Can I Get a Bucket of Ambien Please?

What is up with this insomnia? It is three in the morning and I am wide awake and ready to start my day. Yet this is a disaster, being up this early, and can only lead to awful things, including, but not limited to, too much coffee, too much Dr. Pepper and too much grouchiness. I knew this was going to happen when I crawled into bed last night, coaxed by the I-can-sleep-12-hours-a-night-and-still-want-more-sleep Nicole, at the too ripe hour of 7:51. I did read for a while, but still, it was early. I can’t be all tired during the day. Having children is like having a job in the pre-union and pre-rights days, when you would get fired from if you called in sick.

I am afraid to take sleeping pills because I feel like I should be alert in the middle of the night. Am*bien is a wonderful, wonderful thing. It erases my insomnia and let’s me sleep through the night. A good, solid, restorative sleep. It also produces some of those crazy side effects, like temporary amnesia. I have no idea what I do sometimes after I take it. None. There is a period of blackout that I experience where anything goes. During this special blackout time, I tend to make phone calls and send emails, because nothing says “I’m thinking of you” like a rambling, nonsensical note or call from a person who will not remember what she said or did in the morning! But for a good nights’ sleep it is worth it, truly. Besides, it could be worse: I could be that person who wakes up and makes and eats scrambled eggs in the middle of the night or drives a car the wrong direction on the highway.

Maybe I wouldn’t go to bed so early if there was anything to watch on TV. For weeks now, we don’t even put it on at night anymore. There is nothing on. Even with Tivo. Every once in a while, I desperately scroll through the channels looking for things to record. This leads to such gems as “Christmas in Washington” and crappy, even for my low standards, Lifetime movies. The other night, desperate to watch something, anything, Nicole scrolled through our sad, sad list. Survivor was on the list but I wasn’t ready to commit to a three hour finale, even with fast forwarding through boring parts, which is like the whole show.

We both go through periods when we feel the need to streamline the list immediately to make room for, well, nothing. We have 100 hours to fill! Yet I have called Nicole at work in the middle of the day and asked “Are you done with “Killer Quakes? Can I erase it?” Nicole came across Christmas in Washington and was desperate to purge it from the list, so she started playing it at fast-forward level four (the fastest). The following ensued:

Nicole: I’m embarrassed to have this on the list. [This coming form the woman who will record hours and hours of Weather Channel documentaries.]
Me: Then why are you watching it?
Nicole: Because I don’t have any crap to watch so that makes me go through the list and think "what’s this crap?"
Me: [drawn into the festive DC celebration] Who is that singing?
Nicole: Two unknown, tone-deaf individuals. I guess if your not going to watch Survivor I’m going to watch Decoding the Dead Sea Scrolls.

Seriously, it feels like a chore, watching TV. Damn writers strike. I want my The Office. However, the lack of television has helped Nicole cultivate two armchair hobbies: She is now a birdwatcher and a star gazing. She has done neither of these really in the wild (though she did take a falconry class in Vermont last year and looked at starts at her parents’ house over Thanksgiving) but she reads about them online and in books and researches accessories she can buy to support these hobbies that she doesn’t really pursue outside the walls of our apartment. Yet. I’m sure she would but living in NYC means no real bird except pigeons and the stars are occluded by the gazillion watts of lights coming from the city. We once looked at a house in Massachusetts that had bird feeders outside and she spent maybe 10 minutes standing there, watching the birds, like a cat, while I sat there awkwardly chit chatting with the broker.

Speaking of cats, Maddie is a like an old sick cat who drags her body around the rug in the living room, leaving little piles of vomit everywhere. I have never seen a child spit up as much as she does. The doctor says it is all fine, so we don’t need to worry, but her clothes are ruined and the carpet is starting to look not so nice. What I need to go is move her onto the couch because, while I do find the couch comfortable, I am no longer in love with it like I once was and would really, really like an excuse to buy a new, chocolatey brown leather sofa.

Before I forget: Avery’s nicknames include: Averys, Aves, Aviator, Captain von Wigglesworth and Cutiecantor, the last one, once again, being Nicole’s bizarre creation.

I can’t believe the girls are almost 7 months. This means I have officially no longer hear “Wow, you look great for someone who gave birth to twins (insert umber less than seven) months ago.” But more about that in another post.

Pictured above, notice the blanket I toss on the floor for Maddie to use as a target for spit up. Isn’t really working. Notice how Maddie (in the blue stripes) is already poised above the carpet, ready to leave another pile of surprise. Also pictured, Avery taking possession of the bizarre British bus. She is definitely beginning to go through a stage where she takes toys and once she has them, sometimes, she doesn’t play with them. For her the fun is in making sure Maddie can’t use it. Is she too young to be that sinister? Sinister or not, she is still the cutest thing.

All The News Not Fit to Air

I find myself woefully, pitifully, sadly not conversant in current affairs. I read papers less, for certain, but I do try to read the news online and watch cnn from time to time. I catch the news at the gym in the morning and then again when I get home, distracted by the girls and breakfast and coffee and all that, but still, some of it seeps in.

Recently in a bout of insomnia (like now!) I was looking around some website like ew.com. The site had a quiz: Can you name that actress based on her dress. It showed ten actresses in dresses, but their faces were blocked. I got ten out of ten. I was proud for a minute and then I thought, this is not something to be proud of. I don’t know who the president of China is, but I can recognize Reese Witherspoon in an Oscar dress.

Is there still a war in Iraq? Is there a news embargo on it? What’s Al Gore up to? Iran? How about that sleeper country, North Korea?

I really don’t think it is entirely my fault that I feel so out of touch with what is going on in the world. The news covers the sensational and likes to beat dead horses. They also run the SAME stories again and again, wasting precious chunks of time on every morning news show. Here are a few stories I would like to see banned from the morning news:

1. What to eat when you are on the road. This story is covered 5,000 times a year. Apparently we, as a nation, fall to pieces when it comes to making food choices when we are away from home. Ten miles away from our own kitchens and suddenly we are like we are starving bears, putting down two Cinnabricks buns for breakfast, a pound of bacon and Milkyways for lunch and a supersized fast food meals for dinner. And we can’t get away with it because there is some nutrionist/editor/food expert on TV who is going to offer such inspiration nuggets as “Plan ahead. Bring snacks with you on the road so you aren’t tempted to stop crappy food” and “Avoid all-you-can-eat buffets.” Personally, I love breakfast buffets, which is where invented my vacation special: Syrup and bacon soup.

2. How to exercise on the road: I don’t care how many times they tell me, I am not going to buy an elastic cord to do elastic exercises in my hotel room. Yes, I get it, they are portable and easy and oh so effective. But it’s not going to happen.

3. Health stories that really don’t tell us anything new: Less carbs, more fruits and vegetables. Exercise more/daily. Reduce stress. Try yoga. Try working out with a friend. Less salt. Go to your doctor. Do they have anything new to tell us.

4. Who to tip during the holiday season: Every year. The same story. Your doormen and hairdressers and babysitter/nanny and personal trainer and cleaning person and garbage collector and mail carrier and lawn specialists and newspaper delivery person and anyone who provides services for you throughout the year. The equilivant of one “service” or whatever you deem appropriate. Done.

5. Preemptive strike: We all heard that Little Sister Spears is pregnant. Big news this morning. Big, big news. Much bigger than war and war crimes and even the power outages in the Midwest. Are we really going to have to watch this story over and over and over again? (One tidbit: When this girl is 32—which is around the age I started trying to have a baby—this girls will have a 16 year old.) She’s 16. She’s pregnant. She is related to Britney. This shouldn’t be news.

I could go on and on and on because it is almost 2 in the morning and I have insomnia.

What happened that now every politician must say "I'm [politician's name} and I approved this ad" at the end of every televiosn spot. Did someone do something smarmy a few years back?

Pictured above is our Christmas tree “star.” Last year, we had a whole seaside theme, so we used a starfish as the star. Very fitting. But the tree was infested with spiders and some of them decided to make the starfish their home. So the starfish was tossed. And this is all we had.

The Jen Convention

Here’s a snapshot of life with twins in New York City:

My friend Jen (and her two kids) and other friend Jen (with her little girl) (and yes that means that there were three women all named Jennifer) came into the city to go to the Childrens Museum and then to lunch. I was planning on joining them. I was planning on taking the subway. I was planning on a smooth commute. We all know what happens with best laid plans. I change out of my stained white tee shirt into my nonstained, cashmere trying-to-make-it-look-like-I-always-look-polished sweater, pack a bag, pack up the girls, put on lip gloss and head to the subway station. Dare I say there was a bounce in my step.

