellies.

{oh, god, my head is splitting, and everyone is SCREAMING. I'm going to get the wine.}

Thank goodness there's only one glass left. Who knows what might happen if the bottle was full?

The afternoon has been full of some fun, but mostly discontent on the parts of these two pint-sized Mighty Mouths. We've dropped the third nap of the day, and it's times like these that I can tell they're, ummm, having some "problems" adjusting to the new schedule. If you want to call it that.

30 minutes to go.

I took some measurements and made a list of some items I'm hoping to get on Friday, when I take a short road trip to one of my favorite places on Earth. It is truly a paradise, full of delightful plastic and particleboard things I don't need, but the opportunity to leave the babes with a sitter so I can take a mini shopping extravaganza is just overwhelming me with excitement. I must start perusing the catalog to prepare.

Damn, wish I had another bottle of wine. I bet the babes wish I did too, because my evil glances are not going over well with them. Am I horrible that I wish, wish, wish for their bedtime? So that it can be my bedtime too???

It's Sunday. Aren't husbands supposed to be around on Sundays? You know, so it can be a day of rest. For me?

I can no longer pretend to ignore the screaming. Must go rescue the Mighty Mouths and continue studying pre-game coverage on the Red Carpet. Ta ta!

22 minutes and counting.

No Rest for the Weary

2007-01-23T16:10:00.000-05:00

Perhaps it's a form of reverse discrimination, but I always make strong assumptions that if you have twins (or more), you must have been through infertility treatments. Or done fertility as I hear some people referring to it.

I know, I know, it's not true. I have friends with twins created a la natural, I have friends with twins created in the lab. But still, anytime I meet someone new or hear of someone with twins, I just think, "Ahh.. one of us."

Last week, I participated in a focus group, sponsored by a local hospital group. The subject was the multiple birth experience, including any antenatal care, the actual birth, and postnatal care. Most of the women in the group were part of the local m*thers of m*ltiples group, and were acquainted with each other. When the facilitator asked the group of fifteen or so how many did fertility (I really dislike that phrase), I was surprised to be one of only THREE who raised my hand.

I really just kind of thought that more of these pregnancies would've involved ART. Or perhaps this type of group (m*thers of m*ltiples) doesn't attract us infertile types, who prefer to hang out with our friends inside the computer. (I'll admit it, I've been a few times, and never really feel like these are "my people." But to each his own.)

It's so odd, the assumptions one makes. I am often frustrated and insulted when people, including perfect strangers, deign to ask me if I did ART/IVF. It's none of their business. Yet I'm not ashamed or embarrassed. I'll certainly tell the truth if I think it really matters to the person asking, but not if I think they are asking for their own gratuitous knowledge.

But here I am, making reverse assumptions, even though I know intellectually that they are incorrect. I'm not sure why I do it ... perhaps looking for solidarity among those who are so few and far between. Or just quiet about it all.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The compulsions are overwhelming, consuming, and keeping all those involved from sleeping.

I wish it was something crazy or sexy, but no, the problem is crawling and standing.

I'm so frustrated right now, I am ready to tear my hair out. Or the very sweet little mohawk that adorns the head of MyGirl.

During waking hours, she is all over the place crawling, standing, pulling up, hanging. If it's available to climb, she's all over it. Naptime is another story. I'll but both babies down when they show signs of tiredness (which is usually around the same time). MyBoy is super - a cuddle from me, a snuggle from BlueBear, and all is well. Butt is up in the air and sleep is near.

MyGirl also displays sweet affections towards PinkBear and kisses from momma. A sly grin as I turn, and she's off! Pulling up and peering through the spindles into brother's crib, trying out all of her new vocalizations. I leave, thinking after a few minutes, she'll tire herself out, and finally sleep. It goes on and on. And on. Today for 45 minutes. She'll pull up, hanging onto the spindles, eventually screaming because she is so tired, but doesn't know how to detach herself and get down. I'll lay her down, eyes will immediately close as she tries to wiggle herself into a comfortable position. But no more than one minute later, she's back at it. This vicious cycle goes on and on. And in between each cycle, she wakes up her brother, who is luckily able to return to la-la land with a few shushes and pats from me, but isn't really having a restful nap.

I was so good getting them onto a regular schedule when we were just breast/bottle feeding. They were like clockwork, and food and naps (three a day) were always on time. Now that they are eating food, as well as bottles, and we're down to two naps a day, things have just gone to pot. It's only been two weeks since we dropped the third nap, and we are still trying to figure out a new schedule. But I am frustrated to all ends.

Is the inability to stop crawling/standing/pulling just a normal part of the developmental cycle. If I could hear her thoughts, I think they would go something like this:

"Must ... keep ... trying" (pant, pant) "Must ... pull ... to top ... of crib" (pant, pant) "Must ... watch ... brother ... must ... disturb ... brother" (pant, pant) "No pain ... no ... gain .... Must .... keep ... trying ....."

**************
Edited to add:
**************

Of course, I find a completely appropriate answer to my question at the bottom of this Ask Moxie post. I should've just checked there first. Such a font of knowledge...

Then, Now, and Someday

2007-01-19T21:48:00.000-05:00

A few months back, when I was feeling desperate, exhausted, and unhappy that my life as I knew it was over, I made a list. Two lists actually. Things I could do now. And things I could do again in the future.

On the “now” list was obvious child-related things like “take care of the twins as best I can,” “stimulate their development,” “meet up with friends and babies” and the like. Real easy-going ideas. Also included were me-focused things like “read a book I’ve always wanted to finish,” “take twins to nursery at gym and work out,” “try out new recipes,” etc.

My “future” list included enrolling in a pottery class, something I did for years and loved. Travel with my new family. Consider career options.

Obviously, these are things I knew in my head, but seeing them written out on paper gave me some structure to my despair, and reminded me that, yes, a future does exist.

Last week I began one of the “do-nows” that I’d been avoiding … I started taking tennis lessons. Well, a beginners clinic, but some sort of instruction, nonetheless.

We joined a club last fall, just as I began the IVF cycle, and the doctor’s instructions include no vigorous exercise and no potentially body-impacting sports. Of course, I stuck with those instructions through the duration of my pregnancy. You know, to avoid premature labor or complications. Fat lotta good that did me.

Anyway, I’ve been twice, and I love it.

And I especially love the just-graduated-from-college tennis pro.

Yum.

We're Movin' On Up ...

2007-01-18T13:55:00.000-05:00

MyGirl that is. She is moving up my leg, moving up the side of the crib, moving up the couch, a pile of pillows, the coffee table, pretty much anything she can curl her grabby little fingers around. It's totally endearing to see her try so hard, and amazing to me that she packs so much muscle into her tiny 14 pound frame. The girl is solid, that's for sure. And she's got her daddy's legs, which makes me insanely jealous. What I would give for his skinny knees and muscled calves. Anyway.

She is all over the place, between crawling, downward dogging, one-arm-pushup-ing, and pulling up, which is certainly making naptime a challenge. No matter how tired, no matter how long she's been rubbing at her eyes, as soon as I plop her ever-so-gently down in the crib, her eyes light up as she sees the bars, and before I know it, I've got a little prisoner with her hands clenched up by her head and eyes peering through her cell to the other side. This typically goes on for 15 or 20 minutes, usually with a spill or two (forward and backward), as she hasn't figured how to get herself down from standing position.

Back to the rubbing eyes...I find it so interesting that they've completely morphed out of yawning as an indicator of tiredness. I used to watch them like hawks, making sure, as the BabyWhisp*rer advised, to get them in bed by yawn number three. I rarely see a yawn these days, at eight and a half months old. It's tiny, curled fists, rubbing at drooping eyes. I wonder why the change. You don't really see adults rub their eyes as much as yawning. Wouldn't we look like boardrooms and classrooms full of infants, all rubbing and rubbing?

MyBoy is mastering the military low belly crawl. He sees a favorite toy or person in front of him, and his eyes light up. He labors so intently and slowly to get to his goal, favoring his left arm forward...throw the arm over, pull, pull, pull ... throw the arm over, pull, pull, pull ... throw the arm over, pull, pull, pull ... Wash, rinse, repeat. His new favorite game is to sit on his bottom, and pull himself up on my outstretch fingers. I try hard not to pull him myself, but to let him muscle himself up, which is often a humorous sight, as his sweet legs and feet sometime seem to be in the way of his efforts.

And yes, he was the lucky recipient of his mother's legs, which feature solid yet chubby thighs, practically non-existent knees, and again, chubby ankles. Thankles. Kankles. Whatever you want to call them. I pray he stretches out a bit, and takes some exercise pointers from Dad.

I'm working on sippy cups right now. They are great for chewing, great for tossing, but of negligible use for drinking. I've found a little success by feeding them by bottle, then pulling out the bottle and putting in the sippy cup. They'll drink, rather awkwardly, for a few sucks (with me holding of course, which is totally NOT the point), and then grab the cup and fling it around wildly. All the while screaming for their milk. In the bottle. Which they won't really hold enough to support a full bottle, but will gladly wrap their fingers around with enough strength to pull it away. I wished for the day when they would be strong enough to hold their bottles, and surprisingly, now I'm wishing for the days when they just lay there so quietly and ate. All in the past.

But these days are great, too. I bundled them up in new (Christmas gifts) fleece-lined jeans and fuzzy hoodies this morning, since it was finally cold. (See photo above. Those jeans are not figure flattering, are they??) We headed out for a walk, since I heard it was going to rain today, and knew we'd be stuck inside most of the day. We strolled to the coffee shop, had a minute to recharge and warm up, and then hit the sidewalks.

Not five minutes later, there were big, poofy, white flakes of snow drifting down from above. The flakes got smaller, then eventually dissipated (they did come back later). It made for a glorious way to start the day. Although MyGirl and MyBoy were rather nonplussed about the wet snow and didn't seem to understand why I was making such a big deal out of it. Nor did the construction worker we passed by, the lady walking her dog, or the other kids who were on their way into school. Well, they probably did.

Family Ties

2007-01-17T14:25:00.000-05:00

The diaper pail works, but scents still do escape. The cat used to indiscriminatly pee (crossing fingers to hope that it stays that way). I'm very sensitive to the fact that yes, at times, my home has not smelled like a rose recently. In addition, I live on a very busy street in the city, so opening my windows is simply not an option.

So, am I to be offended that my MIL (who keeps a very, very, very clean house and abhors the concept of animals in the home) gave me a frangrance lamp, with the comment that it would be great in my first-floor powder room? (Yes, the cat has peed here in the past and the diaper pail resides in this room.)

Am I to believe that this is a backhanded "hint" that my house stinks? Or was she just being really kind, thinking that I'd like this beautiful bauble. And it does match my bathroom.

I am such a paranoid daughter in law. Why do I even ask?

Now Playing

2007-01-15T10:39:00.000-05:00

I'll admit it. I watch a lot of television. I looooove me some TV. Partially I like the actual programming, but when alone with two babies, it's nice to have some adult conversation. Even if it's a conversation between two people inside the black box. Whatever.

I've seen many promos for BabyFirstTV, a channel created just for your baby! The nation's first channel for babies! Aparently, it's new to our area, and they're trying to round up subscribers. Just $9.99 a month! I cringe everytime it airs, as I think "Good God, we have two hundred some channels -- if I want my babies to watch TV, I think there's something I could find." And if there's a channel that I subscribe to for the sole purpose of entertaining my babies, I'm going to feel like I need to really use it.

So here it is, a lazy MLK day, and I"m laying on the couch, flipping back and forth as the babes nap. (Thank God. It was a long night with my wheezing, hacking, miserable little boy. And an early a.m. trip to the doctor's office.) As I watch two designers transform a med student's quarters from Junky to Funky, I scroll down a few channels.

Black silhouette figures rock back and forth on the screen. Silhouette stars twinkle and flip above. A silhouette moon rotates and twists. It's positivly mesmerizing and freakishly arts-and-crafts. I am an unintentional and unwitting subscriber to BabyFirst TV.

I am going to do my best to NOT plop the babes on the floor in front of this very, um, unique, viewing opportunity. Hmmmm...maybe I can learn to cut out my own silhouettes and stage a fun little show myself. Or not.

Is She? Isn't She?

2007-01-12T21:35:00.000-05:00

I'm confused. Is she an OB/GYN, a surgeon, a neonatologist, or a pediatrician? And can one be all at once?

Now, I realize that an OB is also a surgeon. I first came upon this knowledge as I lay half-drugged on the operating table and my OB/GYN said, rather frantically and loudly "Get another surgeon. Get another surgeon now. We need another surgeon here." To which the reply was "It's five a.m., there are no other surgeons here now." And all went along just swimmingly.

But anyway, I'm a bit confused about the esteemed Doctor Addison Shepard. She sees women for prenatal care, she delivers babies, she treats babies in the NICU, and then, she operates on them as well.

Just seems like a whole lot for one lady to take care of.

