A Fair Trade

It's raining outside. Apparently, it's rained here for 40 days. I don't mind, I find it calming. Whenever it rains I feel calm, at peace, and connected. So I suppose that means I've been 'connected' for 40 days. I love the transitive property...

It seems that the rain allows you just to think. It keeps you from going here and there, doing chores outside of the house, and having a jam-packed schedule full of this and that. It reminds of winter and thus I love it. I do not appreciate the summer. Most people love the summer. It reminds them of life and relate it to all of the good things that it's all about. Spring is usually a close second. Many people find autumn depressing, a sign of the death and decay to come. Maybe they see it as a metaphor for life. And then winter is the ultimate chill. They find there is no reason to experience it when all things around them that were once bright, fragrant, and full of life are now dead, or at least in hibernation. 

But I'm a different breed. I guess I'm a bit of an introvert; I love to be introspective. Most people would say the opposite of me: I'm extroverted, loud, and egotistical. The extroversion is a cover, the loudness is to hide the desire for quiet and the ego is simply misunderstood. I can find my roots in the quiet, in the hibernation, in the peace. The music that once ruled my life can by played, the quiet sounds of the piano will come to life, and my passions fill my head and my soul. I suppose this means that in the quiet, in the 'dead', I find life. 

I've never much cared for a room full of people talking over each other. What is often mistaken for being agreeable, is really just me wanting 'the quiet'. I have always had a hard time revealing myself to others. Often I will beat myself up in my solitude for saying exactly the opposite of how I actually feel. The only person I trust with me, is well, myself. I trust Bobby 98% with me, but I still think that there might be 2% that would disgust him. But every person needs just a little, tiny corner of themselves that they keep for themselves. 

There is too much in my head. And by this, I don't mean smarts. There is so much to think about, how will I ever find the time to sort it all out? I have always felt so...   different. I constantly wonder what other people think. Do they do the same as I do? Do they talk loudly in public only to go home and be themselves? Do their hearts race when they smell something that takes them to another time? Do their passions return when they hear a certain sound? Do they feel the ever-increasing desire to be so desperately close to someone else even though they already are? I don't know, I suppose that's for them to keep to themselves. I could get lost in my own thoughts for hours. 

But now I have to share. It's my responsibility to share all of this with my children. Teach them the way that I am, who I am, why I am. Lately I've been thinking about how people irreversibly change once they have children. But why? Why can't we just grow who we already are? What's so wrong with who we were before? Can't we just expand and perfect what's there already? I intend to do this. Success is another thing. If my children understand me and know me, I hope that they don't feel lost. If their mother bares her soul they will know that they can do the same. Perhaps I will have to let go of the quiet for I don't think I will ever again truly have it. That's okay with me; I'll be getting plenty in exchange. 

Happy 4 Months Benjamin and Kyle!

I simply can't believe it, but my boys have hit the four month mark and this very day! So let's celebrate this by a brief history of my boys thus far. 

My boys were born at thirty-eight weeks and 3 days. Every day leading up to that, I was convinced that I would deliver far before that mark. The fact that they were born in a normal timeframe for a term pregnancy assured us that they would come into this world without problems. It was such a relief and such a blessing. Of course, they were smaller than the average baby born at term, but that was more related to them being twins and not having a ton of room in the womb than a singleton. When they born, they looked exactly alike and the only way I could tell them apart was the color of their hats. I made sure every day that they were wearing "their hat". Kyle wore the blue knit cap from the hospital and Ben wore the striped cotton hat also from the hospital. All of the hats that we had bought were far too big on their little heads. When I look at the pictures of them from the first few days of their lives, I am in disbelief at how small they were even in this short time since then. Since they were a bit small, their clothes were far too big and they always had to be in their hats to keep their body temperature normal. They would only eat 15mL of milk at every feeding. That's 8% of what they eat now! They were getting breast milk at each feeding since I was determined to pump at every feeding. They wouldn't breastfeed; every time we tried (and we tried every time they ate) they couldn't latch properly and would end up screaming because they were hungry. Perhaps I gave up too soon, but I hated to hear my babies cry in distress. Feedings took such a long time, even though the amounts were so small. I would try to breastfeed, then give them a bottle and then pump. It took 45 minutes for each feeding and they were eating every two hours! You can imagine how tiring this all was.

