Reasons Why I Am A Bad Mother

I hope the fall TV season starts soon. Nothing makes you feel quite so loser-ly as settling on the couch, pressing play on the Tivo and hearing “Previously on Fat March…”.

We came home from vacation to a completely defrosted refrigerator and freezer. Not good. I think I didn’t close the door all the way when we left for vacation. Everything was ruined. All sorts of salad dressings and frozen homemade pasta sauces and chicken broth and cheeses and ice cream and juices and my beloved Dr. Pepper, once cool and delicious, now thawed and warm. But all that was nothing compared to the devastation of losing all of the frozen breast milk in the freezer. My precious Maddie milk, that I was parsing out to her just a little a day in order to s-t-r-e-t-c-h it out, so I could say she was breastfeed for (x) months.

Replenishing that is going to be a problem. For reasons I don’t understand, my right breast has closed up shop. No more milk on that side at all. My oversized bigger-than-the-other-side breast is the only source of nourishment. I breastfeed Avery and pump in between for Maddie. But my milk may be drying up on that side too, since Avery seems increasingly hungry after BFing and pumping usually yields low amounts. I know I can’t really blame myself. And even if it was my fault, I have the ultimate trump card of “I am taking care of two newborns.” But still it makes me feel like a bad mother.

Other reasons why Child Services might show up:

• I am remiss in instituting tummy time. Flipping the girls over onto their oversized bellys and watching them struggle to arrange the arms and get off of their stuffed stomachs is just so is difficult to watch. They look so uncomfortable. And when I look into their eyes before they smash their noses into the floor again I can almost see them pleading with me to stop the madness. My justification for this is that they both have very good muscle tone and they have been supporting their own heads since almost birth. Besides, Maddie rolls to her side all the time, usually to gaze lovingly at her (other) mother or to get away from her sister. And Avery’s fat rolls keep her head nice and erect.

• Maddie will grow up thinking her name is “When did she nap?” and Avery will think that her name is “When did she eat last?” These are the phrases we toss around most frequently in regards to these two babies. Maddie might also respond to Maddiegator, Maddie-kins, Madd-a-licious and The Madness of King George. Avery might respond to Aviator, Aves, Ave, Avy-kins, Little Friend, Mini Friend and Chunk-a-licious. But Madeline and Avery? Blank stares.

• I let them watch TV. Something about the bright lights and moving pictures calms and mesmerizes them. Avery actually cooed and laughed while watching a fashion show on the Today Show. They both get fidgety if we pause a show for even a moment. I started this practice at 12 weeks 10 weeks 8 weeks 4 weeks old. Yes, at a mere month of age, I discovered that television will be an active parent part of our children’s lives. I like to say that they are watching Meet the Press and PBS and C-Span, but that would be a lie. Big Brother, My Life on the D List, Top Chef and the aforementioned Fat March are on the Tivo list. Like I said, it is summer and the pickins’ are slim.

• Maddie already has diaper rash and Avery has super-dry alligator skin. And both girls get dust bunnies between their fingers. Dust bunnies IN my children. I have to be responsible for these things to a point.

I could go on, but my ego can’t take it.

I finished Harry Potter. I was not as pleased as others seem to be. But that is a whole nother post.

An empty refrigerator is an interesting thing. Almost a metaphor. Like a clean slate. Yes, I was the one to leave the door open. But the fridge should have sensed my flaws and compensated by NOT defrosting everything. Obviously this picture was taken during happier times, before the fridge chewed up and spit out our hunted-and-gathered foods. Below is a self portrait from vacation. How pretentious does that sound? Self portrait. Ha!

The Story That Must Be Told

Nicole doesn’t want me to tell this story, but I have to.

We are enjoying our final evening of our too-short vacation. Our hotel room has a huge tub in it, big enough for three adults or two adults and two mini people or four or five mini people. The girls love being in tubs (by “love” I mean they don’t scream their heads off) so taking a bath together seems like a nice way to end our trip. Normally I bathe the girls (one at a time) by myself in our only-good-for-one-adult tub, because those baby tubs are too annoying. It’s nice to have some adult company for a change.

We fill up the tub, put in baby-friendly bubbles and carefully climb in. We are each holding a baby and enjoying the cleansing, scream-free moments when little bubbles rise to the surface. Ha Ha, I say, Miss Avery farted. It’s cute, in the water and all, with the bubbles, and that look of complete blankness on her mini face. But then rising to the surface are some decidedly not bubble-like things. She didn’t fart. She pooped. And baby poop is not a solid thing. Almost instantly little brown flakey flecks spread throughout the water. Contamination in mere moments. Avery has no idea what happened and looks happy as a clam and perhaps a bit relieved. We were out of the tub in a flash, running around naked with two screaming babies who wanted to know why they were wrenched so cruelly from the womb-like tub.

I don’t want to go home tomorrow.

I am on the last chapter of Harry Potter. I can’t wait to see how this mess ends.

Pictured above are some vacation images: On top are the four of us at the wedding. I like this picture because I love the way Nicole is holding Avery. We are standing on a hill, and Nicole is standing into the incline, but it looks like she is offering up Avery, like a cut of meat. And if she spoke Nicole would have an accent and say something like “Itsa veddy nice cut.” That’s what I hear in my head. The middle picture is a sour cream donut from Hole In One on Cape Cod. We also sampled the Boston Cream donuts, thinking that the closer we are to Boston, the better a Boston Cream donut must be. Turns out the donuts from a random Jersey City grocery store still win out as our favorite. I’m happy to spend my life having these BCD (Boston Cream Donut) smackdowns. On the bottom is a picture of Avery in the outfit that inspired the song “My Name is Avery and I Have a Belly That is Like an Old Man’s.” Another lyric is: “I stand real tall and I wear my pants hiked up to my chest.” It is sung in a low, low, low voice and it is sorta like the kind of song you would hear on a porch down south sung by some old men with homemade instruments. We make these songs up every day.

Lots more pictures are posted on my picture website.

Vacation!

Northampton! Cape Cod! Salvation!

We leave tomorrow for our vacation and I am so excited I can barely take it. I have been counting the days for weeks now. Today I am packing, which is a labor of love for me, so today is a good day too. Tomorrow I wake up, feed a baby, go to the gym, pack the car and we are off.

It will be interesting to vacation with the girls. I can’t wait to show them a world outside the city and the town that may become their future vacation-home location. I still can’t believe we will be in Northampton with our children. I remember looking at real estate up there one weekend when I was pregnant. We told the agent I was pregnant and it was all so exciting. We were driving around, going from house to house, and I was in so much pain. Every bump in the road ricocheted pain through my body. I hard a hard time getting up from a sitting position. I felt such physical pressure that I chalked up to pregnancy pain. That turned out to be the ectopic pregnancy. We have spent so many post-miscarriage weekends, waiting-for-the-beta-call weekends and TTC weekends in that town. We have celebrated there and mourned there. We have spent two new year’s there. It seemed like we would never be there with kids. And now we are setting off with our two daughters and I can’t wait. I’m just sad that they are too young to indulge in Herrell’s delicious Burnt Sugar and Butter ice cream!

I am getting my hair cut today, which is always a bit terrifying. I am hair-cut phobic. I’ve had a few bad hair cuts in my time, so I am cautious. I usually just take an inch off (straight line) and that’s it. I have to color my hair too because the gray is coming in like crazy, but that is next week’s appointment. I don’t have the patience to sit in a chair for that long at one time anymore. Today is just the cut. I wish I had the guts to do something dramatic. We’ll see.

I’ll be updating on the road on my picture website I am borrowing my SIL’s giant paparazzi-esque zoom lens, so I will hopefully have some great pictures. My camera bag is almost as big as the diaper bag.

Pictured above is the baby know as Captain von Snifflesworth, Captain von Wigglesworth, Smiley, Scoochi, Aviator, Aves and Avery.