I ask the ticket seller which subway stop on the Upper West Side has elevator access, and she politely informs that there is no elevator access to any station on the Upper West Side that I can get to from that station. I could go into details here but suffice it to say that the only way I was getting up to the mid-80s was by walking. I live in the mid 50s. This works out to a 30-block walk.

By the way, a cab with infant twins is out of the question. I am not holding two babies on my lap while we barrel through city traffic. A cab with two infants and two mommys is fine. I feel it is safer when there is one lap per baby. Yes, I know my logic is faulty, but let’s let me live in my bubble.

The 30-block walk isn’t that awful, but pushing about 80 pounds in cold, cold weather and wearing 2-inch-heel boots adds its own particular challenges. But the cherry was I get to the museum only to find out that ALL strollers must be checked. No exceptions. Not even for infant twins. So the only way I can go in is if I want to carry both babies. That isn’t going to happen.

So I waited on a bench in the lobby. Silver lining, it was a nice way to relax after the long walk.

Lunch was less eventful, but it did take an inordinate amount of time to arrange seating. My double stroller was too wide to park next to the table. And my kids are too little to sit up by themselves at the table. Two little seats that attach to the table were brought over and the girls sat in those. A first for them! Avery spent most of the meal grabbing anything within reach, so we had to create a half-circle safe-zone around her. Then she learned that if she leans, she can reach out of her safe zone. So we had to come up with new borders. A lunch with three adults and five kids (and one more in utero). We survived!

I got home and put the girls on the carpet and scatter a handful of toys around the room and call it playtime. It gets tiring talking to them all day because I run out of things to say. “Who’s a big girl?” and “Look at you, standing like a big kid!” only goes so far. I don’t know many songs, other than boring ones about frogs that go a-courting and shooing flies that bother me. So I sing them Nicole-style songs, which basically (merely) describes the object. Deluxe versions include scatting or interesting phrasing. Examples:

“I’m a green cup. I’m a gre-he-he-he-heen cup. I’m on the car-car-car-pet. Yay.”
“I’m a turtle with a mirror in my belly. I’m a tur-hur-hur-hur-tle with a mirror in ma be-he-hell-y. Mere-mere-mere-rur in ma ma ma ma ma ma ma be-lehehehe. Bell-lee-leee-leee-leeeeeeeee.”

Nicole’s most famous songs are:

“My name is Avery and I got a belly that’s like an old man
My name is Avery and I got a belly that’s like an old man
I’m standing tall and I’ve got my pants hiked up to my chest.
I’m standing tall and I’ve got my pants hiked up to my chest”

“My name is Madeline and I’ve got the car seat blues
My name is Madeline and I’ve got the car seat blues
I’m a fussy baby and I make a lotta noise
I’m a fussy baby and I make a lotta noise”

The girls love it. LOVE it. It is the song we sing to calm them down. Reading the words doesn’t do it justice. It is the way it is sung, in a low, low voice, very s-l-o-w-l-y. Very bluesy. The girls always stare at us, wide-eyed with mini mouths opened in little ohs, as if they are wondering if Barry White is possessing their mommys.

Time to go Christmas shopping….

Pictured above, Avery in her seat getting a kiss from Aunt Jenni and the girls during playtime. That bus Avery is playing with features a bus driver with a British accent. But the driver is on the left side of the bus. Strange.

The Weakness in Me

Last night Maddie started crying because her pacifier fell out. It was 3:30 am. Nicole spent the day with girls while I was gallivanting with other girls (and boy) on Long Island so I turned off the monitor and went into the living room to assume Baby Morning Duties. Now I was suppose to let Maddie cry it out, of course, but after spending the day away for her, I had to pick her up. I know I shouldn’t have, but I couldn’t help it. her cuteness is just that overpowering. Besides, that child has bionic hearing. She heard me tiptoe into the living room and lay down on the couch. She silenced her squawks long enough to ascertain that I was nearby and then comfortable on the couch and then started crying with force. She knows when we are close. Like a shark, she can smell blood from great lengths.

So I scooped up Maddie and took her into the living room with me. I’m weak, I admit it. I laid on the couch and nestled her in the crook of my arms. It felt good to feel her little feetsy-pajamed body. I though she would drift back to sleep peacefully, now that she was in the arms of a giant person. Instead, she used this valuable vampire time to Explore Textures/Faces with Her Little Fingers and Practice Vocalizing. After about 15 minutes we had an episode that can only be described as OMG Is That A Couch Cushion??!!! Frenzied touching and poking ensued. Once the thrill of the cushions subsided she did indeed drift to sleep, which is when I transferred Her Madieness back into her crib. And then, of course, Avery woke up. (Nicole refers to this as passing the sleep baton.) Alas, no sleep for me.

A nor’easter came and went but it wasn’t bad at all. All that weather worry for nothing. Even a trace amount of precipitation brings this city to its knees. We are that wimpy when it comes to weather. Auntie Annie came today to baby-sit while we had a nice brunch down in the village. And then we went for cookies. Alone with Nicole and no babies. As much as they are woven into our lives, during moments like that, I almost forget that they exist. Not in a bad way, but that old paradigm of the two of us lingers. We talked mostly about the future. It is overwhelming, trying to figure out what the best move is. Stay in the city. Move to Long Island. Move to Northampton area. Move to Westchester or Rockland County. Move Somewhere Else. All options have tremendous pros and cons. Huge. And each day I lean toward something different.

Or, as we decided, do nothing for now but sit tight. I’m glad we have options but still, I wonder where our story is heading.

In amazing news, Avery is starting to crawl! The army crawl. She shoves her hands out and drags her little body behind her! I’d like to call her Advanced For Her Age but there is no real rule when it comes to crawling. So babies do, some don’t. And the age range seems to indicate nothing, delayed, advanced or otherwise. But still, our little girl is starting to crawl! I’m enchanted and charmed tonight. By tomorrow I’ll be worried about baby-proofing, steps to fall down and walls to bump into.

I think the girls are going to grow up with an identity crisis. I rarely call them by their names. Instead, I call them by a huge list of names, including but not limited to:

Madeline
Maddie
Her Maddieness
Captain von Fussypants
Mads
Mad
Maddie-gator
Maddie-kins
Gator-kins
Gate
Gate-kins
Kins
Cutie-canator (Nicole made this up and I have no idea what it means)

The random nature of this post indicates that there are more important things that I should be writing about but I am not. Ah, avoidance. There always tomorrow…

Pictured above, Maddie McMaddystein and Aunt Mina. And meta pictures, the stocking holders. Even pictures of pictures of them are cute!

Silence is Golden

So Madeline, the baby previously knows as I’ll-sleep-thirteen-hours-straight-no-problem has now started to wake up randomly in the night. She has learned a new wrist bending move that she practices during the day (we call it her doing “the motorcycle” because it looks like she is changing gears on an imaginary motorcycle) and at night she uses said new move to pop the pacifier out of her mouth. Once it is out, clutched in her little hand, she immediately regrets it. And while she tries her hardest to get it back in, she doesn’t succeed. So she cries. And cries and cries.

Heretofore we have been going in, popping the pacifier back into her mouth and enjoying the immediate result of her sucking herself back into a deep, cry-free sleep. But it can’t continue, this pacifier tuck-in service. The last few days, we are letting her cry it out. I hate this, I really do, listening to her cry. And now, she wakens Avery, who went through the cry-it-out phase never hearing a peep from Madeline because Madeline just never cried it out. Madeline took so quickly to sleeping without waking that it was ridiculous. Now Avery is adjusting to the fact that sometimes her sister makes noise. And Avery is not thrilled.

The worst is when she cries and then she stops for like three seconds. And you think she is done but she is just recalibrating. Or adjusting her volume. Or listening to hear if we are approaching. Or recasting to hit a different pitch.

Right now it’s going on thirty minutes of her crying, on and off. This is my shift so I inexplicably have rise from my comfy cozy bed, retreat to the living room and stay up and listen to her cry. I try to convince Nicole that we should just turn the monitor off in our bedroom and let her cry, but Nicole is uncomfortable with that. She thinks if we do that then we will wake up and find both girls all twisted with their limbs stuck in the spindles (yes, we have bumpers). I understand where she is coming from, but I am such an awful sleeper that any interruption in it pretty much guarantees that I will feel like a train wreck tomorrow. And right now it seems like a silly trade-off: Me up, listening to her cry and eventually sob herself to sleep and then me not being able to fall back asleep myself.

So tomorrow [today] is going to be rough.

The thing with babies is that even when they have a schedule they don’t really have a schedule. I am addicted to organization and structure. Like crack-addicted. Children do not lend themselves to this sort of life. I guess having children is going to teach me to be more go-with-the-flow, but for now, in the here and now, it is just so hard.