Eventually we gave up trying to breastfeed and just pumped exclusively. You have to remember, you have to do this even during all of the night feedings to try and increase your supply. Just a short four months ago, they were waking up every two hours. I think Bobby and I got an average of  two hours of sleep a night. Amazingly, I didn't nap during the day. I think that my hormones just took over and my maternal instinct told me this was all okay and I would make it through. However, I would go back to bed with them until about nine o'clock. 

I was focused on dressing them alike every day. Now, it's just simply not as important in my eyes. They were born at around six pounds and by their two month mark they were both eleven pounds! Glad I don't double my weight every two months!

It was amazing to see how fast they develop both socially and motor-skill wise. I felt like they learned something new every day. When they started to have social smiles, it truly was wonderful. My babies were appreciating my face and knew that I was the one taking care of them. I believe it made Bobby just so happy, knowing that they loved us and relished in seeing him at the end of his workday. They started gaining weight differently, so this really helped in telling them apart. Now I hardly ever confuse them. Kyle immediately gained weight in his cheeks and Benjamin kept lean. They both lost their hair and their eyes started to lighten to a fantastic blue, just like their Daddy. 

Their hair started growing back and I was relieved that they weren't born with their grandfather's hairline (at least not yet). They rolled onto their backs fairly early around the 2.5 month mark. Now I started to fear every time I laid them down that they would roll and hit the floor. Nothing is more nagging than that constant paranoia. I didn't want to be the mother that dropped her baby, but I have a feeling it will happen one day as it does with most parents. They gained control of their bobbly heads and would look straight into your eyes while holding them. They see you and kick their little legs with glee. 

Eventually when you put them down on their bellies, they would lift their upper bodies up peering around the room. They started to grab at rattles and things that made noise, beginning to understand cause and effect. They also started to develop different characters. Benjamin is sweet and usually calm while Kyle is boisterous and a comedian. 

They both love music and enjoy both their musical toys and when I play the piano for them. I try to give them a 'music lesson' every day and play classical music for them. My Nanny always insisted that playing the piano would make me good at math and I really can't argue with that, I graduated with a math degree... although I'm pretty sure that was just her way of bribing me into practicing. They're the only people who seem to like to hear me play anymore, so of course this is a huge ego boost for me. 

We try to do something fun once a week with them and get them outside of the house as much as possible. They love flowers and really like going for walks. They've started to enjoy inspecting all that's around them. They've started to sleep through the night, going to bed early and rising early. This new development is great for Mom and Dad since it gives us the opportunity to decompress each day. 

I expect that when we go to our next doctor appointment we will have gained another 4 pounds or so. When I carry them both now it feels like a small workout (which is good, I need it). Speaking of baby workouts, I confess I try to double up and use them as my weightlifting. I put them up over my head and do reps with them. They love it and I get to work out my flabby pregnancy arms. 

They also enjoy reading the newspaper. Since I don't have a lot of time to sit down and read the paper these days, I decided to kill two birds with one stone (keep in mind, I would never start stoning birds). I read them the paper aloud each day. They enjoy the Wall Street journal and find the GM bankruptcy hilarious. That's good, they're probably the only two people in the entire US who feels that way. 

They're also quite the gabbers. They're "oos" and "ahhs" are a joy to listen to. This particular week, they're a bit cranky. They've been refusing their naps and just want to be awake and experience everything around them. This causes periods of crying for not much reason and a bit of a struggle at bedtime. But I can't complain, as newborns they were so easy to put down to sleep. 

It's incredible to think that this next month, they may start cutting teeth and will probably start a few solids. They have changed our lives profoundly and we're just so blessed to have the miracle of them. I was so scared initially, but everything has calmed me down and proven to me that I should have more confidence. They make it easy for me, I haven't had feeding problems or excessive crying problems. The only complaint I have is that I wish I could hold them more and cherish every last moment. I'm sure most mothers feel that way. 

Happy 4 months to my sweet babies!

The Mental Breakdown.