Never Say Never

Someone, and I am not naming names, (Madeline) decided that nighttime isn’t for sleeping for the second night in a row. I don’t know if this is because Nicole was away (loss of her sleeping buddy) or if because she has taken to taking a late nap around 6 at night (too much of a good thing) or if because she just feels like hanging out at the wee hours in the morning (early signs of a party-girl). She is a mystery wrapped in an enigma wrapped in a riddle. Or is it a riddle in a mystery in an enigma??

On a positive note, this two-night disruption has given me perspective. Turns out they have been sleeping pretty okay, with only two wakings a night, usually around midnight and then again at 4. And this had made me a happier and better-rested person. So our sleep (read: mood) is getting better as theirs improves. But now, for the second day in a row, I am exhausted. I was up so much last night that I am not sure what my longest stretch of sleep was. It is going to be a very subdued day for me. Maybe it is good it is raining. I have an excuse to do nothing so I can hopefully recharge.

This whole mothering thing is getting better, but in such tiny increments. Sometimes I feel like I am robbed of the special moments of newborn-ness and infancy and that precious bonding time because I am too busy just trying to keep my head above water. I sound like a broken record, but this is hard. Hard hard hard.

I feel like I am constantly letting the babies down, literally and figuratively. One cries. I pick her up and settle her down. She is calm and the other one cries. I put down the first baby, pick up the second, calm her down and the other starts the cycle again. If I can’t break this cycle I am in for a rough couple of hours. Maybe I need to toughen up, but I hate to hear them cry. A little whining is ok, but once their faces start changing color, I think enough is enough.

I am still trying to figure out balance. How I am supposed to take care of both of them and take care of our home and take care of myself. It still takes me days to respond to emails or messages. And I am still writing thank yous. And I never sent out birth announcements. My list of Things To Do gets longer by the day. I used to be so efficient and organized and orderly. It will be a long run back to that.

And the babies first smile was to the ceiling fan. Both of them. That’s gratitude.

I really am anxious about what happens when these girls grow up and digest the fact that they aren’t like most other families. There aren’t enough “alternative” families in our immediate circle (in other words, that we hang out with on a regular basis). I worry how this will affect them. Where will they see there own family paradigm reflected back at them?

When we were TTC I was obsessed with the Rosie O’Donnell gay family cruise. I couldn’t wait till we had our own children that we could take on a trip, an entire boat filled with families like our child’s (or, in this case, children). Each failed cycle became “Great. Guess we won’t be taking a cruise this spring/summer” (said in a very sarcastic tone). I think it was my way of dealing with disappointment by transferring said disappointment to something less tragic than a failed cycle. A missed vacation is awful but yet another failed cycle was catastrophic. I deal with awful better.

Now that we have children I feel like we can go, like we deserve this trip. Next summer there is a cruise to new England and Canada that I really want to go on. The boat leaves from down the street from us, literally. We could walk to the boat if it weren’t for 1,000 pounds of luggage. However, it strikes me that they girls won’t really be able to process this alternative-family-palooza at the ripe age of one. Is this trip for me or them? I went on one cruise with a friend 5 years ago and it was not my most favorite type of vacation. In other words: I am not a large cruise ship kinda girl. Nicole isn’t really either. But we think being surrounded by all these families might make it bearable if not fantastic. How great it would be to spend an entire week feeling like you are not being judged. Has anyone out there ever been on one of these cruises? Are they spectacular? Or over-hyped?

Will global warming affect this year’s crop of Macintosh apples? I am so tired of slumming it with Braeburns.

When I found out it was twins and then that it was twin girls, I said I would not dress them alike and I would not dress them in pink. Flash forward almost three months after birth and these I actively seek out matching outfits and they wear pink an awful lot. Pictured above are Mad and Avery in cute little whales dresses given to them by their Aunt Jenni.

Countdown three sleeps till our Cape Cod getaway!!

Nice Day, Huh?

This morning at the gym, REM’s “It’s The End of the World As We Know It” came on my iPod just as a montage of Bush came on cnn. Coincidence?

Yesterday I packed up the girls and headed to my brother and sister-in-law’s boat for the day. It was me and Mina and four kids. Slightly chaotic but it was so great to be outside, in the sun, relaxing on the water.

It brought back good memories of living on a boat, but it was so different. It’s amazing to think how much my life has changed since those days. Back then, on a day like yesterday, I’d be lying out in the sun in a bathing suit, with the stereo turned up louder than it should be, possibly enjoying a drink or twelve if it was after 12:00, flipping through magazines. Maybe taking cigarette breaks. Not a care in the world. Yesterday I was mainly in the shade, changing diapers and breastfeeding the hungry Avery. It’s funny to think that I used to occasionally lay out topless and now I am occasionally topless again on a boat, for very different reasons. I like it better the latter way .

I even got to take a 20 minute cat nap while the girls slept and Mina kept an eye on everything. I was sprawled out on the bow, laying on my stomach, lulled by the water lapping at the boat and the gentle rocking. My mini-nap was cut short when my hurricane of a nephew joined me. He was running around the bow, apparently fascinated by the sun, the water, the sound of his feet, me, the rail, other boats, the sun, the fishies, the clouds, the city skyline, his scooter. In other words, anything. And he had a comment about everything. I got him to calm down and lay next to me. For about three seconds he was silent, and then he turned to me and said “Nice day, huh?”

He is so cute.

The other day when he was here at our apartment he went crazy when he saw that we put a new carpet down in the entry way. He was so excited, as if he found a secret toy room or a stash of candy. Over the moon over a carpet. He was literally dancing with joy.

We had an amazing night a couple of days ago. Avery slept from 8:30 until 4:30! And Maddie went five hours before waking for more food. I hoped this meant we were turning the corner and had high hopes for last night. Alas, not as good as the night before. Avery went to bed at 8:30 and woke up at 12:30 and 4:30. Then she decided to start her day at 6:45. Maddie is Nicole’s charge so I am not sure of her waking times.

All in all it is MUCH better than before, without a doubt. I can handle waking up once in the middle of the night and once in the wee hours of the morning. What I do now is after Avery’s 4:30 feeding I change and go to the gym (it opens at 5:00). And that workout gives me the energy to get through the day. Well, that and the espresso I have started drinking every morning.

Next week we are going to Cape Cod for a mini vacation and I am so excited. I pack the car every day in my head (I love packing for road trips) and try to visualize happy, sleepy, like-being-in-the-car babies. We are going to a wedding there on Saturday, which means they will be wearing their adorable dresses. And I will have to get dressed up too. It will be a nice change from tank tops and flip-flops, my summer wardrobe. And maybe a chance for our first family portrait!

I am solo this week. And maybe next. There was an unexpected Nanny debacle of mini-epic proportions. Since Nanny Annie goes back to work (she’s a kindergarten teacher) Nanny Annie’s girlfriend Nancy (Nanny Nan) will be taking over. She is in grad school, but has no classes on Thursdays and Fridays, so she will be here those days. She is also a certified personal trainer, so I am excited! My shoulder is still bothering me (physical therapy student Nan) and I’ve already discussed the train wreck that is my stomach (personal trainer Nan). Nanny Nan will have a lot on her plate.

In the meantime, I am nervous. Nicole goes to Boston for work on Sunday morning and won’t be home till Monday night. I know 48 hours doesn’t seem like much, but it will be hard for me. Especially since the girls wake up at different times at night. I’m still not sure what I am going to do. Most people I know work, so getting a helper for the overnight is hard. And my sister-in-law and brother are taking a boat trip over the weekend, so they won’t be around. Has anyone stayed home alone with newborn-ish twins and survived?

Pictured above are Leif and Skye finishing with his Dora pole. They chummed with about eight hamburger rolls. Anything to keep the troops happy. Pictured below is Maddie getting a hug from her cousin and aunt. I think they both loved being on the boat. Maybe the motion reminds them of womb life?