A Year In Review

2007-01-02T16:04:00.000-05:00

2006 was partly good, doubly great, and a little bit horrible, all wrapped up with a big bow. Cheers!

January: I spent Saturday at a wonderful baby shower for a dear old friend.

February: Many thanks for your thoughts and comments a few months ago about the home vs. work dilemma.

March: Wow, I've been gone a long time. I hadn't realized how long it had been since I'd written, and I'm remiss that I have no totally thrilling and exciting news to share.

April: Who knew that a Sunday, at home on bedrest (and therefore no different than any other day of the week) could be so exciting? And it's only 3:45!

May: It was totally unexpected, but deep down inside, I think I knew, but was in denial.

June: The arrival of the babies' Social Security cards leaves me with an odd question.

July: So, if your husband, who has many, many years of cooler-packing experience, assures you that you can absolutely keep your hard-earned breastmilk frozen in a well-packed cooler over the course of three days, don't believe him.

August: It's been four months since these little babes have entered our lives in a real and physical way, and I couldn't have possibly imagined how our lives would have changed.

September: It has been a looooong time since I have seen such a hilarious movie.

October: There has been a whole lotta talk out there about the ethics of IVF, about limitations on the number of embryos that can, and should, be transferred, the overwhelming increase in multiple births as a result, etc, etc.November: Still Here ... but quiet lately.

November: Still here ... but quiet lately.

December: "I'm driving home, and I'm almost at your exit. Can I stop in?"

Lock up your sons. My girl can move!

2007-01-01T18:36:00.000-05:00

And she crawls!

MyGirl took her first tentative “steps” right before Christmas, and now she is a master. She focuses on a goal (AKA a book, plastic gizmo, mom’s leather boot), extends her tounge as far down her chin as possible, and moves forward. She is compact and strong, full of energy and curiosity. We’ve installed a baby gate where most vital, and stuck all the horrible plastic outlet covers in place.

In addition to crawling, she is beginning to assume some elementary yoga poses. Beginning with Downward Dog:

She then magically morphs into a modified triangle pose (with her torso a bit closer to the ground and arm not quite so high!):

Who knows what might be next? She’s good, I tell you.

Confusion, Joy, and then Loss

2006-12-30T13:49:00.000-05:00

"I'm driving home, and I'm almost at your exit. Can I stop in?"

I'm thrilled to get the call on my cell phone from my best, long-time friend. J and I are out walking the twins, and manage to get home in time to find Kristine waiting for us on the front porch. I know why she's here, the real reason. And while she wants to say hello and visit, there is an ulterior motive.

Two days before, I'd received a call from her, and she asked, "How did you know when you were pregnant?" She reported a "bubble" feeling in her belly, which is something I never felt. But hey, who can discount a woman's intuition? So I knew that she'd stopped off at the drugstore just prior to arriving at my house, and had a pregnancy test in her bag.

Ten minutes later, I'm knocking on the bathroom door, asking her if she was ever going to come out. I got a choked "Yea, I'm coming," and she emerged with a tight smirk on her face. I assume it's negative. "It's positive," she squeaked.

And she cried, and cried, and I hugged her tight, feeling the thrill of excitement. Her tears, however, were not of excitement. While Kristine absolutely wants to have children, she's not married, and the relationship with her long-term boyfriend has been full of challenges and problems of late. She's been questioning their future, and thinking about life without him.

We spent a lot of time talking about feelings of disillusionment, shame, embarrassment, and fear. "But do you know what?" she asked. "I would've been really sad if it was negative."

I sent her off with my excitement and understanding, and the promise of a phone call once she's broken the news to her boyfriend.

I think his reaction was as most men's would be, when surprised out of the blue by such monumental news. They had a tough Christmas with family, and she resolved to "not think about it" until she got home and had a visit with her doctor.

I knew she was keeping busy for the past few days, and wasn't worried that I hadn't heard from her. Until I got a phone call yesterday, and she told me she was bleeding. Badly. A phone call to her doctor confirmed what we both feared.

Honestly, I thought she might be somewhat relieved. But she is sad, so sad, for the baby she never asked for, didn't want right now, but would've been such a good mother to. I cried with her on the phone, wishing I could be there right by her side.

Once, many years ago, when J and I were just dating, I had a pregnancy scare, and took the morning after pill. I knew that I simply couldn't have a child at that point. Little did I know that I really couldn't have a kid, but I remember the immense panic that overwhelmed me. Panic at the prospect of a life I'd never envisioned, at that point.

I count myself lucky that I've never had a miscarriage, but I've had some seriously painful disappointments with failed infertility treatments. This is a disappointment that Kristine never expected to have. Being sad to have lost an unwanted pregnancy. I think this will be a life-altering, change-inducing experience for both Kristine and her boyfriend. I hope for the better. And I hope and pray that this will encourage them to plan their life together and make a plan for a family they want to have.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Okay, okay, okay, I was wrong. I know I said in my last post that I was finished with this blog. But as I went through the past few weeks, I kept thinking in posts. Thinking in words, instead of ideas. I'm going to recommit myself to this blog, and really try to get out the thoughts that sometimes suffocate my brain. Plus, the babies are sick of hearing me go on and on about subjects about which they know nothing! I've got a few ideas in the works ... letting it be, infertility in the late 1800s, and other stuff.

A Long Time Coming

2006-12-15T17:44:00.000-05:00

It's been practically a month since I posted, and longer than that since I've found the time and inclination to write anything of any substance. In one way, it makes me sad; and in another, slightly relieved.

Relieved that I'm "moving on." Although I know, realistically, that noone really moves on from a life-changing experience, or series of, experiences. They are always with me, constantly in my thoughts, in musings of the past, in my daily life, and very much in thoughts of my future.

Every time a friend mentions she is going to start thinking about Baby #2, I automatically think, "Hmmm, guess that just means you're going to get wild one night with no birth control." I can't make, or hear, a casual comment like that in reference to my own life. Although sometimes, I am tricked into believing I'm just like everyone else. If you don't try for long enough, the reality smudges a bit.

Another friend, an IF friend, and I were talking about birth control. I said I was on the pill, even though it wasn't really necessary, and not even thinking, asked her if she was (she has a new baby, due to IUI, I believe). She was like "Heck, no! I want to have another one, asap."

I didn't even realize what I was asking, so smudged my memory can be somedays. And somedays, it makes me happy that I no longer dwell. That I'm looking forward with new attitude and hope. And other days, I long for the deep, burning desire to become pregnant, the anxiety and frazzled nerves, the anticipation, the focus. Life today is blurry and unfocused in many ways. I'm confident in my thoughts, both in my head and spoken aloud, that no, I'm not going to try for anymore. Not now, anyway. Give me a few years, and perhaps I'll feel different. Perhaps not.

But, wow, those experiences have made me the woman I am today. I am stronger and more resilient. I am more confident in myself, both in my physical ability and in my mental aptitudes. In some ways, I know more of what I want. Or less. But I'm able to weed through it all a bit better. I'm more compassionate; I've been through a hardship unlike any others in my life. I know where my weaknesses lie. I can do yogic breathing with the best of them.

So, I'm not moving on, or moving past. I think I'm moving parallel. Sideways, to another part of my life, and moving this very important part to the background, so other things can be in my foreground.

And in this time of thanksgiving and wishes for others, I hope that each and every one of you (if anyone's even left reading) find a happiness in your life that satisfies you. Whether you have a child right now, continue to keep trudging away at the doctors, appointments, wandings, stickings and whatnot; decide to stop trying for now or forever, I hope you can find a place and a state of being that fulfills you in some way.

Thank you all, from the bottom of my heart, for your well wishes over these few years I've been writing. I'll keep up with you all in the comments.

Cheers.

Still Here ...

2006-11-28T17:43:00.000-05:00

but quiet lately. As a writer does, I constantly have thoughts, composed for print, floating around in my mind.

It's finding the time to put them to paper, or screen, that is my challenge. And finding motivation. I'm always pleased once I do it, but getting to that point is hard for me.

I've started to dream again. Throughout my pre-pregnancy angst, pregnancy, and sleepless nights of new parenthood, dreams took a backseat to brain-empty slumber. And it's a relief to have them back - they are wild and weird, sometimes related to my actual life, sometimes only a minute thread ties them to reality. I actually had a dream last night, about a fabulous house that we moved into, and as I woke up to shushh the babes, I laid down and wished to go back into my dream. It was that interesting. Of course, I didn't find my way down the path to that alternate reality, but I wanted to so badly.

The babies are simply delightful. Solid foods are entertaining, the doorway bouncer is hilarious, and noise-making and almost-crawling are daily occurances.

More to come. You know, once I get motivated.

Did I Get a WHAT?

2006-11-15T12:32:00.000-05:00

I'm so angry. And maybe I shouldn't be, but boy, am I. So mad.

I am very lucky, regarding my home situation. As previously discussed, I closed my business, so that I could have the chance to stay home with the babes. Could be my only chance, blah, blah, blah. It's fine, and a decision I'm happy with. J has always been flexible in his job, and works from a home office. He travels about once a week or so, otherwise conducting his business from the office above the kitchen. Nicely sandwiched next to the nursery, so in effect, there is no way he can escape the three of us during the day.

We never specifically sat down and discussed how daily life would work once the babies arrived, perhaps this is because they arrived in such a chaotic storm so much earlier than expected, or perhaps we both thought it would just "work itself out." But I knew, and know now, that I would be the primary caretaker of the children, and J would pitch in as needed and as schedule permits. The first two months or so they were home was completly non-productive for J, professionally, because I was such a mess, and it really took two people to care for both the babies and for me. But things have evened out quite nicely. He'll come down to help with the feeds when he can, and I never pressure him to do so. He'll check in on them when they awake early from a nap, since he is literally ten steps away from their room, and I'm probably downstairs in the kitchen, or run off to the store.

I make a real effort to get us out of the house at least once, maybe twice, a day, so that he had total quiet time to work. Pretty much every day, without fail. Perhaps this is why every other entry on my credit card statement is from Target. Like I really need more socks/food storage containers/greeting cards/diapers (actually, I usually do need more of these!), but whatever.

So on Monday, as usual, we went over our weekly schedules. Of course, mine was quite exciting and included playgroup on Tuesday, dentist on Wednesday morning (very early, so as to not disturb J's schedule), pediatritian on Thursday for Synergis RSV vaccines, babysitter on Friday morning (as we do every week, so I can have some unencumbered out-of-the-house time). J's schedule is very light this week, and most work is happening at home.

I decided that I am going to bite the bullet and get myself to the hair salon for a real haircut and highlight. I'm dying for a real hairstyle, not just the long, all-one-length, boring hair that I've had since the babies were born. Six months. No haircut. This is a big deal for me. I simply haven't been able to decide what I wanted to do ... stay long and pull-back-able but have little actual "style" or do the Mommy-Cut, which I dread. No offence to those of you who may have the short Mommy-Cut. I dig it, and I actually had that cut for many years in my early twenties. When I had no desire to be a Mommy. But I digress.

I call my long-time stylist, fully expecting to book an appointment for a few weeks in the future, as he's usually quite busy. I'm thrilled when he has an opening on Wednesday afternoon (today!) I take the appointment, and realize I have to make a decision about what I really want my hair to look like. I'm thrilled, I'm psyched, I'm totally excited ... I'm going to be Me again!

I tell J. that evening that I've got an appointment scheduled for 1:30 (knowing he is able to watch the kids. And by the way, it's their naptime. Not tough.) and how excited I am. He turns to look at me and asks,

"Did you get a babysitter?"

Did I get a WHAT? The anger that came pouring over me what fiery hot, and just bubbled out of every freakin' pore on my skin. I practically bit his head off as I outlined all my arguments (as read above), haven't had a haircut for six months, is it too much to ask, blah, blah, blah.

I think it might be in some ways easier on me if he did have a traditional job out of the home, but I know that option wouldn't make me any happier. I wouldn't be able to rely on him for these last minute (but not a conflict for him, may I add) events, but it's not something I do often. Rarely, actually. I schedule anything personal for me in the early mornings, evenings, or on Friday mornings when we have a sitter. And I do like having him around. Sometimes. There are so many more issues revolving around that, but I'll save it for another time, another post.

I could just shoot him. It was a crappy evening, and we both spouted off about what we thought it would be like versus what it's actually like. Our life with babies, I mean. There is no real resolution, but I think I'm going to make an effort to be out of the house even more. Maybe sign us up for a music or gym class, I don't know.

Okay, It Was a 40-Minute Meal

2006-11-06T20:27:00.000-05:00

I love this kind of night. Dinner-wise, I mean.

It was a busy weekend. The babies were baptized, we had a house full of people for brunch, which resulted in a weird disarray of strange foods in the fridge/freezer

What to make for dinner tonight?, I thought. I went through the fridge and threw out some nasty, spoiled stuff. Pawed through the freezer and found some frozen chicken, in a plastic bag. Is it breasts? Is it tenders? Is it even chicken?