I confess, I've never been what people would call a 'balanced' individual. That's part of my charm, I can be placid as a babbling brook, violent as a raging tornado, or as peppy as an annoyingly cute cheerleader (enough with the terrible metaphors). This is why people go between loving me and hating me, which always makes for an interesting time. Since I generally don't believe in psycho babble (another quaint trait of mine, I form strangely strong opinions of things without being educated on the topic ... I think that's called ignorance) I've always tried to iron these things out on my own. Hey, people like me more for it, right? 

I'm sure most of my family and friends were dreading the upcoming months once I announced I was pregnant. Tammy, on hormones?! Much to their pleasant surprise, pregnancy evened me out beautifully. Things didn't bother me, I wasn't stressed (mostly) and I was more often than not a rosy cheeked, smiling young mom-to-be. 

And then I gave birth. I now know why hormone replacement therapy is considered essential in most cases after menopause. The first week after their birth, I was a sappy, easily saddened person. I chalked that up to normal, postpartum hormone raging. After that, one week I would be a doll, and the next your worst nightmare. Forget bridezillas, they should coin the term mommyzilla. Bobby put up with this quite well. There was a lot of, "Yes, dear". On a few occasions, bless his heart, he spoke up and told me that maybe I wanted to tone it down. No, I like talking about my feelings. I like talking about what makes me pissed. I like yelling about how nothing goes the way I planned. Why doesn't anybody respect my plan? You get the picture.

So let's fast-forward to this month. My license has been temporarily taken away because of my epilepsy, so I've been confined to the home. This is not something to do to a woman who is mostly irrational. Last week I spent an astounding six days without leaving the home. I am normally the type of person you likes to be constantly going. While the occasional lazy day is always appreciated, I'd rather be out and about doing this and that. I get to go running with my mother-in-law once a week for an hour and a half. Thank God for that. 

I didn't realize how bad this was all getting until yesterday. Bobby went to the doctor and told me he was thinking he would like to get a gym membership and start working out. So, instead of being a good wife and telling him what a great idea that was, I instead grilled him. So when are you planning on doing this? Don't I ever get to do something outside of the house? You know, I would LOVE to go work out. But I guess I won't ever be able to. I guess I'll just get the babies ready every morning. Yes, you could actually see the horns growing from my head. And then, in true Tammy fashion, after telling him I don't have an attitude, I start crying. The violins were playing and the party was started with the pity cake being placed in the middle of the table. 

I somehow take the situation from my poor hubby just wanting to do something good for himself to an entire rant and rave about me. It's amazing he started dating me, let alone was brave enough to marry me. After this long conversation in which he was talking me off the ledge, telling me I could get a gym membership, too and we'd just take shifts (which, of course, every generous offer he gave me I gave a reason how that just simply wouldn't work), I shut up and turned into placid Tammy. Apparently, being confined to the house has worn on me. Being a new mom is tough, I will concede (although you know I wouldn't want to admit that in public), but being trapped in the house is a whole other battle. I've gone through that before and didn't want it to happen again. While I do need an outlet (obviously), I need to realize that other people exist. They have their own needs and wants. I am not the only person whose life has changed. The boys have a father, and he needs his time as well. There is this wonderful word which I generally forget about ... I think it's compromise. I need to compromise on my plan. The militant dictator needs to sit down and the sweet, democratic Tammy needs to rise. 

Now, my congress just needs to vote on my policies. 

Approaching the 4 month Mark ..

I'm happy to report that we are sleeping through the night. About two weeks ago, Bobby and I decided that we would have to cut the cord and send them off to their nursery. I have agonized over this since they were born, mostly because they just made me feel safe being in our room (that, and I didn't have to walk very far when they screamed in the middle of the night). We split them up, one in each crib, and tip-toed out of the room. While I was wiping away tears that they were so big (yes, a whole three months old ... pathetic mommy), we realized that they were not crying for us. Perhaps this whole time they were annoyed by us. Maybe they really hated having to hear us snore and roll over in the middle of the night. They have now started to sleep from nine to six. Don't call it a pattern.

