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I never know what to write here. My internal life, the one inside my head is either moving too too fast to put my feelings into words or so slow that I am stuck in the weeds.
It has been a summer of weeds. Stress levels through the roof, me stuck in long hot days that never seemed to end. I ditched the double stroller and opted for the bus this summer. This decision was at times liberating and at times horrifying. Trying to get two nearly 4-year-olds on a city bus can be hard. Can be like herding cats or rabbits onto a bus. At times I felt like that mean mom that everybody hates, yelling at their kids all the time. Almost everyday, I got tired of the sound of my own voice. But it has paid off. The girls are proper city kids now, riding the bus like pros, knowing not to sit next to creepizoids, etc.
And this is important because next week something magical happens. They will start Pre-K. They will start all day Pre-K at a really great public charter school. And we will take the bus there every day and then I will have 7 hours. Not one. Not two, but 7 hours to myself each day.
And the big super huge deal about wanting to raise my kids in the city is solved. Something I've written about and talked about ever since the girls were in my tummy, swimming and kicking like the smallest fish. It is solved. I am officially raising my kids in the city. And for this working class kid from the suburbs, this is a victory. It is huge and magical.
And the funny thing is that it all fell into place while we were dealing with something unforeseen. While we were hoping Jeff wouldn't die. And it wasn't just me hoping, the girls did a lot of their own wishing along the way. We didn't hide the realities of Jeff's heart failure from them. When your dad gets taken away from opening presents on Christmas morning, it's hard to not know the truth about that. It just seemed like the honest thing to do at the time. I never let them see me cry or get upset, but we also never lied to them. It is the way we have always raised our kids and I don't want to start second guessing it now, but sometimes I do. The girls know that their daddy is "heart sick" and that he will need a new heart some day, but that he loves them and isn't in pain right now. This led to Anya worrying a bunch and making wishes that "everybody lives," but that seems to have subsided a bit. The girls seem to understand Jeff's limitations and don't question too much anymore. It is just part of our life. The girls themselves, have even had their own hearts tested and look great. We told them this, too, that they have nothing to worry about for themselves. It just seemed important to do.
Jeff is stable. His close adherence to his low sodium diet is what seems to be keeping him alive and off the heart transplant list. But the draw back is that he has now lost nearly 50 pounds and is just too skinny for his ICD. The thing protrudes out of his chest like an ipod was shoved in there. So we are on a mission to fatten him up. Sometimes I wonder if I am in denial. Sometimes I am overwhelmed with the fear of being left alone to raise two small children. And sometimes I know deep inside that neither is true. I have this place in my mind or heart or whatever, where I know that Jeff is going to survive. And to think anything different is just borrowing trouble. Sometimes I think he is going to survive like this for 10 years and then get a transplant and sometimes I think that someday in a distant future, doctors will shot stem cells into his heart and they will run around and repair the damage. Mostly, I try to live each day as it comes to us and be thankful that Jeff didn't die on Christmas morning. Somewhere, in another dimension, there is a less fortunate Tina dealing with a different reality. I will leave it to that poor soul to handle for the time being.
While the first four years of the girls' lives have literally ended in a fight for survival for Jeff, I do feel like I am finally coming home from a war of my own. For the past 3 years, I have been home with the girls all day and working at night with hardly an hour to myself in between. There have been many many days and months of living on 4 hours of sleep and sometimes less. So it is with joy that I will take the girls to Pre-K next week, come home and do my work during the day like a normal human being and hopefully fit in a movie once a week or some exercise or just some time to sit and be quiet and plot my next project. At the same time, I feel absolutely terrible that I have to leave them for so long at school, that for me to get this much needed sanity, that they have to be away from me. It is heartbreaking and for once in my life I actually can feel what that words means. Guilt gobbles up my insides. My guilt and I will be close friends. She will travel with me on the bus to unknown destinations (between 9 and 3), she will buy me movie tickets and she will provide nightmares during much needed naps. And this is all okay because I am sure it won't last for long because the girls are going to love school.
But when the girls get home, I will finally be prepared to be a full time mom. No computer on, no work undone, my time will be only their time and this, yes this, will make the days with them away from me easier.
I remember that the year the girls were born, Jeff and I used to sing along to this Mountain Goats song and the lyrics went, "I am going to make it through this year, if it kills me." We really meant it, too. Many many days that first year, we thought we would die. And many many days that second year, we thought we would die. But we didn't know the half of it. Now that we have been faced with these past 8 months, now that we know what dying looks like, I can only say this for myself, but there are many many days that I actually think, "We are going to live." Everybody lives.
We are all still here.
I have found that Twitter (follow me!) and Facebook are replacing blogging for me in my busy busy days. This is sad. So, I have decide to move the blog to another medium, one that i love, Podcasting. In the next month or so, I will be introducing an audio blog. Will actually go back and record some of the best old entries so that it is a complete story. Then, will have all new content including recordings of some of the awesome conversations I have been having with the girls. I am excited about this because my other two podcasts (Television Zombies and Hello Craft) have large listenerships and I think people will like this one, too. And don't worry, it will be easy to listen to, right here, on a web page.
We got a dog. He is a 7 month old beagle that we rescued. He is perfect. You can read Jeff's thoughts on him, here. Here are the girls with Charlie.
There is a heart deep inside of your body. It beats. You likely take this for granted.
I know that we did. Jeff and I. We took his heart and its beating for granted. And this past Christmas morning we learned not to.
I feel too tired to go into complete detail. But I do want to share a few things. Jeff is 34. He has never smoked or drank or used any drugs, ever. He has always been thin, weighing about 150 pounds when the girls were born. But in the past 3 years, he had gained about 30 pounds, still a good weight for a tall man. But lately, he had started to look a little puffy. We talked about it, but didn't really make anything of it. Then around Halloween he developed a cough. It came and went and came and went. He grew more and more tired. But he pressed on and didn't do anything about it until a few days before Xmas when he learned that he had asthma. But by Xmas eve, we knew this wasn't right. This wasn't asthma. This was something else. He couldn't breathe at all and couldn't sleep and felt like he was drowning.
So on Xmas morning his mom took him to the ER and we didn't see him again for nearly a week. Two hospitals and a million tests later and now we know that he suffered from congestive heart failure. Heart failure is when your heart fails to pump properly, not when it fails completely. So, his heart was barely pumping and couldn't move the fluids around his body, so his lungs were filling with fluid.
He was actually drowning.
And that puffy look he was sporting was actually the extra fluids in his body. Some people get heart failure from a virus, but so far, Jeff's doctor's haven't found a virus and his family history points to this problem being genetic. Besides the heart failure, Jeff's left ventrical is severely enlarged and only pumping at 20%. If Jeff's weak heart is genetic, he likely didn't help himself with the past 3 years of little sleep, high sodium food and extreme periods of stress. Before we had the girls, we lived a fairly stress-free life, doing whatever we wanted, but surviving twins has literally turned into "surviving".
So now we wait. Jeff is on a pile of meds to regulate his heart and his fluids and he is on a low-sodium diet. It is recommended that Americans eat less than 3,000 mg of sodium a day, but most Americans, including Jeff and I eat about 7,000 to 8,000mg of sodium a day. A meal at California Tortilla that he used to eat all the time had nearly 5,000mg. We must all be poisioning ourselves with these sodium levels, I keep thinking. Jeff can only eat around 1,000mg of sodium a day now. This means that he mostly has to eat all fresh food and cut out things like cheese and anything prepackaged. I am nearly done eating all of the prepackaged foods in the house and then I will be joining him full time on the new food journey. This has been hard for us because I absolutely hate cooking. I always think that the food that you get at the end isn't worth the time it took to make. And now the idea that I will actually be making bread, salsa, whatever, from scratch is just stressful. I feel like I will never ever be interested in cooking, but it is now going to have to be part of my day. But I want him to live, so here we go.
We hope that Jeff sees some improvement in this heart, but if he doesn't, the next step is to get a defibulator installed and if that doesn't work, the final step is a transplant. I can't even let myself think about that possibility. So, I won't.
People keep asking me what they can do to help us. And our friends have been so wonderful. Beth coming to hang out with the girls, Felisa sending Peapod with groceries, Sara bringing grape juice late into the night, Kelly and Lisa cooking for us, Chris visiting in the hospital, Mary Ellen offering her driving services and being a good listener. Too many to name, really.
But what you really can do for me is this. Study the faces of the people that you love. Memorize them. Listen to them when they tell you they are tired. Take a nap yourself. Think about what you are eating. Accept that no one is invincible and take care.
The girls and I spent the day roaming the streets of DC. People were happy. Like Christmas eve happy. This is a lovely city. Our home.
The girls were excited to go vote for Obama. We didn't realize that Rachel thought voting for someone meant they would get to meet them. Rachel cried and yelled when Obama wasn't there at our polling station to be voted for. "We are voting for him. Where is he?" Rachel asked. Young people and their expectations. I fear if the girls ever met him, they would talk his ear off and the Secret Service would be brought in to rescue him from two 3 year olds.
Three year old girls like princesses. And there is nothing this anti-princess mom can do about it. And so I don't try. I know that in 10 years these kids will be surly steampunks or something, so whatever. Here are the girls in their princesses dresses made by Jeff's mom, hats from the RenFair.
This would have horrified me before I had kids, but I am so happy that the girls were excited about their costumes.
I push the girls up the hill to the Target and from above, the girls look like little vampire slayers. Their hair is the exact dirty blond of Buffy's in that final season. And it is haphazardly placed in big messy pony tails just like hers were. As if they have spent the morning readying themselves for a great battle in their black Hello Kitty hoodies.
I laugh as I envision tiny stakes hidden in their jackets.
After the nearly mile walk, the Target is decorated with Domo Kun for Halloween. He is their official Halloween spokesperson this year and it is damn cute to see him dressed up as a witch and a vampire on the gigantic posters that hang from the ceiling. The girls are afraid of him and ask why he is yelling. I tell them that he is from Japan and is happy. Rachel keeps asking "why is he here from Chinese." and I keep saying, "No. Japan!" I am sure it will take a few more visits to Domo Kun land to not be afraid of him.
On the way home, we stop to talk to an African nun at the bus stop. She is beautiful and other-worldly in her lavender sweater and purple dress and big silver cross. I feel like I might be in an episode of Lost, she is so out of place. Put here by the island just for me, to teach me something. We talk for a long time. Her accent is so perfectly not of here. She tells the girls she is jealous of them, they are so beautiful. But she is looking at me as she tells us she is jealous of us. I feel for her. I don't know, she could have children, I don't know how long she has been a nun. But I think her honesty is lovely and want to hug her, but I don't because I don't know anything about nuns. At the end of the conversation, I tell the girls, "Say 'thank you for talking to us today.'" And they do. The little vampire slayers thank the nun and on we go.
Another bus stop has an old lady waiting for us. "Twins?!" She hails us over. We are a traveling curiosity. "Who's the boss?" She asks me, pointing to the girls. "Who is the boss?" I ask them. "Mama is the boss," Anya says, smiling. She knows it is a good joke. But the woman isn't in on the joke. Anya looks up at me with the eyes of a 15 year old and I smile back.
These are my days. Random conversations at bus stops with curious strangers. I couldn't imagine anything better.
I am always amazed that I made these children. Grew their organs and hands and small noses. And every night before they sleep, Anya asks to hear about the day she was born. And Anya asks me to tell her about how I had one egg that wanted to be two. I am glad she loves this story. It always reminds me of the initial fears about having twins. And I realize how crazy and young those fears were. The best moment of my entire life was when that egg decided it wanted to be two. And I tell Anya that. And she giggles with delight. And Rachel says, "You got two girls. Twins. Mama, you have two girls," as if she needs to explain it to all of us. I nod and tell them the story again.
Obviously Sara Palin has not found the work/like balance that people think she has. Proving this are the reports that her 17 year old daughter is 5 months pregnant. What a gigantic failure as a parent to let your 17 year old daughter find herself pregnant. Of course you cannot be with/guarding your teenager at all times. But of course you could teach them to be safe. Nope, Palin believes in abstinence. Awesome. That really seemed to work. You would think that knowing that this doesn't work in her own home would change her views on the topic. Nope! She just marries her daughter off and is excited to be a grandma. Awesome. Smart. Go God!
Let's review. You have just given birth to a baby at 44 who has Down's Syndrome. This child is going to need you more than any other of your 5 children has ever needed you. Your 17 year old is pregnant. You are letting your 19 year old go to war. And you have two other young daughters. What should you do next? How about accept the nomination for Vice President!? You've got a few minutes a day on your hands. Why not? Oh wait, maybe because it will be all over the media that your unwed teenager is pregnant? Wouldn't that be enough, the need to protect your child from the American Media? Nope.
Sorry. Sara Palin is a bad mom. She puts herself first, her ego, her "god" and her "country". I don't want anyone like this going near my daughters much less serving as a role model. And I am shocked that the Republican party doesn't get it. And I am shocked that the media thinks she is awesome and that it isn't ok to ask these questions. Just because women CAN be anything in this world doesn't mean that they can also forget their roles as mothers.
And to the people who say that I am being sexist, if Palin were a man, I would say the same thing. Any man with 5 children, including a new special needs baby and a pregnant teenager would need to get their own houses in order before thinking he can run the country.
How dare John McCain pick a woman who gave birth to a new baby 4 months ago to be his running mate. And how dare Sarah Palin accept?
As a mother, I am horrified to think that she cares so little about her new role as mother to her fifth child that she thinks it is appropriate to run for Vice President. Seriously. There is absolutely nothing wrong with being a working mother. I was and am. But I remember the day that I realized that my twins needed me more than I thought they would; the day that I realized that my role as mother was different from any other role that I will play in my entire life. On that day, I was overwhelmed by the fact that my special duties as a mother didn't stop with giving birth. I needed to be 100% emotionally available to my children. We don't understand this until our children teach us this and when they do, we must be prepared to respond.
Perhaps since this is her fifth child, this is old hat for her. Perhaps she can pass her new baby off to her teenage daughters or hired help. Perhaps she is just so amazing that being a mother to 5 and running for Vice President isn't spreading herself too thin. That is her decision to make, I know. But shame on John McCain. Shame on him for not seeing how important being a mother to a newborn is. Shame on John McCain for being so out of touch that he thinks that women will think it is acceptable for this woman to spend the long hours it will take to be Vice President away from her small children.
Frankly, I have often felt that Barack Obama is selfish for being away from his young children as well. At least the Obamas are always talking about how they have a grandmother there to help with their girls. But it still stresses me out that as a father he thinks it is ok to spend that much time away from his young children.
I think that any woman with children will know what I am talking about when I say that the special time that you have with a new baby in that first year is just too important to lose. Being Vice President is not and will not ever replace the time this woman is losing with her children. There is nothing wrong with a woman doing and being anything that she wants to be, but I think there is something wrong with someone who thinks it is ok to put her family through the ugly hell that is an American election. But I suppose we should expect this from a woman who proudly sends her 19 year old son to war. Her values are completely screwed up.
Have we gotten this confused to think that it is ok for anyone to abandon their young children for a job? I'm not talking about regular parents who go to regular 9 to 5 jobs. I am talking about running for Vice President. There is no excuse for any man or woman to involve themselves with running for office when they are already the most important person in the world to a four month old baby. It is just madness.
Even though I am a liberal democrat, I never hated John McCain. But now I know he completely disrespects family and the role of parents, especially mothers. And to those women who are super excited to see that, yes, a woman can do it all! A breast feeding Vice President! People can and do spread themselves too thin. And the people who suffer don't often have the voices to express it.
Because in the end, isn't your family more important than your country? I know mine is.
The girls have been doing this every day. I set them down to color with their washable markers and I look up a few minutes later to see this:
The funny thing is that I don't wear make up. Never ever had. I don't know anyone who has ever shown the girls make up. We don't watch TV shows where ladies put on make up. I had been trying to figure this out for days. Why they are painting their faces and telling each other how pretty they look. They even started to polish their nails with the markers! Then I saw an episode of Max and Ruby when Ruby is having a pajama party that involves make-up. Awesome. Thanks Max and Ruby.
I actually don't get mad about this, but it does make it hard to go anywhere during the day if I am constantly washing faces and finger nails. I also hate having to control the marker use.
I think the girls usually look like Darryl Hannah in Blade Runner when they do this and this makes me laugh a little.
The other night I gave a talk at the Whole Foods as part of the Crafty Discovery Series. This was my second time doing this and it was fun. I spoke about being a professional crafter. This was funny because while I am a professional crafter, I feel like I am still learning. Still trying to figure out how to sustain holiday sales all year long, how to not have to work my part time job. I was glad to be able to talk to people who are still in the beginning stages of building product lines and brands, I feel like I have a lot to offer in that discussion. Last night reminded me how hard it is to have a successful small business, how much work I have done in the past 4 years to get here. It all seems a blur. And I wonder what awesome stuff I can do when the girls go to school, how I will have so much more time! I can't wait. Part of that is learning to silk screen without the Gocco. I feel like I am at this awesome new place.
I turned 35 two days ago. I firmly believe that we should try to reinvent ourselves every 5 years. At 25, Jeff and I had a record label and a zine. We were silly kids with big dreams. At 30, I lost 80 pounds, started this blog and then got pregnant. I am excited to see who I will become at 35.
I think that the best thing that I can do to create the next new me is to learn how to manage my stress. Since I work 18 hour days or so (staying at home, then real work, then craft business, then blogging and podcasting), my stress levels can hit these peaks during the day. Of course, as I have discussed before this makes me eat and thus stay fat and thus get stressed out and it is a circle circle circle.