Reaching under the sink to store a used baby bottle (until I put them all in the dishwasher in the evening), I spy a sack of red potatos that really should be used sooner rather than later. Now, preferably.

Vegetables are currently out-of-stock in this house, but I did find one decrepid lime and the leftover strawberries from this weekend. Well, you've gotta have something fresh, right?

I pull out one of my favorite easy cookbooks, and look under "chicken" in the index. And what do you know? There's a great recipe that includes the very few things that I actually do have on hand.

I rescue the wilting cilantro from it's new home in the trashcan (still bagged in plastic, no worries), throw in a few more ingredients, fire up the stove for boiling water and a grill pan, and I've got Cilantro/Lime/Honey Grilled Chicken Sandwiches, Smashed Potatos with Cream Cheese, and Rocky Road ice cream layered with sugary strawberries.

It's no gourmet menu, but for making something out of nothing, it was sure good.

Sticky Situations

2006-10-31T16:40:00.000-05:00

There has been a whole lotta talk out there about the ethics of IVF, about limitations on the number of embryos that can, and should, be transferred, the overwhelming increase in multiple births as a result, etc, etc.

I feel like I want to chime in, not because I'm suddenly thinking about this issue just now, but because it is foremost on my mind each and every time someone comments that I now have a "ready-made" family, or asks if I want to have more children. I think about it each time I hear or a friend, acquaintance, or perfect stranger, who is planning to do IVF.

I think about it because I want to shout, at the top of my lungs, THINK ABOUT WHAT YOU'RE DOING! ASK FOR MORE INFORMATION ABOUT MULTIPLE BIRTHS! CONSIDER YOUR OWN HEALTH AND SANITY IN ADDITION TO YOUR DESIRE FOR A CHILD!

I know, I know, hindsight is 20/20, and each individual is guided by his or her own very strong desires. And at the risk of being completely redundant to Emmie's post (as my thoughts practically mirror hers), I just want to share my feelings on the matter.

We planned to transfer two embryos, knowing that twins were a possibility, but not a certainty. I know full well that I didn't care. I am young, healthy, and we believed the root of our problems to be male-factor. We fully expected to retrieve lots of eggs, do ICSI, have plenty of embryos to "save for later" to try again if it didn't work. We only retrieved nine eggs, and only six (I think. I'd have to check to be sure) were fertilized.

I think the top three were graded A, B, and B-. Our RE didn't feel that transferring two would bring success, and presented us with his opinion as I was laying half-naked on the table, ready for the transfer, having popped my Valium an hour before. Not the optimal time to be making a decision like this. Of course, I said to go for it. I wanted a baby, damnit.

It probably wasn't necessary. Probably two embryos would've sufficed and at least one would have implanted. I wish we'd been able to track which embryo didn't make it.

None of our leftover embryos survived to be frozen, and this only strengthened my resolve in our decision to transfer three.

Just as Emmie has said, I would not trade my precious children for anything. I would not take any of this back. I could not choose one over the other, and I am full aware of how lucky I am to have them both. But I would have preferred to have them one at a time.

I went into labor at 29 weeks, and again at 31, when they were born. They spent five weeks in the NICU. As I am aware, the cost of their stay was well into the six-digits. And they were pretty healthy, as far as preemies go. And I can't imagine how much my two weeks (one at 29 weeks, one after delivery) of hospitalization cost. I'm lucky I have decent insurance. Now add the bi-weekly doctors visits that happened for the first weeks home. Even more.

It's not just about the money. It's about having to make a decision of monumental importance, with minimal information, at one of the highest emotional levels possible. With hormones in flux. With desires raging.

I'm a researcher by nature. I read everything I could about infertility, IUIs, IVF, ICSI. In all that information, I never found much about the serious issues surrounding multiple births. Everyone I knew with twins seemed just fine! My RE, in our initial consultation, said "You know, the risk of multiple births does go up with IVF" (gestures to stack of photos of twins on his desk.) I smile enormously ... that doesn't seem so bad. That was it. Period.

I don't neglect the fact that there is some personal responsibility tied up in all this. It was my choice. And I chose to go for it. But I didn't really know all that much. And if I, who did a lot of information-seeking, didn't really know about the risks of multiple birth, what about the couple who does no research or real thinking about it, and just wants a child?

I vacillate back and forth when thinking about trying for another child. Which will not be happening soon, mind you. Could I really go through another IVF cycle, and transfer only one embryo? Knowing full well that it might not work? I'm lucky, I only had failed IUIs; my first IVF worked. And worked well.

And while I may want to try for another child, I can tell you point-blank, I do not want twins again. I don't want to compromise the health of more children, I don't want to compromise my own health. And I look forward to regular sleep. Sometime in my future.

God Bless You, Sweet Beer Wench

2006-10-25T15:47:00.000-04:00

J. and I went out to dinner with another couple last night, eating at one of ten or so select restaurants that offers a price fixe menu in support of our area food bank. It was a great chance to try a restaurant that we don't normally go to, and to get a great meal for a very reasonable price. Pretty much, the cost of our two dinners was equivilent to the fee we paid the babysitter so that we could have the opportunity to dine out, sans babies.

All in all, a great, if early evening. When J and I discovered that we'd only be out for two hours, and we'd told the sitter it would be three or four, we decided to go to a great hole-in-the-wall beer joint, right around the corner from our house. We used to go there with much more frequency, back in the day, and it's still one of my favorites for unpretentious atmosphere, and damn good beer.

We sat, ordered our beers, and commensed an intense discussion of the previous night's episode of HERO's, during which I had fallen asleep, much to my chagrin. When all of a sudden, bless her heart, the waitress comes back with a big smile on her face, and says to me, "You know, you look so young, I thought I should come check your ID."

This is so not the kind of place that checks IDs, unless you appear to be able to order off the children's menu (which does not exist, of course). The waitress, appearing quite young, seemed surprised when I told her I didn't have my license. I didn't even bring a wallet. It's been that long since I've been carded.

I gave her my most gracious smile, and told her that I really needed my beer, this was a big "night out" for me, I have six-month twins at home, I swear I live around the corner, I swear I'm 31, recite my SSN, etc. "Do you know any 20-year olds who would admit to having twins just to get a beer?" I asked.

She looked me over, up and down, in a very funny sort of way, and smiled as I told her she had just made my day. The beer arrived momentarily, and she told me that she was 33, and just starting to think about having kids. I told her to think good and hard, and she had all kinds of questions ... so sweet.

Of course, we only lasted for one beer. The prospect of a warm, cozy bed beckoned us homeward, where we found a slightly flustered sitter, and two babies quite unhappy because they'd only eaten two freaking ounces for dinner.

As we sat on the floor in the darkened nursery, the babies finishing off their bottles so far past their bedtime, I silently blessed that wonderful woman for making me feel like I might, just might, be someone other than who I think I am.

Delight and Fear

2006-10-15T20:49:00.000-04:00

I used to make fun of my mother when she'd be overwhelmed by something we did, something we said, or just an emotion she had. I didn't get it. Now i'm overwhelmed. I realize I am so, so lucky, and the feeling of delight, pride in having this opportunity, and the fear it will somehow change, wash over me in waves.

I went over to another twin-mom's house a few months ago to pick up some extra formula (the low-birthweight, preemie stuff ... it gets expensive!) she no longer needed. A relative kept the kids at home during the day, and while I never asked questions or inquired any further, it was clear that one of the twins was quite developmentally delayed. His brother was toddling around while he laid on the floor, seemingly unable to do the same.

That morning, I'd had a serious breakdown. Sheer exhaustion, frustration, probably some PPD and uncertainty at how to live a life with two very needy babies, just home from the NICU, had me in hysterics. That morning, I threw myself on the bed, sobbing and moaning that I simply could not do this. I didn't want these babies, I wanted someone to take them away, I wanted my life back.

J., fed up with me and simply not understanding, told me to leave the house. Go out and get myself together, while he took care of the children. I decided to go to this woman's house to pick up the formula. Feeling sorry for myself when I arrived, I left with a completly different attitiude. One of gratitude and thankfulness for the healthy children I had been given.

Months have passed, the frustration and sleeplessness has ceased, but new challenges arise each and every day. Challenges with taking care of the babies, challenges with my new "mommy" identity (or lack there of), challenges with family, with fitting it all in. And some days, I feel down. Not the complete desperation of weeks and months past, but a general sadness and muted fear of the future.

Tonight I turned on Extreme Home Makeover. This show is always a tearjearker for me, no matter the situation. But tonight featured a family with a son with cerebral palsy. I don't know much about the disease, and I'm making some generalizations here, but he seemed so very disabled, and the family appeared as weary and exhausted as any I've seen. I watched this boy, his limbs disfigured, his body confined to a highly mechanized chair, and the parents that love him no matter. His face lit up when he was happy, the smile big, and some of the noises not unlike those that my babies make.

I thought about how my heart skips a beat when MyGirl or MyBoy makes a sweet sound, or how my body turns to mush when they turn to my voice and a wide smile spreads across their faces. When they master a new skill, I am filled with an overwhelming pride, as if I had just taught them.

I have years to look forward to with them, I have the anticipation of not only watching them sit up for the first time, eat food, and learn to crawl, but I will also help them with homework, talk to them about their boy/girlfriends, send them off to college, and hopefully, help them with their own children.

This family will never be able to do these things with their son. Quite possibly, those infant-like smiles and coos will be all they ever experience.

I feel simply overflowing with gratiude for this incredible chance to get to know my children. And I live in daily fear that something bad will happen to change our future. How do you get over the fear?

Freak Out

2006-10-15T14:32:00.000-04:00

Off the pill, my body has been somewhat sporadic about regular periods, etc. On the pill, I'm clockwork. It ususally takes a crazy stressful situation to keep my from getting my period while on the pill.

Of course, I find it hilarious that I'm even on the pill, what with all the male-factor infertility that is going on in our lives. But I am, just in case. Because stranger things have happened before.

Last month was my first cycle back on the regular pill, and my period showed up on Tuesday like clockwork. This is a different month, and a week past my last pill. I'm on to the new pack with no period having made an appearance.

I'm sure it's nothing. Really, what are the odds? I did miss a pill this month, but quickly took two when I realized the mistake. More than anything, it's gotten me thinking What if?

If for some bewildering reason, the powers that be decide that I should have another baby, soon, I'll deal with it, and be happy. But to be honest, the timing would kind of suck. I'm just now feeling like my head is finally above water, and I'm excited about the good times to come. More importantly, I'm enjoying my full night's sleep, finally.

I'm feeling some resolution with the IF and all the treatments, and with my failing to hold onto the babies for more than 31 weeks. I kind of don't want to to open up old wounds again.

I have a friend who did IVF and conceived boy/girl twins (just like me). Her doctor told her "Don't even think about it, those ovaries are kaput. They'll never make a baby on their own."

Yep, guess what lady, with five month old twins, found herself pregnant? I don't think she's recovered yet (and it's two years later).

I just keep thinking how the babes are just over five months now ... what if? What if the previously-sluggish and uninterested sperm made an executive decision to kick it up a notch? What if they gathered the troops and said "Hey guys, this couple is starting to slow it down. Let's throw their lives into some real chaos!"

Don't get me wrong. I am grateful. I am beyond grateful ... I am bow-down-to-the-heavens--and-pledge-my-dying-alliegance-to-whatever-made-these-babies-possible kind of grateful. My babes have changed my life in the most positive and awe-inspiring way. Period.

But wow. Wouldn't that be a trip?

Where's Olive?

2006-09-30T10:05:00.000-04:00

It has been a looooong time since I have seen such a hilarious movie. So funny that I repeatedly hit J. over and over as I laughed. So funny my feet and legs were constantly moving up and down, up and down. The anticipation of an ending that I knew would be good, but I had no idea would be this good! You must go see.

Leading the Way

2006-09-28T10:04:00.000-04:00

An interesting article in Newsw*ek about a female infertility researcher, who herself has had experiences with infertility and adoption.

"What causes infertility? Why do some people make few or poor quality reproductive cells? It's a genetic black box. If you look at the controversy surrounding human embryonic-stem-cell research, so much of it is because we don't understand what life is."

Isn't that the truth. A nd if we did "understand" what life is, from a scientific viewpoint, could we, from a societal persepective, ever decide where/when life begins?

"This subject matters to me so much. I see infertility as a major health problem, not a minor inconvenience. It greatly impacts a couple's entire quality of life."

I like that she uses the term "inconvenience," because that really is how most others (regular fertile people, the medical and insurance industries) seem to view it.

Shameless Photo Op

2006-09-21T17:27:00.000-04:00

I've never posted pics of the babes here, for a few reasons. First, I'm deathly afraid of being outed to the real world. The blog world is a totally different place from my real world. And second, when the babes were new and very young, they looked like preemies. They were gaunt and skinny, and while beautiful to me, I didn't want any pity or "Oh, aren't they teeny!" I get that enough in real life.