Reading, Writing and Bad Articles

* See update at bottom!

Suddenly, Parents magazine has started to show up in our mailbox. It isn’t a very good magazine, though I can’t say I’ve been an avid reader over the years: I make this judgment based solely on the quick glimpses I’ve had of it in gynecologist waiting rooms. As a self-proclaimed magazine expert, I give myself this self-proclaimed right.

Anyway, I was flipping through the latest issue before I recycled it and an article caught my eye: “Eight Things No One Tells You.” This is right up my alley, so I start perusing it. That’s four minutes of my life that I will never get back. I have very little time to pursue reading activities and I shouldn’t have wasted precious minutes on this triteness. It is positively scary how really extreme things were discussed in such a lighthearted way. The subheadings in the piece announce things like “You’ll Feel Helpless” and “There’s No Privacy” and “You’ll Have No Control” and “There Is No Learning Curve.” Great. Sign me up.

If a hobby engendered such reactions, you most likely wouldn’t do it, right? If you were reading an article called “Eight Things No One Tells You About SCUBA Diving,” what would you think if you saw subheadings like “Your Lungs Might Collapse Under Water” or “You Could Be Attacked By A Man-Eating Shark” or “Danger Lurks in Unlikely Places.” Seriously.

I have to give the magazine credit for addressing such an important topic in a sea of fluff pieces, but I just wish it was handled in a more hard-hitting and serious way. Don’t try to make it cute, because things like feeling helpless isn’t cute. Not having control isn’t just a downer, it is downright horrifying. Also, I can’t shake the notion that the subtext of the article is, “Silly little lady. Being a parent is hard.” [Say that in a mocking, exaggerated, fake-whiney sorta tone.] If you feel like you are losing control, the article says, then you can remember that this is a good time to practice counting to 10. Are you kidding me? That doesn’t even work with a four-year-old.

I have started to read the Adrienne Rich book, which showed up yesterday, and it is fantastic. Amazing. Eye-opening. I read the first three pages and I am stunned at how elegant and eloquent her writing is, and how honest she is. To wit: “My children cause me the most exquisite suffering….It is the suffering of ambivalence: The murderous alternation between bitter resentment and raw-edged nerves and blissful gratification and tenderness. Sometimes I seem to myself…..a monster of selfishness and intolerance.” This quote is an excerpt from her journal. Her journal, a place where you jot down thoughts and write about your feeling. A place where you write extemporaneously. My journal entries would sound like “Today I was mad. SO very mad! Arrgghh.” She manages to sound like Shakespeare as she sorts her feelings out. I can’t wait to read more of this book. And I still have to finish Harry Potter. I love having a stack of books that I can’t wait to read.

Oh, the new store on the corner is a T M*bile store. Yawn. That does NOTHING for me at all.

Pictured above is Miss Maddie holding onto Nicole’s fingers. This is Maddie’s little way of ensuring that she isn’t put down to sleep by herself. Put her down and remove her fingers and she wakes up. Screaming. Pacifier be damned. I have to try that someday.

*I posted another belly shot in my last post, which shows it at its most horrifying angle. The front-on shots just don't do it justice. It looked almost flat-ish in those shots and it is so not like that!

Who Says We Can’t Have Meaningful Conversations?

There has been an empty storefront a block away from us for a couple of years. Recently there has been some activity inside and so we have been wondering what is going into that space. I hope, as always, for a book store, because 5 blocks to Borders is just w-a-y too far for me to walk. [I’m kidding…but I would still like another bookstore!] Today, on the way home from a software-buying outing I noticed an awning was up revealing what was going to open up in that space. I went home and was excited to tell Nicole that the mystery was solved:

Me: Guess what they are putting in on the corner?
Nicole: I have no idea.
Me: Guess:
Nicole: A Houlihan’s.
Me: No. Guess again!
Nicole: A vitamin store. [Notice please that there is no question mark, as she says these things with no up inflection. I might describe her tone as weary.]
Me: Nope. Try again!
Nicole: I’m not going to guess again. I guessed twice already and now I’m done.
Me: I’m not going to tell you then.
Nicole: Well, I guess the game is over.

Another conversation:

Me: Who is that cartoon character? He talks in a high monotone voice and sounds a little like this. [I demonstrate]
Nicole: I don't know, but I will think about it.
Me: No you won't. You won’t think about it.
Nicole: You’re right. I won’t think about it at all. [laughs manically.]

Other topics of conversation included:

• What Should We Order In For Dinner?
• Why Is The Baby Screaming?
• Should We Take A Walk Outside With the Babies or Just Put On Our Pajamas?
• Why the Nachos We Ordered with Dinner are Bad.
• When Did the Babies Eat Last?
• Why oh Why is the Baby Screaming?

I guess we need to work harder at having meaningful conversations!

Pictured above, as promised, my stomach. The first picture is before. And by “before” I mean before all those IVF and IUI drugs. The middle picture is during. The bottom picture is after. The shadows on my sides of my stomach make it seem like there is definition there. There is not. Those “shadows” are actually contour lines. My stomach juts out from those two parts on the side, giving me the appearance of still being pregnant from the side. It is lumpy and bumpy, not soft and squishy like normal fat. Those purple lines are stretch marks that I got in the last week of pregnancy. I was fine until that last week. My belly button looks stretched out like an old turtleneck. My hips are wider and my waist is much meatier. I have to have Nicole take a profile shot so you can get the full effect. Also, when I sit don, my stomach folds into several neat little bumps.

Don’t get me wrong: I am not complaining about my stretched-out skin and war-torn body. For the first time in my life I am actually ironically more comfortable with my body, flaws and flab and all. It is what it is, and it did an amazing thing. But there still is that side of me, with all the body image problems and borderline food issues problems. After all, I went on my first diet when I was in 3rd grade. I used to go to the gym twice a day and I would practically starve myself on a low-calorie diet and weigh myself 10 times a day. I am trying really hard to avoid such manias.

I still care but that doesn’t stop me from eating an entire box of Wheat Thins today. Or a bag of pretzels. And ice cream. There needs to be a balance but not today.

* Update: The bottom picture is a better shot of what my stomach looks like. The front-on shot didn't do it justice! In this picture, I look like I am still pregnant. And we all know that is categorically impossible!

Prepare To Qualify

Prepare To Qualify

This was our exchange during a let’s-calm-the-babies walk to get ice cream (our dinner) the other night:

Nicole: I have some bad news.
Me: Okay... [fear and blood pressure rising….]
Nicole: I have to go to Boston next Sunday [for work] and I have to spend the night.
Me: [panicking inside; trying to think positive, calculating exactly how many hours she will be gone, including transportation to and from the airport] That’s ok. That will be fine. We’ll be okay for a couple days. It’s not like you are going to San Francisco for a week or something.
Nicole: Well, I have to go to San Francisco for a week in September.

We discussed for a few minutes the concept of me and the girls going to San Francisco too, and Nicole was very indulgent in that fantasy. But we quickly determined that that would be unrealistic: baby jet lag; walking up those hills with a Bjorned baby and a stroller; and I would be alone all day while Nicole worked east coast hours on the west coast.

On the plus side, sourdough bread; family all together; a swanky hotel, in which I would most likely spend lots of time with napping babies. And maybe a trip to Muir Woods to visit the redwood trees.

Neagtive side: Cross-country trip with four-month-olds.

It’s not going to happen. As much as I want it to, it is just too soon.

The Adrienne Rich book is called Of Woman Born: Motherhood as Experience and Institution. It might be a bit too extreme for my tastes, but I read a provocative quote from it and I must admit I am intrigued with Rich’s rather controversial take on motherhood as being both a blessing and burden. And I read a part that talked about how hard/overwhelming it can be. I like books these days that forces readers to take off the rose-colored glasses and look at everything for what it really is.