I have been trying all kinds of weird things to manage my stress. Yesterday I cut my hair. The girls were using washable markers to put on "make up", which ended up making them look like Darryl Hannah in BladeRunner. They just wouldn't listen to my pleas to stop, taking away the markers made them scream and the loud just pushed me to the kitchen. I have learned to choose my battles with them, but then I medicate with Pirate's Booty or cheese. Instead, I told them that I was walking away. And I did. I went to the bathroom with my sewing scissors and cut my hair. I started with about an inch, then another, then another and another. The last time I did this, I was 12 and tired of how long my mother made me keep my hair. It was liberating both times, but kinda stupid because I don't really know how to cut hair and hate actually paying for real haircuts. Oh well. Now I just look slightly more messy than I feel I usually do.
I've had a really good food week. And today my mind feels clear and ready to deal with the girls. I told them this morning that we could go to Target to get new Play Doh. This is an undertaking as I either have to walk them a mile uphill or take them on the Metro. Then there is the shopping with the double stroller with them trying to get out. Then the mile walk home. The only thing I asked them to do was to eat their breakfast. So far, no breakfast eaten. I did switch their morning cereal to organic Fruity Bunnies from Whole Foods, which was a shock to them. They would much rather blueberry pancakes. So, instead of stressing about when we will go to Target, I told them what they needed to do and am now blogging until they comply. If they refuse to listen, they don't go. End of discussion. Once again, I am picking my battles with them and not letting things bother me.
I hope that the self-imposed 5 year personal reinvention will help me stay on track. I feel like I am waiting for an egg to hatch. And that I don't know what will come out or how long it will take. I love this. I love this feeling and this ability to envision a better me. My 35th year will be a tiny blue egg, and the hatched birdy will have the worst haircut ever.
From Anya who is 3, "Cows have a good butt. Their butts are machines that make milk."
My new piece for the Etsy Storque went up today. Check it out! You can also see all of my Storque articles, here.
Looking through some old photos, I found a few interesting ones.
First, people are always asking me how I get things done. The answer is that whenever I am writing you back, there is usually someone in front of and behind me. This photo also shows that my life is a terrible mess.
The girls are always talking about the day that we took our picture in front of the train. I found said picture in my mom's camera today. This photo is from about a year ago. The girls look so small. The other kids are my sister's kids, Brittney and Shiny.
This photo is from July 4th of this year. The girls look so mature for nearly three. Sometimes I see kids who are nearly three and they still kinda look like baby animals. But, here, Anya's face expresses an odd level of maturity.
Check out the patriotic bears. If you know me, these will make you laugh. I am not a big patriotic. But Rachel got these bears at a July 4th party and loves her "star bears."
It has been a weird crap week full of dentists and credit card theft. It is strange, though. I can't complain too much because all of this weird crap happened to me and not the girls. So I guess if the girls are fine, I am not too stressed out.
Doing all the extra work on Crafty Bastards Silver Spring took a lot out of me last month. Between the blog for them, planning the supply swap and my own booth, I didn't have much time left to exist separate from it. This isn't bad at all! I remember last year at this time, I was stressed out just getting my own booth ready for Crafty Bastards. And to know that I can do all of this at once (plus work and the girls), is really awesome. I love to know that I can push myself and press on and do really cool things with my time. Not to mention Artomatic, which ended last month. That was likely the best thing that I have done for myself in a long time. It provided a challenge and proved to be a success since I sold so many of the pieces.
This all seems like old news of course. Last month's news. So stale. Like each month of my life is this mini year or something.
We are almost three.
Three is a silly perfect age. We tell stories and go on walks without the stroller to gather rocks and leaves. It is still a bit like herding cats, except now I am herding talking cats. Cats that talk and talk and talk and make me laugh.
I am beginning to work on a new line of holiday cards and ornaments and I am excited about this. I have so many ideas and can't wait to start sewing. I miss making the zombie ornaments, too, and am redesigning those.
I think I might even be ready to start talking weight loss again. So, we will see.
Tonight Anya screamed and screamed that she was afraid to go to bed. She wanted to sleep on her floor. We didn't understand. Finally, after talking to her for a long time, she told us there was a monster under the bed. I felt so bad for her. Archie used to sleep under the bed when he wasn't feeling well, so I wonder if this is why she thinks there is a monster under there.
So, we decided to kill the monster. We got a broom and got down on the ground and yelled at the monster that we were going to kill him. And then, like Buffy staking a vampire, we poked him from the foot of the bed. Over and over until he was dead. She was really afraid, so we were really positive about it. Yelling at the monster, telling him he was dead.
Moral of the story: kids don't tell you what they are really worried about. So ask and ask until they do. Then kill the monster. And yell at his corpse.
Just now, Rachel said to me, "Mama, can we make a craft?"
Speaking of which, Crafty Bastards Silver Spring is just 8 days away. And the application for the big Crafty Bastards in DC is now online!
Thanks for the comments on my napping situation. It was good to hear from you!!! Audrey's suggestion was good. I am going to try that today. The girls may laugh at me, but at least I will try.
Anya had a nightmare last night that she was left all alone at her nanna's house. We asked her if anyone was there and she started to cry and said she was all alone. Poor girl. She actually woke me at 5am telling me she needed a paper towel for her crying. I didn't understand that she was having a nightmare.
Off to read a book about bad bunnies.
This past week has been trying. The girls gave up naps nearly a year ago and I feel like they have been saving up all the crankiness to drop in my lap everyday at around 3pm.
I know this means they need to nap. I get this. But getting them to do so has been difficult. Moral of the story is probably don't let your kids give up naps at 2 years old.
The tantrums that attack us at 3pm every day are just so terrible. Screaming and kicking and asking for the same thing over and over. Anya's lasted for nearly two hours yesterday, following us from the Target to the car ride home to home. If it happened at any time other than 3pm, I would worry we were dealing with some kind of disorder or something. But I am realizing that my kids don't know how to handle being tired. They are very busy kids, always doing something, and this means there is so much more that they want to do other than be tired and heaven forbid sleep.
I understand all of this, but it is totally stressful. Can anyone tell me when the terrible 2-3s end? Are there terrible 4s? Do I just need to teach them to sleep when they are tired? Do I press through this and just deal?
Everyone says that it gets easier with twins as they get older. I have not found this to be true! Things get harder when your kids' personalities become more and more different. Each kid needs something completely different any or every moment of the day. And I think the thing they need most is time apart from each other. Isn't that sad?
Archie died on Thursday night. I was holding him. We were on our way to the emergency vet. I held him so we could all say goodbye. We did. He was 11 and a Boston Terrier and a good boy. He liked strawberries and being warm. His kidneys failed and he didn't last long after that. The girls saw him die. We couldn't help it. It was so fast. I hope they will be okay. Rachel wants to magic him back. And when told again that he has died, Rachel says, "Now I don't have anything! No dog. Not anything!" Anya understands quietly. I ask her, "What happens when we die?" This is a new question, I have never told her anything about this. She thinks for a minute and then says, "You get a new face." I am wowed by this simple answer. This is the best explanation of reincarnation that I have ever heard. I personally believe that our energy enters the world and is turned into something else. Or someone else. A new face indeed. Makes you wonder if we are born with the secrets of the universe fresh in our minds.
Jeff wrote the story of Archie better than I could.
Anya started yelling in her sleep last night, dreaming about something. She wanted me to find her spoon and help her eat. She kept saying she was hungry. I finally got her to calm down by pretending to give her a spoon to eat and bringing her some water.
This morning, I asked her about her dream. She thought for a minute and then said, "I was dreaming that I wanted coleslaw with my dinner. And I needed a spoon." We laughed and laughed about this. Then I said, "Anya, you're my coleslaw." And she said, "Mama, you're my coleslaw."
Who is your coleslaw?
The photo project is officially done in our house. Here we are in front of Valerie's photos up in the Corcoran Gallery in Washington, DC for the last time!
And here are the photos that went up:
I will write more about this later, but I have to say that inviting a photographer into our home for six months was one of the best things we ever did. We learned to not worry about how we are perceived, we learned that small moments are super important, we made a great friend. I would love to do this again in 5 years to see how we have changed or perhaps in some ways stayed the same.
I always think this, but these photos continue to remind me that we will never be younger than this.
I have to admit, I am the wimpiest twin mom ever. I totally avoid taking the girls places by myself. I tell myself it is for safety. That they totally aren't old enough to listen to me about not running off yet. And this is mostly true. They aren't even 3 yet, so I shouldn't expect them not to get the impulse to just run off. But really, if I work hard every single second of an outing with just me and them, I can overcome being out-numbered.
I did this three times last week. Once, walking them to the park, once pushing them in their stroller nearly a mile to Target and then on Friday, I took them on the Metro to Artomatic to make sure my wall was still there and that the pieces that I have already sold were still in tact. Each time with the girls got easier, but I still found myself repeating the same safety instructions over and over and over again. This has got to be the worst part of being a parent. All the talking. The sound of my own voice.
Hold my hand or you will go home. Don't run away from me or you will go home. If you listen to me you will not fall down. If you head-butt your sister, you will go home. No biting or pushing. Put that back. No cookies. You already got a new toy. Winnie the Pooh is not just for babies. Please do not pick that up.
It just goes on and on and on. If I am lucky, Anya will start to repeat the instructions for me. Rachel, no running. Rachel, do not bub bub me. Rachel, I am going to throw you in the trash. Ok, that last one is of Anya's creation, not mine.
I almost feel like I have to literally push myself into these situations each and every single day or I will just stop. That this crazy exploration of our city has to continue so that this will become our new normal. No more Tuesday mornings inside watching "How I Met Your Mother" on the DVR, I must be out in the world, making the girls experience new things.
At this age, I feel bad that they don't go to "school" if you can call daycare at 3 "school". I know some people do. But in this city, we just can't afford it. We are hoping to be able to afford pre-school in a year when they are 4, so for now, I am their teacher and their best friend and I guess it is ok if I keep pushing myself on to the next adventure. After our trip to Artomatic on Friday, I went to put the girls to bed at 8pm and couldn't wake up. Just slept through my free Friday night. I slept for 10 hours. Grandma sleep. The sleep of a twin mom who is actually pushing herself and not taking the easy at home with My Little Pony route.
Let's see how long I can keep this up. Let's see where I take them next week. Let's see.
***
Oh! My Artomatic wall is still there, on the 8th Floor. I haven't been able to take a photo yet, but here is one that my friend Rania sent me:
The girls really like kites. Here they are, escaping the city to fly kites at grandma's house.
And Anya with a string:
I have a new post over at the Crafty Bastards Blog about making stuff with my new woodburning tool.
I have also been posting lots of these pieces to my Etsy shop.
The girls are currently singing, "You gotta be brave in the cave." I don't know what this means, but it is funny.
The other night Anya said to me, "Mommy, you have to follow your dreams." I don't know if she learned this from me or the My Little Ponies. I bet it came from the ponies. She listens to them more.
The girls miss having their picture taken. So last week, Valerie brought over her camera to get photos of the new peanut allergy design that Scott helped me with last month. Still working on them, but here is the prototype.
Rachel:
On Anya:
We are battling allergies and each other. We are also working on things that will make us big girls, like potty training and FINALLY getting rid of the occasional milk in a bottle. I know, sad, but true. I told Anya last week that the doctor called and said that her ba-ba was making her sick. I told her this all day long. She got it. She doesn't ask for them anymore, but is still stressed about it even though she doesn't talk about it. I come from a place where I don't like to stress my kids out because they aren't doing what is expected. I figure that when the time is right, they will fall into line with things like potty training, etc. But with all the terrible reports about the plastic bottles being taken off the shelves of evil stores like Walmart, we had to just go cold turkey.
It is stressful for both Anya and I. We will laugh about it when she is 5.
Let me start this post by saying that I am neither pregnant nor do I want more children.
I have been having recurring dreams of a son. Not wishes, but actual dreams. The first time I dreamt of him, I was so confused and upset. In the dream, I was in a college dorm room. There were two beds, with identical girls sitting on them. They were thin with short hair, kinda like Mia Farrow in Rosemary's Baby. They were nothing like my girls are now, which likely means my kids will rebel against their long wild hair someday. In the dream, I didn't realize that I was old. I thought, oh, this is college. These are my friends. And in walks the most fabulous young man I have ever ever seen.
He is so lovely, a little taller than me, stocky like a bulldog. He has blonde hair and a scruffy round face. He looks so much like Anya that I want to kiss his cheek. He walks in and owns the room and I appreciate this. I feel almost proud of this. This extreme confidence.
Then I notice that my mother is there. This is strange. He walks up to her first and hugs her. This confuses me more. How does this young man know my mother? My first reaction is that he must be my boyfriend. He knows my mother, who else could he be? That this dream is about me in college. But who are the girls?
He looks at me with twinkley eyes and he kisses my cheek. He smells like someone who plays tennis. I take his face in my hands and tell him he smells like a man. To this he laughs big. Then I notice that under his vintage newsboy cap, he has cut his hair. I take it off and comment on it. Not judging, but commenting. He is all laughing eyes, like my grandfather.
He points to the girls on the dorm beds, who are sitting as if in suspended animation and asks, "How are the exchange students?" We are wicked, this is our inside joke about these girls. We are a team against them and this makes him very happy.
In the dream, I love the round face boy more than anything in the world. The first time I woke from dreaming of him, I was really upset. It took me half a day to realize who he was. He wasn't my boyfriend, he was my son! This made so much sense once I figured it out. So much sense.
Now, I do not plan on more kids. I feel very strongly that another child would take resources from my girls. That I am already stretched thin. That I couldn't possibly financially or emotionally afford another child. And who is to say this boy would ever exist? Jeff and I say that our luck we would get the child who would ruin our old age if we had another. You know, the crack smoking, baby having girl who tries to kill you in your sleep. :) Or like on Jon and Kate Plus 8, we try for one more kid and get 6. I just couldn't chance this at all. I don't want more kids, but I think of the round faced boy often.
Why do dreams create fully formed people who seem so real that they could actually exist? Do they exist in some other universe? I would be happy just to know he exists somewhere. That he has a loving alternate me and Mia Farrow sisters. That he is confident and laughs big.
I have been Goccoing shoes all night. Green shoes, brown shoes, pearly blue ones. On wood and notebooks and speckle-y lime green cards. I wrote a story with the shoes. Of two girls, twins. clones, in the future. But one is unstuck from time. It is the ultimate sadness.
The second in a series of Gocco printed twitter/blog posts on Walnut Hollow Basswood Shapes. Hand printed with my Gocco hand stamp with light and dark green ink. Both sets of Mary Janes are double stamped. The top pair is slightly off though, as the owner of the shoes is unstuck in time. She can't control her time traveling the way her sister can and this is so so sad. One wonders if she even exists. And they spend their lives searching for a cure.
This is the worst picture of all time. My old camera broke and I am stuck with this silly little orange camera.
I was lucky enough to see another play doh wall art installation this week. This one was again started by Rachel, but was a little different because it was multi-media. This one was really really beautiful.
And for all you moms out there who are stressed out by this, it totally comes right off! I just wait for them to not be around before I take it down.
Thanks to Jessica for making me think more about this....
Some people mourn when their kids age. They get upset when they suddenly don't have babies anymore. I understand this a little. Sometimes the girls and I look at pictures from when they were little and I feel a little sad. But I don't really yearn for the old versions like some people do.
I never really thought about having kids. It was never a dream, per say. Sure, when it was time to have kids, we talked about it and I agreed. But it was not this lifelong wish. I think this makes me a better mother. I never ever thought, "Someday someone will love me because they have to, because they need me." I never banked on this. But here I am with two little girls who do love me and do need me and this won't go away when they are 5 or 8 or 20. It will just be different. It will get worse and then better if I am a good mom. I get this. I want my girls to be adults someday. I want them to grow up. I want them to be happy, not helpless babies for the rest of their lives.
The other night, before bed, Anya said, "Mama. Toys aren't real." She was kinda asking me a question, like she knew this to be true, but needed me to confirm. This didn't make me sad. I was so excited for her that she was making these connections. Her ponies are not real. They are plastic, but that it is okay to pretend they are real. We then had a big talk about this, about pretending. She got very excited to talk to me about it, to have her thoughts confirmed. If we can have this conversation at 2-1/2, I can't wait to meet her when she is 8. Of course, I will miss my little Anya, but I would never want to hold her back. To keep her an infant or a toddler forever.
People often tell me that my kids are really advanced for their age. I reply that I don't treat them "their age". I think this is the key, to not let your self worth as a person get wrapped up in your kids. To let them learn and grow and not let your needs or neediness get wrapped up in their progress.
Our Easter Egg Hunt, was more of a gather.
When Rachi saw this picture of Anya she said, "Put it away. Anya is so sad."
Here Rachi is stressed about waiting to get her eggs:
2-1/2 is both a horrible and a wonderful age. I love it and hate it nearly every minute of the day. They seem to be constantly fighting with one another and pushing me to give in all the time. This past week, though, we cut out all sugar from the house. And I have to say that everyone has been much happier. I didn't think it would work that fast, but it has. I mean, Sunday was an overdose of it on Easter, but ever since about Tuesday or so, the girls have been much much more calm. I saw glimpses today of what 3 and 4 may be like. I looked up from what I was doing to see that it was 2pm and I hadn't had to break up any fights all day. Awesome. I feel like I may be turning a corner to something new.