Throughout this, I've started to ease back into work. I'm doing this from home, which may sound easy but surely isn't. It was really a decision based on economics, so it works the best for us. The first day I decided to do some work, I set up my laptop, my adding machine, all of my papers, a cup of coffee and was set to work. Until about five minutes later when someone screamed to be fed. And then the other one. And then they were awake and were fairly mad Mom thought it would be a good idea to sleep again. So my work sat there while I did the important job: Mom. When Bobby leaves in the morning, the day becomes a whirlwind. I instantly go to the kitchen, wash all of the bottles, wipe down the kitchen as I'm incredibly paranoid that malaria may be incubating somewhere, make my coffee, clean up my coffee table, and check on the babies. I take an hour break there while the babies nap to catch up on my guilty pleasure: the internet. After that it's feedings, cleaning, work, feedings, diapers, dogs, gardening .... and sometimes I get to go to the bathroom (although, quite honestly I forget about it). 

I think I've said this before, but before the boys were born I very optimistically thought that I could do it all. I wasn't so far off, I can do most of it, maybe subpar. While I often wish I had done more or fit in something else, I am overall satisfied with my abilities at this point. I will not beat myself up, I will not self deprecate. Oddly enough, when I do my work, it doesn't stress me out. It actually feels like a vice I'm able to indulge in. Remember that bad relationship? It still works like that. When others aren't watching (my babies) I phone up that bad boy (my work) and go spend a few thrilling hours with him. He still finds me attractive and knows I'm such a sucker.  

On a completely self-centered note, I've decided to start a diet. A diet. Did you ever notice that the word "die" makes up three quarters of that hideous word? Not only is this diet insulting my tastes for food, but it is also insulting my pocketbook. No wonder half of America is overweight, it's actually cheaper to eat like a pig (which is incredibly counter-intuitive). But I'm optimistic, looking forward to this with glee. In two months I will be Giselle Bundchen. I will be walking down the beach in my bikini with my two little boys, and agents and photographers alike will flock to me asking, "Please, come work with us!" to which I will say, "I am just simply too busy". And then I wake up ...

I was going through my closet, desperately trying to find something that fit and I picked up a pair of jeans I wore three years ago. They were a size 6. I don't even now what inspired me to try and put these on, I knew it would be a failing battle, but I did anyway. I couldn't even get them over my hips. The sad thing is, when I was this size 6 (which I doubt I ever will be again), I didn't even appreciate it. I always thought I was too big; something could change here or there. I want to go back in time and smack that girl! 

But enough about me, let's talk about something so much better. Benjamin and Kyle are changing every day. They amaze me with their budding personalities and baby wit. Benjamin certainly has his father's personality: he's independent, reserved, and even cries softly. While Kyle has mine, or as my wonderful husband put it, "he's loud, funny, and obnoxious". Hmm ... 

Ben smiles sweetly and you just know his little heart is filled with love for you. He could sit and lay with you all day and never fuss about it. He's always talking about something, usually a 'girrrl'. And then there's the rolling. I try so hard to give them enough 'tummy time', but my Ben just flips over as soon as I put him down. He finds his tummy insufferable and will not stand for it. As soon as he rolls over, he smiles with glee and you can tell he's very proud of himself. 

Kyle is a little comedian. He's smiles wide and then bashes his head down, as if he's waiting for your response. He also demands that you entertain him at all times. He will not tolerate just 'sitting'. You better be singing, talking, or doing something for this child. 

Twins also talk to each other, even as young as they are. When faced with each other, they babble on and on and gaze lovingly at each other. Or they hit each other in the face. It is amazing how they always seem to be holding on to each other. It almost makes you jealous. There are so few people (excluding twins) who are born into this world with such an immediate connection to someone else. They will always have each other and since they're genetically identical, I'm assuming they'll be able to deeply know each other. It will be a true test of nature over nurture, which I confess I wonder about all of the time. Because of my already preconceived notions on who they are, I already am parenting them differently. I worry about this constantly, but I just can't stop myself. I'm sure parenting experts (is there such a thing?) would love to tell me exactly what I'm doing wrong, but I think I'll just let it play out naturally.

And now I must go because the morning nap is done.

STTN

On the internet, moms refer to the blessed event of sleeping through the night as, STTN. When I see someone use this four letter 'word' (and trust me, it's a four letter word in my mind), I see it as some sort of mythological event. 