Today, the girls were little angels/ Nanny Annie and I visited my friend Jen (the one with twins) at her beautiful home (Trees! Nature! Grass! Bugs! Butterflies! Driveway!). We ate BBQ’d chicken and corn on the cob while sitting in the backyard where you can hear the breeze through the trees. The babies slept and ate and smiled and coo’d and generally just did a great job being cute. I had a sneak peek at what life with twins will be like when they are older and it is good! They really are each other’s playmates! Jen’s kids played on the swingset and played inside the house and on the patio and in the pool. They were so cute with one another.

Cuteness continued way into the evening. But Avery and I had a brief upset at the grocery store. I took Avery to buy a few things and she started to cry as I waited on line. Not a whiney little blink-and-you’ll-miss-it cry, but a full on red-faced scream cry. I had no idea what to do. I still feel like there is an voiceover announcer following me around saying “And today, the role of mother will be played by Jennifer.” People we looking at me and I was looking right back at them, trying to convey “I have NO idea what is wrong with her ha ha ha” with my facial expression. Crying continued so I unstrapped her and picked her up. I bounced her and patted her back and wouldn’t you know it, she releases a giant burp and a lot of spit up, all over my shirt and her dress and the floor. I laughed nervously and made some comment about how silly I was not to bring a burp cloth, and proceeded to wipe Avery’s wet face and neck with the bottom of my tee shirt. Here’s hoping that no one behind me on line was from Child Protective Services.

This incident hits horror from several angles:

1. This is one of the first days this summer when I wore a “good” tee shirt. Meaning, one I did not want to ruin. It’s one of those $14.50 Gap ones. It’s soft, soft pink, like the inside of an aged clam shell. I only pull it out for special occasions or when I am wearing pants with pink in them. Best laid plans and all.
2. Lifting up the bottom of my shirt meant revealing part of my stomach. Some might say too much of my stomach. And I am not sure the general public is ready for that yet. Perhaps I will take a picture a do a little before-and-after here so you can see what I mean.
3. This is my local grocery store. I go here every day (sometimes twice a day). And I don’t want to look like an incompetent fool.
4. This little disturbance meant there was ample time for everyone on line to analyze my purchases: Dr. Pepper, pretzels and ice cream. Why couldn’t this happen on a healthy food run, when I am buying fruits and veggies? All I have to say is thank goodness I put back the enormous bag of Gummi Bears that I was going to buy.

Tales of life on a boat to come….

Pictured above are Avery and me on the hammock and Mad in her car seat. Both are wearing cute sailor dresses given to them by their Aunt Jenni, our host or the afternoon. I’m sad that they will grow out of these dresses!

Politics/Memories/Sleep/Eye Contact

Bush approves a bill allowing for even MORE Big Brotheresque eavesdropping. And he vetoes a bill that would provide health care coverage to three million children. Anyone else think there is something wrong with this country?

In other current even news of the weird, am I the only one who thinks that Murdoch buying the Wall Street Journal is a bit like Voldemort buying The Daily Prophet? (I have Harry Potter on the brain, as I am still trying to read the last book.) What is the city coming to?

I technically have nothing against Mr. Murdoch, because I had one encounter (sort of) with him that was pleasantly memorable. I used to live on a boat at a marina here in New York City. Murdoch married his latest wife on his boat, a huge over 100-foot beautiful sailboat that is strong enough to cross oceans. His boat remained dock across from mine for some time, blocking my view (bad thing) but also blocking some of the wakes that rocked my boat (good thing). On the night of his wedding there were so many glittery dressed-to-the-nines people on my dock, and then there was me, dressed in shorts and a bathing suit top, on my boat, drinking in the scene.

When the boat returned to the dock (after a firework show in the harbor that I could see) the dock boys were gone for the night so I ran down to catch the lines. Now this is quite an undertaking with these big boats: They have engines on the bow and stern to glide the boat to the dock but they still need to get a line on the bow and stern and a couple of spring lines in between or else they risk damaging the hull. The ropes for his boat are as thick as the diameter of my tight and attached to weighted balls to make the throwing easier. So I caught the lines and tied them off on the cleat and as a thank you Mr. Murdoch sent over a bottle of champagne. A very very expensive bottle of champagne, the kind billionaires buy. How cool is that? Still, I dislike his politics. And I still think it is weird that he is buying the Journal.

Right now both babies are sleeping and Nanny Annie is here so life is pretty good! We (Nicole and I, that is) had a couple of good nights in a row. I don’t want to jinx it so I am not going to talk about it yet. But it is getting a little better. Maddie still needs to sleep with Nicole. And Avery occasionally likes to get up hourly for breastsnacking. But I have more energy during the day. Or maybe that energy is coming from the gym. I have lost all perspective.

In an attempt to understand why the babies can be so (adorably) devilish, Nicole is tearing through different baby books. Almost every week she comes home with “I was talking to (insert random name here) and he said that (insert random book here) changed his life with his baby (or babies).” And so off I go to B&N to buy said book, which she reads, and then attempts to incorporate into our lives somehow. I think we are following too many systems to be effective. One system allotted time in the schedule of the day for me to wash and sterilize bottles. It also told me when I was “allowed” to talk to my babies and look in their eyes. I want them sleeping better and eating more less often, but not at the sacrifice of eye contact. Good grief.

Anyone ever read anything by Adrienne Rich? I just bought her book and can’t wait to read it, in my spare time. A feminist perspective on motherhood. One quote of hers I read was quite profound.

In cute news, the girls are now wearing pajamas. Yes, after 9 weeks on this earth they finally get taken out of their day onesies and put into nighttime sleepers. They look adorable in them, like Sweet Pea! They are also smiling more and cooing more. And I swear Avery laughed today when she got into BFing position. Just like her (other) mother, she suffers from food excitement!

The Way We Were (Are)

I was on the subway the other day with Avery or was it Madeline and slid into a seat next to a woman just as the train lurched ahead. By slid I mean I practically tumbled into a random woman’s lap. She was quite understanding and made the requisite baby comments. She told me about her one-year-old at home. And then she said “Isn’t it really hard? Being a parent?” Who says these sort of things? To strangers on a subway?

Regardless, she picked the wrong person to talk to if she was being rhetorical because 1.) I have no problem opening up to complete strangers and 2.) I can talk for long periods of time and 3.) I find this parenting thing, to quote her, really hard.

It is insane how intimate you can get between 14th Street and 50th Street. I was happy to have an ear willing to listen to me and she was happy to unpack her dark un-PC thoughts. I even thought about staying on the train past my stop so we could talk more. But I thought that might be too much of a good thing. So we wrapped it up, a little awkwardly since I had approximately 5 seconds before the subway doors closed shut again. We wished each other luck, and she went speeding off uptown in the dark tunnel with her dark thoughts and I climbed back into the sunlight of the street, a little brighter and a little less alone.

This isn’t parenting, not quite, what I am doing. This is schedule management and feeding management and sanitation disposal and more. When exactly will I feel like a mother? Who is my role model for that?

I was (mis)lead to believe that being a mother was some sort of innate skill set. I was born with mothering abilities. I would rise to the occasion without a single fumble or stumble. I can file that away under Bullshit and Other Lies, much like the old chestnut I Will Get Pregnant When I Want To. Creating these babies took a lot of time and money and energy, and maybe being a (good) mother will take a while too. I have no idea because it is hard to find people willing to talk too much about it.

It is 10:30 on Friday night and already my old life has faded from memory. I am sitting in a dark living room with fidgety Maddie, who, despite all efforts, refuses to sleep. She has been feed and burped and cuddled and walked and bounced and put down in a swing, a bouncy seat, a crib and a co-sleeper. She has had a diaper change and an emergency issuance of gripe water. She has spent time on her acid trip playmat (way too stimulating). She enjoyed a walk in the sultry (ha) Manhattan air. She has been held in no less than six different positions. And she still will not sleep.