These babies blow me away by every little thing they do, by how they grow, and by the cool developments they make every day. They're making sweet noises now, are so full of smiles I can't get them to eat, and are getting better about holding their heads up (although they still HATE tummy time.)

So with that, I present to you a few shameless photos. Feel free to ooohhh and ahhhh to your heart's content. It's never too much for me. But I am going to take the pictures down in a few days. Enjoy.

( photos removed )

Nervous Jitters

2006-09-19T20:48:00.000-04:00

I was nervous as I got in the car, nervous as I parked, and still so as I approached the hospital. I was headed to my hospital, our hospital, for a meeting this evening. Although I've been back twice to drop off/pick up things, I knew that tonight, I'd have to walk through the lobby where I spent so many hours killing time and waiting to meet family and freiends, wind through the halls that I'd seen at all hours of days and night, pass by the cafeteria and vending machines where I half-heartedly nourished myself during the five weeks of misery, while my babies grew and slept in the NICU.

I'm not sure why I was nervous, perhaps at the anticipation of memories I hoped I'd moved past. Not wanting to be sad. For me, that hospital does not bring feelings of joy and delight. It brings dread and anxiousness.

As I walked down the hall where my meeting was held, a trio of women in scrubs and white coats stood at the end. A smile immediatly filled my face, and I impatiently stood in line to sign in, etc., just waiting to move past, towards that trio.

It was the NICU director, the neonatologist who discharged my babes, and by far, my favorite NICU nurse. (They were there to give a presentation.) This is the nurse who helped me breastfeed the babies long before the doctors gave the official okay. The one who took pictures of my babies taking their first "bucket baths" to use in her in-service presentation. The one who gently reminded J that Mother's Day was coming up, and that it was important that he celebrate it with me (and coached him on a wonderful gift.)

I approached them, only intending to tell them thank you, for the care with which they treated J and me, and for the tender care they gave my children. I didn't expect them to remember me. But I was so delighted when they did. They greeted me with smiles and hugs (well, a handshake from the doctor...she was never so warm and fuzzy!), questions about the babies, and about us. I did tell them thank you, and how much their service meant to me. It felt good. It felt like closure and joy, all wrapped up into one.

The NICU is celebrating a big anniversary, and is having a "reunion" this weekend. I was wishy-washy about going, but now, I think we must. The ladies insisted.

Cheezy Goodness

2006-09-17T18:08:00.000-04:00

Bet you thought this post would be some sappy goodness about my gorgeous babes. You would be wrong, although they continue to be fabulous!

While, and right before, I was pregnant, I really got into cooking. For a number of reasons: I had a fairly new (recently renovated) kitchen, and I realized I needed to USE it. I thought "I'm going to have a kid someday, so I should learn how to whip up some food!" I got tired of J's cooking (although he's quite good). It was an excuse to buy more magazines.

I got pretty decent, and now feel quite comfortable preparing a meal for the two of us. I can do a dinner party, but prefer to have help from J. with that. I have a few good dishes in my back pocket that I can whip up with ease. And now I have shelves and shelves of cooking magazines. Love them.

Obviously, as soon as I went on bedrest, cooking went out the window. And I've not picked it up again until now. In the early baby days, we had enough frozen and fresh meals brought over by friends to last for quite a while. A few folks gave us weeks of prepared meals from a chef service (we still have one week left!) Then I was so busy with not sleeping, breastfeeding, pumping, not sleeping, etc. that J. just took over kitchen duties. He was so good to me - I would've eaten nothing if not for him (that was a double negative ... so sorry!) And it's just carried over, and I realized I miss cooking. I seem to have more manageable pockets of time now, so I'm determined to figure it out.

I told J. that after church today, I needed some time on my own (read: You take care of the babies) to run some baby-free errands, including the grocery store. It's hard to shop for groceries with two babies in your cart. Trust me on that one.

When I returned, I set to work in the kitchen. Cheddar, gruyere, yummy delishiousness. A friend made this for us in post-baby haze, and I've been dying to make it. It lived up. It's a huge recipe ... now I've got lots in the freezer. But I'm not sharing.

*********************

On a side note, fertility related. I bumped into a friend while out running my errands. I'd spoken to her husband last week while she was out of town, and he told me they were (10 weeks) expecting (second child). When I relayed my congrats, she told me she had a miscarriage. I was horrified ... here we were in a very public place, and I felt so out of sorts.

I think that I acted appropriatly, and quickly told her how sorry I was. She didn't seem outwardly upset, perhaps because she's dealt with it, or is good at faking. I don't think they had any troubles with the first one, not that it really matters). She made a funny comment about trying again is always the fun part (yea, for some of you, I wanted to say ... just teasingly of course). But I still left feeling badly. Partially for her, partially for me, somehow not just knowing that something bad had happened.

Update from the World of Infertility

2006-09-16T14:22:00.000-04:00

I got exciting news last night. One of the dearest, most caring people I know has a 13-year old son, product of their second IVF attempt. For years, they have had four frozen embryos, and have been conflicted about what to do with them. I suspect a bit of a back and forth between the desire to have more children and questioning the morality of not using the frozen embryos.

She is 41 years old, and has decided that now is the time. If it works, fabulous and scary things await, and if it doesn't, she's at peace with the fact that she's done the right thing, and can be content with her family as is. I am so proud of her for making a scary decision, and so excited at the prospect.

* * * * * * *

About a month back, I got a letter from Dr. Pleasant, the RE, congratulating me on the birth of the babes. I meant to save it to post here, but can't seem to put my hands on it (go figure!)

He told me, at my last visit, to please let him know when the babies are born. "How sweet," I thought. "He cares!" He then went on to explain that it's very important for them to track the live births of those conceived in their clinic. For the statistics, you know.

So I sent him a baby announcement and photo. Because I wanted my babies to be part of the pile that he shares with prospective parents in their consult. When he says, "And of course, you know that many, many people who conceive using IVF will end up with multiples." As he holds up a photo of someone's gorgeous, drool-inducing babies. Mine?

Anyway, the letter. I can't remember the exact wording, but I was surprised at the sappiness of it all, and it ended with an invitation to please bring the babies around to visit the office. Oh, and to please contact them if they can be of any additional service (more babies, perhaps? Not anytime soon.)

While it's lovely to express an interest, I just thought it kind of odd for then to invite us to the office. There is nothing more I would have hated, as a patient, than to see a momma stroll on in with her babies, the objects of my obsession and ultimate desire; a reminder of what I didn't have. I never did see any babies, over all of my many visits.

How about a baby-reunion open house, instead?

We were WRONGED, I tell you!

2006-09-14T17:19:00.000-04:00

I sit here trying to catch up on my blog reading, and MyBoy and MyGirl are the height of cheap entertainment.

MyGirl is trying hard, between farts, to flip herself from back to belly. This is a feat that she has been hard at work on for a few weeks now, and many a times, we will find her in the morning, rotated around in a rather contorted and arched-back position that tells us, yes, she tried, but didn't quite make it over. Presently, she works hard, gets about three-quarters of the way over, and stops for respite breathing and hand sucking.

MyBoy is looking quite hip in his boy-striped onsie with khaki cargo shorts. It's getting a bit cooler, so I'm taking that as an excuse to put the babes in real clothes ... actual tops and bottoms. I love them just a little bit more when they are dressed cutely. Is that bad of me? Anyway, he sucks contentedly on his pacifier, and pretends to twirls his non-existent hair. This is a trait picked up from his father, who has even less hair than he, but still makes that twisty motion on his own head, and if I'm lucky, on mine.

Oh! oh! she's almost over ... hips over ... wait for it ... face smushed against blanket ... grunts and cries...and she rests. Oh well. I just want to push her over, and say "Hurrah! Look what you did!!" I see this being a problem in my future.

Do you perhaps remember an oh-so-cool dance move entitled "The sprinkler," wherein the groovy one puts one arm bent, hand on head, and the other extended out to her side? She then makes a pulsing movement, thus imitating a lawn-watering apparatus? MyBoy does this with great style ... more than his drunken-at-a-frat-party-mom ever did.

Anyway, I was reading a post over at OvaGirl's and it reminded me of a recent incident over which I am still fuming!!!

J and I are brunch kind of people. Before babes, during the making of babes, and most certainly, after babes. They are still small enough to be portable, and can sleep long enough to allow us to finish a meal, if the timing is precise. We are also church-going folks, so we usually hit the brunch spots at their most crowded, or once the crowds have gone home. We are good customers ... we are polite, we eat a lot, and we tip well.

A few weeks ago, we come home from church, change, feed the babes to ensure an optimal mood, strap on the Bjorns, and head out for a neighborhood restaurant. A restaurant that we have had both bad, and good, experiences at. And one that we have taken the babies to previously. With no problems.

We enter with delight, seeing that there are about three empty tables. After noone speaks to us for a few moments (and this is a 12-table restaurant ... not big, people), we head towards the bar. Where biaatch-hostess looks us over and says, "Yeees?" with disdain.

"Ummm, we'd like a table. To eat. Brunch, you know."

"Ohhh," she says. "Yea, we just took our last few reservations, so those tables are taken. And we're not taking any more walk-ins."

We were stunned and walked out without any of the snappy retorts that we came up with a few blocks later. First, they don't take brunch reservations. Or they certainly never did before. And who is to say that just because we have gorgeous, well-fed and well-behaved babies strapped to our chests, does that not mean that our money is not as good as everyone elses, and our bellys as growly?

Mind you, I would never take children that can talk, move on their own, or be upwardly mobile, to this restaurant. It's not that kind of place, and I totally respect that it's an "adult" kind of cafe. But come on! Sleeping infants? Without a cumbersome stroller? Give me a break.

So, we hoofed it five blocks over to a great Tex-Mex place that was more than happy to seat us in their non-smoking room, and while brunch was fine, it just wasn't the same, and we were left with a bad taste in our mouths.

I then proceeded to tell a group of girlfriends, who promised they they too, would show up at the cafe with their babies in tow, and see what kind of reception they got. Hummmph.

Please Cover the Offending Belly

2006-09-01T11:40:00.000-04:00

I actually went to the gym yesterday. And the day before. And I did okay. I expected to have absoluly no cardiovascular strength at all, since it's been six months since my last visit, but I did okay. I guess all the trips up and down our very steep steps with two babies, umpteen times a day, has worked in my favor. But not the point of my entry today ...

Two machines down is a fit, pregnant woman, working away on the eliptical trainer. It's hot, she's hot (who isn't during pregnancy during August?), and she lifts up her baggy tank top to allow some air to hit her belly. It feels good, so she leaves it up, and keeps on moving.

A sixty-some woman, walking through the gym on her way to the tennis court mind you - not even working out, comes over, and proceeds to tell Mom-to-Be that it's entirely inappropriate for her to be exposing herself like that. It's offensive, etc., etc., etc. To which MTB replies that, number one, she's hot, and isn't it great that she's trying to keep herself fit and heathy for her baby, and number two, it's a gym, it's not like she's in a restaurant or anything. And noone else seems to be offended. To which we all smile and roll our eyes at her.

The very polite, but fueled, back-and-forth continues, MTB pulls down her shirt to get the damn lady to leave. And a few minutes later, after we've all discussed it and sided with her, she pulls her shirt back up. It's hot.

I wore tight shirts to the gym when I was pregnant ... they were more comfortable. There are plenty of very fit and well-endowed women who simply wear sports bras. No complaints here. It's a gym - a place that exists solely for the betterment of the human body. What gives?

A Birthday

2006-08-28T16:49:00.000-04:00

It's been four months since these little babes have entered our lives in a real and physical way, and I couldn't have possibly imagined how our lives would have changed. It is a whole new world: a world about them and not us; a world about survival, not indulgence; and a world about giving, not taking.

Every single emotion that has surfaced in this time has been intense. Nothing has been partial, or gentle or simple. Feelings are exemplified and multiplied - joy is immense, and despair is, at times, intolerable. I get through each high and each low by knowing that, for better or worse, this phase/time/behavior will not last forever and will be quick to depart, so it's best not to dwell on it, or conversely, to savor every moment of it.

They are beautiful and growing well.

MyBoy is almost 13 pounds. His brown hair is falling out and being replaced by reddish strands. His mouth makes the perfect "O," and when he sticks out his tongue, it has a little divet right in the middle. He favors the right side of his head, so it's getting really flat. We turn it every chance, and do stretching exercises every day. He hates it. He is a lovebug, and wants to be cuddled as much as possible, and is pudgy enough to have beautiful creases in his fat legs. His belly is enormous, in relationship to the rest of his body, and he loves to eat.