I got this awesome email from Emily in England this week. I love that she and I have never met, but we seem to be a part of her dream life. It makes me think of the invisible threads connecting us all. The last time she dreamt of us was over a year ago, I think and in that dream, the girls were working on a building with some mice.
hey Tina,
Hope you and the family are well, i have been in Paris for the last three days and i had a weird dream (again) about you and the twins, this time you were normal sized all over except your tummy, it was massive, massive, massive because you were still pregnant with Anya and Rachel even though they are now two or thereabouts. I guess you were like kangaroo or something..you were having a scan and on the screen the girls were there in their jeans and little shoes and cute tops. The doctor said you were a medical miracle because it was the longest ever pregnancy a human had ever had! Anya got out to get some crisps and cokes and then got back in again through what looked like a caesarean scar...it was all very odd but cool
byeeeeee xx
Rachel is always coming up with new ways to use Play Doh. She makes hats and beds and pillows and things for her toys. But today was the best ever. I was sitting at the computer, working, talking to the girls with my back to them and turned around to this:
It was Rachi's project as the blue doh is hers. When I started to praise it, Anya started adding her yellow blobs on.
Ani is smiling, Rachi is still serious about her work.
I loved this. It was so beautiful, turning the wall into something alive, teaming with blue worm creatures. Rachi was very serious about it, where she put the doh, etc. This is part of what I want my kids to be able to do. I want them to see the wall as canvas, anything as canvas. It is completely rad.
Our neighbor smokes out her window. The smoke travels a little path directly to our windows. We don't notice it until it is too late and we are head ache-y and cough-y and sore throat-y.
My girls have asthma. This means that this attack from the girl next store is a big deal. This means they will have asthma attacks in the middle of the night while they sleep. This means they have to sleep with us so that we hear them. This means that we are all in one big bed and we are not comfortable. This means that we do not sleep well. I could go on and on. The winter was fine because we didn't open the windows, but with spring coming, we are noticing it.
I put a note under her door a few weeks ago. We thought she had stopped. But today I was feeling sick and Rachi was rubbing her eyes and Jeff came in to say that the neighbor was smoking out her window again.
I wonder if smokers feel this bad all the time. Like irritable and scratchy throat and head ache-y? If they do, they must be the most miserable people on the planet.
When I was 5, I watched an EMT put one of those hole things in my maternal grandmother's throat. She was a smoker and miserable. I remember thinking, wow, that is dumb, hurting yourself like that. But it was the 70's and she was a poor old woman. Our neighbor is young and lives in the future. So I wonder what her excuse is. I am sorry, but whatever it is, I feel no sympathy. She is pathetic for being addicted to something so disgusting.
So, I put a new note on her door, asking her to please stop harming us. Will see how much of a bad guy she really is. It is likely that someone else will have to deal with her for us. Unfortunately, it is not illegal in DC to smoke in your apartment. I could take my kids to bar and be smoke-free there, though. Perhaps we will go sleep at a bar.
For now, we close all the windows. We shut out the coming spring.
>> photo by Valerie Dryden.
This is how I feel almost every minute of every day. Torn and pulled in many directions.
Yesterday, on the swings.
"No sharing mama today." - Rachel
"I wish we could have two mommies. One for me and one for Anya." - Rachel
"Who would get me?" - Tina
"I would get you. Get a new mommy for Anya." - Rachel
"We could make two Tinas. One for both of us." - Anya
The current sadness of being a twin and 2-1/2.
we are growing into lady-people who wear fashiony coats and like ponies. we are blue-eyed and windy and talk about mysteries and secrets. we sit next to each other in our new stroller, side by side touching each other's hair. we love to whisper and yell and talk about being mad. we tell mama about nightmares where little, but also big chickens are chasing us. we call ham, "sam." we love to say hello to shadows as if they are special creatures who we only rarely connect with.
>>photo by Valerie Dryden.
I have mentioned this before, but the girls love trees. They love to say, "Hello, tree. How you doing?" They love to go outside and hug their tree friends. This makes me happy. The girls also like to argue about Barack Obama vs. Hillary Clinton. This makes me laugh. It usually ends with one calling Hillary Clinton a butt hole. This makes me laugh even harder. I am glad that I have kids who can appreciate the beauty of nature as well as the complex political landscape of our country.
I think that Barack Obama likely enjoys trees more than Hillary Clinton. Gonna go ask the girls what they think.
Some photos of us looking at our photos at the Corcoran last night. Thanks to everyone who came out to see us.
Here, Anya points to one of our photos. When she saw this one, she said, "There's Mommy all alone." This was so smart because it was actually the point of the photo! See below, in this one, I am on the phone with Jeff while away at the Bust Craftacular in New York in December.
The girls thought the gallery had a good dance floor.
Rachel and I:
All of us with Valerie:
The girls dresses are by courtneycourtney. They are made from recycled t-shirts.
Another of the photos taken by Valerie Dryden.
We do this every morning. We paint paper until it gets boring, then we paint our arms and faces. Rachel likes to paint her Little People most of all, though.
There is an article on the Etsy Storque today about our opening Gallery 31 at the Corcoran tonight. Check it out.
I think it is really really important that as parents we try to push away the tired tired and try to be creative and productive and show our children how important doing is.
One of the 1,000 photos that Valerie Dryden took of us, here is Anya being funny. She calls this being, "in the clown".
Yesterday, in the elevator with a neighbor, Anya looked up and said, "I am Anya and this is Rachel," pointing to her sister. This was the first time she introduced herself to anyone and I thought it was really nice that she introduced Rachel, too.
we make yellow playdoh bunnies all morning long. and then a pink cake and then some plates and forks. i am better than i thought at making forks, but the spoons, the spoons are the most lovely. then we cut the playdoh cake and feed it to all the babies. and save a plate of fake cake for daddy.
If you are lucky in your lifetime, you will not ever have to see your two year old drugged and unable to stand. If you are lucky in your lifetime, you WILL get to see how modern medicine is rad. There are some things in the world that I do not believe in, like god and the moon landing, but I do believe in outpatient surgery.
I know I am being overly dramatic, but today was really stressful. As a mom of twins, I have to say that there is this small portion deep inside of me that is always waiting for the universe to take one away. I am always worried that the powers-that-be will correct itself. That I was only meant one quirky little girl in my life and that this was all a fluke. I have many times met women who say things like, "My son is a twin. But his brother died." And this touches that tiny worry deep inside of me and I am looking at someone who has lived my worst fear.
When I first found out I was having twins, I worried that I couldn't love/care for/afford two children at once. I remember mourning the loss of the idea of that one special child. The further you get into twin parenthood, the more you realize how dumb and selfish that is.
When I gave birth, I almost died. And for ten days, we waited in the hospital to see if I could go home. And I didn't fully understand the situation until it was over. I kept a good attitude and didn't worry because in the modern world, women like me don't die in childbirth. But yesterday in the Operating Room, watching the anesthesiologist put the mask on my 27 pound two year old, I thought, "oh my, I could become one of those women today." I could be walking down the street with Anya one day when she is 12 and see a woman with twins and say, "Anya was a twin. Her sister died." I don't know what the numbers are on how many kids die from being put under for surgery every day, but I still worried.
So, I recorded every moment with Rachel to save in case something happened. From the way her little hospital dress hung off her tiny frame, to how she joked with the nurses about their hospital masks, from the way she scrambled from her little bed onto the operating table. Walking out of the OR to go and wait, I thought, "Ok. This can be enough. I will be happy with this if something happens." But of course, it never would be. We never have enough time with our children. Never ever. This is the secret of parenthood. No matter how many minutes or hours or decades, it can never be enough.
The waiting took forever. But a few hours later, they wheeled her down to us. She looked horrible. I didn't react very well to her state, IV in her hand, tired mad face, white as a ghost, crying and nauseous. My whole body felt hot, like the blood in my veins was lava, threatening to burn me from the inside out. And I felt like I was going to pass out or vomit or both. No matter how much I told myself, "She is ok," I still felt this way. I didn't expect to react this way. It was really strange. Jeff kept telling me it was just that I was worried, but I think I might have had a little bit of a flash back to my 10 days in the hospital after the girls were born.
For the rest of the day, Rachel couldn't walk because she had an epidural for the surgery. It was so sad, she was like a new baby horse, trying to stand and crumpling to the ground. At one point, she was like the legless terminator dragging herself across the living room floor to reach a toy.
Today, she is still sore and on pain meds, but I am so happy this is all done. I know it was just a hernia and that I am lucky to not have a chronically ill child. I am very lucky. Lucky to have health insurance. Lucky to have good doctors. Lucky to have twins.
Just a note that Jeff, the girls and I will be making our big art debut at the Corcoran Gallery of Art next week. Photographer, Valerie Dryden's Senior Thesis Exhibition, Tina's Seamonsters will be on display from February 20-24th in CORRECTION! Gallery 31 (in the school entrance on the New York Ave. side of the gallery).
Valerie has been taking pictures of the twins and I on our daily adventures for 6 months now. Her show tells the story of how I manage twins as a work at home mom, plus a successful online business. It also shows, I am sure, just how tired and messy we really are. :)
Opening Reception for the show is February 21, 6-8pm in the North Atrium of the Corcoran Gallery of Art. We are hoping to be there.
Here's the info, in case you are around the Gallery sometime soon and want to check it out:
Valerie Dryden: Tina's Seamonsters
Senior Thesis Exhibition
February 20-24, 2008
Open 10 am-5pm
Gallery 31 on the New York Ave side of the Gallery, school entrance
Corcoran Gallery of Art
500 Seventeenth Street, NW
Washington, DC 20006
I will be posting the photos to the blog over the next few weeks, so you can also see them here!
I haven't written about this much because it has just been too stressful around here, but Rachel will be having hernia surgery on Thursday. She has been in a lot of pain this past week, awaiting the surgery and this has made her and I extra tired and cranky. The crap thing about this whole ordeal is that, 1. She was born with the hernia and likely it just started to hurt OR she just started to be able to tell us it hurts. and 2. She has been telling us it hurts since Xmas and it took 3 doctor's appointments and my Google skills to diagnosis it. All of this makes me very very upset and sad that she could have possibly been in pain for a long time. It also makes me mad that our first appointment for this problem happened the day after Xmas and they were so under-staffed that they didn't even stop to think it might be a hernia. They just said she had a rash and gave us some cream. Three appointments, a sonogram and a half day in the Hematology department later and we are finally almost done with this.
All of this makes me understand how it must feel to be a parent who doesn't have health insurance for their children. How horrible it is to see your child in pain and worse to have to rely on others to fix it. We have pretty good health insurance and care, but this has still been less than easy to get fixed.
Anyway, we are finally getting the surgery on Thursday, so please send us positive thoughts.
Even with Valerie here taking our picture for the past 6 months, I find that it is rare to have a photo of both girl's faces together. But here, I caught one! On Saturday, we had lunch with my parents and my mom was like... "ok, who is who?" I am continually floored by this. How on earth can she not know who is who? They are so so different. I think you can see the differences in this photo. Rachel has a thinner, pointer face. Anya, bigger eyes. Personally, I often think they are so different that they are not at all identical. I know this is crazy to other people. Perhaps all parents of twins think this. You can't tell in this photo, but Anya has a small gap in her teeth that Rachel does not. Their eyes seem to be the same color, though. We are thinking about getting different haircuts to see if this makes them seem more different to the outside world.
My sister tells me she can't remember me from our childhood. This is something that completely floors me. How could this be? She does remember the time I saved us from being kidnapped. I am glad that she remembers this because it is one of my greatest accomplishments. I wonder sometimes if this one act of bravery at 7 or 8 years old is what gives me the strange uber-confidence that I have. I remember being so afraid that day. I wonder if certain moments of extreme fear in life can do this to you. Like why aren't all women more confident after giving birth?
I wonder a lot about the self-confidence issue during my trip to New York for the Bust Craftacular. How does one get it and how do they keep it and where does it come from and how can mine be so absolute in certain situations and a little iffy in others?
I am watching my friend Beth Magie DC's table at the show when I start up a conversation with a girl in a grandma coat. I tell her I like her coat because it reminds me of my grandma. She tells me it my be her grandma's coat. I wish I knew where my grandma's clothes went when she went to the nursing home, I think. I talk some more with this Grandma Coat Girl about how none of us will be Great Grandmothers in the future. I don't mean really good grandmas, but I mean, Great Grandmas. I had two when I was little, we called one of them Old Ma. They were very special to me. Earlier in the bathroom at the Metropolitan Pavilion, I saw my grandma in the mirror when I was washing my hands. My hair was in this big loose bun in the back and there she was so very clearly in my face. This put grandmas on my mind, I guess. So I say to the Grandma Coat Girl that we won't be Great Grandmas anymore because we are having children so old and there just won't be time in our lives for us to see so many generations. She suggests that perhaps we will live longer and thus my theory is wrong. I say that I don't want to live that long and be old for so long. I so am not happy that some day I might get very old. This is an interesting conversation to be having with a stranger at a booth that isn't mine. It is funny and strange, like I had known her for a very long time. She is a very pretty girl with a soft voice and kind smile and I start to wonder who she is. She asks me about my creations, which are really Beth's and this is when I explain that I am actually Tina Seamonster and these aren't mine, but Beth's and I make other stuff and I point across the room. And then the Grandma Coat Girl surprises me by telling me she is someone unexpected. Jenny Harada!, a total hero to me in the world of indie craft and here I was blabbing nonsense of grandmas to her. There is some confusion about whether or not we have actually met or just know things about the other through my ordering from her and blogs and being in the same place at the same time. And it is a really wonderful conversation and I think about how I never would have had it if I had not been confident enough to.
***
There are more stories to tell about the Bust show... more tomorrow.
I just set the girls up for their daily painting. Pouring out the paint on their paper plates, Anya said, "Orange! Orange is a food friend." Indeed.
I posted a new earliest memory over at Yeti Loves Seamonster tonight. It is from Jessica of Spider Camp and all I can say is wow. Go read it, then come back and finish this. Yeah, go ahead, I'll be here.
Isn't it just wow? It reminds me of how grandparents can be so magical. And how our memories are so amazing and how being alive is rad.
****
Rachi has these shoes. The butterfly shoes. They are brown suede Mary Janes and they close on the side with butterflies. I say that Rachi has them, but really we have 3 pair. They are a size 5, even though we wear a size 6, she can still wear them and no matter what other shoes I put on her, she says, "No. Butterfly shoes." She wore them tonight to meet her Grandpa in the lobby of our building. She wore them without socks because they don't fit any other way. In them, her feet look just like my Grandma's. The way she stands kinda sideways in them, kinda leany to one side, makes her look just like a tiny version of my Margie. And then she springs to life, racing down the hall, singing and acting like a tiny fox. There is nothing better than living with a 2 year old version of your grandma.
You would think that since a photographer has been taking our pictures for the past 2 months (long, interesting story that I will tell and show photos from at some point!), that the girls would be good at getting their picture taken. But no, this photo was like pulling teeth to get:
They mostly looked like this at first:
We took the girls around the block in their super cheap pirate suits and they were so excited, yelling "Happy Halloween" to everyone. Seeing them dressed alike really did make them feel like one clump of a child, which was strange and sad. Sad because a lot of parents of twins do this and I think it must really hurt their ability to see their children as individuals.
We didn't get much candy because we only stopped at 3 houses and our own door man gave them some, but when we got in, Anya thought she was supposed to eat it all right then. Rachi ate her small portion happily, but not Anya. She screamed and kicked because she wanted all of it! It made me wonder if one is born with food addiction or if she was actually just hungry. It is strange to see these two children, identical to people who don't know them, act so completely different in the face of a ghost bucket of chocolate.
"How can you tell them apart?" people ask me. Next time, I will answer... "You got a candy bar, I'll show you."
We took the girls to Malcolm X Park to see the ducks and water fall yesterday. We also saw some dogs. On the way out, a female police officer showed up on horseback. The girls got to pet Jack the horse and were really excited to see one so close. The police lady gave them stickers and it was pretty cool. When leaving, Rachi said to her, "Bye bye Cowboy."
This was just so funny. Of course anyone with a horse has got to be a cowboy.
Stories of Jack and the Cowboy we told over and over again all night long.
Ever since Jeff started singing the big bad wolf song to the girls (you know, "I'm going to huff and puff and blow your house down."), Rachi has started to call him Bad Wolf. Like, "Bad Wolf, get me juice!" or "Where's Bad Wolf going?" This is just hilarious and kind of strange. First, it is a Dr. Who Season 1 reference, since the Bad Wolf was the big bad for the season. Second, it is just slightly kooky for a little tiny girl to call her daddy Bad Wolf with such glee. It has seriously become his new name.
Because of this, I thought about having the girls dress as Little Red Riding Hood for Halloween. But with more thought, I realized that it was just too victim-y to dress like Little Red Riding Hood. Then I thought about Riding Hood with big swords under their capes, but two year olds and big swords doesn't make for a good day.
So, I think we are going to be cow girls. We have hats and giant My Little Ponies... just wondering if I should add lassos to the mix.
"My daddy is at work," Rachi says as I push both of them on the baby swings. I have mastered this motion, one arm pushing one girl, the other pushing the other girl. I am a big machine, manufacturing windy hair and "weeeees".
The girls are closer than ever to the leaves above my head.
"They clapping for me, mama," Anya says.
"Yes, the leaves love you," I say.
"What does your daddy do at work?" I ask both girls.
"I don't know." They both say fast because they do have an answer, but they always say I don't know first when they aren't sure.
"Make things," Anya says. This makes me smile because they see mama making things and think that this is what people do for work. Make things.
"What does Daddy make at work?" I ask, still pushing the swinging windy-haired girls.
"Butterflies!" Anya smiles and yells.
"Giant butterflies!" Rachi adds.
"Yes. Daddy makes giant butterflies at work," I agree. "What a wonderful job."
"What do you want to do when you go to work?" I ask.
"Take pictures," Anya says. "Like Balerie."