If I turned the lights on I am sure I would see her with a smirk on her little face, mocking our efforts. Right now she is in the swing making her loud little breathing noises in such a way that I can tell without even looking at her that her eyes are wide open. I might be better equipped to deal with this except last night was awful… hourly wakings and a stretch from 2 am till 4 am when both babies were up and wired like they just had a six pack of Red Bu*ll. And I was on my own with them from 4 pm until almost 8, when Nicole got home, which to most people might seem like no big deal, but when you have two overtired, colicky babies who desperately need to sleep and need your constant attention, you want a freaking sticker, dammit. Wit these babies, day drifts into night drifts into middle of the night and repeat. It is as if there is no beginning and no end, just an endless loop. A loop, I might add, that I don’t feel particularly “good” at.

I haven’t had much practice.

Pictured above is m-m-m-memories, light the corner of my mind, misty water color memories.…..

Co-Captains of my Heart

It’s a whirlwind here. I barely have any time to log on the internet and it takes me about a week or two to respond to emails (or even read them). The babies keep me quite busy. I live my life in short increments. Apparently, an 8 week old’s attention span is about 4 seconds, which explains how the babies can manically go from smiling (finally!) and cooing to screeching at the top of their lungs in less time than it takes to change the channel. It is hard, living through a day in ten-second chunks.

The babies are okay for most of the day. Nanny Annie and I divide and conquer them, which seems to work. When they both sleep I slip into my gym clothes and rush off for a quick workout. We take them for Bjornwalks in the afternoon. And then when the sleep later in the afternoon I run out to do errands (dry cleaners, grocery store, drug store, etc.). In between, there is the day-to-day tasks that need to be accomplished.

Today, Annie and I had the babies smiling and cooing in their little seats while we sat at the table flipping though catalogs and talking with them. It was a blissful respite from the walking and bouncing and soothing and carrying that we normally do. Then Nicole came home, Annie left and the babies switched into Psycho Mode. I kept saying they won’t be like this all night and, well, not all night but for three hours it was rough.

I managed to make dinner while Nicole soothed a savage Maddie. I had Avery and she was quiet as long as I talked to her. By quiet, I mean she moaned, but a soft moan that I could dominate with a shrilly high voice. So I narrated what I was doing (making a big salad) but you begin to feel like you are dancing on the fringe of sanity when you start saying things like “Now I am chopping up carrots. Hi carrots! How are you doing? Welcome to our salad! These are orange. Isn’t orange a fun color? I like orange. The carrots are good to eat. Rabbits eat carrots. Now I am cutting up a tomato. Hi Tomato! How are you today? Do you mind that I am cutting you up?” You get the picture. And if my kids end up talking with vegetables we will know why.

Nicole and I spent some alone time on Sunday while Nanny Annie and Nanny Nan babysat (Nancy will be taking over Annie’s job in mid August). Of course it was pouring rain, but that was okay. It was great to be out, and alone, and in white pants, which apparently turn transparent when wet. I’m too tired to care.

Actually, I’m still tired but I feel more energetic than I did a month ago. My body is still adjusting to everything, but I had a massage and that did wonders to work some big knots out of my shoulders and back and calves. And as long as I can have my ice cream at the end of the day, it was a good day.

This past week Nicole’s mom stayed with us so it was a much easier than normal week. Not only does she help a ton with the babies she also cooks! We had a full week of home-cooked meals. If only she could stay for another 51 weeks, then I might feel like I will be able to do this whole mother thing. This morning, for that brief two hours I am alone with them, during the chasm between Nicole leaving and Annie arriving, the had two meltdowns and one hungry fit. I finally got them to sleep (in separate rooms) and they woke up at the same time. By the time Annie arrived I felt like I lived a thousand lives.

This week I discovered that basil lemonade is a delicious alternative to water. And that if I don’t make a list of things that have to be done, it won’t get done. My capacity to forget details is alarming. And I never used to be that way. Nicole called me when she was on her way home and asked me to turn on the espresso machine (it needs to heat up before it is used) so that she can make herself a latte as soon as she walked in the door (because waiting even three minute for a caffeine fix is Out of the Question). I promptly said yes, hung up, and promptly forgot.

Pictured above are Captain von Fussypants (Maddie), who is called Pretty Princess by her other mother, and Captain von Wigglesworth (Avery), who is also know as Sniffles the Flat-eaded, White-Tongued clown. I’ll just start the therapy funds now.

Seven Weeks

I can't believe they are 7 weeks old. Here they are, aclimating to their Scandinavian Crib of Fire and to each other.

More Whine

Both babies are sleeping and I am drunk with (temporary) freedom.

Here’s how whine-y I am: I complain about being overwhelmed and I have help almost 24 hours a day. Nanny Annie is here during the day and stays until Nicole gets home from work. Nicole’s mother will be here all next week, day and night. My sister-in-law is here twice a week usually. And there is an endless stream of friends who stop by, willing to hold and feed a baby or two. The only time I am alone with the babies is from when Nicole leaves for work until when Annie arrives (around 7 am till 10 am). And that just happens to be when the babies are off the wall.

People rarely believe that Maddie and the Aviator can get so crank-because they tend to put their best face forward in the presence of company. Our friends Jon and Tim were just over and of course the babies were little angels. They tend to be angels during the day. They like to look around and play on their acid trip mat (one of those play mats) and, of course, eat. Where they experience the most difficulty, I think, is during transitional times. So when night becomes day (from 6ish to 10ish) and when day becomes night (coincidentally, from 6ish till 10ish again) the babies get quite fussy. I think they sense the change. In the morning, they hear Nicole get up and sense the sunlight that slips in through the blinds and hears the noise on the street. And at night, I think they sense the sun going down and notice that we dim the lights. It’s as if night is coming and they think in their little baby brains “I’m not ready for this!!!” I could be WAY off, but that’s my theory and I am sticking to it.

Last night, from 6ish until 10ish, both babies insisted on being held and collapsed into meltdowns if we even thought about stopping walking/bouncing. They eventually fell into an exhausted sleep. Avery then slept for four hours straight and Maddie a little less than that. Honestly, the night wakings don’t bother me so much anymore. They wake, we feed them and we all go back to bed. It is those crazy transitional times that make life really hard.

It is just all so difficult, with or without help. I agree with all of you who tell me I need to let go of the image of how I thought things we supposed to be…release that image of the uber mom. We all just do the best that we can. And it is ridiculously hard. There is NO preparation: You go from a me me me life to a completely different on in a mere day. Or even in mere moments.

I am okay with the fact that life changes with children. It is a sacrifice, yes, but one that we wanted. And in the end we can’t just go and do whatever we want to go and do anymore. This weekend, the aforementioned friends are hosting a charity event at their house on Fire Island (hosted by Whoopi Goldbe*rg!) and we can’t go. Well, we could but I can’t imagine how it would work. It is way too much effort with newborns. A month down the road, it would be much easier. But now, no way. And I really want to go, to get out of the city and to walk by the ocean and just relax. I would settle to see a movie. Or a dinner out. Having a little alone time is key. At this point, even a solo trip to the dry cleaner is restorative. But having couple time is key-er. That statistic that the average couple only engages in 15 minutes of meaningful conversation a day is frightening. And very close to being true, since our evenings are hijacked these days.

I do have something to look forward to: I am going to Blis*s Spa on Monday. Nicole has the day off and Nicole’s mom is coming up to stay with us for the week, so with two sets of hands to take care of the babies I feel like I can have an afternoon off. I am so excited and spend hours browsing the treatments with one hand while breastfeeding the babies. I need to book today, or run the chance of not being able to get in. And that CAN’T happen. I feel guilty for even wanting a mini break but I know in the end it is better for everyone if I am relaxed.