MyGirl is 9 1/2 pounds, and a powerhouse. She can practically stand up, with assistance, and looks all around her, quickly back and forth, up and down. If she's laying down, her legs are moving, moving, moving, as if sprinting towards a finish line. She still has little hair, but it's blondish, and her fair complexion gives way to little red splotches here and there. She's a finicky eater, and would clearly rather be doing anything but. Perhaps it's the crazy gas that propels her forward. I forsee intense times in her future.

We lay (lie? laid? I can never remember!) on the floor today, and I looked at them with disbelief that they were mine. And have been for four months. I wondered aloud, what kind of people will you become? Will you read books, like your mother, or prefer movies, like your dad? Will you let me walk with you to school, or will you be embarrassed and make me drop you off down the block? Who will be your first kiss? Who will you take on your first date? Will you be competitive and athletic? Will you be sensitive? Will you be boisterous and loud?

The future is enormous, and has arms outstretched, beckoning us to come in.

Boob News, The Final Chapter

2006-08-24T09:18:00.000-04:00

The last time I pumped was yesterday at 12:30 p.m. (and only the left side at that, for just five minutes). It's some 20 hours later, and while uncomfortable, I'm not in agony.

Sleeping was difficult this morning, as both sides were really, really tender and kind of hard. But not crazy-engorged-rock-hard. I've stopped taking the mini-pill that I'd been on for the past few months (laughable, the fact that I am at risk of getting pregnant on my own, but I'd hate to be one of those "Oops! It's amazing that an infertile suddenly fell pregnant!" pregnancies right now) , and started on the regular, full-strength pill. Which apparently can help dry up your milk. I'm taking Tylenol for the pain, and I'm going to see if I can stick it out through the afternoon with out pumping.

There is enough in the freezer to get me through to the babes official 4-month birthday, my original goal.

It. Could. Be. Over. Yahoo! And a little sad. But YAHOO!

I got lots of good advice and encouragement to keep this up as far as I did, and I thank everyone who helped me stick it out.

Good Morning, Babies

2006-08-22T09:16:00.000-04:00

A few thoughts that have been running rampant through my mind this morning ...

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While it can be a difficult thing to do, it is best to accept the fact that my day will begin early ... much earlier ... than I would ever possibly desire.

For weeks, I fought the early morning feed, which happens between 6 and 7 a.m. I'd sludge through it groggily, and attempt to put the babes back to bed immediatly. I'd be immediatly frustrated, because they wouldn't want to go back to sleep, and therefore, I couldn't either. I'd fight the waking of the day, tooth and nail.

I'm learning to simply accept the early morning. The babies are actually quite alert and giggly in the early hours - they are fun to play with after their feed. So I'll take them downstairs for their meal, put them in their bouncies, and the them watch me as I wash bottles, make myself something to eat, and put on a pot of coffee. Oh, that blessed pot of coffee.

Yes, my day is longer, but they were tired enough to go down to nap afterwards that I got to shower AND blow dry my hair. Which is a non-existant luxury these days, to which my rat's nest can attest. Because we have a date this afternoon. A play date. Our fourth ... more to come on that later.

********************************

Back to bouncies. I thought everyone knew about bouncy seats, but apparantly they are a new phenomenon, familiar only to those of us who have born children within the past ten years or so. Older releatives and friends find them amazing.

As does our very best bachelor friend. He spent the weekend with us, out of town at the in-laws, and was simply enamoured with the concept of a seat that vibrates! Wow! They should make those for adults!

To which we replied, oh yes, they do. And we just got one for the office. It was intended to soothe the backs of aching parents (actually, it was just cheap, and we needed an office chair), but amazingly, it does double duty. Sit down with a screaming baby, and shhhhhhushhh! Peace returns. At least momentarily.

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And back to screaming babies. I am continually amazed at the ability of one baby to sleep through the bloody-murder screaming of another. We have finally seperated them into two cribs, which makes me a little sad, but it was necessary as they were kicking helicopter twirls around each other. MyBoy just woke up from morning nap, with cries that would wake the dead. I fixed the problem (milky-snot out of the nose - bad mommy for not burping very well), and tried to shush. The cries return, louder than ever, while MyGirl sleeps soundly, just three feet away, not a care in the world. Alleluia.

Decision Time

2006-08-21T14:29:00.000-04:00

I think that a decision I've been having a hard time making is being made for me.

I knew from the beginning of my parenting career that I wanted to breastfeed. Add twins and an extended NICU stay to that equasion, and things get more complicated. I never had any intentions of making it to a year, but thought I'd do it as long as I could. Which ended up being a shorter time - until the babies were about three months old - but, honestly, I began hating everything about it, including the children attached to my boobs.

I enjoyed the one-on-one closeness of nursing an individual baby, but doing so simply overwhelmed me to the point of chaos. I miss it a little bit, looking down at my child, knowing that he or she is surviving off of what she is taking from me, bit by bit. That I could give that to them is huge.

I was adept at pumping, having done it, eight to ten times a day since the very first day of life. And I had friends who'd exclusively pumped, no breastfeeding. So I made the switch. And it didn't bother me as much as I thought it would, and afforded me a bit - a very tiny bit - more freedom. But what you gain in freedom, you give in time. Not only must you spend the time feeding the milk to the babies, you must additionally take the time to pump it, which adds up to hours and hours a day.

It's been a month since I started pumping full time. I've tried herbs, medications, and other ways to increase a milk supply that has never been enough to keep up with the needs of two growing babies. Four months old, four months old ... that has been my mantra. If I can make it to four months old, I'll have done my duty, I'll have done well for my children.

For the first day in ages, I woke up this morning, and didn't NEED to pump. I wasn't engorged, I wasn't in pain. I didn't have to wake up before the babies first feed to pump. It was wonderful. And three hours later, I pumped, but not because my body needed to. Again, I find myself at a scheduled pump time, and I'm trying, but not a whole lot is coming out.

We're at three months and three weeks.

I don't know that I'll make it to four months. There is a little bit in the freezer, and I could probably continue to squeeze out a little more, but do I want to?

I know how much back and forth there is about breastfeeding, and I don't want to get into a discussion about the merits of breastfeeding vs. formula, but let me reiterate that this is a very hard decision to make. I feel the need to take care of my babies in the best way possible, but one way to do that is by being a saner, happier person myself. I think I've reached the end.

How'd They Know?

2006-08-16T20:00:00.000-04:00

There must be something built into the frame of early childhood development that is triggered when mom is at her breaking point. Something clicks in the infant's head, some synapses fire off and connect, and when mom is about to have a total meltdown, cuteness ensues.

MyGirl is a smiling, kicking machine. She runs her legs like she's racing for the Boston Marathon, pat, pat, pat, thump, thump, thump. All the time with a smile on her face. More than a smile. A Joker-like grin, with tiny little points turned up at the edges.

And MyBoy, such a doll, a virtual Victrola of unique noises. His cries are so "newborn" like, and sometimes sound like a mewing kitten or a distressed goat. Squeek, squuuueeek. Ahh, but when he eats, the most satisfied gulps turn into a sign of complete contentedness. Ahhhhhh. Thank you, mom, for keeping that bottle tilted at just the right angle so I can finish every. last. drop. Ahhhhh hhhh.

And lest I jinx it by evening mentioning it to anyone besides my husband, the nights are better. We're talking about one night feed, not two. Depending on how you look at it. But now, bedtime is after the 7 p.m. feeding, we feed them sleepy at 10, and I go to bed, bless my dear hubby. He's been sleeping out here on the couch so that he can appease them when they fuss, and has had one nighttime feedings between 2:30 to 4:30, depending. Then I'm up by six, since my boobs wake me up, screaming "Juice me, Juice me!" And a feeding soon follows, which I'm trying to hold off till 7 a.m.

So it's no 7 p.m. to 7 a.m. just yet, but we're getting there. And wow, does sleep make a big difference in your outlook the next day.

******************

I did go see the counselor today, and it was good. While I had no problem bursting into tears and telling her what I thought my problems were, and from where they stem, I did find it just a little uncomfortable delving into the "why do you feel that way" kind of questions. But it was good.

I understand now that, just like we can grieve the death of a loved one, it's perfectly acceptable to grieve the loss of an experience, of a dream, of a vision in your life. And that's what I've been doing. Perhaps not in the most healthy ways, but I've been grieving the loss of the conception, pregnancy and birth experiences I thought and subconsciously dreamed that I would have.

I've always known I am a bit of a micromanager, a control freak. Not crazy out of control, but it's definelty there, lurking under the surface. And all of these situations, in addition to the babies early birth, hospitalization, leaving my business and job, crazy babies with hectic needs, etc. have left me in a place where I feel I have no control. So I'm thinking about ways I can regain a bit of control in my own life.

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Enough of the psychobable. I left the appointment feeling confident, renewed, and forward-looking.

apparently I wasn't backward-looking enough, because I went straight to a friend's house, and promptly mowed down her mailbox with my stupid SUV. Should've kept the fun little VW. Grrrr rrrrrrrr.

Me, Yes Me

2006-08-14T17:49:00.000-04:00

I can't believe I'm doing it, but Wednesday, I'm going to see a therapist. Psychiatrist. Counselor. I'm not sure of the exact designation, but Wednesday at 2, I will be in her chair. And I'm scared.

The past three or four weeks have been a blur for me. I'm so completely exhausted, subsisting on 3-4 hours of sleep per night and virtually none during the day. I'm not enjoying my babies the way I should be. I feed them, and wish they would just go to sleep. I'm jealous of other people's babies, who coo, reach out, laugh, and return the affection that their mothers give. I'm jealous of the mothers who have it so in control. Who laugh through their exhaustion. I'm jealous of the mothers with one baby.

I'm resentful of my husband, who helps so extraordinarily, and doesn't seem to be affected either way by the exhaustion.

I'm still caught up in the angst about infertility, IVF, bedrest, premature labor, NICU, etc.

I'm unable to ask for help, since I did quit my job after all. Since I did want these babies so badly.

So Wednesday, I'll hash it out and see how that goes.

When in China ....

2006-08-08T16:41:00.000-04:00

Wow. And I thought I had a tough time getting pregnant.

Boob Status and Other Fun Topics!

2006-08-06T21:39:00.000-04:00

As it stands now, I've become a pumper. Yes, I've nursed the babies, separately, when I've felt like it, but it's really just to make me feel good. They're not sticking around to get the full feed, and honestly, I am tired of the battle. I don't want to battle with my babies and continue the negative vibe I feel when trying to breastfeed them, when there are other ways to get the job done.

So when I'm feeling like I need some 'us' bonding time (or there is screaming that has no end in sight), I'll give up the boob. But otherwise, I'm hooked up to my juicer before or after each daytime feeding and at least twice during the night. And it's okay. I feel so much more confident about how much my babes are eating, and I find comfort in a measurement of ounces, as opposed to minutes.

I've increased their formula feeds from the mandated two for overnight to three, either replacing the breastmilk evening feed or the wee hours of the morning feed. My thought in doing this is that (1) I'm still not making enough milk - more on this later and (2) perhaps heavier formula on their bellies might encourage longer sleep cycles at night.

In regards to (2) above, it's a big N-O. These babes do not sleep more than two hours in the nighttime. I've done all the recommended things to help them sort night from day, and NOTHING WORKS. My mom keeps reminding me to be patient, that although they are more than three months old, their adjusted age is just over one month. And who expects a one-month-old to sleep through the night? Well, a new friend with a three week old cringes with shame whenever I speak of the long, long nights, as her little dumpling has been sleeping seven or so nighttime hours since the very beginning. It can't last, I have to believe. Sleep deprivation is a topic for another time. Another night when I find myself at the laptop at 3 a.m.

I finished my 10-day prescription of Reglan, and I think it had a minimal effect. I'm going to call the doctor tomorrow, and ask for one more refill. I'm not sure how much good it will do, production-wise, but I need the encouragement to keep going with the breastfeeding/pumping.

I'm really, really loosing steam. The devil on my shoulder whispers Formula is so easy. It doesn't double my feeding time like pumping does. And it's good for them, right? What's the harm?

The angel on the other shoulder reminds me why I started breastfeeding in the first place. It's the healthiest thing for your babies. They had a rough start...why wouldn't you want to do this for them? You're not working...what else do you really have to do but take care of these babies in the best way possible? Stick through the challenge.

I'm currently telling myself that I need to stick it out to their four months. Which, incidentally, coincides with my pump rental, which expires the second of each month. I haven't bought a pump, as I can't decide what I'm gong to do. I'm hoping that I'll get to four months, and convince myself to go to five. But for now, I'm just going to work towards that one goal.

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I've heard my fair share of horrible getting pregnant/infertility as*vice during the past few years. Just relax ... go on vacation ... start the adoption process ... stand on your head... then you'll get pregnant.

And now I can't help but share a few pearls of wisdom I've received during the challenges of this past month:

Why don't we put some maple syrup on your nipple? That should get the baby to latch on.

Your poor daughter is just screaming so loud ... wouldn't the doctor write you a prescription for some phenobarbitol? We used to put it in your father's bottle to calm him down.