These days, they go to bed between 5:00 and 5:30 and wake up between 5:00 (not fun) and 6:30 (more fun) on the flipside. They usually take a brief half-hour nap about two hours after they wake. They take a longer nap around 10ish and then an afternoon nap between one-ish and two. In between they are up to three meals a solids a day and bottles in between. So there is some structure and order, but if it is not 100 percent reliable (and obviously it is not) then it doesn’t qualify to me as structure! Yes, I am that all-or-nothing. Can you imagine living with me?

Here’s the great thing: Because they go to bed so early, we have our evenings back. We actually can sit at the table and eat together. It is a wonderful thing. We can linger over food. And then take baths. Or read. Or write. Or web surf. Whatever. A girl could get used to this.

She stopped crying. I’d breath a sigh of relief but that would be jinxing us, no?

Pictured above is Avery on the go. She seems so ready to crawl, which both delights and terrifies me. She gets up on all fours and rocks back and forth. That’s the first stage, right? That rocking? Lifting her giant tummy off the ground?

Maddie is not doing the all-fours thing yet, but she exhibits MUCH more control in her rolls. Her rolls in both directions are fluid and graceful, almost ballet-like. She twists her leg, then trunk and then her head and viola, she is on her tummy. She can practically hear her saying “Ta Da!” Avery throws herself from back-to-front and front-to-back, whacking her little head on the ground. She’ll cry sometimes but is so easily distracted by anything, be it a toy or some crazy stupid noise coming from my mouth.

Below that is why we need to fix our wireless! Our wireless has been broken for a while. I think we need a new router. In the meantime we have resorted to (gasp!) using landlines again. But they prove to be a very attractive nuisance to both girls. Let’s just say this isn’t the first time I have taken pictures of the girls tangled in wires. I send these images to Nicole in hopes that she will put wireless-fixing on the top of her to-do list! So far, she just laughs at the pictures and talks about other network interference.

More Pithy Ramblings on Careers and The Future

Dual napping is a beautiful thing. Both babies in their cribs and [sort of] sleeping makes me feel like I have accomplished something, even though it has little to do with me. A success already and it is barely 8:30!

It’s funny how my definition of success has evolved since staying at home. It’s bizarre to think of this as my career. In the middle of the whole trying to have a baby ordeal, I truly thought it wouldn’t happen. I would never have a baby so this whole staying home thing would never happen. I felt like I was being punished for drinking too much in my 20s or ingesting way too much diet coke or ruining my body in other original and creative ways. Regardless, here I am, against the odds, with two babies, happy as a clam for the most part but filled with all sorts of curiosity but mostly dread and confusion about my career future.

I miss seeing my name on a masthead, my tangible proof that I made something of my life. I could point to it, literally. See? Right here? That’s me and I have a career. Here’s the proof. My name, written down, in order of importance. No more mastheads, and now I drift in a sea of what-will-I-do when the girls go to school? What will make me happy? What will make a difference?

Several times in the past few months I’ve been asked what I do. I stay home with two babies, I say. I spend 11, 12 hours a day dealing with their every need. I feed them and bathe them [on occasion] and change them and burp them and comfort them and love them and entertain them and lay with them. I keep the house somewhat neat and send out stacks and stacks of Christmas cards. I cook sometimes and order in too. I manage to do the laundry several times a week and iron on occasion. But what some others seem to hear is I do nothing.

All that discourse about “If you paid a stay-at-home parent they would earn 175K a year blah blah blah” is all well and good but that will never happen, obviously. And in this society, unfortunately, you are judged by the salary you make. Hypothetical salaries don’t count. So while your job of raising children and creating a home might be one of the most important in the world, it almost has a street value of zero. Social workers and teachers get next to nothing while people in corporate America make their salaries times five/ten/twenty in bonuses alone.

I realize that I am lucky because it is Nicole’s Superstar Career in the Corporate America that I have disdain for that allows me this very indulgent dilemma of wondering what I will do with my own career. Staying at home to raise these girls is such a luxury, and the concept of that doesn’t escape me. It’s almost as if I hear echoes of “This family dynamic is brought to you by Nicole” as she heads off to work each morning. I am proud of her and what she accomplishes. She is such a great role model for our girls, succeeding in a male dominate industry and dealing with corporate stress day in, day out without falling apart. Our girls will most certainly look up to her and be proud of her, especially if she buys them ponies. But will they look at me as a good role model too? I wonder. There’s the mom who is the Superstar who makes the Money and who has the impressive Career. And then there is me. I make chocolate chip cookies.


In the meantime, I still need to figure out what path I will take once the girls are in school. It’s disconcerting, to be in my mid thirties and still feel like I haven’t found the career path that gives me satisfaction.

Sometimes I just want to give up trying and give up caring and just float float float through life and careers. Give up on trying to find something that satisfies. Everything is easier when you blow up the bridge connecting your heart and your brain.

Oh well.

Pictured above are Maddie and Avery in their happy after-morning-nap moods. They are so excited to see me when I go in to get them. Makes you feel like a star. No one in any office or at any job has looked at me like that!

Home[ward] Bound

I need to banish the image of Celine Dion singing Shook me All Night Long from my head. Every time I hear this song, as sung by ac/dc, as I did at the gym this morning, I immediately recall a VH1 Divas concert that featured Celine in Vegas gyrating and dancing and singing this song. I kind of ruined the whole aura of the song for me. Nothing against Celine, of course. I just prefer her more subtle songs, like when she is singing about her indefatigable heart.

Regarding yesterday’s real estate post, both places cost the same, about 1.3 million. The house, which is in Western Massachusetts is amazing. It’s about two and a half hours north of New York City and right near Northampton, a beautiful and liberal and cultural nook of Massachusetts. If that house were here near NYC it would cost easily between two and three million with outrageous taxes. Taxes are insane around suburban New York. My friend’ mother pays $60,000 a year in taxes. A YEAR!! That’s 5K a month. It boggles the mind.

Two bedrooms in NYC average 1.3 million; three bedrooms average 1.8 million. Studios—one room in which you live your whole entire home life—average around half a million. What college graduate (or high school graduate) can afford $500,000 in their 20s?? New York really is becoming a city for the rich and the poor. Middle class need not apply. And when you look a what you get for your money, it seems even crazier. Looking at that apartment and that house, doesn’t the house seem like a much better choice? I know it comes down to lifestyle and all that, but sometimes I feel so ready to leave the city. I’ve been here for almost 20 years. It will always be my home. But now more than ever I feel the need for grass and garages and lawnmowers and space.

Today I need to clean our home, as it is teetering dangerously on the cliff of disaster. Here is one of the biggest disappointments about being at stay at home mom: There are no medals for cleaning or, say, putting away a box of matches. After several days of looking at said matches in the living room, I finally put them away in the kitchen drawer. And I expect an awards ceremony.

Did I mention that they were Nicole’s matches? From a fancy dinner out that she had while away in san Francisco for work? A dinner, I might add, that included no children and happened to be at one of my favorite restaurants ever? While she was eating here I was having my ninth meal in a row of leftover root vegetable gratin. I’m bitter like the celery root in my gratin! Well, not really, it was a business trip, not a week away for fun, but a dinner at Boulevard would be quite nice.

Seriously, when your job in life becomes Household and Child Management, you want accolades and acknowledgement for the simplest things. Perhaps even expensive gifts. At least, that is how it is with me. There are days when I wait anxiously for Nicole to come home to see if she notices what I did. I am practically giddy. Will she see that the toilet is shiny and clean? Did she note that the towels are hung up all nice? The recyclables were taken out? The bed is made? Will she leave a diamond bracelet under my pillow as thanks?

That’s an exaggeration but the point is, I need praise. And if you are me, you need a lot of it! This is my job now, and just like working in an office, when you want your manager to notice that you did a good job or you want a good review, you similarly want that at home. You also want lunch hours and coffee breaks. This is not to say Nicole is my manager. I guess colleague would be a more accurate description, if I were to keep the metaphor going. But still, you want your colleagues to say great job too.

And now that I have said all this, I have to say that Nicole does notice this stuff all the time. Maybe it’s hard not to: When the kitchen floor goes from having food-centered dust bunnies back to spotless clean, how can she not comment? In the early days of parenthood, there are times when our apartment looked like it was attacked by a pack of hungry bears. So it is hard not to appreciate it when it is even slightly organized and clean. Nicole acknowledges even my smallest household accomplishments, for the most part, which goes a long way to making me feel like I am doing an okay job. So all of my whining here is because I want medals too.

I completely glamorized what staying at home would be like. I didn’t think it would be like the Sound of Music (sans Nazis) but I did sort of think that it would be more ritualized and rewarding. Perfect little babies on a perfect little nap schedule, during which I would lounge about or nap or read for pleasure. They would laugh and giggle as I vacuumed around them. Sit happily in there play stations with me in the kitchen while I whipped up a standing rib roast and homemade creamed spinach. It’s not quite like that.