And, more important, I *think* the babies are starting to smile. It may not be gas smiles anymore. It is still too soon to tell, but both babies are getting happy little smiles on their chubby little faces. Maybe. And tears. they both are getting their tears now. That is going to be SO hard when those tears are working at full force.

Today I ate pretzels, a pickle and half a Pop Tart. I am so hungry. How do people with newborns eat?

The natives are getting restless....how is it in separate rooms they both started to stir at the same time?? This twin thing is kind of spooky sometimes.

Pictured above is us on Fire Island last year and a picture of their pool, where I won’t be relaxing by this weekend. But the thought of being there in August might help me get through a few rough patches…

Hello Faiure Feelings, My Old Friend

It was not the best day but I have difficulties writing about it because I feel like to admit to difficulties equals admitting failure. And why is it that so few people talk about/write about/admit to some of the challenges of parenting? People have slipped things here and there (I hear a lot of “I would NEVER do it, but I TOTALLY understand why some people abuse kids…”) but I can’t seem to find the dialogue.

It is frustrating because while I know how lucky we are to have these babies and I am so grateful that they have joined our lives and that I can stay home with them, I still have moments when I lose sight of all that. Sometimes I feel like I am barely staying afloat. It is so hard. And everyone says it will get easier but, wow, that doesn’t help in the moment.

I had this image of the kind of mother I would be. I had years to flesh out the details. And I am struggling to just fulfill a modicum of that image.

I stepped in a puddle today, which renewed my Get Me Out Of Here attitude. It will happen some day. Nicole has officially pulled out of the interview process (no weekend trip!) so we won’t be moving next month. This was a great opportunity but it really is the wrong time. Adjusting to these babies is hard enough…dealing with a move to a new place and all of the hell that goes with that is just too much right now. And we need to be around the people we know. Because as loathe as I am to admit I need help. Even though I have Nanny Annie all day and Nicole at night, that short period of time between when Nicole leaves for week and Annie comes (a mere few hours) is enough to send me over the edge.

When both babies cry and I can only attend to one at a time…it unhinges me. And then come those failure feelings again.

Pictured above is Maddie in a salad bowl and Maddie “sleeping.” She is merely resting up so she can go crazy from 6 to 10 pm. Notice how the little vampire shields out the sun from her little vampire eyes.

Not Seeing The Forest For The Trees

Well, I (we) were thisclose to leaving this forsaken city for greener pastures. A career opportunity in another state brought the whole moving issue front and center. But it looks like we are staying here for a while more.

I don’t know why this is happening now, but I very suddenly urgently and desperately need to move out of the city. And I’m not sure why. Maybe it was spending an afternoon at my friend Jen’s new house (land, trees, lawn, woods, swing sets and BBQ grills). Or it could just be the annual get-out-of-the-city urge, brought on by heat, which brings on the stink, which brings out the worst in people here in the city. But this desire is reaching a fevered pitch and becoming impossible to ignore.

I assumed we would eventually end up somewhere else, but NYC has a way of sucking you in and not letting you go. I have been here for 17 years, starting when I was 18 years old. And I love this life. But I also yearn for a different one: The kind of life that includes a house with a driveway (no more paying for parking or having to call the cantankerous man at the garage to tell him I will need my car at a certain time) and a porch with a porch swing and hanging plants and a mailbox that doesn’t require a key (oh the novelty of just opening a mailbox and getting mail). I want to shop in grocery stores that don’t charge nearly $8 a pound for chicken. I want to pull my car into a parking lot (again, the novelty) and buy more groceries than I can carry. I want trees and grass and most important several hydrangea bushes (blue, purple and pink preferable) and a semi-mature apple tree in the backyard (optional). A hammock. A fireplace would be nice. Built-in bookshelves for certain. It’s not too much to ask, is it?

Nicole was being head-hunted by a company in another state that I wouldn’t mind living in for a few years. There were several benefits to this particular position, but the main one was they were paying a ridiculous salary. We talked about what would happen if they made an official offer and we both decided, hey, why not move. We would rent out our apartment here and move there for a few years. And then we could come back. Or if we loved it there, we could stay. We were all about being flexible.

It isn’t an easy decision because we would be leaving behind some loved ones. But we figured we would be taking lots of weekend trips back up this way.

Well, then the tide turned. They wanted to fly (or train ride) Nicole in to interview with the final people. But Nicole told them she changed her mind. She said life is crazy with two new babies and even leaving for a night right now isn’t appealing to her. She told them good luck with their search and that if the position was still available in a few weeks to call her. She broke practically every interviewee rule in the book and they still wanted her. They told her they would WAIT for her. They wouldn’t take no for an answer. They then offered to put us all (babies too) up for the weekend n a nice hotel and show us just how great it is to live in their town. But it wasn’t moving that is the issue; it is more about a lot of change (babies, etc.) in a short period of time. I begged Nicole to let us at least do the weekend away. But she is way too ethical for my tastes and said it wouldn’t be right, unless she was seriously considering this position. We can’t just go on an all-expenses-paid weekend jaunt. Damn.

In the meantime, we are staying put. For now. I wonder how long we will last in the city, especially now with children. My brother gives us a year. Nicole and I think we have a good four years to go. I really don’t know. If we get a place to go to on the weekends, then I can imagine lasting here a very long time. But being in the city year-round, without any escape? I think I am over that.

And then the question: When is enough enough? Enough time living in the city? Enough money? Enough material possessions? Enough of the fast pace? Enough of paying almost $6 for a half gallon of orange juice?

Pictured above, my friend Jen’s backyard. You can hear the breeze swish through the trees. It doesn’t get any better than that.

And Yet Another Night System

As soon as the babies were born, every single floorboard in the apartment became warped and distorted. They creak and groan if we so much as think of walking on them. And the babies—who sleep through the symphony of sirens and jackhammers and traffic and loud voices on the street—startle awake when they hear this (to them) deafening noise. So when the babies doze off in their swing or bouncy seat or on a couch, I feel like I can’t move until they wake up, which can be in 15 seconds or two and half hours. And walking a sleepy baby to our bedroom (their temporary sleeping quarters) to put down (hopefully) to sleep is always a risky endeavor. I just put Avery down for a second time and her little eyes popped open as soon as I took the first step toward the bedroom.

Nights are slowly getting better, and by better I mean I don’t dream of throwing myself out the window so much anymore. We switched formulas AGAIN and gave this new one a few days to work, instead of letting them take three sips from a bottle then run screaming to the drugstore because nothing has changed. The babies are still getting up a lot: Maddie awakens every two hours like she is connected to an atomic clock and Avery, well, lovely little Avery thought she might try HOURLY feedings last night just because she knows she can.

Nicole and I have set up a de facto system: We each take charge of a baby at nighttime for the entire night. The system works because it takes the “Are you going to get up or should I?” conversation that happens in the middle of the night, which is a really bad time for negotiations. Nicole has Maddie and I have Avery. It worked out this way because a.) Maddie absolutely cannot sleep on a flat surface by herself ever (perish the thought) and needs to sleep in the arms of a soft person and b.) Maddie very much prefers Nicole over me. And Maddie can ONLY sleep at night in the crook of Nicole’s arm. We have created a sleeping nightmare!

If Nicole is holding Maddie and I try to lean in and kiss Maddie or even talk to her, she concentrates her gaze on Nicole and gives me the newborn version of fingers-in-her-ears- la-la-la-la-I-can’t-hear-you. One time she even kicked me as I leaned in to her to kiss her mini forehead when she was nestled in Nicole’s arms. How dare I? I might be jealous if it weren’t so damn cute the way she cleaves to Nicole. Besides, it comes in handy: I managed to calm down a fussy Maddie one afternoon by letting her rest of one of Nicole’s shirts on my shoulder. And anything that calms down a baby is okay with me.