When the boys were born, they were obviously waking up every two hours, as all newborns do. This took awhile since there is two of them. Wake up, get bottles, get baby, re-swaddle, sit down and pump. Luckily for our sanity, around two and a half months old, they started to go for a longer stretch. After a bottle at midnight, they would sleep until six. I felt like a brand new woman. I stopped having delirious thoughts and random hallucinations. I also stopped getting confused in my sleepy state as to who was who. Life was good! I could do anything! (This is where I see a picture of myself with hands on my hips, cape flowing in the background as I stand on a hill crest)

Ahhh .... those were the good ole' days. Just a mere four weeks later they've decided they would prefer to not sleep. Why sleep when you can talk to mommy? They aren't even especially hungry, but every three hours or so they wake, gurgle and coo a bit, start to feign a cry, and won't stop until I come get them. I fix them their bottles wondering why they are suddenly torturing me. Bobby and I sit there, place the bottle to their mouths, and then they smile. They smile! They've tricked us; they aren't hungry. They're chatty! 

Now I'm definitely one for a good gossip, but come on! Two in the morning? Boys, let's do this at 9am. I'll even fix us coffee and get out donuts. My old standby trick of putting them in bed with us isn't even working. They don't want to just be in next to me, I have to be entertaining them. I am absolutely no good at this jester act so early in the morning. 

I've tried reasoning with them, but they just don't seem to care. 

I guess I should be flattered that not one, but two people want to talk to me around the clock. And I must confess, once they start talking I want to talk right back. 

I guess STTN will just have to wait ...

Motherhood?

I realize this blog has gone the way of other things in my life ... a fleeting idea, a momentary passion, a balance sheet with no accompanying income statement. However, after popular demand (okay, ONE person asked me about it) I've decided to commit to it. And that's saying a lot because I have a commitment problem. If I commit to anything, you know I mean it. And this includes men, careers, ice cream flavors, etc. There's quite a bit to play catch-up on, so I'll highlight the truly important parts. While my life is consumed now by boppies, bouncers, bumbos, and binkies; there are many events that led up to this (well, besides the obvious EVENT). 

I left off somewhere right before the exciting time of finding out the sexes of the babies. Around this point, I was just starting to believe I was pregnant. Nevermind the four or so ultrasounds leading up to this, they could be witchcraft for all I know. I needed to see my belly grow and find out what really makes them human: their genitalia. Bobby was and is an amazing partner. He went to about 83% of my 1,052 OB/GYN visits. We, of course, were really anticipating this all important appointment. Although, I must confess, I already knew the answer. I knew they were boys. About an entire year before I last said good-bye to my fe

male hygiene products, I announced to Bobby that one day I would produce boys. And strangely enough, I had used the plural as well. I'll never forget seeing them on the screen that day. More fascinating than their little penises was how their heads looked like little babies. I could see their nose, their mouths, even their hands greeting their lips for the first time. 

And now it was time to start worrying. Now I was in love and I started to fear all that could go wrong. When you're pregnant with twins, nobody ever feels the need to share the wonderful stories about being pregnant with twins. I even had one man tell me it was the worst year of his life after his wife gave birth to two boys. Your life is consumed with worrying week to week about their development and a particularly new body part that I had never paid much attention to, my cervix. It was to operate like the Hoover Dam and if it would at all start to fail me, I'd be doomed to a hospital bed. Talk about pressure, no pun intended. 

Luckily, I had a wedding to worry about that helped take the stress off of my 

burgeoning belly and instead something much more important, what size and shape flowers would be appropriate for the middle of tables.  I had to return my beautiful, skinny dress and pick out something a bit more 'forgiving'. I stopped worrying about being my most beautiful self and just worrying that there would be enough fabric to let the dress out by my wedding day. I confess,  I wondered if Bobby would be disappointed he didn't have the thin, sharp-witted Tammy on October 25th that he did two years prior. I was getting tired, fat, and a bit grumpy. Amazingly, all of our wedding plans came together in spite of it all and we had an amazing party. We both fought back tears saying our vows to one another, we both were giddy at the thought of being Mr. and Mrs., and we had an amazing party. I had not had a happier day up until that moment. I knew I was making the right decision. That hadn't happened that often before, so not only did I have an absolute trust in my new husband, but I gained a renewed faith in myself. We had a glorious week off from work and focused on each other. We both knew that our lives as newlyweds would be short-lived as we were jumping into parenthood, so we needed to make the most of it. He has always been the person I could tell anything to, even when there was no reason for him to listen. We spent a lot of time talking, dreaming, and laughing that week. It was a sad reality when the freedom came to an end and we realized we didn't have huge trust funds to live off of and needed to return to work. 