Let’s just say that I don’t exactly excel at the homemaking thing. I can admit it. I don’t want to dust each slat of the blinds. I don’t want to clean the stove again. I do not want to vacuum the damn moldings on the floor. Housework is boring and seemed, ironically, easier to do when I had less time to do it.

What I do like to do is play with babies. Take them on walks. Take pictures of them while they do anything. I am grateful to be able to stay home and take care of the babies, I really am. The alternative—that I am still on the TTC roller coaster and still trying to stay pregnant—is awful to consider. And while I do love it, wow, it can be hard. You forget who you are sometimes. You neglect to see the worthiness in what you do. You get lonely because the only other people in your home can only communicate through screeches and crying and smiles and giggles, the latter which I really enjoy. You feel like you are failing because the ironing isn’t done or the carpet needs to be vacuumed or the chairs need new little felt bottoms or your children smell a little vomit-y. By you I mean I.

I used to make a lot of phone calls to Nicole at work, little sanity breaks for me, because why wouldn’t she want to field forty phone calls from me each day? Eventually the conversations went a bit like this:

Nicole: This is Nicole. [rushed, business-like tone]
Me: Hi!
Nicole: What’s up?
Me: Nothing!
Nicole: How are the girls? [typing in the background]
Me: Fine!
Nicole: I have a meeting in ten minutes that I need to prepare for. [always managing my expectations; and if I had a dollar for every time she said that to me, I would have several new Anthropologie skirts]
Me: OK. I’ll talk to you later.
Nicole: Bye.
Me: Bye!

It’s better than the phone calls I used to make, which included me crying and saying I can’t handle taking care of the girls by myself. Those must have been phone calls to get in the middle of a busy work day. Those were tough days.

The highlight of my day is when Nicole gets home. That energy shift, of having another adult at home, it makes a huge difference, even when the girls are sleeping. Plus I just like having her around.

Pictured above is me and my turtleneck. I tend to cover my face with the turtleneck. I try not to do it in public, but it is such a reflexive thing. Bizarre. Anyone else do this? I can’t be the only one.

Rainy Days and Mondays

Why are clementines ONLY sold in boxes of about six dozen? Is there some sort of Clementine cartel? Try as I may, and I really do, I never manage to eat them all before a layer or two become rotten, the skin separating from ball of citrus meat which then rattles around inside. Who needs a couple dozen clementines at once? Why can’t they sell then like EVERY other and vegetable and fruit (other than berries), in such a manner that let’s you decide how many you need. Every year I look forward to Clementine season and every year I toss out about half of which I buy. When people come over I end up pushing clementines on them…no, really, please take twelve home with you.

I can’t believe that Christmas is around the corner. We don’t even have a tree yet, which is infinitely disappointing since I am the type that puts up a tree on Thanksgiving weekend. But the weekends are just flying by, and all we have done is place a few snowmen around the house. I will consider this holiday season a success if we can get a tree up before Christmas and if I can make it through to January without hearing the damn barking jingle bells song.

In a move that can only be chalked up to denial, I am buying books like a person who has time to read them. Unless I am sentenced to a few months in jail (always a possibility) there is no way I will get through my stack of books. Fiction, nonfiction, how-to guides, cookbooks. I can’t stop buying them and stacking them up on my nightstand. This is akin to my magazine addiction. I have loved magazines since I could read. As a child I was a regular reader of such journalistic wonders as Sticker Magazine, Teen, Seventeen, Young Miss-turned YM, Mad, Crack’d. Nothing made me happier than having a neat little stack in my room, to be read while eating gummi bears. It’s no wonder that I ended up working at magazines as an adult. If you believe the theory (and I do) that you read magazines that represent the you you want to be, then you can tell a lot about me based on my stack: Martha Stewart, Runner’s World, Country Home (a new addition to my list), and the Pottery Barn catalog.

Anyone see that article in Newsweek on fertility and diet? I bought this issue, lured in by the promise of some groundbreaking discovery, like raw potatoes increases fertility by 70 percent or something else bizarre. Instead it was yet another rehashing of eat more fruits and vegetables, eat less carbohydrates, limited fats and oils and go easy on the meat. How is this groundbreaking? That was pretty much my diet anyway and it still took me years to conceive. When will this be moved to the old news file?

A friend of mine said to try to be the parent you want your children to be someday to their own kids. I keep turning this around and around in my head. It’s really great advice and makes me look at my day-to-day life in a different way. But, like all things, great theory; difficult to execute. Today is stretching before me and it is overwhelming. I feel like I overuse that word to the point of diluting its meaning. But it is overwhelming on a day like today, when it is raining so going out with the babies is out of the question. It should be outlawed, rainy days and mondays at the same time. I totally get that Carpenter song now.

Speaking of bad moms…Avery is watching the Today Show while I am sitting here with my computer (Maddie is napping). And a magazine editor who shall remain nameless is on TV defending the theory that there is such a thing as being too clean. A segment on how to shower and takes baths and deodorant soaps. Meredith Viera’s journalist credentials just dipped as she asked “How often should I wash my towels?” This is why I ended up leaving the magazine world, because things like this don’t deserve segments on the morning news.

Here's a fun real estate game, for anyone who is interested in these sorta things. Look at these two places. One is a two bedroom, two bath condo on the Upper West Side here in NYC. Here is a link to the NYC listing The other is a four bedroom, three bath house in Massachusetts with 650 feet of riverfront. Here is that link to the Massachusetts home. For the NYC place, try to scroll down and look at the pics and the floor plan. Skip the middle section where the price is listed. And for the Mass place, the price isn't listed on that site so browse away. I'm curious what you think these places should cost? Which is more expensive? How much would you pay to live in either place?

Above, Maddie and her clementine...it's both food AND fun.

Deconstructing Goodnight Moon

Warning: It’s been a long day and a long night before and I am facing another long night followed by two long days and nights so this post may make no sense. Click away now, while you can.

I brought the girls in for their six month appointment for shots and, apparently, fevers. They were fine all day but then Avery developed a high fever (104.5) at night. Maddie had over 102. This, of course, lead to a certain amount of panic, complete with doctor calls and tepid baths and New Sleeptime Rules for the night, which basically meant anything goes. Both fevers came down, but not without a lot of worry and loss of sleep on our part. Then, this morning Nicole left for San Francisco for work. I begged her to take one (ha!). Alas. She is gone till Friday and I am home with both girls alone.

They were better today, as their fevers gradually got lower and lower until they were almost back to normal. But they were both a little tired today, and a little sad. (See above pictures).

They were in bed and asleep by 5:45 tonight, so I got to sit down and relax, happy to have the chance to finish re-reading an article that I found online. It is written by a professor from my journalism school, a profile of Jacques Derrida, that I read way back in the day during college. It is such a great profile, probably assigned during a features writing course. It makes me miss good writing. Anyway, in the article Derrida defends his “diabolically difficult theory” of deconstructionism, which is a literary construct that really fascinates me. Literally can change the way you think about any book you read. Or even movies you see.

I was thinking about the article while going through the nighttime routine with the girls. I am now on my 60th – plus reading of Goodnight Moon, thus beating my reading record of Little House on the Prairie series (maybe 12 times) and the Grapes of Wrath (maybe 6 times) in the category of Books I Have Reread the Most. Goodnight Moon, unlike those other books, gets very redundant after maybe three readings. Not too much to pick apart. Or is there?

I have never really been a fan of this classic that has captured the hearts of apparently millions and millions of readers. I also don’t like parades and a lot of other things that apparently the entire universe likes.

The girls are mercurial about the book. Some nights, Maddie will grab the book and even try to turn the pages, looking at it in that way that babies do, eyes wide and slightly crossed, mouth open, drooling. Other nights she will catch a glimpse of her waiting bottle and will scream until the bottle is in her mouth, refusing to even look at the book. Avery tends to be overwhelmed and astonished at this magical creation, which is new to her night after night. When she sees the book, she kicks her little feet and juts her hands out like Frankenstein, trying to grab the book from Nicole’s hands. It is as if she is thinking “What IS that amazing thing in mommy’s hands??” She’s like a goldfish. Sometimes they both just cry and cry, egged on by each other, and trying to outs-screech the other, prompting us to power read the entire text in under 20 seconds.