I smile at this. Valerie is the photojournalism student who is doing her senior thesis project on us this fall. She takes lots and lots of pictures of us and this has made an impact on Anya.
My two year olds want to be photojournalists when they grow up. Their daddy makes giant butterflies at work and the leaves are clapping for them. I don't often feel this, but I must be doing something right.
I can't believe I don't have babies anymore. And I don't miss it at all.
Meet Anya. She is no longer a baby. She is a little girl. She likes to scream, "My name is Anya and I like to dance!" She can get her own matching shoes from the shoe pile. She is two and is very complicated and sweet and knows how funny she is.
Meet Rachel. She, too, is far from babyhood. She likes to scream at ants, asking them, "What you doing, ants?" She loves to play ball and knows when her new shoes are too big. She is two and very determined and loves to kiss and hug, in that order.
"You are growing up," I tell Anya. "We no grow up, mama. Flowers grow up." she says, eyes all twinkle twinkle. She loves a joke and knows she has made one. "I'm in the clown, mama," she says.
We take the girls down to the Washington Monument and let them run and play soccer and walk all the way to the "waterfall" at the WWII Memorial. At one point, Anya tells me, "I tired. I lay down here." and stops and lays down on the sidewalk. This is so cute and sad. "We are in China!" Rachel tells us as we exit the Metro to a new place. I can't imagine what these little people will say next. I dig all of this.
I don't understand people who complain about their children. They are the most amazing people you will ever meet.
Check out my blog post for the Television Zombies Blog about the new show, Yo Gabba Gabba!
The air outside feels like a new school year. All September-y with its little breeze. Not much humidity on this early August 9am and I am surprised by this. I am nearing my 34th birthday, but suddenly feel 14 and bouncy. I breathe in deeply and it feels good. I had forgotten how much I could like fresh air. The Washington summer can do that to you. We have been inside for some days, the bad air quality holding us hostage against asthma attacks.
We head for the garden.
It is a wee slab of land attached to our city apartment building. It is behind a padlock and a tall fence and it is so shady that one of the girls says, "Too dark in here," as we enter. I explain that it is shady and better than sunny because the sun is bad for us and makes us look old.
The two girls of two years are wearing dresses. The kind of dresses I swore my children would never wear. One, a hand-me down from a cousin is red and white gingham with big pockets on the front. The other is the Samba Dora dress in hot pink and orange and looks like Charo wore it on a particularly bland episode of The Love Boat. I put shorts and Mary Janes under them and we look more punk than priss. But the truth is that my children are charming and cool no matter what they are wearing.
We busy ourselves with filling Halloween buckets with rocks and leaves and grass. It is a big task. I try to read "The Time Traveler’s Wife," but don't get far. Anya is at a point where she wants mommy to help her with all play activities, so I am on the ground, counting rocks. This feels so Victorian. Us, in the garden, playing with rocks. It is as if the modern world doesn't exist.
There are small pumpkin sized bushes in the garden. The girls have learned not to pick their leaves and instead sit with their legs around them, petting the little trees. "Hello, little trees. I love you, what you doing?"
Rachi is running from one end of the garden to the other. She stops at me on each pass to pick up and eat a green grape. She stands next to me, reaching her tiny hands into the bag and bites into a grape, saying, "delicious." I wonder how dirty her hands are and think of the nannies in the park that feed their charges rather than let them eat with dirty hands. I would make a bad nanny. "I hope you don't get worms," I say. "Or snakes," Rachi says. "Yes, I hope you don't get snakes," I say.
Another delicious grape and Rachi is hugging me. She likes to hold my face and neck close to hers and says, "I miss you mamma, so much." This is funny because she is rarely not with me.
Anya falls down and scrapes her knee. This is the bad thing about red and white gingham dresses, all the exposed knees. I have come to the garden with only these things: grapes, keys, cell phone, book for me and for them, sippy cups of water. I survey my inventory and think that perhaps just washing the cut will make her feel better. I open the Elmo cup and pour the cold water over Anya's bloody knee. She digs this and instantly thinks it is getting better. "More water on knee, mama." So we sit there and pour water on all the knees. Hers and her sister's. This is fun and seems to be a perfectly good remedy for all the knees.
Today we are two years old. In the morning, we each get a bag with two presents. One from Mommy and one from Daddy. The gifts from Mommy are a homemade stuffed lion and cat (photos to come). Daddy went to the posh toy store near his work and picked up toy wooden Bento Boxes. Sushi kits complete with chopsticks with velcro on the end to pick up fake sushi. We are delighted to feed the sushi to the cat and lion.
I tell the girls the names that came with the cat and lion. Letitia and Ada. Anya repeats hers, "Titia," she says. But only minutes later I hear her say, "Pascha, eat your sushi!" I ask her, "What is the lion's name?" "Pascha," she says. I am delighted by this. To me, this is a big step, naming her toys. She has done this before, but never so quickly and do elegantly. Our Little People are all named, Nonal, Nona, MayMay and then another Nonal. Nice, but Pascha makes me think of a real person that Anya may have known in another life. Perhaps a life where she lived in some far off land where the sand always got in her eyes.
At the aquarium, we see animals. What kind of animals, I ask, "Wet," says Anya. Yes. We look at dolphins from under a pool and are thrilled. Rachi dances and screams, "Hello dolphins. I love you. What you doing?" This is a repeat of last weekend, when we went to the Ag show and she yelled the same thing at some goats.
Each time we walk away from a tank of fish, Anya is so polite. She says, "Bye fishies. I love you. Thank you." Sometimes she says, "Hi-lo, fishies. I Anya." Sometimes we say, "Fishies yum." This is strange because we don't eat fish. A few times, they call the biggest fish in the tank, a "mommy-fish." I don't take this personally, but it reminds me why I am losing weight.
In the basement, it is so dark and the shark exhibit is genuinely scary for me. All those teeth. And I am reminded of Damien Hurst's wonderful Tiger Shark at the Saatchi Gallery in London. My girls were made that week, but it seems so much longer ago. We don't linger with the sharks.
While waiting for Jeff to use the bathroom, the girls and I are in a small sitting area with an Indian famly. They are delighted by the girls, but don't talk to me. They just smile and speak to each other in another language. As we are leaving, Anya goes up to the oldest woman in the family and says, "Thank you." All twinkle eyes, my Anya is. And I have no idea what this is all about.
In the car on the way home, after much crying over wanting to not share my Italian Ice, but just wanting it all to herself (we give it to her and it is a huge mess!), Anya says, "Pascha. I need Pascha." Her eyes are red and she is tired from an exciting day of wet animals. I hand her Pascha. Rachi says, "Cat. Where is cat." I ask her what her cat's name is, expecting her to say just cat. Instead she says, "Kascha." I wonder if she is just parroting her sister or if she has purposely named her cat a matching name to her sister's. Great, Pascha and Kascha, I think. Were these your names in that past life? The sandy one? Twins with twin names? Maybe not, but it is funny that for all our wanting things to be different for each girl that this is what we name our new friends.
I think much today about how as parents, our main job is creating memories. These memories are what build up like blocks into who we will become. Will this be the girls' earliest memory? Perhaps. I need to remember this, though, that every minute that I spend with my girls is building who they will become. Every minute is a lesson yearned, a love created, a memory added to the pile. And it is my job to make these memories fabulous and usefull and totally rad. This is my job as mom. I am protector and entertainer and creator of wonderfulness. I don't always succeed, but at least I am aware of what it is that I *need* to do.
We are two and we are creating our first memories. What could be more awesome?
Eileen is here from Chile. She comes once a year like Father Christmas. She swoops in and tells me I am tiny. I do not often believe her, but it is nice to hear. I do not tell her how tiny she is because I think she already knows it. This is an oversight on my part. I make up for it when I can slip it into the conversation. She is the fittest person I have ever known, so I try to match her ability to walk long distances. We walk miles home from the zoo in 98 degree weather and I do just fine. The top of my body feels big and fleshy, but my legs are strong.
In the bird house, we set the girls free from their stroller. They are excited and Rachi runs for it. I hang back with Ani and let Eileen race for Rachi. I would not trust anyone else that is not family to do this. But I trust her and it works out just fine. She was here when we were all born and this is something that cannot be forgotten.
Leaving the bird house, we round a corner and come upon the most amazing pink flamingos. First, just a few, then a huge flock of them. We are delighted. The girls practice standing on one foot like their pretty pink feathered sisters. The birds slowly creep toward us, very close. "No fighting, mingos," Anya says as one bites at another.
Then we come upon some ants. Hundreds of them. "Hello, ants. I Anya." "Be good, ants. No eating." I don't really know what Rachi means by this... but I can't stop thinking about it. And in the whole zoo we are delighted by ants and flamingos.
The misty water sprinklers are on and the girls are at first afraid of them. But Anya is either tired or hot or both and decides to stand under one for a good 10 minutes. She just stands there, getting soaked. We let her. As always with my children, I try not to tell anyone no. The longer I am a parent, the harder this gets. But for some reason, Eileen reminds me of this, that I want to be this carefree mum. That I want my girls to feel like they can do anything in the world. She is like this, the only person who I know who is like this. The only person who seems to always do what she wants to do. I respect this. But is also scares me. For me, this freedom could be difficult to control. For her, it seems brilliant, though.
We eat sushi while the damp haired girls sleep in their stroller. They wake half way through our meal and sit like big girls and cram cucumber rolls and pickled ginger into their mouths with their tiny long fingers. And I think, this is the kind of mom that I have always wanted to be. A city mom who takes her two year olds to a sushi place. A fearless mom who doesn't worry about anything. Of course, I know I am always this person deep inside, but the days often wear me down and make it hard for me to realize these adventures.
I am thinking of the last time Eileen was here, last September. And I am seeing how far I have come since then. How far with the smallening and the online shop and the being a work at home mom. But mostly, I am thinking of how different I feel about myself now. How much more I trust myself and accept myself this year. This is rad.
And I am reminded once more about how certain people in our lives can make this tremendous, gigantic impact without even trying. Without even knowing it. And how we should all remember this. And think of who does this for us. Who reminds us to be fearless and strong.
I am moving into smallest ever territory, for serious. And I can't believe normal sized people live in these tiny bodies. Like, are their organs the same size as mine? No wonder people can run so fast, ya know?
I am bogged down with web work, but would rather be silk screening ghosts on everything I can find. I silk screened some seamonster shirts last night, mostly plus sizes for moms and little ones for boys. I made myself a shirt in a size 16 and it fit. You can see it here:
http://www.etsy.com/view_transaction.php?transaction_id=5681868
I find that I am selling the plus sized shirts super fast, so this is encouraging me to make more and more, but the Target clearance rack hasn't been very fruitful with the big shirts lately (only 3 in this batch).
The ghosts are next and I am looking forward to them. My sister's ghost activity is big right now at her house now that she is home sick with Mono of all things. This is inspiring me to make more ghosts.
My pajamas keep falling off as I sleep.
Rachi has been saying to me, "mama, i miss you." This is funny because, well, I am rarely out of her sight. If I ask Anya to do something, she says, "No, I working."
Time to step away from the computer.
Being a mom of twins is a constant struggle to treat them equally. Doling out noodles or toys or Cheerios equally is easy. But, when we get to love and affection is where we have a problem.
When the girls were tiny, I was Anya's mamma. Jeff was Rachi's mamma. This was good and nice and easy. But this was not the natural course of things, I think. Every child needs mamma time and Rachi is seeking to reclaim what she has lost.
All day long, I hear from one or both of my girls, "No, sissie, my mamma. My mommy. Mine!" It is frantic and pained and insistant.
In bed at night, me between them like an island between matching oceans, I notice Anya is listening to her sister's movements, gauging whether Rachel is going to make her move and climb on top of my tummy and drift off to sleep listening to my heart beat. Anya has perfected it. She knows when her sister is about to move, and she pounces, scrambling on top just in time.
To this, Rachi screams, "No, my mommy!!!"
And this breaks my heart. Daily, I am sad and split and feel like I could never possibly give them both what they need.
Honestly, I want to give Rachi her time. I want Ani to chill and stop being so possessive. I dig Rachi and want her to be happy and feel like I missed so much time with her when she was tiny and Jeff's baby. I know Ani well, she is a tiny clone of me in many ways. Rachi is a foreign land, all quirky and slightly odd. I feel like she often hangs back and lets her sister get all the good stuff and I respect and feel for her.
I often have to take a step back and realize that someday soon, neither will care that they sleep with me or seek my attention so much. "My mommy" will be replaced with "Whatever, mom." So, I do my best to cuddle everyone at once. I do my best, but my heart still breaks.
The best thing about Anya right now is that she is always asking, "What is this?" with the tiniest lisp at the end of 'this'. Opening the refrigerator is always fun because she asks it of everything. Last night while trying to go to sleep, she heard the dishwasher and said, "What is this sound?" I love sentences.
This morning, Rachi took off her clothes and diaper and sat on the potty and peed. All on her own. Amazing.
I am glad I didn't offend too many with my complaints about the playground yesterday. I try my best to always be as honest as possible in life and the dread of the daycare groups at the playground is part of my everyday. That said, the girls went to the daycare for the first 10 months of their life. This was invaluable. I had no idea how to take care of a baby, much less two. And the advice and strength that I got from their main teacher, Geneva was so wonderful. She was a mother to me when I needed one, everyday for that time. I believe that when we become new moms, we, as mothers, need a mother in our lives everyday. Someone to tell us how to deal with this amazing new responsibility. I find that often our own mothers are so far away from mothering babies that they aren't equipped to help us. They also have their own lives and jobs. But, Geneva's job wasn't just to keep my babies safe and happy all day while I wasted my time at work, her other job was to mother me when I came to pick them up, to call me when they were sick, to sit with me next to Anya's hospital bed on a cold Friday night in December. I respect and love her for this and our time at daycare was very valuable because I was not at all ready to be completely in charge of my children.
That said, the toddler age, I believe is an amazing time of learning and growing that really needs more nurturing than what I am seeing from the packs of wild children at the playground.
We all get to decide what kind of mother we will be. This is what is truly wonderful about being a woman in the modern world.
Here is a secret:
I dread the park because I don't like the girls to hang out with kids who go to daycare.
I hate to admit it because I have lots of friends who send their kids to daycare and totally don't mind hanging out with them when their kids are not part of a pack of other kids. But I feel this way and can't seem to get over it.
And by 11 am, the playgrounds are full of them. Toy stealing, no one to wipe their noses, swing hogs. Their teachers huddle together in chatty groups, looking like a group of university students discussing an exam. They are cold and barky and are happy to not be in charge for a bit. It is a free for all and I get stuck in the middle, managing their charges and trying to keep them from ruining our fun.
I hate it. What's more, so do the girls. "Go away, messy babies," says Rachel. Anya cries because she can't get on the slide. And I have to tell the sandbox weasels to not take my toys. "But I don't have any toys," whines one little boy. And this breaks my heart and I have to hang out with this kid, all the while I am thinking, I have enough kids.
I wonder if this doesn't bode well for our future with other children. But then I realize that I am totally fine with moms and their kids, it is just this aloof nanny, daycare class culture that I don't want to be around. I know that some people have to send their kids to daycare, but I would just like to enjoy being outside at the park with my girls without having to deal with these kids.
I hate that this is a conservative view. I consider myself a liberal on every topic, except this one. I hate that I am aligned with certain people on this topic. I look at the poor kid with no toys and think, "where is your mother? Does she know how sad you are right now? And why do I have to worry about it?"
And I feel the guilt of a liberated women who has decided to raise her own children.
She always wants me to draw a snake. Then two snakes. Then rain. Always rain and snakes. This is strange to me. I never ever think of snakes or rain. I like the smell of rain, but am not sure what snakes smell like or if they have a smell at all. She loves to call me Tina, but only when she really means it. Only when she wants my attention for real. I love this. It seems more intimate than mamma or mommy. She and I are special because she knows my name and how to use it.
The other she wants to see sheep. And a mamma sheep and a baby sheep. And two sheep. Everything in twos in my house. One. Two.
Two snakes and two sheep. And baaa, sheep. And rain. "Tina. snakes. rain. Mamma Tina."
I want to know how they think and what makes them remember and why why why. All of it. I want to know their internal lives.
"Anya," I say, "What do you want for breakfast?"
"Meat," says Anya from her little perch at our kitchen table.
"No meat for breakfast, sorry. What would you like for breakfast?" I say again.
"Ribbies," says Anya. "Bar b Q ribbies."
To this I laugh and laugh.
"How about peaches?" I say.
"Blueberries?" Rachi asks.
"Yes, blueberries." I answer.
"I love blueberries," Anya chimes in.
"Me too," says Rachi.
And so we have breakfast.
The differences in the girls are worrying me. I want to jump into their DNA and see these differences. I often think they are only half identical, a not so proven theory that sometimes twins are made when the egg splits before being fertilized. Thus giving the girls the same parts from me, but different from their dad. This is how I rationalize their differences, the slight plump of Anya's face, Rachi's thinner frame. And then there are times when I know for a fact that they are completely identical, like when they sleep or are in fresh from a bath, hair all wet like seaweed on their bitty heads.
This is all, of course, visual and physical and of little consequence next to the other differences. The social ones. The emotional ones. The ones that make them most noticeably different.
At the Rock n Romp today, Rachi was overwhelmed by the people and the music and begged to be put in her stroller to leave. Anya watched and gave her an inflatable guitar found on the floor. This was the third time this week that I had to talk Rachi into a social situation. The other two involved kids at the playground who wanted to play with her, to whom she told coldly to "go away." Anya watches these exchanges very closely, offering Rachi a helpful hand when she sees an in, but it never seems to work. The differences in how they deal with things is just shocking at times. Anya smiles and offers a toy to the homeless transsexual who follows us into the park (um yeah, I will tell this story soon!), Rachi offers a hand out with a pushing motion and a firm, "go away." Anya is interested in most everything. Rachi is often heard calling things "scary" or "creepy" while planting herself in a spot and not moving from it.