I am so tired and should be in bed with the sleeping Nicole, Maddie and Avery but who can turn off “Too Young To Marry,” a perfectly awful Lifet*ime movie about married teenagers. It’s Tivo’d but I feel like I MUST finish it right now, sleep be damned.

Pictured above is Avery wearing pants or the first time. She looks oh so intense, like she takes pants-wearing very seriously. She takes after her (other) mom.

Definitions

The other day Nicole and I were talking with some friends, who enquired about mutual friend. The other friend replied “She’s married and has two kids.” And it struck me how often we all use limiting labels like marital status and the total number of exiting occupants of their wombs to describe women. With men, it is always about career: He’s a doctor or he works at Blah or he just got a promotion. Sometimes it seems like we haven’t come so far in the area of Equal Rights as we think we have. Where did all the feminists go? And how do they describe themselves?

And yet, what is my blog all about? Trying to have (and then having) a baby (ies). Motherhood. Children. And my relationship (to a lesser extent, because a girl has to have some privacy, no? ). Do I not have any other interesting things in my life to talk about? Apparently not, at least not at the moment.

However, in my own defense, this whole blog started as an outlet for all of the pent-out frustrations and feelings associated with TTC. There is such an amazing community of women out there who have experienced/are experiencing the same thing, and it was important for me to reach out and feel like a part of that. I wish that I had found this community years ago, before all of the spectacular failures of IVF and IUIs.

But still I yearn for something else to write about.

Meanwhile, back at Casa de los Dos Babies con muchos Fits of Crying, we are experiencing the typical ups and downs. A baby “smiles”: Up. Another night of three hours of sleep: Down. Not having time to eat: Down. Eating ice cream bars while pumping: Up. Having a second ice cream bar just because I feel like it: Up up up.

I am trying so hard to be patient and calm, even in the face of extreme lethargy and sleep deprivation. I know it will get better, and I look forward to that time while also lamenting these days that part of me wishes away. It is just so hard to see things with the right perspective when you feel like you are going to collapse or walk into a wall.

I’m just so very tired.

When people tell you that the frequent bathroom trips at the end of pregnancy are nature’s way of preparing you for sleepless nights with a newborn, let me tell you the truth: NOTHING prepares you for sleepless nights with a newborn. All those trips to the bathroom to empty a quarter-thimble’s worth of pee from my bladder eight times a night in no way gave me a sneak peek at what sleep deprivation is like. And just because I could stay out all night in college doesn’t make this easier either. Because nights with newborns lack the alcohol/cigarette/random recreation drugs/dancing/coffee fuel that sustained me through college. I should have strapped two 10-pound bags of flour to me and practice bounce-walking around the apartment before the babies were born.

I almost laughed when my pediatrician told me that I should work on keeping the babies alert more during the day. Ha. When these babies nap, I am making bottles and pumping and doing dishes and picking up the mess that accumulates so quickly in our home and writing thank you notes and trying to eat/bathe/brush my teeth/dress. I need that nap time to keep my home running just a little bit smooth.

The babies are now on Zanta*c. It is suspected that they are experiencing acid reflux. Though not my fault, I still wonder what I was doing the week that their digestive systems were forming. Maybe I could have done something different? Isn’t it ridiculous? If I weren’t so tired I would laugh at myself.

Pictured above, Maddie with me and without. Is it me or does she look happier when I am not holding her? I still contend that she very much prefers Nicole to me!

The Dreaded C-Word

Nothing has quite made me feel like a failure quite like motherhood. The babies are still pained and struggling with gas that contorts their little faces and makes their little bodies rigid and makes them writhe in pain. It is awful to watch. The fact that I can’t comfort them destroys me. They look at me with these sad eyes and it makes me want to cry. Maybe it is some sort of hormonal reaction, but I see their pain and want to absorb it or take it away. Give me the pain and let them be carefree and healthy. It makes me look at parents of chronically sick or terminally ill children in a whole new light.

The gas has made them quite fussy and colicky. I said it: The C word. I was hoping it was just random but I think we need to face the fact that they are crying at regular intervals for longer than they should. Their pattern seems to be meltdown every night between 9:00 pm and midnight. Then they fall into a troubled sleep in our arms only, not in their beds, which, apparently, is made of nails and fire. That makes for a tortured sleep for me because I am constantly worried that I will roll on the baby or knock her off the couch or bed. And then commences the tag-team all-night snackings/feedings.

They wake up around 6:00 for more food and then only partake in light naps for the next five hours or so. And not at the same time. One will sleep while the other fusses, and then the fusser will fall asleep and the previously out-cold baby will awaken. This pattern continues in an almost unbelievable/comical way.

One baby would be much more manageable, but with two…it is just overwhelming.

Nanny Annie during the day is a huge help. I can go to the gym, which serves me better than napping. I am the type that if I take a nap, I wake up feeling worse off. It is better for me to energize myself at the gym instead, and store up some strength for the day. Despite my huge concerns, I looked into a night nurse. They cost about $300 a night in NYC and they usually need to be booked way in advance. For $300 a night, I’d almost rather book a night at the Mandarin and have a sleepless night in understated modern elegance with great city views. I may be tired, but at least I’d be in fancy-ness. I still contend that I will get NO sleep if there is a stranger in my home. I will fear a Lifetime movie twist and awaken to find that the night nurse absconded with my babies while I was sleeping. Why take a chance?

But the sleep deprivation thing is ridiculous. And something has to change. Tonight’s plan: I am taking the babies out for a l-o-n-g walk around 9:00 p.m. They fuss less when moving in a stroller and Bjorn so we will see where that gets us tonight.

I feel like I don’t have the right to ever complain because I should realize how lucky I am to have these babies. And I DO realize how lucky we are. But that doesn’t mitigate the tough parts, and there are many tough parts. Mothering is a thankless job at this point: The babies are too little to respond or smile or even really acknowledge your presence. And yet they take up every minute of the day. Literally.

I have moments when I miss my “old” life. Naturally I glamorized it and paint a picture in my head of this blissful, idyllic, peaceful, romantic and perfect world. I lament that I can’t go to the movies when I want. Or shower when I want. Or go to the gym. But the thing is, I could have gone to the movies during my entire pregnancy and I didn’t. And I still manage to shower daily, just not in the morning, when I want to. And our life was considerable less busy, but we were ready for it to be about more than just ourselves. But it is easy to lose sight of that when you are operating on less-than-optimal sleep.

The trade-off is worth it. And I am sure I would appreciate it much more if I wasn’t drowning in a drunk-like state of sleeplessness and exhaustion.

This isn’t pity post, where I am fishing for people to say “You’re not a failure!” and “You are doing a great job!” I’m just overwhelmed and tired and overwhelmed and tired and I think I am repeating myself. I know it will get easier and I know I will get better at all of this, but that doesn’t do much for the here and now.

I should be resting now, since both babies are “sleeping.”

Pictured above, the baby sling, which worked for a while at quieting the fussy baby. But now I need to pull some new tricks out of my bag.

The Tale of Two Doctors

I’m officially in my mid-thirties. And I ushered in this auspicious era with My first Migraine. Of course, I didn’t think it was a migraine: I was certain it was an aneurysm and I needed to go to the ER right away. My head was throbbing, and just on the left side. It hurt to blink. Nicole insisted I wait it out (isn’t that how people die?!) and blamed lack of sleep, lack of drinking water, and lack of food as the culprit. So I spent a chunk of my birthday (a rainy-ish, dreary day) laying in bed with a washcloth over my eyes.

Nicole was right and it did subside. But still an ER trip wouldn’t have been so bad? Why take chances? I don’t want to come this far in life and then succumb to an exploding blood vessel in my brain. OK, enough of the drama.

Now: For the commenter who asked about why we switched doctors, here is the story. It is worth repeating.