This book was written sixty years ago, written in the feminine rhyme, of which I am not a fan (I don’t really enjoy Dr. Suess), with black AND white and color illustrations. I would love to deconstruct it in that poststructuralist/Derrida sort of way, but right now all I can muster are a few observations:

• The book clearly utilizes the third person narrative, in the objective style, but there are not enough words to rule out omniscient or limited. Who is this masked observer? What is he doing in Bunny’s room?
• The bunny in the striped pajamas, the one going to sleep, starts his bedtime routine at 7:00 pm. That’s the time shown in the clock on the mantle in the beginning of the book. He does not go to sleep till after 8:00. He spends an HOUR saying goodnight to shit in his room. He is all over the bed until the last scene, when he is seen tucked under the covers, the ends of the sheets tucked under the mattress. This is clearly done by another person, this tucking. But we don’t know who. The narrator perhaps?
• There is a quiet old lady whispering hush who I can only assume is the bunny’s grandmother, as it would be rude to refer to the bunny’s mother as “old lady.” Grandma Bunny shows up around 7:20 and stays till the bunny is asleep. While the bunny child tosses and turns and talks to inatiminate objects around his room, she sits quietly knitting. She doesn’t address the poor restless bunny at all, except to whisper hush. Strange that a book designed to read to children to help them sleep includes a character who apparently will not read to her grand bunny to help him sleep.
• The Grandma Bunny’s refusal to read to the Bunny is further compounded by the fact that there is a copy of Goodnight Moon on the Bunny’s nightstand. Yes, there is a copy of the book in the book’s illustrations. Boggles the mind.
• There are kittens playing in the room. Illustrations also reveal a menacing mouse ALL over the room. Warming his paws in front of the fire, balancing on the bookshelf, playing within feet of the frolicking clueless kittens. One of the last illustrations shows the mouse hovering over the bowl of mush. Perhaps this is all seem as whimsical and cute, but I live in New York and find it disgusting and horrifying. Also, those cats should be fired because as far as I am concerned, a cat’s job is to keep the mice away.
• The narrator makes it a point to say that there is a telephone in the room, but does not say goodnight to said telephone. And what is the bunny doing to a telephone in his room? What is he, seven? Why does he need a phone on his nightstand? My 11 year old niece just got a cell phone recently, and I was very opposed to this, until today, when she used it to call me for help on her Spanish homework. Now I am a fan of her phone. But I digress…
• The picture of the three little bears sitting on chairs looks like a picture of the three little bears at a support group meeting. They all look somber, with their bear arms crossed and their faces looking down. This is not the best art choice for a little Bunny’s room.
• Is anyone else disturbed by the fact that there is a blank page that says “Goodnight nobody.” Am I the only one that thinks it is weird?? And there are lights on in the doll house (a.k.a. the toy house). That is just creepy.

But what is this book really saying? What does Margaret Wise Brown trying to tell us in her sparse prose? What does it all mean??

Ok, I need to just unwind with some mindless television or something before my head explodes…..

Pictured above are Madeline (almost 17 pounds) and Avery (almost 18 pounds, with messy bed head), both looking a little worn around the edges. Or maybe that is just me. Normally they love the computer camera! They can stare and laugh at themselves for hours! But not today. On the bottom are our four Christmas stockings. Four! I still still still have to pinch myself sometimes!

By the way, am messing with the template because I am bored to tears with my old template. And jealous of all those fancy templates at The Other Blog Site. Is this why people make the switch??

The Short List: Mother of the Year

1. My twin feeding strategy: Fill one tiny spoon with food and put it into Maddie’s mouth; wipe off the spit-out/dribbled-out extra food from her face with spoon, feed face food to Avery. Repeat with other baby.
2. Sometimes I wait so long between baths for the girls that I think I could culture neck cheese. Crazy how those little necks are a breeding ground for…whatever that stuff is. Also toe lint and finger lint abounds, still.
3. Since my children are, of course, the most beautiful, well behaved and amazing babies in the world (naturally) I sent their pictures to a modeling agency. It’s about time they pulled their load around here. But I feel like I am already moving to the evil stage-mom end of the spectrum, a la Linds*y L*han’s mom. Next thing you know I’ll be caught partying on the town with them and letting them dress in way-too-short mini dresses, cutting out carbs, trying to diet them down to three- to six-month clothes. This could all happen, because Maddie and Avery received a call back from the agency. Now that isn’t exactly a job, but only 100 kids out of 5,000 were called back! I am so proud that my daughters are recognized for such superficial reasons! Next stop, America’s Top Model Baby. See. That’s bad.

I had a dream last night that I looked at an apartment to buy that had all glass walls. Curtains everywhere. In the bedroom I peeked behind the curtains and noticed there was a music room on the other side of the wall set up for a small band. The kitchen was ultra modern. I curled up on the bed (all white and fluffy) and fell asleep. I woke up the next day and the owner was there. I felt all awkward, like one might feel after a drunken one-night-stand. What does it all mean?! My dreams have been so vivid lately. By “lately,” I mean for the last two years.

Anyone see the train wreck that was DWTS last night? It was crazy as in crazy bad. I was so uncomfortable watching Marie. And how many times was she going to plug her doll line? This is my first season watching and regardless of the ridiculousness I am hooked. I have been casting my Dream Season DWTS. Here's who I have so far: Liza Minelli (and maybe her ex becasue wow, he is a freak show), Kathy Lee Gifford (and maybe Kelly Ripa so there is a Kathy/Kelly showdown), Judge Judy, maybe Dolly Parton, Paula Abdul...I could go on. My men list is short as in none. I am trying to think of someone not quite as obscure as say Tom Wopat but not so obvious cheese-arific as William Shatner. Yes, this is what is on my mind these days. It beats last night's erudite debate with Nicole, while watching the DWTS semi-finals:

N: She has a small heiney.
Me: You can't call an adult's butt a heiney. Heniys are for babies. Adults have butts.
N: That is so small it is a heiney.
Me: It's a butt.
N: No that is clearly a heiney.

The conversation continued in that vein for another minute or two.

Pictured above, Exhibit A and B. On top, Madeline about to put a power cord into her mouth. Notice my first instinct was to capture that moment on film…and not remove said cord from her clutches. On bottom, just look at their little shirts. They are filthy!

New and Improved

We’re back from Florida. It was nice to get away and both babies adapted well to being in a new environment and sleeping in new cribs. They were superstars. And the weather was perfect: In the 80s during the day and chilly enough at night for a sweater. I saw a bald eagle, a turtle, lots of lizards, a hawk, lots of fish, an osprey and an alligator.

Contrary to what some have said, the challenge of flying with babies did not magically erase my own fear of flying. In fact, it felt worse. I took x*nax but it does absolutely nothing for me, except make me feel sleepy. The second we hit turbulence, my stomach drops and fears of falling planes pop into my head. I am also very sensitive to pitch, so if the engine sound changes even an iota, I notice and assume it is failing. It didn’t help that on one of the legs I was seated next to a man who kept commenting how oxygen masks won’t help us it the plane is going down and that he didn’t fly after nine eleven because he didn’t want to be a human missile. Having the girls makes it a little worse because Nicole, who previously was able to hold my hand and literally talk me through it, now focuses on the baby on her lap. And because of flying regulations we can’t fly next to each other. We were across the row from each other, but it is not the same thing.

The babies were both fine on the plane. Beyond fine. Maddie slept during take off and landing, like a mini flying pro/show off. And Avery nestled contently in my arms, happy to play with my sweater or finger. It truly was a dream. With the exception of having to check a million pieces of luggage, flying with children was a great experience. I just jinxed us.

Both girls have developments. Avery has learned a new sound: The screech. Its pitch could call dolphins. She uses it to say she is happy, sad, mad, angry, tired, hungry, excited, intrigued and bored. In other words, all the time. At first it was cute but wow, it is screechy. And Maddie has cut her first tooth! It is right in front on the bottom. She has been drooling a lot but she hasn’t own any of the crankiness or discontentness usually associated with teething. She is happy as a clam, now new and improved with a tiny tooth.

It’s a dreary Monday here, compounded by the fact that I am alone again after a week plus of constant daytime company. It’s hard to adjust to, being alone again with two babies that communicate only through crying and now screeching with no one to share the day or the duties with. I’m also just plain grumpy, irrationally so, but there it is. It’s hard to climb out of these moods, especially when you feel guilty for feeling down when you know you should feel so happy for being so lucky in so many ways. Ah, the holiday season….

Pictured above, the four of us. Below that a creepy creepy doll that lives at Nicole’s parents’ house. This doll gives me nightmares. I keep imagining it coming to life at night, walking around, standing over my bed with a tiny little doll knife sculpted from eyeliner…..

Both Sides Now of the Heart of the Matter

The doctor felt the “bump” that Nicole and I felt and said it was a muscle. I discovered nothing, apparently. Thank goodness. I felt silly for my over-reaction but why take chances? It really felt bump-like to me. I had no idea muscles could feel round and tumor-like and scary.