I want to map their DNA on a big big board in the kitchen, where I write down my work for the day and check each little part and see what makes one child one way and the other another way. I want to know if this is a phase or will I be always worrying that one child is unhappy.
It is easy to think your kid is going through a phase, but what happens when you have a kid whose phase doesn't end? These are my big worries right now. For now, I dream of shrinking my self nano nano and mapping their DNA, like they are cloned sheep or cats. I will wear a tiny tiny lab coat and drive a little boat and be injected by a future needle that doesn't pinch. I will learn the secrets of my girls and their quirks and I will worry no more.
birdie eats pizza at 14th and U
We picked the U street post office on Friday over the one on Florida and Conn. They are two different worlds. U street is very DC, very city, very urban bullet proofed glass, let's look at dead rats. Florida and Conn. is all sweetness and light compared. U street was the right choice because we got to watch a bird eating a jumbo slice of pizza for a long time. Ani learned to say, "birdie eats pizza (but she says patzzza)." On the way home, the pizza abandoned and the girls yell, "birdie nummies, patzzza!"
the same face so close
Rachi likes to put her arms around your neck as she falls asleep. She holds your face very close to hers and smiles with closed eyes. I do this with Anya, too, to find that they have the same face as they sleep, so close up. Like little clay trolls, all cheeks and eyes. This is strange, but wonderful.
one little cake and some blueberries
the girls love raisins, but call them blueberries. they run to the kitchen screaming, "blueberries, blueberries, BLUE berries." Their play has gotten so much more complicated in the past week. I wish I would have seen these changes coming. They sit and feed plastic food to plastic people. They fight over the only two pieces of plastic food that we have, a small pink cake and a small bowl of actual blueberries. They say, "bunny, babies, cake, nummies, blueberries." Then someone wants the cake and bites her sister on the face to get it.
Send me your old plastic food if you are done with it.
Every day, we exercise our laughter.
I say, "ok girls, it is time to laugh." Our fake "hahas" always turn into big real laughs. This is fun. This is nice considering 80 percent of the rest of the day is sounds like this, "no, do not bite your sister. no, do not write in that book. stay on that potty or put your diappy back on. please stop screaming. leave Archie alone." To most of these things, Rachel has now started to say, "Go away, Mommy. Go away." Then Ani chimes in half heartly, "go away." Then Rachi to Ani, "go away, AnYA, go away."
Me and my chorus of "go aways." I am not angry at this. I love that Rachi is asserting herself. I love this, but I also wish my daily life was not so full of fighting. I often feel like the girls really dislike one another and this makes me sad. There are small moments, though, when one helps the other take off her pants to potty or one finds a toy for the other that give me hope. Sometimes I look at the girls and think, "you are two who came from one." This must be so cosmicly messed up. Ya know? Like how does that feel at some sort of core level? I keep thinking of the season of Farscape when Crighton was cloned and he became Crighton Green and Crighton Black and one of them got to go off and fall in love with Aeryn and the other was just stuck on that stupid ship. I know the girls barely even know where they came from, that they were very briefly, so small and round and red in my tummy as one. It was really only days, I think. But they started off as one and I cannot help but think that this has got to do something to you in some way.
The photos below show that my laughing exercises have paid off. Here Rachi poses, laughing in my zombie shirt:
And here, Anya looks like she should be named Tawny or something. So bubble bubble laugh laugh:
And here, the girls crack each other up while their Nanna sets them up in Easter hats and scarves.
We have been in all winter. Some winter days weren't wintery at all, but this mamma was tired and depressed, so we would hide out. All winter. Little hostages they were.
Now, there is sun and warmth and more room to play inside and ceiling fans make us feel like we are at a resort. We look out the window over the big family bed and see the ruins of an old house. An old door that doesn't open at the top of crocked stairs. I whisper that sealed inside is possibly another world. One that is like our own, but with fantastic secrets. I whisper that this world and door used to be under the ocean and we are in a submarine and have finally found it. I whisper "i love you." and you whisper it back with your little square teeth framed by your tiny mouth. Your sister is jumping on the bed because she sees a squirrel. Finally it is a squirrel and not a rat. But wait, two squirrels. And arbol, trees, two arbol, two trees.
We get shoes and socks and go outside. I promise we will see more squirrels and birds and Archies. There is much pointing and more words in Spanish that I can't make out. The little hostages are enjoying freedom.
U Street smells like the boardwalk at the beach. All the cigarette smoke and fried food. All the people and the music. The hip hop clothing store has a huge display of giant polo shirts featuring graffiti AND Popeye the sailorman. This makes no sense to me, but makes me laugh. Popeye creeps me out. I wonder if this is the point. The post office line is insane as usual. We let an ancient grandma with a walker go to the front of the line. And I think of how maybe we aren't supposed to live to be so old and tiny. That perhaps our minds go so that we don't have to remember how terrible we feel.
The wind picks up as I pass the Black Cat and by the time I am at Studio Theater, Rachi is asleep and Anya in the front seat is getting hit by all kinds of windy dust. Big drops of rain are falling on us and I tell Ani to just close her eyes and enjoy the walk. It is just wind, I yell. A clean, new mom with one baby has her plastic cover over her stroller and looks at me like I am the worst nanny in the world. I know she is thinking this.
The drops don't last long, so we go to Whole Foods and buy strawberries for me and chocolate for daddy and Pirate's Booty for the girls.
At the playground, Rachi is still asleep. Ani is freed from her stroller and looks around at the world like it is the best thing she has ever seen. She squeals with delight and sits at the bottom of the slide to take it all in. Her sister wakes up and is amazed to be somewhere new. We play for a while, but mostly just watch the other children with a crazy intensity.
Some days I feel like I can't handle the girls at all on my own. The terrible twos have arrived early and I find myself in the weeds earlier and earlier each day. The answer to this is new adventures. I know this, but must remind myself daily. No more little hostages. No more babies. It is time for me to grow little girls. We have lucked into another city year and I must make the most of it.
At 19 months old, we are exploding with words. Some things I have heard the girls say lately include:
"I like cookies" - Anya
"He is MY daddy" - not sure who said this, but it was in response to Jeff picking someone else up.
"Milk, NO waato" - Anya
"Happy Day" - this is part of the theme to Extras.
"Apple juice" - even though they have never had apple juice.
" bra" - everyone, often with a bra on their head
"tattoo" as well as a whole conversation that Rachel had with us that involved both tattoo and Elmo and turned into "Rachi Elmo tattoo".
"Mommy, Totoro, scary" - Rachel
"maa-maa, pop-pop, shiny, britty." as they cycle through the members of my family
And then there is all the talk of rats. Again, this is a story for another time.
Oh and Dora and her map and her friend Tico who only speaks Spanish and Swiper the fox who steals and when he gets caught says, "Oh man". This has led Rachi to say, "oh man" when she wants to watch Dora.
They are also obsessed with taking off their clothes and diapers and wanting to be potty trained. I can't believe that some moms would start this on their own! I am exhausted already without having to sit in the bathroom and watch and wait all day long. And the diapers off and on, off and on. Maybe it is such a pain because I have two, but man, let me keep the diapers for just another few months!
The girls are starting to look more and more alike. And their Owen Wilson Lady Hair is at it's peak ladyness. I can't wait for it to get a little longer! Here they are laughing at me from the cabinet. It is strange because they look so similar and yet so different. Anya is the one with the big smile and wider face.
Emily wrote to ask if they know they are identical. Just this morning, Rachi was looking in a mirror and I asked her who that was. She said, "Sissy," and laughed. So perhaps they do know. But I suppose one doesn't really know what one looks like? Rachi does always call her reflection "Sissy," though. Hmm...
Holding steady at 242. My size 22 pants are falling down. I missed that feeling.
This is Anya's intense look.
The behavioral battles have begun. This means that my girls understand way more than I thought they did. This also means that I need to be aware of everything I do. Every pickle given to Rachel first is seen by Anya, every nighty kiss to one is seen by the other, every front seat stroller ride is a slight. It is like I have two boyfriends, but they know about each other. There is no sneaking around, it is all out in the open and someone is always unhappy. Since Rachel is more agressive in her love for mama, it is often Anya that gets left out. I didn't know anything about this at all, of course, until this week when Anya decided to tell me about it.
She did this in the only way she knew how. It involved a 30 minute tantrum whose main goal was to make sure Rachel didn't have a bottle and Anya got two. Of course, I did what any mom would do, I just introduced a third baba into the mix. Nope, Anya's goal was to have all the babas and for Rachel to have none.
It makes me sad. It is not fair for two ladies to only have one mama. My sister and I are 3 years apart and I remember hating her when I was like 5. She was 2 and so so cute, she had totally ruined my life. It must be even worse to have an identical you getting mama's attention. Of course, I love my sister now, but I am pretty sure I wasn't the best sister to her until we were adults. But, now we make each other laugh until we cry.
Each time I see someone steal a toy and then bite someone else or push someone to the ground on the way to being picked up my mommy, I think about how the "twin bound" that some people talk about is just a myth.Or perhaps it takes all these experiences of sharing resources to develop this bound. Like cell mates in jail or something. :)
So my job as twin mama has gone from not only making sure they feel loved and entertained and accepted, but that they get all of these things equally.
OK, some girls are trying to feed me some grubby crackers. Must make sure I eat one from each now.
Happy Thanksgiving.
Anya puts her hand up to her ear as if she is holding a headphone up to it. She looks like the tiniest DJ. She starts to move her shoulders from side to side to tell me she wants to listen. Rachi sees her do it and starts to move her hips. I start to hum, "da da da. la la la" and they get excited. So I get my tiny ear buds and tiny green ipod and they each hold an ear bud up to a tiny ear. The first notes start and eyes get big big.
I ask them if they want to listen to music and then take a nap. They line up in front of the baby gate as if lining up for a show. The gate opens and they run as fast as they can to the bed. Up up up we go and all lie down. Squirmy girls excited for the ear buds again. Ida's "Shoe-in" plays and Anya hums while Rachi moves her hands in a tiny dance. I sneak a listen from one ear bud. "Come to dinner with me. We'll take Al's Comet, he'll never know." The last time I listened to this song, I remember walking alone to work. This was a long time ago. My hair was brown and I remember feeling lonely for no reason. What if life sometimes gets confused and you feel the loss of something that hasn't happened yet? Do you know what I mean? If I had known that the next time this song would randomly come to me, I would be spending the afternoon with tiny girls. If I had known. I am always always always wowed by my life. Can the current you sense the future you? I talk in circles, but I know what I mean. Maybe you do to.
These are just the start of the girls' relationship with music. And it is totally rad to be the DJ, if just for these first days.
The girls are kicking my ass today. They won't eat and only want bottle after bottle. Babababababababababa is all I hear. Other things they have been doing all day are, stealing toys from each other, screaming, wanting to be held (both at the same time) and then pushing each other away. Poor ladies. They have also been trying to climb the baby gate into the forbidden zone that is the bedroom and bathroom and turning the tv off and on. I put a bandaid on Rachi's face to cover an itchy bug bite, Ani rips it right off. I try to feed them this wonderful lunch and they throw it to the dog:
Grilled cheddar on whole wheat with tiny pickles and garlic broccoli. I tell them they are having "Cheese and trees" for lunch. "Treeees," Anya replies and sucks the garlic off of the broccoli.
Ani had to carry that cat sweatshirt around with her all day. If she wasn't holding it, she was wearing it. I remember I bought it out of a $1 bin when I was pregnant. She points to it and says, "kiddy. neh neh neh." She tells all animals "no no no".
It was a long day for me because Jeff had to work late, but at least Caitlin (newest member of the Craft Mutiny) stopped by to break it up and I had a conversation with someone who didn't want me to make her a baba.
Looking back on the photos from the day, it doesn't seem so bad. It seems charming and lovely. I am tired, though. Only one day left until the weekend.
Here is Rachi wearing my new hat. Isn't is amazing? I bought it on Etsy from ultimaesperanza8.
Just a few photos from my week. The girls are cranky from their 15 month shots. Poor ladies. I cut their bangs this week against my will. They have Owen Wilson Lady hair now, but it isn't bad. This is my favorite outfit on Rachi right now. You can't see, but this is a dress that she wears over jeans:
Brilliant mom Tip # 172: Snacks are always better in Halloween treat bags. Buy the bags when Halloween is over, they will cost next to nothing:
Rachi looks totally high in that one. Below, try not to notice their bare feet on the dirty kitchen floor. I am a stay at home mom, not a house wife, so I don't clean the floors. And they are eating raisins, that isn't rat poo.
That is all for me today. All of the zombie shirts are now in the store and selling fast. Clones are all up, too. I still have lots of pandas, octopi and dance floor shirts to put up, though. I am going to be selling in person at like 3 venues in DC in December, so email me with your special orders now if you want something for the holidays.
Just a quick picture, I have way more photos from last week that I wanna post, but it is 12:30 am. The first time I put my new ipod earbuds up to Rachi's ear, she says, "ooooh." and starts to dance. My old ipod died about 3 months ago. I didn't want to replace her because she was Suki and I loved her. But, here is Clementine, she is a green nano 4gb. Jeff made me buy her. He tried for months and finally, we were in a target and I had $200 in cash in my little tooth change purse. So, now Clem is mine. And theirs.
I think some ipod shuffles will be in our future. Ok, not near future, but maybe a year or so. For now, I can only listen to Clem when the girls aren't watching.
This reminds me, there is still time to enter the Croncast 300 new listeners by their 300th show contest to win an Ipod! If I win, I have promised mine to Jeff! If you aren't interested in tech podcasts or Harry Potter podcasts or whatever the hell is out there, you will dig Betsy and Kris because they just talk about their life, which is usually very funny.
Also of interest is Betsy's new blog, Resale Queen, where she writes about buying stuff at Goodwill and selling it on Ebay. My sister does this, too, and I am fascinated with how much someone will pay for something they haven't touched. I think the internet makes us buy things that we wouldn't normally buy because we want the sensation of possessing something. And we can get this sensation by just holding it in a store. Sometimes that is enough and we don't buy in stores, but when we see a picture online, we want to possess it. This is why good photographs on online shops is so important. While I know this about my own shop, I often am too lazy or busy to take my own advice! Anyone out there wanna model my shirts for me for pictures for the site? Only if you don't look like a model, though. I hate it when little indie shops have model-looking people wearing their clothes. I want real people to wear my clothes, not insanely pretty pose-y people.
Anyway, enter the Croncast contest and become a new listener here:
I love watching the girls do things on their own. Together, but also on their own. Without me. With me, but me removed. I love watching them interact with each other in new situations and seeing their wonder in the world. Last week, we made new friends and met them at Dupont Circle for some chilly squirrel watching. Here are the girls on their way to see some birds, I didn't follow at first, I just took their picture:
After a bit, I made sure there was no broken glass to fall onto or anything and took these close ups:
Wrangling them out in the world is harder and easier than I thought. Times like these photos, things are easy. The girls feel free to roam and explore. But then I have to get them into their stroller and things change. Some moms would of course try to not even take them out of their stroller because of this. Not me, I take them out and let them pick the grass and chase the squirrels and say oooooh to the birdies. They are indie girls who don't need mum if there are better sights to see. And this is how it should be.
On Saturday, my sister and I sold stuff at a huge baby sale in Western Maryland. I had been saving all of the girls' stuff for the past year to sell and I was excited to sit outside and get rid of it for far less than we paid for it. It was a good sale, we got rid of lots of stuff, but it was cold and rainy towards the end.
My sister and I traded turns running around buying stuff, which was really fun. Being far away from DC (in Hagerstown, MD), things were cheaper than even our thrift stores. There were many many 10 cent bins for me to shop in. I almost like 10 cent bins better than free bins. This one old man had all these different priced bins, 10 cent, 5 cent, 25 cent, etc. I couldn't even imagine how he figured out where things went. I spent lots of time digging through the 5 cent and 10 cent bins and came up with about 6 things. Some of which are in the picture below. When I went to pay him, he was horrified that I didn't care if they were 10 or 5 cents each. I just offered him 75 cents! for all 6 things and this kinda made him mad. He wanted to make sure I only paid what he wanted to charge. Some of the other good buys I got were this huge Boohbah for $1. He was brand new! And this stuffed little octopus book which was 10 cents. I like these small 10 cent items because the girls like to carry around small weird things. In these pictures, I set some of the loot out for the girls to take. Rachel likes to try and gather up as much as possible. Then Anya is left with the dregs.
It is official. I have children and not babies. This is exciting. I turned the corner from the kitchen to the living room and found Rachel putting on a puppet show for Anya. I know she learned this last week from my friend, Lisa. Thanks Lisa! She went on long enough for me to take this picture:
Week three and Stead Park has baby swings. We put them to good use and the wind blows through our hair. I tell them all day they will get to swing and "weeeee". When we get there, Anya is fast asleep, but Rachi holds on tight and laughs as she is pushed into the air. I wonder if a good mommy would let Ani sleep or wake her up for the swing. I pick the waking. So, out of the stroller she comes and into the rubber seat. "I told you weeeee swing and you will get weeee swing," I whisper in her tiny ear. She looks at me with sleepy eyes. Off she goes and when she connects with my hands again, she looks up and twinkles her eyes and squeals with delight. The good mommy picks the swing over sleep, I think.
This is my 300th blog entry.