I made the choice to continue working. I was really afraid to stop working, working was my life. I thrive off of meeting goals, accomplishing the next step, and finding I've made a good decision. In fact, when I eventually cut back to three days a week, I cried. And not just once. I cried every time I realized the world went on without me: decisions were still made, business went on, and nobody asked me. I felt dispensable. Perhaps it was more than a feeling, may

be I WAS dispensable. In my short-sightedness, I couldn't get past this. I believed that while I was home with my babies, I would long for work. Work had become like a naughty relationship; you knew there were parts of it that brought out the worst in you and made you do things you'd never have done before, but it felt oh-so-good and you could always call it late at night when nobody else wanted you. 

Luckily, I'm not a completely two-dimensional person and have another growing part of me. This part is a bit jagged, since it's still growing and I haven't nurtured it much, but it's there. As my belly swelled, so did my need to clean my plastics and put them in the recycling bin. I used to throw them with a touch of arrogance and a lot of eagerness into the trash prior to impending motherhood. I suppose, in my little way, I started to realize I wanted the world to be perfect for my boys to arrive in and their mom to be a little bit of a better person. I wanted to break out all of my old CD's, put on a sundress, kick off my socks and dream about how I would hold my babies, with longer, more natural looking hair while converting to vegetarianism. Yes, apparently motherhood equals 1960's transient hip

pie in my mind. By the time December rolled around, I was a full 30 pounds heavier than my usual self and fully believing that I would be a mom by January. Since every person I came across, whether it was my doctor, a friendly stranger, the grocery store clerk needed to tell me that I would be having premature babies. After all, every set of twins born was doomed to the NICU. I prepared myself for this, perhaps too much. Becoming obsessed, I spent countless hours on the old, completely accurate method of information gathering: the internet. I read everything that could go wrong, no everything that WILL go wrong. At this point, I was going to the doctor every week. This doesn't help your nerves. I had the nursery ready by week 30, I cleaned the house top to bottom every weekend since the babies would be in my arms by the next. 

There was something hilarious about my pregnancy. Everyone told me how little my belly was. This was

completely untrue as you can see by the lovely picture to the right. I think it proves the point that most people will tell you the exact opposite of the truth if they know it will preserve your feelings. It wasn't until I saw this picture, taken the night before my delivery, that I really started to question if everybody was on hallucinagenic drugs in my close circle of friends and family. Maybe they weren't all as well-adjusted as I had previously thought. That belly was an amazing obstacle to contend with. It was beautiful, painful, ugly, and most importantly, grossly uncomfortable. My skin gave up on me around week 32. It just decided I was asking too much and began the dreaded process of stretch marks and the unbearable itch. The weight of it made me become intimately aware of that otherwise silent body part, the cervix. There was no sleep to be had, every part of me hurt. My left leg had gone numb around week 24 and didn't start to regain feeling until after their birth. As the doctor so eloquently put it, "Your uterus is just too huge." Gee, thanks. I admit, at this point I was secretly (well, maybe not so secretly) wishing that the babies would come early. I figured I was past the dangerous zone of 35 weeks and I was really anticipating their arrival. Although, at this point it was still a completely selfish request. imagine my dread and disappointment when I found myself still getting ultrasounds at week 36, 37, and 38. The irony is, after everyone had told me to worry so much about premature birth, the doctor now told me they would be inducing my labor at 38.5 weeks. I skipped out of the office that day. Although, the reality of being a mother still was not real. 