As a bonus, I got a breast exam. Doctors sometimes have a way of talking that makes you think immediately that you are going to die. To wit:

Doctor (with his hands on my breasts): Do you have a history of lumps in your breasts?
Me: No. Why?
Doctor: Have you ever had any? (still kneading my breast)
Me: No. Why?
Doctor: Not even here, in this quadrant? (knead, squeeze)
Me: No. Why?
Doctor: You sure? Any family history? (knead, knead, knead)
Me: No. Why?
Doctor: Have you felt any lumps?
Me: No why?
Doctor: When did you examine yourself last? (squeeze)
Me: WHY?????

After a long pause, he says, “No reason. Just questions I ask.” I liked my other doctor better, who made small talk about the weather and traffic while she examined me. So uterus seems okay; breasts seem okay and my cervix looked good. Blood pressure is 80 over 50. I don’t take good health for granted anymore.

I went to my friend’s baby shower today. It made me kind of sad because it is the last shower in this particular friend group (my high school friends). An end of an era of sorts. For years now we have attended each other’s showers and parties and weddings and such and now these sort of rights of passage events are over. Which is not to say we aren’t in each other’s lives or won’t see eachother; I just mean that I feel like we have all transitioned now into these new worlds of families and children and careers and all the relevant parties are over.

I have six million thoughts in my head, each one in a different direction. Spending time with my friends, especially when we are all together, it is one of those things that life is all about. What makes life good. As my old therapist would say, it's touching the glue of a relationship, these types of moments. I guess it wouldn't be special if it happened all of the time? On the (long) drive-in-traffic back to the city, The Heart of the Matter came on the radio. I’ve copied the lyrics here before but here it is again, a snippet. The lyrics always, always, always get to me:

There are people in your life who’ve come and gone
They let you down you know
They hurt your pride
You better put it all behind you baby; life goes on
You keep carrying that anger; it’ll eat you up inside, baby
I’ve been trying to get down
To the heart of the matter
But my will gets weak
And my thought seem to scatter
But I think its about forgiveness….

Each time I hear that song, I relate to it in new ways. That song and Both Sides Now, by Joni Mitchell.

I read an article today (yes, I had the life of Riley today, compete with baby shower and drives by myself in the car and a manicure and magazine reading time). Anyway the article talked about how women view their relationships with their mothers differently as they age. And it brought up a point of how women tend to idealize their fathers but scorn their mothers. So the cad-like, evil bastard of a father (and those on the other end of the spectrum) can do almost no wrong but mothers, we drag them over the coals if they so much as sneeze in a way we don’t like. The article mentioned also how we continually seek approval from our mothers. And it might have disagreed to just today I spoke with my mom on the phone and she made a particular comment and wow, I felt over the moon. A little it of praise goes a long way in mother/daughter relationships, both ways.

We leave for Florida tomorrow morning. Two babies and me, the reluctant flyer. Pass the xanax....

Pictured above, is this not the cutest sweatshirt you have ever seen? A zip-up hoodie. I LOVE it. It is my new favorite thing, replacing the mini Le Crueset pot I my heart of favorite Material Items. I like it so much I just bought two more to give to someone. Thing is, it isn’t everyone’s cup of tea, I’m afraid. Not everyone wants to run around in cloudwear. But seriously, how cute are those fangs?! And I’m a sucker for repeating patterns. Avery likes them too: When I wear my heart pajamas, she gets crazy and oh so excited. Stripes push her over the edge.

Things That Go Bump In The Tub

The other night I was in the tub, enjoying my new evening bath tradition, and felt my scar. Under my scar in the uterus area I felt a bump. A big, round maybe hard bump smack dab in the center. I called Nicole over to feel and expected her to say 1.) you’re fine or 2.) It’s nothing or 3.) I don’t feel anything. Enjoy your bath. Instead she said something calculated like I’m sure it’s fine but you should go see the doctor tomorrow anyway.

I felt this bump about a week ago, around the time my cycle started again and thought that it was maybe my ovaries, all inflated from a year plus of non-use. Even though it was in the middle of my uterus and not on the side, I still convinced myself it was an ovary. I pretty much ignored it until that bath. I’d like to think it truly is nothing but I’ve been around long enough to know that unfortunately that isn’t always the case. It could also just be how things heal. The scar is pulled taut, creating a place for tummy flab to hang over. Everything is changed down there, landscape-wise.

I am in between gynecologists and I knew I could never get an immediate appointment with the new one I chose; it took me three months to get the appointment I already had for the end of December. So I called up my ob/gyn’s office and talked my way into an appointment for today. I must admit I stretched the truth a bit with the receptionist, a.k.a. The Gatekeeper. I told her that I had a “big” bump right under my scar so that it may be C-section-related and therefore their domain. I didn’t want to take a chance that I didn’t get in. Technically, they canceled my last “exit” appointment about three months ago and I just never rescheduled. So this is my rescheduled appointment. Let’s hope it’s uneventful.

I needed this to happen because we leave for Florida on Sunday for a week and I don’t want to spend all of the week worried about this. I am worried about how we are going to manage a flight to Florida with the girls. And the car seats. And stroller. And food. And bags. And teething rings. And checked-in luggage. This three-hour flight seems like a marathon. Whenever I start really going off the deep end I remember that my sister-in-law flies back and forth to Japan with Leif and Skye, sometimes alone, and that is a twelve hour flight. Of course this is compounded by the fact that I have a teensy little fear of flying brought on by who-knows-what a few years ago. I am very close to eschewing all air travel and learning how to drive an RV. And there are ships that can take us to places like Europe. Really, who needs planes?

Please someone stop me from obsessively checking the turbulence reports. And weather reports. And statistics.

My appointment is at 10:15. Think happy it’s-nothing vibes.

Pictured above, the two of them. I can’t wait for them to talk! I can’t wait to hear what they have to say! Below, Mama Pot and Baby Pot. This little pot is my favorite new thing right now! It’s used to heat up the girls’ frozen food cubes. So far they have had sweet potatoes and bananas from scratch. I’ll be adding more foods very soon, since they are almost six months. Below that, my first blogged video. Look at Maddie. I swear she thinks she is a model!

Noise, Nose and News

Here’s the trouble with twins: They are the yin to the other’s yang, in both good and bad ways.

With twins, you never quite get a break. When you have one child, maybe that baby doesn’t sleep through the night but takes great naps during the day. So you are up all night but get a break during the day. With twins, it’s like they draw straws and decide one will nap during the day but the other won’t. And one will sleep through the night while the other won’t. In the end it means that you don’t get a break at night and you don’t get a break during the day. There is rarely that moment of synchronicity. When both are eating well and sleeping well and all of those other things babies are supposed to do. Like today: It’s almost funny how one cried in the car for no reason; and as soon as she stopped, the other started up.

We were supposed to be in Northampton this weekend, but canceled the trip due to Avery’s little cold. Second reason for canceling is the desire to continue CIO in one place. I’m sad, because I was really looking forward to it. But we are going to Florida next week to visit Nicole’s family. So there is a lot going on.

Right now Avery is battling the sniffles. Her first case of it. I’m not quite sure if it is a cold or teething or a food allergy. Regardless, her nose is like a faucet and that makes laying down hard for her. Listening to her breathing through her mouth, that raspy sort of breathing that could mean so many scary things, it’s awful. My instinct is to close my mouth over her nose and just suck everything out of her. Seriously. Like I am an animal.

It’s funny, that is the sort of animal instinct I thought would instantly happen when the girls were born. Like I would lick the afterbirth off of my children and regurgitate food into their little mouths, if I had to. And now, little by little, I see these bizarre instinctive behaviors emerging. Digging wax out of the ears with my finger nail, and the aforementioned urge to drain Avery’s nose with my mouth. This is just the tip of the iceberg I’m sure.

My life certainly shifted in dramatic ways instantly when the girls were born, but I have to say that not everything is shaking out as I expected. Even as I sit here on, refreshed from my bath and a good day of shopping that included a snowman cookie jar and satiated from my daily ice cream with Nicole across the room from me working on her computer and two babies sleeping soundly (please) in their room, I can’t turn off the stupid noise in my head. The wasted thoughts on ridiculous, stupid things.

The noise stopped, a complete hard stop, when I was in the hospital when the babies were born. The line connecting my brain with the dark part of me was severed. Instead I focused on pain and health worries and new baby concerns. That is why, as I have said before, despite all of the physical pain and suffering of that time, I look back on it with fondness. I’m practically nostalgic for it. I was living moment to moment. I was living in the moment. No noise or news or negativity. My world collapsed into the little hospital room, with only Nicole and Madeline and Avery in orbit. And then it carried over into our home in the beginning. Just us, trying to figure things out and sort through the details of this new paradigm in our life.