2pm and the girls and I are piled up on the solarium floor. Having taken off their shirts around noon, they look like the prettiest boys of summer in their bare tops and small jeans. Rachi is kissing Anya's cheek and Anya is laughing big and big and big. We are a pile of silly girls. Anya looks at me with this twinkle and takes her new teeth and sinks them into my arm. It hurts like the bite of a tiny yippy dog and I say no and she laughs some more.
This is so much better than sitting in an office all day.
On my first full day as a mommy at home, we celebrated Halloween in September. We put on our orange and black and read books about pumpkins.
These are my new work shoes:
Skully Anya:
They look like they are in a band:
Let's make some noise:
My first day alone with them was surprisingly easy. We read tons of books all morning. Anya can say what sounds like "Read it." Then we watched Wallace and Gromit, then beat on some pots, took some naps and Rachi told me all day long that a dog says, "Ruff ruff ruff." Rachi also told me at 2pm that she wanted a snack, by sticking out her tongue and saying, "yum, yum." Another thing I didn't know about the girls is that they like to spend a good part of the day without shirts. Perhaps this is new, but I found myself helping girls out of shirts at least twice.
I even got in some email answering, work for my job and order packing. I also did the dishes and put toys away 4 times. This new life might suit me.
No one wanted to sleep last night. Rachi has an ear infection, so the poor lady cried all night long. We tried to keep her sauced up with infant Motrin, but it just kept wearing off.
All the Rachi crying made Anya wake up. And she was wide awake from about 2 until 4 am. During this time, she decided it would be fun to sing. "Da da da da da," she sung. Then it turned into "Tatata tata toooo" while pulling at my PJs to look at my tattoo. Her voice was the sweetest I have ever heard, but I would have rather been asleep.
Then she ate all the milk in the world, about 12 ounces and played on the floor while I denyed Myspace friend requests from strippers and metal bands. Finally she was asleep a little after 4.
We are completely done with formula and I am so glad. I estimate that we have spent around $2,500 on formula in the past year, maybe more. I am glad the transition to milk has been easy. I worry about milk, though. Hey, healthy people, should I be worried about milk? I am wondering if we should be feeding them soy milk rather than whole cow's milk? I should have done this research before the switch, but I am tired and sick of spending $10 a day on formula.
We got some gift cards for the girls' birthday and are thinking of trading our front to back stroller for one of those side to side jogging strollers, but they are quite expensive. I keep thinking that 3 weeks from now I will be free and I will want a nice new stroller to push them around the city in. Something sleek and easy to control where they can sit next to each other and tell each other secrets once they learn to talk more.
Jeff sometimes asks me if I am sure that I made the right decision to stay home. He usually does this in the chaos of trying to get them out of the house in the morning or while I am chasing everyone around the house. I usually think, "yes" I have made the right decision for THEM. I won't know for some time whether or not I made the right decision for me. I do know that I am excited for the change and the new experiences. I am also excited to become a better mom. I feel like going to work lets me become disconnected from the girls. I get to stop being a mom for a bunch of hours a day and I think I would like to see what it is like to not feel that disconnect everyday. I think is going to make me more complete somehow.
We are going to take the girls to their first movie on Saturday night. The CityPaper is showing Pee Wee's Big Adventure outside on a big screen right behind our apartment. I hope the girls dig it. Check their website for information if you wanna go. It is free!
Saturday, August 5th! @ Marie Reed Learning Center in Adams Morgan
Bike in Movie @ 8pm (for everyone)
Washington City Paper and Washington Area Bicyclist Association invite you to a bike-tastic summer event! Single? Join Washington City Paper Matches at 5:30pm at the Marie Reed Learning Center Plaza for a leisurely ride through Rock Creek Park. The ride finishes back at the Marie Reed field for a public "BIG ADVENTURE" of a movie showing at 8pm
Friday night, we took the girls to our apartment lobby to visit the doorman, Adisu. The girls stayed home with me because they had been sick the day before and missed visiting Adisu. They like him.
Birthday cupcakes ended up in their eyes. Here is the calm before the storm:
Thought I would let the girls look at all of their birthday cards:
And here are the 600! diapers that we got from my Aunt Theresa and Uncle Mike. Actually 480 from them and 120 from my sister. I think these should last about 2 months.
Some people make decisions and they change their lives. Some people sit back and make as few decisions/changes as possible and this makes things stay the same. I used to be the sitter. I used to sit back and gain weight and work at the same place and not get pregnant with twins and basically wait for life to happen to me. I did this through my whole 20s. This was an easy life. But at around 30 something happened to me and I got this action bug and I have been taking my life into my own hands and moving forward and making things change.
Some changes have been out of my control. Twins for example. I could have never forseen this. I would have never imagined it. This is an example of new action Tina going in a direction I didn't imagine. This has been both wonderful and horrible at times, but in the end is a little more than wonderful because I couldn't imagine only having one child now.
Since I became this crazy decision maker a few years ago, my new motto became, "everything will always be just fine." This was true after the girls were born and my old job wasn't right anymore so I looked for a new one. I found said new one, thankfully and it has been just fine. No, it has been more than fine. It has been great. The people at my new job are so wonderful and nice and have taught me that no matter where you go in life if you take a positive attitude with you, people will respond in kind. The old me who let life happen to her would have thought that was hella lame.
There was something nagging at me, though. Something that I couldn't shake. I would sit here at work thinking of the girls. Every month, I would write the check to daycare and think about how much of my salary it was. I have never been the kind of person to care about a career, etc, so why was I worrying about it now. If I could only find a way to make that extra 3rd of my salary that daycare didn't eat up, I could stay at home with my girls.
So a few weeks ago, I did it. I just went into my boss's office and just asked. And today I was signing a contract to do 15 hours a week of contract work from home. It is a bold move that might make our financial life a little more stressful at first until I see how fast I get paid, etc. But it will free up my days to be a mom. Can you imagine that 50 years ago, women were hoping to find a way to NOT be home with their children. And here I am trying to figure out how to stay home? Isn't it true that we always want what we cannot have?
When thinking about this new decision, I have actually wondered if I am being selfish. I have wondered if in fact daycare would be better for the girls. I still wonder this. I wonder if they will miss being in a big group of kids and playing all day. I wonder if they will miss the structure of the daycare center. I wonder if I will do a better job than the teachers at daycare do. Because we have had some amazing teachers at our daycare center. I mean, really, they have taught me everything that I know. To this, Jeff says, "you are their mother." This is so strange to me because while I understand this in many ways, I still worry that I am being selfish in wanting to be home with them. I worry that I am retreating somehow. Retreating from the adult world of work. Retreating from 9 to 5. I worry that this is more for me than for them. This is risky, mostly financially. But it was a risk I thought I shoudl take. Where are we without risks?
Then there is going to be this new reality. The reality of being home with them. The reality of being a full time mom. Plus having to work 3 hours a day for my current job. I am already starting to plan my Septemeber days, ambitious things like going to the zoo and the playground and maybe even relearning to drive. Sometimes I think about how wonderful it will be to take the girls to the art gallery, but other times I think about how hard it is going to be to get them there on the metro or comfort them both when it is nap time and we are stuck somewhere weird downtown and home is miles away. This is going to be a hell of a challenge. Was this where this path was leading me all along?
So my secret is that I am going to be a full time mom. And I made it happen. And I worry it is more for me than for them. But I also see the potential for even more change this brings me. I see more time for projects and more time for fun and more time to help shape who the girls become. I know this being home isn't for everyone, hell I didn't think it was for me until very recently. But here I am and here are my fears and my change and my new adventures.
My day home alone with the girls on Monday was good in some ways, bad in others. They broke the DVD burner drive on the computer. I feel terrible about this. I wish it hadn't happened but it was one of those fast things that just happens. The girls were fairly happy and well managed most of the day until nap time. They scream and scream at nap time. And then when they finally sleep it is only for about 20 minutes and then they are cranky for hours until they sleep again.
PBS saved me, though. Both girls were screaming their heads off, so I turned on the TV to take myself out of the situation for a minute, to calm down. The Boohbahs were coming on. Both girls turned to the TV from their crying and started to watch and clap. I was floored. They never watch TV and I have never seen them react to something like this. They watched the whole show and even crawled closer to the TV and started clapping and dancing.
Amazing. Later, they watched about 10 minutes of Shrek 2, mostly the donkey and the cat. While I know the facts about how TV is bad for the little ones, I am not at all anti-tv with my kids. I mean, we keep the tv off, but I don't emotionally feel like they shouldn't be TV watchers as adults. Certain TV is just as much art and good storytelling as books, ya know? What makes Narnia better than Farscape, ya know? Anyway, what I really loved was the interest they showed and how they felt better after watching the Boohbahs.
Rachi's interest in books surpasses that of the Boohbahs, though, so don't worry! She says boo boo and we get a book. We read Good Dog Carl because all of the other books within reach are by Sandra what's her head and they get on my nerves. I like Good Dog Carl because it is told in pictures. Rachi likes it, too. She laughs and laughs at the baby climbing out of her crib to ride on the dog's back.
All this media interaction really makes me excited about the future. I can't wait to read them good books, show them seasons and seasons of good TV shows, etc. I can't wait for them to love Totoro as much as I do or ask me what will happen next to Lyra in the Golden Compass. I can't wait to see who likes what. I, even, can't wait for them to reject all these things that I love and make the world their own. I can't wait.
Our old friend, Doug came to visit us this weekend. The last time he visited was a few weeks before I gave birth, so almost a year ago. I think we have known Doug for about 10 years, maybe more. Doug likes sushi and indiepop and is a fun guy. He also has a great LJ where he posts things he finds. It reminds me of the old time zines like Comet Bus. Doug, post your LJ in the comments if you want new peeps to see it!
Anyway, I kept threatening to podcast since we had a guest and since the convos between chasing or ignoring babies were quite funny. But Doug wasn't having any of it!
Instead the weekend belonged to Rachi. Take a look:
She looks like a little old lady with a walker, but off she goes one foot after the other as fast as she can to keep the pushy thing away from her sister. 11 months old and we have walking!
When do you become a mother? Is it when you get pregnant? Is it when they hand you the baby in the hospital? I have to say, it wasn't until very recently that I have felt like one. Perhaps this is strange or maybe for me it is just right. In some ways, I didn't start feeling like a mommy until the girls started identifying me as such. When we first brought the girls home, I never really felt like a mom. I felt more like a solider in a war or a prisoner in someone else's life. This sounds negative, but it really isn't. I didn't think of it negatively at the time. It just was what it was. It was hard and I had to deal. I was fat and had a big hole cut in my tummy and never got to sleep and then I was supposed to bond with babies!
Everyone always said it would get better. 3 months, 6 months, 1 year. It gets better, they tell you on the street. It gets better, they tell you in the store. It gets easier, they email you. But every time I thought it would get better, what really happened was I got used to it.
But here we are, 10 months old. And it is getting better. It is getting easier. I am starting to finally feel like a mommy. And it isn't anything that I am doing. It is all Rachel and Anya's fault. All of a sudden, both girls are reaching for me when they are upset, saying mum mum mum when they want to talk and generally seeking me out for comfort. It can be a little overwhelming when they both do it at the same time, but I open my arms wide and they both fall on top of me and we are a pile of puppies.
With this new mommy reality is coming something that I didn't think I would feel. A yearning to be home with them. I sit here wondering what they are doing, if they are happy, if they are being nice to each other. I sit here thinking about this all day long. And I am thinking of friends who say they don't want kids. And I am thinking of the former me who didn't really care deeply either way. And I am thinking of the me who saw two beans on a first sonogram and cried in fear of the future and wondered if I had enough love to give two new people. And the reality is that you don't really want kids until you have them. At least this is true for me. I didn't know the full extent of my love for my children until just this week. Suddenly they are people and not just babies and I can't believe I ever ever ever thought about not having kids. I have just been through the craziest war of twin infanthood and I wouldn't go back and change a minute of it.
All of that said, I am still not at all fond of babies. I love that my girls are moving away from babyhood. I think this is part of my wanting to be with them more. My role in their current growth just seems so much more important than it did 4 months ago. Plus they are talking and making decisions and beginning to feed themselves! I have children now! Not babies, but children! And Anya gets so jealous and can say FiSH and Rachi is so calculating and knows exactly what she wants and uses her stuffed monkey for a pillow. Children!
This picture was taken of us three weeks ago, we have changed so much since then:
Rachie, mommy, Anya.
The best thing about my girls are their senses of humor. I kinda pride myself (me and Jeff) on the fact that we have made a household that encourages laughter and play. I know it is still early on and we might all get caught up with being adults sometime soon, but so far our house is full of fun. I think these pictures totally show this:
What was supposed to be a "sit here for grandma and get your picture taken" session turned into hysterical laughter and attempts to get the camera. Anya is on the left, Rachel on the right.
The girls have been sleeping the night for the past 3 nights or so. Anya in our bed, Rachel in her crib next to me. Rachel sometimes wakes up and asks to come to bed with us, though. Anya has actually surprised me by waking up, looking around with her bed hair everywhere and immediately beginning to clap. It is as if she is saying, "yeah! morning." They both like to snuggle up next to one of us while sleeping, but never each other. They are much rougher with each other when it comes to hugging, which is strange. We are sleeping from 10 until 6 now and it is nice, super nice.
First day
I am still sick when I arrive in Long Beach for my first ever trip for work. My head hurts and I am pale and coughing. I check into my hotel where I am told with some surprise that I am a VIP and that my room is on the 15th floor. Rad, I say. It takes me minutes to dump my things and head out to the convention center. All of my co-workers have been here for days, so I feel like I need to get there as soon as possible. I know the convention center is nearly a mile away, but I start to walk it anyway. I am a walker and thus will walk. The sun beats down on my navy blue IT polo shirt and the palm trees provide no cover at all. It is hot and it is California and I am glad I took this job. I am experiencing something new and thus more alive than before and thus will be a better mother when I get home. The new surroundings are making me long for Jeff and our trip to London. I have never traveled without Jeff before and I am feeling a little strange about this. This won’t be the first time I feel this on this sunny day.
I am looking at my watch and wanting to just be at work already. I don’t want anyone to think I am slacking, so I sit at the passport bus stop and wait. I have no idea how much further the convention center is, so I give up and wait for the bus.
The convention center is huge with escalators only in the center. This makes this fat girl have to decide if she should take the stairs or walk the length to get upstairs. My knees hate stairs, so I always decide to walk the length. This gets my muscles working and my heart beating. I haven’t felt this way since I could still exercise before I got pregnant.
My first day ends an hour early as a supervisor looks at me with pity and tells me to get a nap. I do this. I put on my jimjams at 4 pm and I try to sleep. Far away, Jeff calls me and I pang a little and the babies are missed. I have to say that I miss Jeff more, but that makes sense because I have known him for longer. My brother and his gal and dog are on their way to visit me. I haven’t seen Mike in nearly two months and while I am excited he is driving up from San Diego, I need to sleep. I need to sleep sleep sleep. Mike calls to let me know when he is an hour away and I mumble to him and I am not very engaging. I fear this will be what our visit is like. I am right. He looks thin and the dog is barely noticed (4 pounds, so small). He and Sarah look happy though and they drive a new silver car and I get dressed and we all ride out into the California night. Long Beach is cold and not very dog friendly so we get take out and head back to my hotel room where I worry about the little dog making messes and then I promptly spill a coke all over my hotel room floor. Thank you scotch guard. Mike and Sarah and Nilla stay the night and I am told I talk in my sleep. At one point they ask me if I am awake and I reply, “clouds.” It is nice to see my brother and I fear that he may be a little homesick, but I try to not encourage it because he is the first in our family to escape Washington, DC and I admire him for it.
Second day
I crank open my window to see there is no screen. What kind of world lives without screens? I suppose there are no bugs, here. And the window is too thin to jump out. So, no screens. The rain is tiny and barley touches me. I am on the 15th floor, so I stick my head out the screenlessness and touch the rain with my nose and eyes. Below is a pool which is not pool shaped, but more hat shaped. The underwater lights make it cloudy and foggy and made of soup. The lights from the harbor are tiny tiny and to me they say ta ta ta ta. And they sprinkle off the water. Ta ta ta ta. I try to look into other windows to the left, but no one is home. 10pm. Lights are on in some rooms, but no one is home. I am hoping to see a coworker, really, but nothing. They are all still dancing somewhere or eating chicken from sticks and talking loudly in dark rooms.
Third Day
I have a new friend today. I didn’t expect it. I don’t fish for new friends, so I usually don’t catch them. But today, I have a new friend and it is nice. I remember the last time I got a new friend at work. Her name was Eileen and she changed my life. Isn’t it great how that can happen? My new friend’s name is Megan and we have tickets to see David Sedaris speak at the theater attached to our convention center. I don’t know where this is, but I call Megan and she says the sign across from her hotel says “David Sedaris Tonight” and I laugh. Must be the place. We put on non-convention clothes and take our seats in the balcony and get ready to laugh. The people are a nice mix and it is nice to see different kinds of people for a change. It is nice to take some time away from these longs days of work at day, reception at night. Our schedule says we are free so we take the time and make the most of it. Mr. Sedaris is hilarious. He is nice and funny and very good at what he does. I have to say I only didn’t like one thing that he read and that was a fiction piece about animals. I really love his real life stuff much much better. We laugh our bums off and I have to pee the whole time, but don’t dare miss a minute of it. This reminds me of my goals and book and how someday I will make something of myself if I am lucky.
Fourth Day
Work, work, work. Gala dinner where I have to get dressed up. More chicken on sticks and fried wonton and a little bit of wine even though I don’t drink and it tastes terrible.