I worked my last day, the day before my induction. I tied up all my loose ends, I worked late, and I cried as I left my desk. It is really very true that with the birth of anything new your life (in this case, quite the literal sense) usually is accompanied with the mourning of something else. I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep that night. I packed my bag, re-checked it, checked it again. Walked in and out of the nursery, out and then in. I made sure the molding was clean and that all of the spices in the kitchen were hanging on the rack. I kept saying to Bobby, "Can you believe this is going to happen?". I had no idea what I was in for. I had nonchalantly disregarded child-birthing classes. In all of my arrogance I believed they could teach me nothing. I was having twins, I was sure they couldn't help me. At about three in the morning before I went to the hospital, I was really wishing I had considered them. I had watched birthing shows over and over again, but I had no idea what I was getting myself into. Would I know how to control my pain? Would I even know when to push? 

Speaking of pushing, I was one of the lucky few who was going to be able to deliver my twins the good, ole' fashioned way. It all comes down to the stress of the babies, how they're positioned, and the general confidence of the doctor who is delivering you. Delivering you. Funny I chose that phrase instead of delivering the babies. It's the one doctor in your life who has the pleasure and gift of delivering you. Delivering you into motherhood. You'll never go back. 

It was my doctor's rule that a twin delivery must be accompanied by an epidural. I suppose this made me feel safe. Bobby and I headed to the hospital at 4:30 am. I was scheduled to begin at 5:00 am. It was a completely surreal moment for both of us. We chit-chatted normally, not realizing the incredibleness of the day. Once we got there, the early morning nurse crew greeted us, told me to change into my sexy gown, and began wiring me up. I was already used to this wiring process. Most women who are having a baby are getting wired for the first time when they deliver their baby, but for the mother of twins, this is old hat. They strap two monitors on you, one for each baby, and another to measure your contractions. They started my IV of fluids and then began my IV of pitocin. This was the 'it' drug. This was going to make it happen. I suppose I thought it was going to go quickly. I don't know why I thought this, I probably read it on some silly website devoted to sweating pregnant women. So we waited. People started to show up to stand on the sidelines around 11am. Naturally, this was when the pain really started. I had felt contractions for weeks now, it's just something that happens with a multiple gestation but I had never felt anything like this. Now this was real. I was instantly hot. My whole body felt like a vice was squeezing it. My contractions were coming every 2 minutes now, which was to be expected with the 'chemically-induced labor' I was experiencing. The doc came in to check me. I nearly burst into tears when she informed me I was only 4 cm along. I knew that meant I would be laboring for some time more. I dealt with this pain for about another 2 hours when tears just started uncontrollably coming out of my eyes. I realized I was a wuss. I could actually hear the tag-line for the Hefty garbage bags commercial in my head, "wimpy, wimpy, wimpy". For some reason, I had in my head that I would gleefully take on labor and only get the epidural when I was 'forced' to by the doctor because it was 'required'. Well, it was required. Right now. I rang the nurse and demanded drugs. She smiled and called for the anesthesiologist. That particular doctor renewed all faith I had in the medical community. I could almost see the white glow emanating from her as she swept through the room with her beautiful cart of needles, medicines, and sanitary wipes. As soon as the epidural was placed and the medicine administered, I sat back, felt the pleasant warmness throughout my body and smiled at the doctor. I told her how much I loved her, would she like to come over for tea sometime, and I'd never met someone quite like her before. She gave me an awkward smile and told me "Thanks". Apparently, she didn't see us going off into the sunset hand in hand quite like I did. 

The hours were passing us by. At this point, I decided that I just wasn't going to be giving birth. They probably would stay in there forever and I would have to attend elementary school again so that they could begin to learn their ABC's and 123's. Dr. Black, my OB/GYN was this sweet, compassionate doctor. Every time she would check me and deliver bad news, she assured me that it was inevitable that I would be wheeled into the operating room eventually (when you give birth to twins, you must be in the OR regardless). Finally around 9:30, I started to feel pain again. I turned to Bobby and commented how odd this was, considering I had felt like an 80's era starlet who had just returned from 'powdering her nose' up until this point. It got worse and worse. It occurred to me I should check out the status of that cute little medicine bag hanging from the IV hooks. IT WAS EMPTY. I called the nurse and explained to her that I didn't know why I was in so much pain (it didn't sink in yet that I was here, in this hospital, because I had to deliver two babies) but maybe we should check the status. Well, it was time. They let me begin to push while I was in the room before they rolled me into the glaring lights of the OR. Since my epidural had run out, I felt everything. It was exhilarating. After a bit, they decided I was close enough that we needed to change location. Once they asked me to stop pushing, I immediately felt sick. I was going to get sick. All over myself. In the hallway. Luckily, the nurses who were rolling my bed banged my arm into the wall and almost tore out all of my IV's. It hurt like hell. As they were apologizing profusely, I thanked them because I had totally forgotten about getting sick. The OR was bright and not nearly as comfy as my room. I had to switch beds. There were now around 25 people in this tiny room. Nurses, pediatricians-in-waiting, Dr. Black, other OB's, a few doctors who hadn't witnessed a twin birth before who were still learning .... yes, I was a freak show. As soon as they strapped me in, the whole room started yelling at me. It was awesome. They all looked like I felt, determined, focused, just plain old mad. You will never in your life feel so connected to a room full of people as you do when they are sharing the birth of your child(ren). As my little Ben was making his journey, I happened to catch eyes with one young man who was training to be an ER physician. His eyes were huge. I may have convinced him he never wants to see a woman naked ever again. 