I had no idea that it would take me so long to get pregnant. Like most women, I thought I was in charge of my own fertility (Ha!) and that when I wanted to get pregnant, I would (double Ha!). We started the journey with my ob/gyn, who did four IUIs with no success. We thought we better move onto a full-fledge fertility clinic so we signed up with one of the top clinics in the city even though we would be paying out of pocket because they didn’t accept my insurance. I got pregnant on my second IUI (money justified!) but then I had a m/c.

It occurred to us that we might be in this fertility race for the long haul, so we looked around for another clinic. We picked a clinic that not only accepted our insurance, but also had excellent success rates: In fact, they had slightly BETTER success rates than the fancy top clinic. I was certain that I would get pregnant because, according to all of the doctors I had been to, there was no reason why I couldn’t get and stay pregnant (lovely unexplained infertility, fertility’s cop-out). And I did get pregnant, on my second IUI there. And then I had another m/c. Our doctor said our best chances for success would be IVF. We did two IVFs with this clinic: With the first, we transferred three blasts and with the second we transferred four blasts. And we got nothing.

I went in for follow-up blood work after the second failed IVF and, sad and desperate, I asked the nurse if she had ever seen anyone with my history (two m/c’s, two failed IVFs, tons of IUIs) get and stay pregnant. I told her after the in total seven live embryos that my uterus rejected. She asked me, kind of nonchalantly but not non chalantly enough, who did my transfers. I told her it was Doctor X, and she sighed.

Thus ensued the greatest test of my journalism interviewing skills. Why the sigh? I asked her if she thought that Dr. X didn’t do transfers well, and she blanched. She wasn’t going to say anything too blasphemous. I asked her what Dr. X’s success rate was, and she didn’t answer. I kept fishing till I found the magic questions: I asked her if some doctors have better success rates than others when it comes to transfers and she said yes. Then I asked her if I made the best choice of doctors for my transfers and she said “I think Dr. Y is great.” Dr. Y was not my doctor. We randomly chose Dr. X.

Dr. Y is apparently the superstar. I did a little google work and it turns out that I am not the only person to have discovered this. I immediately called the practice and said I wanted to switch doctors but the practice refused to let me do that. So I switched practices. Their stupid policy cost them 15K.

We went back to the fancy top clinic, knowing we would pay out of pocket, and embarked on IVF number three. They put three embryos in me and I got pregnant—and stayed pregnant—with the twins. This is why I am a firm believer in switching practices. If you have had a couple of failed IVFs or IUIs I think it s worth trying another doctor/practice/approach. There are so many variables to IVF and IUI, especially, I’ve learned, in creating embryos. And you really want a top-notch embryologist.

There is something to be said for staying with one doctor and trying different strategies, but that becomes less important since medical records are transferable (though Dr. X charged me a dollar a page (!) for my medical records, which amounted to over a hundred dollars!)

Pictured above: The two little princesses. In the first picture, Avery looks like a Volcan or Klingon or whatever those Star Trek people are. She looks more like herself in the bottom picture (with the white milk tongue!) Madeline looks nonplused. She isn’t sure what to make of this creature who lives with her. They continue to be ambivalent toward each other.

378 DPO

It is 11:00 pm on July 3rd, my birthday eve, and I wish I were sleeping.

Last year, July 4th was 13DPO for me on our second IVF. We aggressively transferred four excellent-looking blasts, as recommended by our previous doctor. Four. We could have had quads or triplets. I was certain it would work. At least one had to stick. I was so pumped up that I took a HPT on July 3rd. What a great birthday gift, I thought, if it was positive. But the pregnancy test was negative again and instantly I sunk. The next day was the worst birthday ever. It involved strewn backgammon pieces and some door damage, among other things. To this day it still hurts to think about how awful that time was.

What a difference a year makes. We changed doctors, did another IVF and here I am, with 4 week plus old twins about to celebrate my 35th birthday.

Tonight Nicole and I went out to dinner and left the girls with Nanny Annie. It was our first time leaving the girls without one of us home. You would think we were about embark on a two-week African safari, the way we called and texted and fretted. We were going to see Sicko too, but Nicole had trepidation about being gone for so long. So a quick dinner and ice cream was all we did.

When we got home, Miss Maddie was in the middle of a gas attack, which meant she would be fine for a while then start wailing seemingly out of the blue for several seconds/minutes/twenty minutes. Her face got so red a couple of time that it looked purple. I of course thought I should jump into my clothes again and rush to the hospital with her. Nicole insisted she was fine, other than this horrific gas. Nicole eventually got her calmed done and made it to bed with her, where they are both sleeping for now. The Avery started acting up. Her gas kicked in (and so stinky too) and here I am, with a wide-awake and gassy baby.

For the record, I am SO sick of the gas and seeing my babies in pain. I am tired of trying all the new things we are trying. I am tired of being up all night (another up-to-five night last night). I am tired of averaging two hours of sleep a night (and not in a row). So the quest for the Magic Cure continues. We have done tea and bicycle kicks and gripe water and new formula and gas drops and massage and football holds and bouncing and shushing and pretty much everything. I kinda give up and think we need to just ride it out and pray it doesn’t last much longer.

For my birthday I want gas-free babies.

Pictured above is Miss Maddie in her bouncy chair that doesn’t work and Miss Avery doing bicycle kicks that don’t work at all on her gassy self. Sigh.

Babies Are Like Snowflakes

I went to bed last night at 5:00 a.m. I haven’t done that since college. But at least then, I probably had a good buzz and a belly full of pancakes or pizza or some other food choice that I might regret later when the bed stopped spinning.

Baby A and Baby B are still suffering from incredible gas, the kind that makes their bodies go rigid and the toes to get tense and their faces turn red. I read somewhere that the average baby farts 20 times a day. Avery farted seven times while I was feeding her. My little overachiever. They are not gas-tacular all day, thank goodness, but the worst stretches seem to be at night, when they should be sleeping.

Last night was just atrocious. I had to take Maddie out for a Bjornwalk at 10:00 p.m. Of course, she fell into a deep sleep, despite the sirens and cars on the city street and the loud passers-by and the sounds of music spilling out of bars. I bring her home a half hour later and she wakes up, of course. And proceeded to stay awake most of the night. Gassy and over stimulated and over tired.

Please explain how I am supposed to wake up after a mere three hours of sleep, from 5 until 8ish, and be a good mother? One that is patient and rested and sane? Sleep deprivation is pure torture.

This gassiness has been going on for a while and of course I asked the doctor about it. She assures me that this is normal and fine and temporary and suggested diluted chamomile tea. That didn’t work. So we are still on the frantic search for the Magic Cure. This has sent me to buy new formulas four times. And gas drops. And now, our latest hope/prayer is gripe water. Nicole is busy reading Healthy Babies, Healthy Sleep Habits or something like that while I am perusing again that book about the 5 s’s (swaddle and sssshhhh and side sleeping and sucking and something else). We will try anything to get these babies comfortable and sleeping well because we are well aware that that will translate into similar benefits for us. We will keep trying and trying and trying till we find out what works for our unique little babies…or till they grow out of it. Whichever comes first.

The idea of a night nurse is becoming more and more appealing. Except I hate the idea of anyone other than me or Nicole or our relatives/good friends taking care of my babies when we are home. It seems weird, stragers in my apartment, taking care of these precious babies. The babies are up and crying….and Matilda The Night Nurse is bonding with them by feeding them and cuddling them? No no and no.

Truth is, I am kinda ok with limited sleep, with pockets of extreme lethargy here and there. I started going back to the gym (doctors’ orders be damned…I’m taking control of my body back) and that helps me with energy during the day. But when you hit that wall, you REALY hit that wall.

It is 8:15 at night on Sunday and I am a bit terrified about what the night holds.

Pictured above, Miss Maddie, who should be sleeping NOT on her mommy’s shoulder.