My doctor told me that I was too anxious, too nervous. And that my anxiety and nervousness would be transferred to the baby through my breastmilk. That's why I couldn't breastfeed.

Okay, so they're all from older people, but still! Come on!

G-Orgeous, If I Do Say So Myself

2006-08-02T00:56:00.000-04:00

I was this close (hold thumb and index finger right next to each other) to posting a pic of my gorgeous babies, but I am entirely too paranoid about "outing" myself and my little ones. No one in my "real life" knows about this blog, and I'd like to keep it that way.

So I show you today just part of my little ones. I admire these hands daily and love the way strong, miniature fingers clasp
onto mine as if there is nothing else out there in the world of any more importance.

*****************************************************

A big, huge congratulations to Alex on the exciting and sudden arrival of Alejandra. G-orgeous, too!

He May Be Your Husband ...

2006-07-30T12:51:00.000-04:00

...but he doesn't know everything.

So, if your husband, who has many, many years of cooler-packing experience, assures you that you can absolutly keep your hard-earned breastmilk frozen in a well-packed cooler over the course of three days, don't believe him.

Because he is wrong.

And when he thinks it's not a big deal that you arrive home after your weekend away to unpack the extra breastmilk that you didn't end up needing, only to find it totally thawed, you have my permission to thwap him over the head with whatever blunt object is closest. Hard.

Boob News, Part 2

2006-07-26T20:20:00.000-04:00

Ugggg. I'm so freakin' frustrated.

Yesterday I did a pumping 'yield,' in which, beginning at the midnight feeding I fed them bottled breast milk, and pumped. I did this all day, for six feedings (they regularly get 1 bottle of breast milk, and two feedings of formula overnight).

MyBoy drank a total of 28 3/4 oz and MyGirl ate 26 1/2 oz.

And I pumped 26 ounces.

It doesn't take an advanced degree to do this math. I make enough milk to feed one baby, not two. I know that pumping doesn't produce quite as much as nursing does, but when you've got one week sucker, I bet it all evens out.

My conversation with the nurse practitioner/lactation consultant was uninspiring, to say the least. I was hoping for some "You can do this!" kind of encouragement, but none came through. She pretty much said that they were right on track for the amount they were needing to eat, but yep, it appears that I'm not making much milk. And what would I like to do, I ask.

I told her that I want this to work, I want to stick it out for at least another month. So she told me to go ahead and call my OB for a prescription for Reglan, and to basically cross my fingers.

So, I'll start the Reglan tonight, and see if it helps produce more milk, which I hope will in turn help the babies feed more regularly and continuously, thereby helping them to sleep more than one hour at a time. Or am I asking too much?

I'm going to think about my other option:

Pump exclusively and bottle feed both. It's hard work, I know, but I'm so uneasy not knowing if they are getting enough nourishment.
Pumping just for MyGirl, and continuing to nurse MyBoy.
Keep going with this will-they-or-won't -they-eat nursing thing, and supplement with bottles when necessary.
Quit altogether and go to formula.

I'm so lost, I really don't know what to do, and I know there is no magic answer. A lot of this is a control thing with me ... I felt like breastfeeding is the one part of this conception/pregnancy/birth/childraising that I can control. And I'm learning that I can't.

My Life, The New & Improved Version

2006-07-25T11:08:00.000-04:00

Seven a.m. was a wonderful wake-up time yesterday, considering it's been mostly 5:30 or 6:00 in the past. A nice, relaxed feeding ended with a bit of crying, but not too awfully much. Into the carseats they went, I put on my shorts and t-shirt, and out came the Snap N Go.

I load up my cell phone, a few dollars, a granola bar and a yogurt drink. We've taken to heading about ten blocks down to the market, where I pick up a cup of coffee and a bottle of water. On the way to the market, I pass a cute, independent coffee shop/internet cafe, which I would prefer to pop into, but the steps leading up to the one narrow, heavy wood door preclude my entrance with a double stroller. A few blocks later, I peek into the under-construction Starbuc*s, and delightfully notice that the entrance has one wide, pull out door with no stairs and a slight ramp up into the shop.

While I'm all about supporting the local businesses, having been a local retail business owner myself, I do love me some Starbuc*s, and look forward to parking myself in there on Wednesday mornings when our city free weekly is published. It always makes for interesting reading over a decaf skim latte.

My walking route has changed drastically since the pre-babies days. I choose streets carefully, based on whether they have the ramps down the sidewalks, as opposed to straight curb-into-street. Otherwise, each block intersection requires a slick move where I run around to the front of my stroller, pick it up and plop the front wheels in the street, return to the back, push it across the street, and repeat the move to get it back up onto the sidewalk.

I also choose streets based on the condition of the sidewalk. Many of the streets in our Victorian-era neighborhood are brick, and have shifted much over the years. Those streets are out. Some blocks and streets have concrete sidewalks that have shifted so much due to tree roots that they are almost impossible with a stroller. Unless you have a rugged-wheeled jogger, which I do not, since I don't jog and make no pretentiousness that I do!!

We probably went around two miles this morning. As we began, just before 8:00 a.m., the neighborhood was quiet. We passed dog walkers, a few older women running, and lots of construction workers getting their days started. As we neared home, we encountered more business people and leisurely walkers. Buses and sirens filled the main street where we live, and the noise increased. We pulled up to the house, gathered the unread newspapers that have been piling up on the porch, and sat for a few, savoring the emerging morning.

This is my life. It's different, but good different.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

While I'm on the subject, let me address the stroller issue. It's a hot topic among moms-to-be and moms. A stroller becomes such a personal choice... everyone has an opinion and a preference. For some, it's a functional, necessary item; to others, it's an in-your-face status symbol.

Since before I was pregnant, I've always despised the double-wide strollers, mostly because I would see mothers struggle endlessly trying to maneuver them into my boutique. I harrumphed as I was stuck behind them on a crowded street, deeming the parent driving a selfish space-taker-upper (not outloud of course).

So when I discovered I had twins coming, I knew that the double-wide just wouldn't work for me. Plus, I wanted a stroller that would take carseats, and would last us once the kids got bigger. After much research and comparison, I decided on this one:

Excited about the many fun things it does, I ordered it and it didn't arrive till well after the babies were here, which was fine since they were still in the hospital. We've used it a few times, with the seats in full recline mode. It's a monster ... it has a freaking steering wheel for god's sake!!

In addition, a friend offered up her sister's Snap N Go Double, which has proven quite handy. I keep it in the back of my car, and use it a lot for out-and-about trips.

A few weeks ago, Peg Perego called to ask, oh-so-innocently, if we'd been having any trouble with our big stroller. Noooooooo... I replied...Might I be expecting some?? Apparently there is an issue with the front wheels. Ummm, they keep falling off. Nice.

We opted to return the stroller to Peg Perego so that they could replace the wheels with the new ones they are currently fabricating. And in the meantime, for our troubles, they sent us this one as a fill-in.

I, who said I'd never drive a double-wide stroller, have quite enjoyed it on the few outings we've taken. The babes are still a bit small for it, and are much more combo in their carseats, but I can see how it will be handy. But I promise, I swear, that I will be a responsible driver, never hogging more than my share of the sidewalk, never knocking over store displays, and never making it a hindrance to others. But wow, it is kind of fun. You didn't hear it from me.

A friend with twins once warned me that I would become a stoller connoisseur. I thought, no...I'll just have my one handy-dandy tandem that'll get me around just fine. Look at me now, it's like I've hit the stroller jackpot! The babies are just three months, and I am three strollers into it. Truth be told, I'm contemplating the addition of a single umbrella stroller (small and cheap!), so that I can sling/Bjorn one baby and push the other, which would be so much easier for shopping, etc. Hmmm.....

Boob News

2006-07-24T18:37:00.000-04:00

I knew that breastfeeding was not going to be easy. I knew that breastfeeding twins would be even more difficult. But I had no idea how hard, and how limiting it is on your life. But I'm trying, and really want to make it work. I don't have any expectations that I'll be nursing toddlers by any means, but I'd like to make it to six months.

I started nursing the twins when they were about three weeks (I'll have to check the diary/log I kept in the NICU). The neonatologists weren't very interested in me nursing them, as they were more concerned with tracking the babies' intake by bottle. They didn't discourage it for the future, and meetings with the lactation consultants helped me to keep motivated with the monotonous pumping. But the NICU nurses, oh those sneaky nurses, were so encouraging.

We started doing kangaroo care at about two (?) weeks, and around three weeks, one of the nurses said, "While you're back there, why don't you just give it a try. We won't tell." So that's how we started, and progressed over the next few weeks to one or two scheduled breastfeeds, per baby, per day.

Each was challenging, as the babies had to learn the complicated routine of breathe, suck, swallow, and do this continuously. I vacillated back and forth on a daily basis about who was getting the hang of it best. One day I'd be convinced the MyGirl was the nursing champ, and the next day, she'd have forgotten how, and MyBoy would be sucking away. I never got to nurse them together in the NICU, and I wish it's something I'd insisted on.

But we got the hang of it when they came home at 5 1/2 weeks. I started feeding them separately, but soon after realized the time saving benefits of tandem nursing, so jumped right into that. I was overwhelmed, but knowing that I had two formula feedings per day gave me just enough respite to keep going. I continued pumping, usually five to eight times a day, including two times at night.

MyBoy does a very college-boy-like move, where he opens his mouth and shakes it back and forth in front of my boobs. If he could, he'd make a noise like "Bwwwwhhhhhhwwwhhhh!!" He's always been what they call a "vigorous" feeder, and I've been able to depend on him to get the job done.

MyGirl, on the other hand, is more timid? She was slow to gain weight, and so with the help of the nurse practitioner/lactation consultant at the pediatrian's office, we've been trying to decipher what her problem is. We've come up with the following answers. Of course, it's all a crapshoot, as she can't talk to tell us what's wrong:

Acid Reflux - She cries often during and after her feedings, and is a prodigious spitter-upper. She's been on Zanta*c for the past few weeks, and it's been no better. Today we have a new course of treatment ...
Inability to deal with strong letdown - My left side produces twice as much as my right, and it seemed, for a while, that she was overwhelmed by the strong flow from the left side. But she figured it out, and seems to cope fine. Except ...
Quitting after 7-10 minutes - From this clue, we think perhaps she likes the strong letdown, and doesn't want to deal with the work required to get the rest of the milk out.

We've been supplementing her with a 2 oz bottle after two feeds a day, and juggling the two babies nursing, post-nursing bottles, and pumping. And in the past two weeks or so, I feel my supply diminishing. My pumpings are less, and both babies are eating less vigorously.

At our doctor's appointment today, MyBoy weighed in at 8 lb 14 oz, which is great! MyGirl tipped the scales at 7 lb 8 oz, which is just okay, not keeping up with the 1/2 to 1 oz. per day gain that they want to see.

The nurse practitioner/lactation consultant we've been working with doesn't seem too concerned, but I just know that something isn't right. So here's the plan for now:

Tomorrow I will do all bottle feedings, and pump at the same times in order to determine my true yield, and if it's keeping up with the babies needs. I suspect it is not.
I will call the nurse practitioner/lactation consultant Wednesday with the results. We discussed a prescription for Reglan, which has the side effect of increased production. If she thinks it's needed, I can ask my OB for a prescription. I may do it anyway.
I've been drinking the MothersMilk tea, which is supposed to promote milk production. I don't notice a difference, but I'll keep at it.
I bought a bottle of fenugreek (an herbal supplement, also supposed to increase production) today, and will give it a go.

Grrrrrrrr... this is so freaking frustrating. I'm ready to throw in the towel, but I just don't feel like I've given it quite enough effort.

Sushi, Clementines, and Baby Brainwashing

2006-07-19T17:43:00.000-04:00

Oh it's been crazy. My nights are full of crying (theirs and mine) and despair that it will never "get better," and my days are a completely different universe, full of sweet babies, outings, and unending optimism. To sum it up, we're still trying to get MyGirl to nurse with some gusto, but she is gaining weight, despite my every-three-hour frustrations and pleadings ... We've been to baby and mom yoga, which was really fun and can't wait to go back ... I've actually scheduled a babysitter (first time non-grandparent sitter) for this Saturday and am sooooo nervous ... Overall, all is well.

I've had so many thoughts running through my mind this past week ... here's the roundup:

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Sometimes My Boy sounds like a goat. Sometimes he sounds like a screaming baby. But when the wails get to a level unrecognizable by the human ear, the sound/word his noises most resemble is "UNAGI!!!!!"

Uuuuuuuuuuuunnnaaagiiiiiiiiii!! Just try it. Say it outloud. Say it with force. Yep, that's the noise my baby makes. "UNAGI, Mommy!! Unagi!!!"

Let alone that Unagi is Japanese eel, and I'm not really a sushi fan. But UNAGI is the battle cry of My Boy.