Going home
My days here have been long. Without many actual assignments, I found myself running from one location to the next, asking if anyone needed anything. I am officially part of the IT group at my job, but without much in the way of IT skillz, the IT boys kept sending me away. The reality is that I DO have some IT skillz that said IT boys aren’t aware of. So, I found myself running the length of the Long Beach Convention Center over and over and over once more. I started to get hella joy out of watching my Campers as they stepped down on the carpet that looked like waves. I got coffee and water for people who didn’t ask; people who looked like they were working harder than me. I made signs, I searched for people in giant exhibit halls. I made friends. After a few days of this, I decided I would park
myself at the registration booth and learn that. This wasn’t fascinating, but it made the days go by faster.
My final day, I went to the Aquarium of the Pacific, where I saw an octopus hide in a cave. Poor guy must hate being looked at all day. I wonder if octopi are as smart as apes. I bet they are. This octopus had lots of toys in his tank. A puzzle ball and a Mr. Potato Head. The sign said he likes the Mr. Potato Head the best. I pet some sting rays with some little kids. It is always me and the little kids petting the sting ray. Is it sting ray or sting rays? These were much larger than the one I pet in the London Aquarium. These guys also almost jumped out of the tank when they came up to you. They seemed over eager to be pet. What makes them this way, I wonder out loud to a little red-haired boy. Why do they jump at us, I ask? Maybe he wants to kiss us, the boy says. Sting Ray Kisses, I think. What a great band name.
My flight is uneventful and I arrive home to a daddy in his South Park pajama pants. He is holding a Rachel, who looks sleepy until she sees it is me. She lights up and it dawns on her who I am. Anya is plumper than I remember and asleep and looks like a painting of a baby hundreds of years ago. Rachel has learned to crawl while I was away. She is fast and follows me all over the apartment. Awake, we are all twinkle-eyed and sleepy still. We made it and our adventure continues.
It is rare that we all get our picture taken together. But here we are. We don't even look like we are fighting a war. Photos likes these make me wonder if things really aren't as hard as I think they are. Do that. Take a picture of your life. I bet it will show you new things.
I just got upset when I read this in a confirmation email:
Pickup Date: 4/21/2006
Adults: 1
Children: 0
Service Type: SHARED RIDE VAN SERVICE
Airport: IAD - WASHINGTON, D.C.DULLES
Airline: JET BLUE
CHILDREN: 0! CHILDREN: 0! CHILDREN: 0! CHILDREN: 0!
Crap, I will be gone from my babies for 5 days! I am more worried about the missing them than anything else. Like, will it be overwhelming to the point that i need to get back on a plane and come home early? Could it hurt that much? And then poor Jeff. Poor poor Jeff. He will have a grandma to help him for the weekend, but then Monday and Tuesday he is all alone with two little girls and one dog and god knows how many mice. I hope he still loves me when I get home.
It isn't like I am going for fun, as I have to work 8 to 8 each day. But the fact that I get to read on the plane and sleep the night is something. I am hoping it kicks me in the butt and I come home a whole new me. Hope is hope is hope.
I feel like I used to write with such hope. I think I was emotionally 10 years younger when I was pregnant. And before, oh my! I feel like I have aged and aged and aged in these past 9 months. My body gets older and fatter! and my pink hair grows out and I have no time to not wear dirty clothes and I wonder if I can ever be the other me. The me before the babies seems so distant. I don't want to give her up, though. I think of her often. I see her in the glass of a building. I wear big sunglasses so that no one will notice this new me still pretending to be the old her. I think that something will kick me into gear. Something will give me the will?, power?, time? to get myself back. I think a new hair color might do it. I will ponder this. Green? Aqua? Purple?
We have been bogged down with illnesses again. Mine and Anya's mostly. We are sick girls. Ear infections and possible pneumonia for her. Shortness of breath and toothache for me. After a CT scan and a blood test, we find out that I am anemic, which is easy to fix. I keep losing and finding the same four pounds and I am happy with this since I am not finding more.
This is what real motherhood looks like.
Real motherhood's arms are fat and eyes are tired. Real motherhood is a mixed bag of 'what the hell was I thinking?" and "man, these children are amazing."
Sometimes I look at the singletons at daycare and think about how sad it must be for them to go home to just parents!!! But then there are stolen moments when it is just me and Rachel and we laugh and laugh and it is magic and the idea of one baby is so appealing. I wonder sometimes at what point to twin parents stop thinking this way.
We dressed the girls in matching outfits for Easter. I don't believe in Easter, but I thought it would be nice for the grandparents. It is good karma to be nice to grandparents. The outfits were different, but the same. Rachel in pants and Anya in a dress. I always think this way about them. If someone is going to wear pants, it should be Rachel. I wonder if this is me or something about her?
Rachel can crawl now. For real. It is so scary and lovely. She can also stand on her feet when you hold her up. Anya tries to jump when you stand her up. She also does this little Anya dance all the time. They are so different. It makes you realize that cloning is pretty silly. You will never get the same person when you clone. My clones are living proof.
And our stroller is a rollercoaster. And we hold on as the world comes towards us and there is a breeze and dogs and the street goes fast below. And we kick our legs and look back at our sister and wheeeeeee! Big girls in their stroller rollercoaster coaster coasting.
The prize for highest fever this week goes to Anya ya ya ya, whose temp went up to 104.7! The double ear infection prize also goes to Anya gal as her sister only got one. This is Anya sporting her fever and new blue dress:
Only one ear infection for Rachi, she has not only decided this little guitar is the best thing in the world, she has also learned to sit up from a lying down position all on her own.
I was thinking this the other night as I drifted off to sleep. When your babies (or baby) are born, you have to love them because who else could love them as much as you do after going through so much crap to get them here. But at this stage, around 8 months or so, is when you want to love them. That might sound weird or bad to some people. But really, it is a revelation. At this age, it seems like some things are magically paying off. All of those months of constant constant care-taking and now you can actually do something other than take care of a baby while a baby is in the room. They only entertain themselves for little spurts right now, but those 15 or 20 minutes of feeding cheerios to the dog are golden. And then there are the personalities. So exciting to watch them take shape.
I officially not only love my daughters now, but I want to love them and that is worth more than you know.
Just a quick note that all proceeds from the seamonsters store for the month of March are going to my friend Edie's March of Dimes team. I should have done this sooner as March is almost over! But I just emptied my paypal account out to her (not much, but still!). Anyway, if you wanted your order to go to a good cause (besides my house fund!), do order this month.
Edie has had to deal with prematurity first hand, and I really admire her strength. You can read about her family on her team page: www.teamtomato.org.
Oh! I added a new item that is pretty cool, it is a necklace of the month club. Fun fun fun! Take a look. So if you join the club this month, that money, too, will go to the March of Dimes.
To all my commenters... you really make things easier for me. Thank you. Truly. I hope that someday I can meet some of you and your wee ones. I bet there are loads of people just as nice as you right here near me, but I find that in person people never want to be caught complaining about their lot in life. We are all smiles and baby pictures. I wish people would be more honest about how hard it is. Because it is.
i am greedy. i am greedy for sleep and dreams. even nightmares. i want um. give me some nightmares. my eyes are heavy today, i can feel them sitting in there, all ... heavy and slightly worthless. i couldn't carry the bags under my eyes a block. they are so big and warm. my old ma (great grandma) had these amazing bags and dark circles under her eyes. i used to stare at them all the time. she had 19 kids. now i understand, as i only have two and i look old and tired and sad.
time to sleep and dream. i sing this to the girls. we both sing it now. this song. "now its time to sleep and dream and sleep and dream, cause sleep is what we do." we break this one out when we are in the last stages of falling sleep. i usually start and jeff chimes in and we sing it until it frelling works. rachel likes to put her mouth on my mouth as i sing this. it is strange, but comforting. i call it sleep kisses, and she loves do it so i let her.
i write this and my eyes feel hot with tears. i love my babies, but i am feeling negative about parenthood today. parenthood is a war to feel normal again even though you know you never will. you will at some point accept the new normal and move on. but i haven't accepted it yet, as i am still greedy for sleep and dreams. i am still tired of this achy back. i am still sick of not dropping these pounds. and i just want an hour to myself, except i would use it to sleep and thus waste it.
nearly 8 months, this war has seemed so long. i know it will be easier soon. it has got to get easier. it will get easier. i know it. i know it. i know it.
No matter what the girls are sick with, they always look happy. This is nice, but also sometimes scary.
Rachel hearts carrots:
Anya lives in a land of books:
We saw a realtor this weekend. We can't move until July... but we are in the process of looking. The prices are crazy and this might not happen, but at least we are on the road to buying a crappy house. It sucks that we can't afford to live where we live anymore... if we buy. The prices in the city are so crazy, a house went for 600k around the corner and we can barely afford 300k, so we will see. Makes me want to move to Vermont or some place that I imagine is cheaper, but prolly isn't.
No more complaining from me. For now, know that any time you buy from the seamonsters store, the money goes directly to our crappy house fund!
I climb into the back seat of our bluish purple Matrix. Pajama Anya is already there, sitting in her carseat, ready for adventure. It is dark, but for the apartment lobby lights this 4 am. I sit next to Anya and she looks at me surprised. Her surprise is followed by delight. Delight equals a gigantic smile from this jimjam girl. Anya thinks it is wonderful that mommy is in the back seat as she usually sits next to her sister, but not this 4 am morning. No not this morning. This morning I am a mommy in the backseat with a baby. And we are happy with the wonder of it all.
We walk through the parking garage, feeling our way around this dark campus. Tiny drip drops of rain smell like spring. Red brick under my feet, I am filled with this dejavu. You are ahead of me in a maze of buildings, trying to find the entrance and I ask you if this reminds you of Maryland. Yes, it does, you say. This is when you realize that we have missed our anniversary. The anniversary of our first date. I am trying to keep up with this labored breathing of mine. You with the baby, me with my counting. How many years has it been, I ask? 1994… 2006, 12 years. Back then we used to roam around college campuses looking for adventure, finding buildings to climb up to roofs. Today, we are taking the one daughter and the one mother to the emergency room. Funny how the situations change, but the you is still you.
We are on this little outing because Anya has had what we think is an asthma attack. At the same time, my cough won’t go away and I feel like I can’t breathe. I need a chest xray to tell me I have pneumonia, as I know this is how it feels. Anya and I both get chest xrays and blood drawn. They even attempt to give Anya an IV, but she isn’t having it. She kicks the nurse in the face, thus giving us a mean nurse for the next 8 hours of our emergency room stay. Anya screams what sounds like baby when she is in distress. There are Pandas painted on the wall and I say ‘panda bear, panda bear, panda bear’ over and over until she says, ‘bear” very clearly.
We try to have fun as we await the decisions from the white coats. But we are just too tired. We worry about who will have to stay and who will get to go home. We feel like this is jail. In the end, the white coats think both Anya and I should stay, but understand that there is another little lady at home with an over-tired grandma. So I drag my unhappy pneumonia lungs to the curb of the hospital and catch a cab home while you stay in with the whezzy girl.
This is our 12th year together. We take babies to the hospital now. We are parents. We are in charge. We are trying to get used to this. But we remain, as always, terrified.
We are all sick again. This is making Jeff and I question the whole daycare thing. Would having a nanny make them less sick? We are coughing and I had a fever yesterday. Hot, cold, hot, cold. Hot. The fever also gave me physical flashbacks to my hospital stay. Phantom c-section pains are no fun.
We have thought about getting a nanny in the past. I mean, paying for two babies to go to daycare costs more than a nanny would cost, money-wise. But the emotional issues involved with a nanny are too much for me to deal with right now. First, coming from a working class background, Jeff and I are not ready hire an employee. Who are we to have a nanny? Ya know? The other thing is that our apartment is small and messy and no place for two babies to spend their days.
So, we are all in the land of the sick again. It is getting old. I can only hope that this will end soon and we will all get better fast. In the past month, we have had both a stomach flu and a cold and now a nasty cough. Blah.
I have not been answering my emails. I will get back to that soon. As soon as things calm down some. I also can't get my home email at my new job... poop!
Oh! New thing to report. Anya has a great sense of humor. Whenever someone does something weird, she laughs and laughs. Last night, I was nebulizing Rachel (for her cough and wheezing) and Rachel kept turning her head into her carseat to get away. Anya laughed and laughed. Then Rachel would peek out at her and Anya would laugh some more. We also caught them making each other laugh the other day. Anya was sitting up in her crib and decided to fall back. This made Rachel burst out laughing. Then Anya did it again and again to make Rachel laugh. Then Rachel did it to make Anya laugh. It is just amazing that at 7 months old, their sense of humor have developed. There are many minutes in my life when I hate being a mother. I will not sugar coat it. I hate being sick and having to take care of babies at the same time. I hate the stress that having twins has put on my life. I hate not sleeping. But then there is always redemption. There is always a wonderful moment when someone laughs at something silly and it is all worth it. I just hope those moments increase as time goes by.
It seems like Anya has gained like a pound in the past two days. She is just gigantic. We having been calling her LunchBox. I know, mean. But so funny. Along those lines, Rachi has come to be known as Bento Box.
Ok. Sorry if I haven't emailed you back. I have been busy fighting germs. I will get back to you soon.
We are nomads, Anya and I. Walking the dark shiny spring-winter streets of Washington. When she is 14, I will remember this day. I will remember how she laughed at all the bumps on the street. The dips and the rollercoasting of uneven sidewalks. She is one baby attached to a stroller made for two. She is a twin, I tell people who tell me she is beautiful. She has another. I tell them. All. Of them, I tell. As if Anya isn't enough.
The other space in the stroller is filled with bags and vintage orange wall hangings. Beneath is full, too. 10 years of things packed under there. 10 years of my life packed under this one baby girl. Washington winter is dressed up in spring time, so I drap my couch coat over Anya's feet. Corn toes who don't want to keep their socks on. She is wearing a lavender jogging suit with a cupcake on the front. Team cupcake. And she has a healthy bit of mashed carrots up her nose.
Jeff is at the doctor with the Rachel Roo. She is getting xrays for possible lung weirdness. And again, I find myself with Anya as my sole company. I take her for granted, this Anya. I know I do. She is the loveliest creature alive and I know I don't appreciate this enough.
I am lonely walking home after dark. I am lonely on a street of people with the world's loveliest baby smiling up at me. I take the long way home because I don't want to pass where the cab hit me. I take the long way and I start to cry. I don't know why I am crying, but I know I need to. I don't know if it is the physical difficulty of pushing the baby and my things nearly 2 miles or if it is the sum of my recent actions.
Said ten years of goods under the pram are from my old office. Packed away weirdness that I never needed is going home with me because after ten years of working at the same place with the same people, I have made a change. I am free from it. There were a million reasons to do this and a million reasons not to. I choose the doing. And this is the first time I have cried about it. And my tears are so hot on face. They are so hot in my eyes, like a sinus headache. Painy and hot and real. I want to break down long and hard and cry for a day. But the girl is looking at me, slightly concerned. So, I sing her to sleep. A song about silly Anya is a nomad. And mommy, too. After a long stay is on the move move move.
And we move move move. Up the hill to home. Away from the place where things are easy and people like me. Away from people who I didn't even know I loved.
And tomorrow, there will be new arrangements. And new faces and new configurations. And I will be new. And I will be fine. I will be just fine.
Things are going to change, I can feel it. there is a storm a brewing and I am in flux flux flux. Mind me, cannot tell all right now. but i will soon. Until then, here is my weekend in photos.
Saturday we took the girls to their first restuarant. It was the first meeting of the brand new DC Craft Mafia (more of this later with a list of the lovely ladies involved). The girls slept most of the time, but we got them up for the end. Anya was all pink dress and tights. Rachie had an owl shirt and Iggy on her arm. I hate that Rachie's best friend is a beanie baby, but damn it is cute when she clutches him. Plus he is easy to replace. I tried hard to make her love someone handmade the best, but here we are carrying around a beanie baby. Anya has yet to pick someone to love best, so there is still hope.
We are eating carrots now. It is messy and makes our poop different. We are six months old. We are sick of sitting around. We are ready for the world.
here I am with both girls:
rachie and iggy:
anya big eyes and smiles:
Speeding our way to 6 months old, the changes are happening and happening and fast fast fast. The big thing about two weeks ago was the girls' new way of saying hello. It happened a few times and I noticed it and didn't think too much of it. But then, it started happening everyday and both at the same time. Yes, they stick out their tongues to say hello. They do it to us, to each other and even to the teachers in the daycare. It is just hilarious and cute and slightly weird. It is more that they "show" you their tongues, actually, considering they keep them out for more than a few seconds at a time. Talking about it at home after feeling slightly embarrassed about it when picking them up at daycare, Jeff and I realized this is more than likely my doing. I am always sticking out my tongue at them and saying, 'ello and laughing. This makes them giggle and is just part of our day. I wondered if the teachers at daycare thought this was rude. I said to Jeff, "cause in some cultures, sticking out your tongue is rude, right?" To this Jeff replied, "Um, in OUR culture, sticking out your tongue is rude." I laughed so loud and hard that I almost peed my pants. This got me thinking about how the girls don't mind being tickled because they don't worry about peeing in their pants yet. How wonderful is that?
Rachel has begun to say what sounds like Dada. Actually, dadadada daddy. We have also heard her say what sounds like Anya, bottle, and of course Rachel. The Rachel was more an Ach-el, Ach-el, Ach-el over and over again while she was alone in her crib. As if to say, "Hey, I am here. Ach-el!" People keep telling me it is too soon for them to talk, but my Rachel is a talker. Anya is more of a listener and a great beauty, so I think she will be ok.