But once all the dust settles, wow, those stupid thoughts come back. The body issues; the food issues; family issues; wasting time thinking about stupid things or people who aren’t worth it. Like this one: I have a friend I am (was) extremely fond of. But the dynamics of the relationship radically changed. It’s funny, because Nicole and I always used to talk about her on the way up to Northampton. It just started as a coincidence, that we would tell stories and offer praises for what an Amazing Friend she was. Then it became tradition, talking about how great she was, each trip.

And then it slowly slowly slowly deteriorated. I would love to go into detail but in the end, what is the point? It's just sad, period, end of story. People change and circumstances change and, as someone said once you don't have to change your friends if you realize your friends change. When will I realize that friendships aren’t contracts? There are times when I feel like if you so much as smile at me then we are friends for life. I take the commitment of friendship really seriously, perhaps more than I should. But I grew up with a distant and dysfunctional family, so friends, they became my family. And you accept your family, good, bad and ugly.

Well, you do until you get to a point when you just can't accept certain things and certain behaviors. And with this particular person, I got to that point. I miss her and I’m sure the feeling is mutual, but what can you do? We still talk from time to time and there is that intention to "get together" in that nebulous, never-really-going-to-happen sort of way. But I think we both know it's all talk.

The whole situation will annoy me, anger me, sadden me or frustrate me, depending on the day. That is what I mean about deficit thinking: I spend a disproportionate amount of time thinking about her than I do counting my blessings for the amazing friends I do have. The friends I’ve had for two decades; the new friends I have been lucky enough to meet in adult life; old friends that I share new language with. I may be hurt more than the average person but in the end, I feel lucky and so grateful. And I am trying really hard to focus on that and not the crap.

CIO is up to Two Weeks and A Day. We still call it CIO but truth be told, no one is really crying it out that much anymore. Maddie sleeps through the night usually, with a stirring here and there. In bed by 6:15/6:30 and up around 6:00. Amazing. Avery still wants one bottle in the middle of the night. It’s Ladies’ Choice with her: Sometimes around midnight and other times closer to 3:00. Until her little cold, though, she was pretty steady. So I have to say that this method, as hard as it is, does work. I’m not sure how to wean Avery form her middle-of-the-night bottle but we’ll leave that till after her cold and after our Thanksgiving trip to Florida. I am curious to see how a week in a new location will affect this. By “curious” I mean “terrified.”

Other news: On the running front, I signed up for my first race! It’s four miles, a distance that seems doable. I almost signed up for a 10K, with the encouragement of my running guru Molly, but decided against it because that is one whole loop around Central Park and I don’t even like to WALK that! Psychologically that would be very hard for my first race! I am still trying to figure out if I can train for a marathon. It is crazy…26.2 miles. I don’t even like to drive that far. But let’s go one race at a time. After all, until a couple of months ago, I could only run two minutes at a time. And now I can run 45 minutes, sometimes straight. I would love to do it, just for the sheer satisfaction of creating a goal and working toward accomplishing it. That and the chance/excuse to carbo load.

More news: my five-year-old nephew was voted Student of the Month for October. I totally get now why people get those bumper stickers! I was so proud. I hugged him yesterday to congratulate him and till the day I die, I will never forget that sweet look of his, a little embarrassed, a little proud, and so quick to embrace. He is Mr. Smarty Pants, reading up a storm.

Pictured above, my little sniffly Avery. I love her eyebrows! Like little inchworms! She does indeed look so much like Nicole. A medical mystery and miracle! And my teeth look so white.

Longing For Gray

I have such a love/hate relationship with girly girl emporium Vict*ria’s S*cret. All that pink and those frills and bows and impractically padded D cup bras. All those absurd undergarments that never support me like they should. So why is it every time I walk in there I feel like all I need is one matching bra-and-panty and then I will be the hottest, sexiest, most desirable woman in the world? Just a $90 set of underwear and I am good to go. This urge to buy underwear/instantly become sexy has been so strong in the past that I actually once applied for a VS credit card on the spot and charged everything because it seemed so frivolous to spend the money I had on all that. It seemed MUCH smarter to spend money I didn’t have, and pay that off $20 a month plus 25 percent interest. In my defense, I was in my 20s. I know better now. Sometimes. But still, today, I really really wanted that overpriced matching set of anything. So sparkly and frilly and lacy and impractical….

Yesterday I bought jeans. It seems like a practical purchase, considering my current stay-at-home status. Of course, the process of trying on clothes kick started all those lovely body issues. I got mad at myself in the dressing room. Because the jeans aren’t the right size (I should be smaller) and they are a little too snug where they should be loose (my waist should be smaller) and because my stomach mushrooms or muffin tops (pick your metaphor) over the top of the jeans in a new and not-so-welcome way.

I don’t have unrealistic expectations for myself. I just want to be perfect. So let me rephrase that: I have extremely unrealistic expectations for myself. I am trying to get past them, I really am, for many reasons, not the least of which is that I don’t want my two children to grow up with issues like this. But this whole getting older thing (the body breaks down in new and unusual ways; your metabolism changes; gravity becomes a bigger issue) really compounds the issue. And food issues add something undesirable to the mix. And the all-or-nothing attitude thing. And the I-fucked-today-up-by-eating-two-pretzels-so-I-might-as-well-just-eat-a-box-of-crackers-thing. I could go on.

Here’s a perfect example of my all-or-nothing attitude (heretofore to be referred to as aona because I don’t feel like typing it out): I went to Jen’s house the other day, but made a stop on the way to pick up some supplies for some projects I am working on. I grabbed a bag of gummi bears for Jen, since she is pregnant and craved them. I also got a candy bar for her. (I figure she can indulge in this without guilt if it is a gift.) Anyway, so I get in the car and the girls are getting fussy. They both are crying and I am trying to navigate my way through roads I am not familiar with at all. I felt disoriented and the crying oh the nonstop crying in the car makes you INSANE after a while. I was hungry. I had to pee. I figured gummi bears would make ALL this better. So I ripped open the bag with my teeth and saw no harm in eating just a few of the green ones. I ate the entire bag. Not the snack-sized bag, the big share-with-other’s sized bag. A bag that would sit in a normal person’s cabinet for weeks!

That might seem harmless enough but the problem is that these singular events snowball into entire sequences of bad events that can spans weeks if I let it. One bag of gummi bears leads to one box of the treat that is something like a cracker but more like a snack which leads to not my sensible ice cream bar but half of a pint of ice cream for dessert which leads to skipping the gym which leads to eating whatever I want whenever I want which leads to low low low self esteem which leads to more body issues which leads to a viscous cycle of eat/don’t work out/feel like shit until I wake up one day and just say enough is enough. Sometimes it takes an hour, sometimes a few days and sometimes a week (and sometimes, sadly, much, much longer) to get to the point where I reset myself. And let me tell you, people, a week (day or even hour) of eating crap and not working out and beating yourself up for it and feeling like shit every time you looked in the mirror is not fun.

So that is life with aona. When I am good, I am very good. I can be very disciplined and dedicated and controlled and organized. And when I am bad, I am ridiculous. I can be perfect and the second I am not, I dip so far into the opposite side of perfect that it is crazy.

I am not terribly comfortable writing about this sort of stuff, but oh well. And let’s be honest, the only reason why I can write about this now is because I am in a good phase.
This blog has always been about me having a place to vent/share/opine/record/reflect. The fact that other people read these long, meandering not-very-well written posts blows my mind. I can’t imagine how others might find my life interesting!

I am also a firm believer in admitting you have an issue as a precursor to changing it. And since this is something that is so hard to talk about because it is embarrassing/some people just don’t get it/makes me seem weak and imperfect/here we go again, I’d rather write about it and then go about my life as if everything is just fine. My life has always been about such extremes. One of these days, I hope to live happily in the middle.

Pictured above is my adorable Madeline. How cute is she? Wow, do I need a manicure.

Now Back To Our Regularly Scheduled Show

First, to answer a few questions I saw in the comments:

The girls are in the same bedroom but differently cribs. Bizarrely, they don’t seem to mind the other’s crying. Maddie sleeps through Avery crying out and vice versa. Thank goodness for that. The other night, Avery had a rough night. She cried out for almost an hour. But Maddie slept through it, with her cute little footie-pajama’d butt in the air.

In the midst of the nighttime CIO we are also trying to set them onto a nap schedule. They both wake up between 5:00 and 6:00 in the morning. Within about an hour and a half of waking up they are ready for a little nap (about an hour long). Then they take morning nap for an hour or two and an afternoon nap of about an hour and a half. This, of course, changes on a daily basis but we are working toward putting them on that two-nap schedule, with an early morning just-after-waking-up nap.