And when times get tough, and he's screeching away with tears rolling down his cheeks, alternately tearing on my last nerve and endearing him to me forever, I look down at his gorgeous mouth and bright blue eyes and whisper softly, "Unagi, baby. That's right. Unagi."

***************************************

I like to sing. IÂm fairly certain that IÂm not so stellar, but I enjoy it nonetheless. So IÂve enjoyed singing to the babes, some nursery rhymes, some hymns, some radio songs, sometimes ridiculous stuff I make up. When I sought out the lyrics to lullabys I thought I knew, I was so freaking surprised when I came across this. I thought it was a sweet little ditty, but not so. I'm feeling a bit creepy singing it!

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So many onsies, so many cute sayings. What you come to realize is that those sweet phrases are not there to tell the rest of the world how cute and wonderful your baby is.

They're printed there so that when your baby or babies are screaming, puking and pooping all over you and all you want to do is throw your head back and scream, you'll look down at them and say,

"You know what, you really are Cute as a Button. "

"Yes, I really do Love You Love You Love You."

"True, when you spit up all over my freshly changed shirt, you are Kissable."

"Oh sweet baby, I know that you don't mean to drive me to destruction. I Love Mommy, too. Thank you."

What makes 21 hours a day of wakefulness totally worth it

2006-07-12T12:55:00.000-04:00

My Girl's foray into the bathtub today resulted in virtually the same result as her brother's attempt earlier in the week. Poop in the pool. Just as we were getting all sudzed up, the explosion totally spoiled the water, and therefore, the very calming bath I was praying for.

I whip her out and pour fresh water all over her, quickly wrapping her up in a clean diaper and towel. I was so disappointed that the bath was cut short ... I was hoping it would calm her into lala land. And then I saw it .. the baby massage oil. Just a small bottle, part of a gift set given to us by a friend. And I thought "What girl doesn't like a good rubdown to ease off into sleepytime?" I know that everytime I get a massage I wake up refreshed in pile of my own drool.

Wow. She loooooooved it. I mean Big Time-all the milk you can drink-fresh diaper-cuddled on-daddy's-chest-kind of loved it. I started rubbing her belly, and then down her arms, down her legs, the palms of her hands and the soles of her feet. My personal favorite massage move is having my toes rubbed and squeezed, so I gave her a go at it, and she proved to be a momma's girl .

Her eyes kind of opened wide, surprised at such good sensations so soon after such angry ones. She wiggled round, but not in a fussy manner, in more of an "Oooh yea, right...there" manner. She smiled real smiles (I'm convinced it wasn't the gassy smile I'm accustomed to) and her glossy pink skin moved smoothly under my fingers and hands.

How nice to give her something that has such obviously pleasurable results. That was the reminder I needed as to why this is all worth it.

Baksheesh

2006-07-10T16:30:00.000-04:00

Bargaining is a part of everyday life. We do it at work, whether negotiating a contract or convincing co-workers to pick the Chinese restaurant over the sandwich stand for lunch. It happens at home – bribing your kids to pick up their clothes with threats of grounding, or going back and forth with your husband about which couch really would look better in the living room.

I reached a new low in bargaining with my husband today. Sexual bribery for childcare. If you don’t want to read about the world of post-baby sex, turn back now.

Let’s set the scene … it’s a lovely Monday morning at my home. Luckily, J works from home, so when an emergency or other calamity occurs, he’s just a scream away. I’ve fed the babies, and have given My Girl a nice calming bath that she really enjoyed. One clean baby down, one to go. I’m undressing My Boy, and have just cleaned his bum and put away the dirty diaper. Last time I bathed him, he pooped in the tub, so this time, I took preventative action: a good talking to.

As we walked to the tub, ready to go and full of sudsy water, I asked My Boy if he would kindly refrain from pooping in the pool, that we’d already had such a nice morning, and let’s keep it that way. We sit down on the toilet, just next to the tub, with My Boy on my lap as we prepare to dive in. And then it happens.

He did obey my instructions and decided to go ahead and get the poop done before bathing. So he pooped in my lap.

I shriek in horror, at the drippy, seedy mess that’s all over my blue sweatpants and slowly leaking towards my clean bathroom floor. Luckily, J is just one room over, and he comes to my rescue and takes the little pipsqueak from me, so I can get myself out of the nasty pants.

Which brings me to the beginning of my shameful saga. I can’t bear to put off the bath, being that the water is ready and My Boy is most definelety in need of some additional cleansing. So I just pull off my pants, wash my hands, and run down the hall to pop them in the washer. I go ahead and give My Boy a rubdown, making sure to clean the poop out of the creases where it has embedded itself. I wrap him up in his sweet blue hooded towel, and take him out to visit Daddy.

While I’m overwhelmed by the absolute sweetness of this newly clean little being, Daddy is clearly fascinated by half-naked Mommy, freshly splashed with water and poop.

It’s obvious where his mind is, and he makes it known to me. To which I quickly reply, without even thinking about it, “Fine. But only, only if you’ll take them so I can take a shower afterwards.”

And it was a great shower. I took my time. Then I did my makeup (when's the last time that happened?), blew my hair dry, picked out clothes. Took my sweet time, I did.

* * * * * *

What’s the worst thing you’ve ever bargained for with sex? C’mon, you know you've done it, too..

A Beautiful Place

2006-07-07T17:19:00.000-04:00

I bet most of us have a place, whether real or imagined, we go when dealing with the tough times of infertility and loss. A place where you do your hard thinking, your praying, your crying, your begging, your deal making. Maybe it's a window seat in your house. Maybe it's the office, with the door closed. On a long walk, alone with your thoughts.

I did, and do, a lot of mine in church. When we're supposed to be saying the confession, when the lectors are reading the prayers of the people, right after taking communion. These are the times I would take to ask "why?" "why me?" and "why not me?"

Equally as much time was spent angushing in the bookstore. I was lead there for information, for the latest and greatest book on pregnancy, infertility, IVF, that didn't already grace my overflowing bookshelves. I'd stand there and stare at the stacks of books, zoned off into my own world, trying to figure it all out. Ditto for the baby store. I'd go and wander the aisles aimlessly, subjecting myself to the intentional hurt of just being there.

This sounds like a beautiful place, a place I might have gone. A place I might have spent time alone with my thoughts. A place for the hopeful and the hopeless, equally.

* * * * * * * * * *

Wednesday and yesterday were just bad days, period. Frustration with a baby that doesn't want to nurse, a husband who seems no problem with just "popping in a bottle," and an overwhelming sense of being trapped in a life I didn't quite expect.

While it was completly honest and true, I hope that my last post wasn't full of ungratefulness and whining. It's just the way it is ... I hate that I have these feelings, but they are mine, and they are real.

* * * * * * * * * *

Today, on the other hand, has been a great day. Nursing is a little bit better. I'm looking forward to a doctor's appointment/lactation consultation on Monday and getting some instruction and advice. We've taken walks for the past two days, which has been great, I actually ate breakfast today, and my oldest and dearest friend came to see the babies for the first time today. She was a visitor who brought with her no pressure and expectations, butt did bring two very cute baby outfits, lots of happy thoughts and news, and the ability to let me take a 30 minute catnap.

* * * * * * * * * *

Another happy thought: My babies are so gaseous that they fart themselves awake. And it scares them. They awake with a start, like "What just happened?" And I find it hilarious. Unfortunately, they probably find it terrifying. Hee hee hee.

IVF Guilt

2006-07-05T20:37:00.000-04:00

I hadn't heard it coined as such before, but I was just reading yet another book about twins, and the author referred to the IVF guilt that she felt. And in actuality, that is exactly what a lot of it boils down to.

Sleep deprived, frustrated with breastfeeding gone awry, and sadly surprised at the lack of time left for myself, I sometimes feel angry at my babies. I'm angry, perhaps, just at the situation. I'm angry that I am so wholey consumed by their eating, breathing and pooping for 23 hours a day. I shouldn't be surprised, everyone with twins said how completly overwhelming it is. But I thought mine would be different, that I would handle them better.

And I stop to think, who am I to complain? I asked for this. More than that, I toiled, I paid (with both my heart and my checkbook), I asked, I begged, I prayed, I hired intervention, I subverted nature, to have these children. Who the hell am I to complain that this is hard? Poor me. But I still complain, both aloud and in my head. Over and over. And I'm waiting for the good times.

Who the hell am I to complain? Who the hell am I to complain? I have to repeat this over and over in my head and remind myself. I am so lucky.

I am still hung up on such anger over so many issues, and I don't even know that I can get over them. Past them, hopefully.

I continually obsess about all the things that have gone wrong (not my way), when I need to affect the "poor me" act, either to my husband, family, or to myself.

I didn't get to conceive my children the way I wanted. No romatic night, no accidental Oops. But lucky me, I did get pregnant on the first IVF.

I didn't get to enjoy my pregnancy the way I wanted. I loved being pregnant, and I resent the hell out of the fact that I missed out on nine weeks of it, and that the last month was spent in and out of the hospital at on my back. But didn't I enjoy the time I was pregnant? Didn't I embrace it as best I could?

I didn't get to give birth how I wanted. I knew a vaginal birth was a longshot, but the sudden shock of the very quick labor and birth surprised me. It's just been recently that I've been dealing with the emotional aftershocks of the c-section. I really, really wanted that experience, something to "bond" me with the world of "motherhood," a shared experience. Just as I regret having a few too many glasses of champagne at my wedding and having some splotchy memories, I regret agreeing to take the narcotic shots to "take the edge off." My memory of the labor and birth are fuzzy. But on the flip side, I did get to labor through to 10 cm...I did get part of the experience.

I didn't get the "baby-coming-home" experience I hoped for, complete with cute outfits, smiling faces, and my mother waiting at home to pamper me and bring the babies to me in bed for feedings and cuddlings. I got five weeks straight of daily sojurns to the NICU, chatting with nurses instead of friends and family, hours logged in the hospital's lactation room. I got an uncomfortable chair between my two babies isolettes, where I crocheted caps and wrote thank you letters. I got to hold syringes full of formula above their heads as it dripped through their noses into their underdeveloped bellies. I got hands through isolette holes, only allowed to cup their heads and bottoms. I got very occasional visits from family, because I didn't want to leave my babies' sides and didn't want to share them with anyone. But lucky me, they did come home. They are healthy. Their paid their dues, just as I paid mine.

So who the hell am I to complain? I still feel like I deserve that right to complain, but I feel like shit about it. I need to get over, get past, get moving.

I am so lucky. I am so fortunate. I have two babies depending on me for everything that sustains them. Everything.

Who would have thought?

Baby Handcock?

2006-06-28T17:58:00.000-04:00

The arrival of the babies' Social Security cards leaves me with an odd question.

Instructions on the card tell the designee to sign immediatly and put away in a safe place. The safe place is no problem, but the signature part is a quandry.

Do I wrap their miniature fingers around a pen and shakily assist them in signing, so that upon entry into school I can assure them that they did sign them with their own authentic signature? or do I sign their names now to make the cards "secure"? or leave them blank for the kids to sign when they're older?

If I have a Social Security card, I don't have a clue where it is so who knows if it's signed. Hmmmm??

How it All Went Down (PART 2)

2006-06-28T01:54:00.000-04:00

We’re sitting in an exam room at the pediatric ophthalmologist a few weeks back. A nurse is filling out information on a computerized form, asking us questions with her back to us. I feel a tinge, then a dampness, then look to the front of my, thankfully black, tee shirt, to see that I’m just leaking away. Still answering questions, I reach into my bag and extricate two tissues. I stuff them surreptitiously into my bra, praying that the nurse doesn’t turn around. At which point J asks me, quite loudly, “Kind of takes you back to your high school days, doesn’t it?”

Thank goodness the nurse doesn’t turn around, and I give him a big old wallop across the chest.

My sense of humor has returned in some capacity, so I guess I’m ready to finish up the Very Important Birth Story, Part Deux.

***************************

… I remember asking the doctor to tell me what she was doing as she went along (something I’d read in a childbirth book). She laughed a bit, and said she’d try. That was the last lighthearted moment I remember. Apparently, she began the incision, because I did feel a twinge. I spoke up, slightly alarmed, recalling the recent tale of a good friend (also an L&D nurse) whose C-section “wore off” and she was left with sensation on half of her body. The anesthesiologist jumped right on it, and upped my meds, and the pain went away.

So they’re working away, planning to pull My Boy out. All seems to be going as it would, and things get tense. I’m really in LaLa land, feeling good, kind of floaty. There are two distinct moments I recall about My Boy’s birth. First (and in no particular order):

All of a sudden, J is no longer to my right. I realize that they nurses have instructed him to sit down on the floor and take deep breaths. He has gone pale and begun to look ill, and the nurses are concerned he is going to pass out. And given what is going on, I realize later, there is no one to take care of him should he fall over. He later tells me that this was the most scared he has ever been. He was overwhelmed by the amount of blood, the urgency of the situation, and feared that I would die, that our son would die. His concerns were probably slightly more than necessary, but I’ve never seen such a display of vulnerability as I did when he later told me about this. In the OR, he told me that “it’s so much different than the Discovery Channel.” He sat on the floor for a bit, and got himself together before I knew what was going on.