I was never so focused in all my life. I felt Bobby's hands on my head. I heard his voice. He sounded so sweet and yet so excited. As soon as I heard Ben's sweet little cry, all the other people faded away. I looked into Bobby's eyes and it was a moment I will never forget. It was him, me, and our beautiful little baby. They handed me Benjamin after they bundled him up. Wow. He was mine. He was gorgeous. 

This would be the moment when other moms might get to bond with their newborn and bask in the afterglow. Not for a twin mommy. This is where everybody starts to yell at you, "Okay, let's get ready for the second one." I have to do this again? Really? During my last push for Kyle I knew that if it took just one more push, I would pass out from exhaustion, so I made it worth my while. I heard his little scream and just smiled. Tears came down my cheeks and everything was real and right. When they handed Kyle to me, his little bottom lip was quivering. I kissed it and tried to make it better. 

I had to be under observation for another two hours and my babies were taken up to the nursery. I don't know another better method of torture than to leave a new mom alone without her babies, her husband, or anyone for that matter. Finally, around 2am I was returned to them and I could lay in bed while holding them both. Once I saw them both in my arms, I couldn't quite grasp that just two hours prior, that had somehow fit inside my belly. 

Let's fast forward here. Motherhood is amazing, to say the least. I think it goes without saying that you will never love another human being quite as much as your children. They could keep me awake all night long and all the next day, and I still smile at them every time I hold them. I can't say that for anyone else. They can pee and poop on me, and I find it cute. I definitely can't say that for anyone else. They were born both around 6 pounds and now at 3 months, they are more than double that. Luckily for me, I have not doubled my own body weight in that time. Their smiles could disarm the most cold of hearts. The way they instantly stop crying as soon as I hold them is something I hope we share for many years to come. 

This isn't to say that new motherhood isn't all daisies and rainbows. The days of doing what I want to do are long gone and probably not going to return for quite a while. Every two hours, no matter what I want to do, these two little lives will want to eat. My entire day revolves around eating, pooping, and timing all events around these two blessed events. I find a trip to the grocery store as exciting as I might have found an all-night party in college. Those images of me floating around the house with my natural hair and pretty sundresses, while tending to my children were wild fantasies. Most of the time I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and realize I look like a shloppy, disheveled woman who has forgotten that pants come in anything other than 'drawstring'. If I realize somewhere around 2pm that I haven't brushed my teeth, I wonder if the boys have been mad at me up until that point giving them kisses with my yucky morning breath. Bobby returns home from work to find a very different person who has replaced his original wife. This 'replacement' can sometimes be grumpy, always grateful to see another adult, and overly obsessed with Clorox-ing the counters. 

But then every night, the most wonderful thing happens. We both sit on the couch and each hold one of our precious babies. There are always smiles and rarely deadlines that need to be met while sitting on that couch. I wouldn't trade my milk-stained, knotty haired, diaper-champed world for anything. 

And now I can start my blog ....  

 

The Hunger Strike

Did you ever feel so hungry that your stomach felt like it was lurching inside out? A need for nourishment so intense that you swore one more minute may kill you? Yeah, I have that too. Except when I go to take a bite, I immediately get sick. It's the strangest form of punishment. I think it might be worse than flogging and water-boarding.