Avery most definitely looks like Nicole but, alas, she is of my egg. Both babies came from my eggs. After my first two failed IVFs, we looked into using Nicole’s eggs. I wanted to do that anyway: One baby with Nicole’s egg and one with mine. But the logistics were insane: Nicole would have to relinquish all rights to her own egg if it were to gestate in me and then, once the baby is born, which is biologically hers, she would have to adopt said child back. Crazy and wrong. So we went with just my eggs, making life much simpler. But Avery really looks like Nicole. And people say Maddie looks like me, but I don’t see me in either baby, really.

Life as we knew it is slowly coming back. We are starting to get our nights back! Last night was CIO Night 11. We have a new plan: One of us sleeps on the couch and monitors the babies while the other person gets to sleep in the bedroom, baby-monitor-less and peaceful. Last night I won the lottery and got to be the one who slept in the bedroom. And I slept ALL night! That is the first time in almost a YEAR that I got to sleep all night!

It was weird, being alone. I felt like Nicole was on a business trip and took the babies with her. I slept in my special alone mode: In the middle of the bed with an iPod and book next to me. I went to bed around 9 and read for a while (not sure how long) and woke up at the alarm at 5:00. It was blissful and amazing. I was so rested. I went to the gym and when I got home I was so energized that I was practically running, moving from kitchen to living room to bathroom and bedrooms, organizing, cleaning, straightening up. It is insane what a difference a good night’s sleep can make.

And I may luck out again tonight because Nicole thinks that consistency is key. So for consistency’s sake, she will be the one to greet the girls in the morning and attend to evening needs, should there be any. I am not going to argue! However, I do know that means a couple of nights for me on the couch is in the future!

So CIO is going really well. Maddie, I am proud to say, has been indoctrinated into the world of long-term sleeping. She goes down around 6:00 or 6:30 and sleeps until around 5:30 or 6:00. I can’t believe that this is working! CIO is truly successful, if you can endure the nightly hell and stick to it and keep plugging away, no matter what. Avery wants a bottle once a night still. If she cries at night and we give her a bottle, she happily drinks it and goes right back to sleep. We aren’t sure when we will wean her from the bottle, but right now it’s okay for her to get us up once a night to eat. MUCH better than our previous schedule of getting up about 5 times a night.

Our next challenge is to get them to sleep a little later. Daylight savings kind of threw things off. They are waking at 5:00, which is really 6:00 in their baby brains. I think 6:30 is a good time for them to get up and I would like to move toward that paradigm. Healthy Sleep Habits Healthy Baby or whatever it is called says that in order to do that you have to put them to bed earlier. This of course is counter intuitive: I would think that if I want them to sleep later I put them to bed later. Not so. So We will be trying to put them done a few minutes earlier each night, inching toward the 6:0 p.m. mark I guess.

I am reading this book called Slow Fat Triathlete. It is about a 200 plus pound woman who races in triathlons. The book so inspiring. I wouldn’t exactly say it is written well (it’s conversational style is so annoying at times and her attempts at wittiness are over the top), but I love the message: That we all can live out our fitness goals in the bodies we have. It’s really inspirational (and practical, if your really want to do triathlons).

I always thought I had to lose weight to be a runner. But really, you can run in whatever body you have. My entire life I thought I couldn’t run. I listened to people tell me that I had the wrong body type to run. While there might be some truth to that (it’s hard to lug around big boobs while running) it really doesn’t matter because I am not trying to be an Olympic athlete. I never said I wanted to be a star runner. I’m happy to just go at my own pace. I started running one minute at a time because that was all I could do. I can now run for 45 minutes without stopping. It’s insane, watching myself get stronger at this. For me, this has been a huge accomplishment and something that I am proud of. I never thought I could do it and now I am doing it. I am signing up for my first race: Four miles in Central Park in December. There is something to be said for setting goals and working toward reaching them.

This weekend my friend Chris was in town and we went to see Spring Awakening. We had amazing front row center seats! It was great. One thing I found interesting was that the show warns that there is brief nudity. And there was. I spent the entire show looking for the brief nudity that I was stunned that I didn’t see the sex scenes or masturbation scenes coming (no pun intended).

We are going Northampton leaf peeping this weekend and I am so excited! Technically we should be past foliage prime now but the long hot and dry summer makes the season longer and not so vibrant. I was at my friend Jen’s house yesterday and was amazed at how beautiful it was. Here in the concrete city there aren’t many signs of fall. Her entire yard was strewn with crunchy brown and yellow and red and green leaves. It is fun for me, since I don’t have to rake them up! And I collected some leaves for a project I want to do, that I will now have time to complete, since the girls are going to bed so early.

Pictured above, my little eaters! They are really messy. Avery has joined the world of solid-food eaters, following the lead of Maddie. Maddie LOVES solids and cries in between bites. I literally need to have a spoon waiting at her lips or she starts crying!

By the way: I have a copy of taking Charge of Your Fertility. It is a great book that is looking for a new home. Anyone need it? I'll send it out...just let me know in the comments if you want it and I'll send you my email address.

CIO: Micro and Macro

I am too tired to write about CIO on the micro level so I will write about it on the macro. Last night was Night Seven. The books and experts and people who have gone through this say it takes about a week. But that is usually with one baby. With two, I think it takes longer.

Last night, Maddie cried out maybe twice, but soothed herself back to sleep in maybe 30 seconds. Avery cried out once around midnight. After almost a half hour we gave her a bottle. We are sort of on the fence with this: On one hand we want Avery to stop expecting nighttime feedings but on the other hand, we are okay with her having one bottle a night. One night she needs it, the next she is fine and soothes herself to sleep without it.

So Nicole and I seem to be getting more sleep than ever before. Hurray! Why, then, are we both so exhausted? My entire body hurts really hurts. We are both not sleeping well. It is as if we are back in the newborn stages. My sleep is not interrupted by them as much as it was just a week ago, but I am not getting into a deep sleep. I think we are just so on edge, waiting for the cry and the inevitable emotional turmoil that accompanies it. Wondering what the night has in store for us. Wondering when it will be over.

Because I am uncharacteristically at a lack for words, I interviewed Nicole (jacked up from her morning latte-with-double-shot-of-espresso) for her thoughts on this experience:

Q: How has the CIO experience been for you?
“Exhausting, physically and emotionally. The hardest part is not going in and picking them up. Hearing brand new screams and cries that I haven’t heard before. I am impressed with their creativity when it comes to crying.”

Q: What makes CIO so difficult?
“The fact that it is different every night. Someone will get up 12:00 one night and at 3:00 the next. No consistency. And for different reasons: Is it random pacifier pop-in time [for Maddie] or is this hungry time [for Avery]? Are they uncomfortable? Are their heads stuck between the spindles and they are about to break their necks? I don’t know.”

Q: What has surprised you about CIO?
“The surprise part to me was the stress between us. We are both fighting in the middle of the night over who should deal with it and how we should deal with it. What did we agree on? How did we decide to handle a situation? It’s hard to remember in the middle of the night.”

Q: What has been the easiest part of CIO?
“The one thing that is easiest is the bedtime routine. Avery is going down like a champ. Maddie goes right to sleep. Getting them down has been so easy. They both know it’s bedtime.” [for the record, bedtime routine goes as follows: Change into PJs; read Goodnight Moon; saying goodnight to relatives/friends while sipping on one last bottle; then crib. The whole process, start to finish, is about 15 minutes.]

Q: If you were managing this a project at work how would you do it differently?
“I’d be writing everything down at night and looking for any trends. The key thing is to find out what the cry threshold is. For Avery it’s about 20 minutes or a half hour. But that is gut instinct. I can’t defend that with data, so I’d like to have something written down that we could analyze. And I think I would have project meetings every morning and evenings. We would do post mortems the next day to talk about what went well and what didn’t go so well.”

There you have it.

Now some random wrap-up thoughts: The girls go to sleep at an incomprehensively early 6:30 pm and they sleep until 6:30 or 7:30 in the morning. We are starting to have nights again. And Nicole and I actually had dinner together, at the table. This is a huge improvement from the solitary wolfing-it-down approach we usualy take. And I went out to dinner with a friend last night.

Their nighttime wakings are fewer and farer between, much better than when they were sleeping with us, that is certain. The CIO process has helped us turn a corner. It hasn’t been easy, mentally, emotionally or physically, but it is worth it. I know CIO isn’t for every family, and I can see why some people don’t want to do it. But for us, it is working. Slower than I would like, but it is working.

Pictured above, Halloween Maddie and Avery! Yesterday we went on a post-Halloween spending spree and paid 50 percent or more less for all sorts of Halloween decorations. I’ve said it before but I will say it again: I LOVE Target!!