Before they can pull My Boy out, his left arm pops up and out. It is grossly bruised, a solid purple mass. They don’t know that this affects just his arm, and fears that his whole body is purple.

I hear my doctor’s strong, confident voice in a tone unfamiliar to me. I hear panic, and I hear fear. She says, “Get another surgeon. Now.” She repeats it. “There are no other surgeons on right now,” one of the nurses or neonatologists replies. She needs another set of hands.

I come to find out later, My Boy was at +2 station, meaning he was way far down in the birth canal, quite eager to head out. His head had formed such suction, that my doctor couldn’t break it to pull him out. Her hands are quite small, which was good in this situation, as they could fit around his head, were getting cramped and tired and unable to move. She told me the next day, that her arms and wrists were quite sore.

We don’t know the cause of the bruised (and I mean from fingertip to shoulder) arm – perhaps it was stuck inside at a funny angle. He had some additional bruising on his head and around his ankles, which we did figure out later were from the actual delivery.

No additional surgeon is necessary, as he finally gives way and they are able to yank him out. I realize later that my incision extends and good three inches on the right side, in a kind of jagged pattern. This is from an additional cut they had to make in order to get him out. My doctor commented on it, in an “oops” sort of way at my 6-week appointment, but I realize it was necessary to get him out with speed.

I never saw him, as they whisked him away to the team of neonatologist, respiratory therapist and NICU nurses. Honestly, I was so unaware of the situation, I don’t remember being very concerned. Perhaps concerned in an “it’ll all work out” kind of way.

My Girl had a less traumatic, but interesting birth. Apparently the uterus clamps down quickly after the first child is taken out, not realizing that there is another to be born. In the current mode of tension, they want to take no chances. So they pull her out, full in her amniotic sac. They just plop it right on top of me and splice it open. She emerges beautifully pink and clean. No mess, no fuss. J got a picture, albeit quite fuzzy, of her sac sitting on top of me, and he said that it was kind of transparent, that you could see her inside before they broke it.

I don’t know any of this has happened, the circumstances of her birth, but she is quickly wrapped up, and brought up to my right side. The nurse holds her right at my face, as I gaze at her in amazement. I kiss her and I stare at her for what seems like hours. But then I think, “Okay, enough is enough. I can’t touch or hold her, take her away and let’s get this show on the road.” I cringe as I look back, realizing that I wasn’t particularly concerned about My Boy. I was so out of it, and I hate that.

At this point, J has headed to the back of the OR to go watch over the babies. My Boy is having breathing problems, and is put on the ventilator. My Girl is a-okay, just a little pink mass of love. I smelled burning. I tell no one in particular that it smells like the dentists office. The doctor replies “You really don’t want to know what that smell is … don’t ask.” It was cauterizing. Ugg. As she finishes up, my doctor comes to the right side of the table. I remember that she was covered in blood. She tries to talk to me, and I can’t concentration, because I am fixated on the blood that covers her hands and gown. I tell her as much, and I think she is put off. I ask if my babies are going to die, and I remember so clearly that no one answered me. Did I even ask the question?

I’m taken back to my labor & delivery room to recover. J goes with the babies to the NICU, and takes lots and lots of pictures … I’m so grateful that he did that, because it helped me piece the whole morning together. He returns and we make a list of names – we’d pretty much decided on the first names, but chose the names of our two oldest siblings as the babies middle names.

Soon it’s time to transfer me to my postpartum room, and on the way, they pull my stretcher into the NICU. I am a mess, all tears and worries. I see my gorgeous son, so bruised and traumatized. He has a huge ventilator coming out of his mouth, his head askew to one side under the weight of it. The number of tubes and wires overwhelms me, although I realize later that there aren’t that many. My girl is pert and pink in her isolette, also with a requisite number of tubes and wires, but no ventilator.

*****************************************

The children, my children, are fine. As far as premature babies go, they are quite healthy. And I realize this as I look at many of the other NICU babies. All of their medical problems can pretty much be attributed to their 9-week prematurity. Over the course of their five weeks in the NICU, they spent almost two weeks under the biliruben lights to treat jaundice. My Boy’s jaundice was much worse that hers, and required more time and more lights. It was so frustrating, as their faces were covered with masks, and we couldn’t remove them from the isolettes more than once a day, in order to ensure that they received enough light treatment.

He was on the ventilator for a few days, and then on supplemental oxygen for a few days more, but his breathing was quickly under control. Eventually, his purple arm faded and he was able to move it around, and there is no lasting damage as we can tell. They dealt with some gastrointestinal issues, apnea, bradycardia, temperature control and weight gain issues.

Those five weeks were alternately the longest, and the shortest, of my life. I spent every single day there, usually from 9 until mid afternoon, and back in the evening. For weeks, I couldn’t hold them more than once or twice a day, but I sat by their isolettes, just because I had to be there. I crocheted some hats, I read them stories, I sat and stared. And every two to three hours, I trudged down the hall to the lactation room to pump milk that would eventually be fed through nasogastro tubes, and later through doll-sized bottles.

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My babies are home, and life goes on. I hope to catch up, retroactively, on this blog, and fill in some of the gaps and memories from the past eight weeks while recording the activities and thoughts that now make up our very different life. This has been my only journal of the struggle to conceive, of my interrupted pregnancy, and I hope to continue with the stories of the lives of My Boy and My Girl.

How it All Went Down (PART 1)

2006-05-07T18:45:00.000-04:00

It was totally unexpected, but deep down inside, I think I knew, but was in denial. Throughout the entire process. I wasn't ready to have babies. Certainly not at 31 weeks. Thirty-five, yes, 31, hell no.

It was a regular Thursday. I was having another thrilling day, hanging out on the living room couch. On one of my morning trips to the bathroom, I noticed a little bit of wetness in my underpants. Not big - maybe the size of a stick of gum. I called the doctor and left a message with her nurse. When I spoke with her, I explained that I wasn't sure if my water was leaking, or if I just did a little pee in my pants. She thought it must be pee, and to watch and call her if I noticed it again. To be safe, I changed my undies, and kept an eye on the situation. And it happened again. Same amount. Same drill. Left message, returned call. Nurse reported that she'd spoken to my doctor, and thought it nothing by leaking urine. As I look back now, I realize that my back was a little achy, but why would that be a worry? I'd just had a doctor's appointment, and while my cervix was a little shorter, it wasn't dilated, and of course, I'd had the negative fetal fibronectin test. So of course, I wasn't in labor.

Early in the evening, my sister-in-law and nephew came to drop off dinner and visit for a bit. They left around 7:30, and no later than 15 or 20 minutes later, it happened. I shifted position on the couch, and all of a sudden, had a nice warm feeling inside. Kind of indescribable, but I guess I knew enough to head to the bathroom.

I pulled down my pants, and woosh! My pants were soaked, there was dripping into the toilet. I was despondent and devastated that this was happening. In between sobs, curses, and desperation, I called for J., and for the telephone. This time, a call to the answering service, and a return call from my doctor. I am so thankful that she was the one on call that evening ... I have been quite worried that she wouldn't be the one to see me through the end of this pregnancy. I didn't realize quite how important it was to me.

With the calm demeanor that only an experienced OB/GYN can muster, she talked me out of my toilet-top hysteria, and told me to get myself together and over to Labor & Delivery. She said that they'd keep an eye on me, but wouldn't check my cervix just yet, since every physical check is simply an opportunity to introduce more infection. It is also quite common, she said, to be able to keep a patient with broken membranes in the hospital for up to a week. However, if I was to deliver, she confirmed that I would have to have a C-Section, since Little Girl (baby B) was still breech. So, planning for another week of bedrest, I packed some comfy clothing and books. I'm a pro now, I think.

Just like they taught us in childbirth class, J. races up to the nursery and tears open the package of newborn diapers, bringing me a few to put inside my pants for the trip to the hospital. They were right - it works!

The ride to the hospital is now fuzzy in my mind, but I think it was full of tears and anguish. J was an ever-calming presence, but I wasn't really open to his "it's all going to be okay" attitude.

They checked me into L&D, set me up with all the paperwork, and a sweet young nurse, a newlywed "who just got a puppy!!!" !! !! I'm not totally sure she knew what she was doing. But she was real sweet. I remember asking if I should continue taking the Niphedipine that I'd been on 4x a day to help prevent premature labor. Oh yes, they assured me...we're just checking things out right now. Are you having pain, they ask? Oh no, I assure them ...these are the same kinds of contractions that I've been having for at least a month. I never feel them. I insist that J take a photo of my belly ... documenting the rest of this pregnancy.

The babies heartbeats are strong and tracking well. My contractions are visible on the monitor at the same levels they were on my previous hospital stays and doctors visits. But honestly, they don't hurt. I insist that I don't need any pain meds. This is normal. Besides, I'm not having any babies tonight.

J. hung out in the bedside chair. I thanked the nurse profusely for not requiring a catheter, and was pleased when she brought me the bedside toilet. Strangely enough, I remember wondering if it would be inappropriate to turn on some Thursday night TV. After all, I'm not having any babies tonight.

Hours go by ... I can't honestly be sure of the timeframe from this point forward, but I imagine it's about midnight or so. My lower belly and lower back are cramping, similar to really bad period cramps. I'm doing a little bit of whimpering and such. A repeated offer from the nurse for some narcotics (I can't remember the exact name of the drug) is met with my positive response. I'll just try it to "take the edge off." Off of what, I'm not sure. Noone has insinuated that I am having babies tonight. As far as I'm concerned, this is just par for the course, and it will slow down. When asked to rate my pain on a scale of 1-10, I classify my cramping as a 4, maybe. I haven't seen a doctor, so this must be no big deal. I'm not having any babies tonight. Maybe next week.

Oh, the warm and happy feeling when those drug run through the IV and make contact with the bloodstream. I giggle and report that I'm having a happy little buzz ... it's a two-martini evening. Just for a bit, I'm happy and content. I watch the monitors and the contractions rise and fall, and I'm not concerned.

Up until this point, I was certain that, once in labor, I did not want to take any of the narcotics during labor. I knew that I was up for an epidural, once reaching the recommended 4 to 5 cm dilation. But in this instance, I didn't mind taking the narcotics, because I wasn't planning to have any babies. This was just a false start. So I vigorously rejected the repeated offers of epidural, since it didn't apply to my situation.

By this point, J. is dozing in his chair, and I'm clutching the side of the bed, attempting to breathe. On the nurse's next visit, I ask for another shot. Yea, it didn't work much.

Continued clutching, moaning, writhing. J still asleep, and I moan a bit louder to try and wake him up. But I am still IN DENIAL that this is actually happening. I'm not sure how this has happened, how I'm ignoring all of the obvious signs. I took the classes, I read the books. I'm prepared. But I completely fail to recognize that I'm in labor. What the hell? Still, I'd not had my cervix checked, so I didn't know if I was dilated or not. I think, perhaps, that if I'd had a number to associate with my pain, it might have snapped me into the reality.

The nurse checks in again, asks me to rate my pain, and I'm sure I give her a higher number. She and the others decide that it's time to check my cervix, and surprise! I'm 10 cm dilated. Can you believe it? I never planned to go that far without an epidural, and I'm shocked that I did.

Blurring, rushing, more people in the room, and J. is most definitely awake. I remember urgent voices instructing the nurse to call my doctor, to get her to the hospital ASAP. I ask if I'm having the babies now, and am told yep, that's what's happening. I happily accept the epidural, and it seems like the anesthesiologist is there in a snap. They did the epidural right there in the L&D room, and I found it odd, since they are usually done in the OR. I started out leaning over on to the Newlywed Nurse's shoulder, but when J. looked confused and lost in the rush, she asked him to replace her, and he held me steady. It was so hard to hold still during the contractions, but the anesthesiologist was patient, and J was strong.

J wasn't given scrubs to wear into the OR, but was presented with a white, one-piece zip up space suit. By that point, I guess the epidural kicked in, because I remember laughing at him, and insisting that I needed to take a picture of him. I think we sat together and said a prayer. But I'm not sure. I hope we did.

Somehow, I made it to the OR. It was full of people, and I wasn't surprised by that. There was a team for each baby, a team for me, the anesthesiologist, and a few other nurses. I think it was all women, except for the anesthesiologist, and they asked him for his help to pick me up and transfer me to the operating table. I asked where J was, deathly afraid that they were going to barr him from the OR at the last minute. Why, I have no earthly idea. He showed up soon, and I asked the doctor to please let me know what she was doing.

She told me to expect some tugging and pressure, and that she was going ahead to make the incision. ...