All of this talking and tongue showing is getting us worried. We may have to stop singing them Public Enemy songs and using bad words jokingly in sing songy voices.
Jeff is working late tonight, so it will be just the girls and I for a few hours. In anticipation of this, I am loading up on protein. It is like I am a marathon runner or something because when I get home there will be no time for dinner or for laying about or even just sitting down. There will be baths to give and bottles to prepare and songs to sing, sans the bad words. Every night, I feel like I am on stage, with just two little audience members. I sing and tell jokes and clap hands and in general try to keep the girls in good spirits. I worry that my manic show is going to teach the girls that interacting with people means you jump about and laugh and sing all the time. I worry I am making two little creatures who, like Robin Williams, won't be able to sit still or act like a normal human being. I need to keep this in mind and try to read to them tonight instead of give them the normal routine.
Anya wanted to sleep with me last night. So I let her. She slept on my tummy nearly all night long, but at one point I put her beside me. This is always a worry because of SIDS and such. I hate bringing them to bed with us because of this, but will love it when they are big enough to sleep with us on purpose and not just because they are demanding it. I woke up this morning to Anya tap tap tapping on my face. She would tap a bit and then pinch as if making a sculpture on my cheeks. She had the biggest smiling eyes, that I could just barely see in the 5 am light. I was never the kind of girl who wanted or thought about babies. But this moment with Anya in the morning, made me realize why so many teenage girls get pregnant and have babies on purpose before their lives are really ready for it. Wow, how amazing this is, this unconditional love that you get from your children. I never ever imagined it could be this lovely.
We are in love with all things stuffed. We are in love with little friends who we can clutch in our tiny chubby hands. We don't remember how skinny our hands were when we were born. How we were not completely cooked. But the parents remember and they are wowed at our pink plump hands.
The Rachel half of us loves to yell at her plush friends. She will grab a little iguana by the back scales and just squeal at him. Then she stops and looks at him as if to say, "what do you have to say?" The iguana is always silent and the monkey Rachel yells again. Anya is a little more guarded with her new relationships. She smiles at the small soft ones and sometimes laughs a little, examining faces, touching ears, making friends.
Enter Robin. Robin is handmade by PerfectChildren.etsy.com and arrived today. She is amazing. I took her out of her box to Anya's delight. She looked at Robin and smiled, then I showed her that Robin had eyes on the front AND back of her head and Anya broke into this tiny laugh. Ah, I love that she can laugh now at things that don't include tickling. This was an intellectual laugh. Amazing. It was her second one, actually. The first was at the Discovery Channel commerical where a man is wearing a sasquatch suit. I tried Robin out with Rachel and got the same response. Interest, touching of Robin, laugh at the eyes on back of the head. Amazing. Here are some pictures of first Anya with Robin, then Rachie.
anya and robin times two below.
rachie with robin
everyone loves robin
There are so many moments when being a parent sucks. And they aren't even the moments that I thought they would be. I thought I would hate all the diapers and getting spit up on and boogie shopping and all the gross stuff. But that stuff is silly and we are lucky to be able to help our children with such silliness. It is the other moments, the sleep deprived nights, the hungry baby whose cries threaten to crush you while you heat up formula. There are truly moments when you say, out loud, why did I do this to my life? Sometimes, in the middle of the night, eyes heavy, I even whisper to jeff, "i am so sorry my body made twins, this is too hard." It is ok to say these things. It is ok to feel them. Because this is insanely difficult. But then there are moments like these tonight. Moments when the eyes on the back of a yeti's head make us laugh. Moments when we yell at the iguana and our hands are fat and healthy. Moments when we love our lives that make all the other crap not matter.
jeff is playing xbox 360 and listening to the best of the doors. what the hell? it is dark in our tiny apartment and some girls are finally asleep. me at the computer, him on the floor with the wireless controller. suddenly i feel a wave of nostalgia. what the hell? i am transported to a long time ago and i am holding hands with a boy in a movie theater and he smells like a boy and we are watching val kilmer pretend to be jim morrison.
now jeff is listening to candy machine. he must have his music on mix mix shuffle shuffle. playing perfect dark something something online with a friend and listening to his weird mix. and then i am very cold. and it is 10 years or more ago and jeff and i are in the old black cat, seeing candy machine play on a tuesday night. we are 2 of about 5 people there. the heat is not on. i can see my breath in the club. i am wearing a hat and gloves. we are young. we stay out late. we never sleep. we listen to records and we jump on the bed. he dyes his hair blue or purple. but i am still afraid to. it will take me years to be that brave.
one girl likes to cry to fall asleep. she crys and crys. even if you hold her, she fights it. i worry that sleep might hurt for her. i hope it doesn't. i wonder if she dreams. well, she must. i wonder if her dreams are happy. said girl is growing new hair. it is lighter, perhaps blonde or auburn. it is soft and sticks up. she has big eyes. i never dreamt of having beautiful children.
the other girl laughs as she drifts off. she pinches my face and giggles. she wants to play, but is just too damn tired. she falls asleep to my singing her a song about gummy worms. i put her in her car seat and give her Col. Mustard. He is a handmade octopus. She will wake in the morning and find him. She will talk to him for a while, rather than wake us up. She will chew on his legs a bit and try to bite his head. Then I will bring her sister around and she will be delighted. She will smile and babble as if to say, "oh, hello!"
For a long time, I was waiting for my life to begin. I didn't know, it had already started. Are you waiting for your life to begin? Stop. It is in progress.
I want to remember when I was 5 months old. I think about this a lot. Sometimes, as Anya falls asleep, I whisper to her, "When you can talk, remember what it was like in mommy's tummy. And tell me about it. Remember your past lives if you had them. Tell Rachie about them. Remember your dreams."
One time I met a 3 year old girl who had gotten a goldfish at a fair. Her mother told me a story about the fish. The girl said the fish made her brave. That with the fish, she wasn't afraid to sleep in her room alone anymore. She had named the fish, Dennis Foster. The mother said the girl didn't know anyone named Dennis Foster, so she didn't know where she got the name from. I wondered if Dennis was the girl's husband in a past life. And that was why she he made her brave. I don't really believe in past lives. I would like to. But I don't. I hope that some day someone will prove it.
I think sometimes about this little girl, in her dark room with her husband fish. I think of her as an old old woman, alone after Dennis died. And then it took her 3 years to find him in this life. How much did she have to look? I think of her saying, "good night honey" to her husband fish. I think about this a lot. And sometimes it is sad and sometimes it is glorious. But mostly, I think about how we all need someone. Someone to make us brave.
Look at these girls. You would never know they were sick at all. All they needed to get over their pneumonia were these new shirts from focoloco. Thanks Suzy & Ferris!
So, the only thing harder than raising twin infants, is taking care of sick twin infants. Ok, triplets might be harder, but I am lucky to not have triplets, so don't make me think about it.
The rundown. Anya got pneumonia and she and I spent 3 days in a hospital room. Her in a giant crib, attached to an IV, getting breathing treatments every 2 hours. Me, sleeping on a cot without a shower. Meanwhile, Jeff was at home with Rachel, whose cold seemed to get worse with each day. Xmas morning, Anya and I had been home for a few days. Grandma had come to help. Off Jeff and I went with Rachie to the emergency room. Whoohoo! Two sick babies. Rachel, too, had pneumonia. She was lucky that the worst of her hospital stay involved an xray with a tech whose tattoos and spikey hair, Rachie thought were wicked cute.
It is the day after new years and we are all nearly better. We haven't been to daycare in two weeks, so who knows how tomorrow will go!
So, our first big crisis is done. I can't say I stayed calm through it all. I can say I am stronger than I thought I was. Watching a nurse try to give your tiny baby an IV for an hour might make another person freak out, but I dealt and was strangely calm. Throughout this whole motherhood thing, I have kept waiting to lose it. To break. But I haven't yet and that is rad. I haven't yet and that is cool.
Oh crap, I forgot to mention the diaper rash....
This was written before our holiday hospital and pneumonia fun began. more soon on that.....
December is run running away from us and soon we will be 5 months old. I say we because I, too, am 5 months new. There is a newish me that I have been ignoring or perhaps too busy to see. She is a windmill. She goes round and round and never stops and creates energy all around her.
We 5 month old girls are changing like mad and this is perhaps the saddest and most glorious part of parenthood. Everyday you meet a new person. Everyday you miss the old one. Everyday you watch someone change and so there is loss and gain and it happens and happens and happens and you can't stop it. And you wouldn't want to stop it even if you could. I don't see my girls as babies anymore. I see them as fully formed little ladies. Little people. And they are such different little people. Rachel's babbling has turned to all out screeching. This is for happy or upset and it is both endearing and horrible at the same time. She opens her little mouth as wide as she can and out comes this monkey yell. Out comes the yell and then her lips turn into a smile. She loves this game. She has also discovered her feet. See:
Anya was looking up at me the other day and once again, I felt like I was seeing a future Anya. I see future Anya's all over the place. In the mirror, in photos of myself. But here she was, all real, right there. She was looking at me with such intelligence that I thought she looks like she is four years old. It is in these moments when I couldn't imagine only having one child. Who would I pick? I couldn't imagine it. Being a mom of twins is a constant battle because the reality of how hard this is and not ever wanting to think of having just one child.
My life used to be this unending cycle of looking forward to things. Movies and books and records and trips and shoes and art shows and all kinds of things. With two babies, I sometimes miss those other things. I sometimes think, what do I have to look forward to? It is easy to get stuck in the moment and think you will have two 4 month olds forever. But really, being a parent is this giant ball of looking forward. Some day, Anya WILL be four. And we will have the greatest conversations. Until then, I am enjoying right here. But I know, the time between 4 months and 4 years is mere minutes, really.
(anya is her vintage baby dress (from cousin, serene), which i turned into a sweater.)
ok. i can't resist posting more pictures. when i was super cool without babies, i would have thought i was lame.
we are waking up to us. waking up to each other. we are noticing each other. talking to each other. smiling when the other cries. staring endlessly into each other's eyes. we indeed do prefer telepathy. we are also the coolest dressed babies in town. (Rachel is sporting focoloco wear in the below picture, Anya above).
The lovely Kenya made these hats for my girls. I told her that Rachel was very dignified and thus Rachel's has a little flower. Anya's is kinda monster-y or jester-y, which suits her just fine. Anya is also sporting focoloco wear.
Jeff says, "you never blog" anymore. That sounds like a lyric from a song. Lalala, you never blog anymore. I have to say that I haven't blogged this week because I have been doing a lot of internal blogging. And here I go, blogging about blogging. So sad.
I have been doing a lot of looking out of the solarium window. This is my view. It is like the cockpit of a starship. The bridge, if you are a star trek silly.
We had a few good weeks there. The girls were eating well and sleeping through the night and generally happy. All the while, there were 6 of us living in our apartment. Me, Jeff, Rachel, Anya, Archie (dog) and the newest member of our household, Claude. Claude was, we hoped, a mouse. We never really saw much of him except for his tail as he ran behind the stove. We watched him for a few days to make sure he wasn't a growing baby rat, because a mouse is one thing, but a rat is surely another thing all together. So, we would spot Claude late at night running along the counter rim in the kitchen or catch a glimpse of him running on the floor. In general, we weren't sure about Claude's stay with us. We didn't want to put out poison becuase of the girls and we weren't sure about murdering him. But things started to get out of hand. Droppings were found. Then, big hunks were eaten out of bread. I actually had to be told that Claude wasn't taking pieces of bread away with him, but had actually sat and eaten off of a piece. Boy, I am naive.
Then, one day last week, I saw Claude twice in one hour. Once in the kitchen and another time, running from the living room into the solarium and under the crib! So, we premeditated the murder of Claude. Old fashioned mouse traps and peanut butter were our weapons of choice. Jeff set out two traps in case Claude had friends. He set them out right before we left for Thanksgiving weekend to visit Jeff's mom.
Part of me wants to believe this and part of me doesn't want to believe this... but I think the murder of Claude (and yes, he is indeed dead, but we will get to that), has brought a curse on us. Remember how we were having a good time, all easy eating and sleeping and happy happy girls. That all ended at around 1 am Thursday night. Perhaps just as Claude met his fate. Anya woke up with a fever and it has all gone down hill from there. I am envisioning Claude checking out the yummy peanut butter at around that time and wap! Snapped in the head with the trap. Blood splattered on the refrigerator. When we found his tiny grey body, he seemed so small. I thought, I can't believe we killed him. He wasn't a rat or 2 mice, but just one little Claude. And so Karma sends us something new to deal with. Teething.
Yes, Anya's 99.8 degree temp. made way for Rachel's drooling and chomping. There are also bouts of crying while trying to bite our hands as well as their own. Basically, it is terrible. Our tools for this mission are baby orajel, baby tylenol, rubber teething rings, our own fingers and lots of singing ("Forget all your troubles. Forget all the pain. Blah blah, something about getting teeth.") We also cracked out the first Baby Einstein DVD last night to divert their attention. It worked for Rachel, but Anya was more interested in me as I repeated what the puppets were telling them about hands and eyes and feet.
In general, Rachel is handling the teething much better than Anya. I feel so bad for both of them, though. All the crying and waking up every 30 minutes and needing to just get something in their mouths. Poor little ladies! This morning, I found Rachel with her dress in her mouth. Rachel has also had this sort of awakening in the past few days. She is desperate to sit up on her own. She grunts and grunts until she can and then plops back down moments later. Her vocalizing has also increased. This morning, Jeff was holding her and i was holding Anya and Rachel looked over and just started babbling at Anya. Anya looked at me with wide eyes as if to say, "what the hell did she say to me?"
I have been hearing over and over today that my girls are too young to be teething already. They are 4 months old today, but less if you adjust it considering they were born 3 weeks early (which we never do). All I have to say is that it is karma for killing Claude.
Sometimes I think about the girls' organs. About how I made them and grew them. I haven't thought about this in a long time. Not since I was still making them and growing them. I remember thinking early on in pregnancy, are their organs done yet? I remember how happy I was when I knew that they were indeed done and the girls just needed to grow from then on.
Rachel has some trouble breathing at night, so she sleeps in her car seat on the bed between us. I think it is mostly congestion because of her cold, but I worry it might be more. Perhaps she is allergic to Archie? I don;t know. She woke me up in the middle of the night, coughing a little. I held her close to me until she settled back to sleep. Then I dreamt that I travelled in through her white terry cloth pajamas into her lungs. And there I was, looking around at my finished product's insides. It was a comforting dream. Not at all gross like it sounds.
Anya laughed in her sleep at about 4 this morning. I wonder what she was dreaming of. I reached over to see if she would hold my finger and she did. And I feel back to sleep, dreaming again of terry cloth pajamas. But this time, I got to wear some. I also dreamt of boy twins. Adults. Sandy-haired and thin. They were fighting in a super hero-y way. Then one jumped from a window and parachuted onto me. This is my fear of getting pregnant with twins again.
I am thinking of organs again. And about how I can make them. I can't wait to toss that one at a girl when she is 7 and being a pain and hating mom for some silly injustice. "I made your organs! Be good!"
Nedra just commented on my blog and I followed her website link. You should to as she has some lovely handmade bags and hats that are really nice. http://www.divinetrash.com/store/bags.html I really like that lollipop purse.
Anyway... this is reminding me that along with a new template for this page, I am working on a new links page. Wanna trade links? If so, please comment below with your web address. I want to have a giant page of crafty links and life-y blogs. Also! I am going to add little ads on my shop, too. If you would like to send me a little advert for your website, please email me (tina@ilikeseamonsters.com). The size of the ads are 125 pixels wide by 125 pixels. Remember to send me the link the ad should go to. If you send me your link or ad, remember to add mine to your links page to ensure a proper trade!!!
OK. that might have been boring for some of you to read. But i am interested to know what you peeps out there are making!
Here is a new picture of Jeff reading to the girls. As you can see, they are a captive audience.
With the cold weather, a new activity has been added to our daily things to do list. Along with the feedings and the diaper changes and the daily baths, now we have to deal with congestion. And I like to call it boogie management. There are other names, too. Boogie shopping. Boogie catching. It seems like I am constantly removing wonderful nostral shaped clumps of boogies from tiny tiny noses. At first, we were just using the little blue bulbs to get them out. Then we added saline drops. Oh my, saline drops are amazing. A few drops of saline and everything just pops to the surface, like a bouy. Pop! Here come the boogies, I say to the girls. Sometimes the saline is a little tramatic for them, but most of the time once that is done, the retrieval of the boogies, the collection if you will, is pretty fun. They smile and smile. I also sometimes use a q-tip to gentley get some of it out, this they love also. It must feel really good to have someone clear your nose for you!
Anya has started to notice the dog. She gets excited when she sees him and wiggles and wiggles to get to him. She could stare at him for hours. Oh my god, she is going to terrorize my poor old Archie as soon as she can move on her own.
Everyone tells me that the first 3 months with twins are the hardest. That it gets easier. Well. This is true and not true. Yes, things are getting easier. We sleep from 11 to 6 am. This is better than before. But I can't help but think that once they can crawl and walk, we are totally screwed. Right now, if I put Anya in the baby papasan, Anya stays in the baby papasan. This will not be so in about 3 months. They will be less easy to contain. Crap! I am torn because I really want to see them grow and change and learn, but crap! I want to survive this.
I have said this before. But there are some days or minutes with twins when you are just like... oh my god when will this be over? I think this is the first weekend where I haven't felt that. Sure, we still can't do everything we want to do and the girls aren't totally managed at all times, but things went really smoothly this weekend. On Saturday, we took the girls for their first trip to Target. They slept through the whole thing.
Of course, I will never ever get used to the on-lookers. The women who ask me how I get them both to sleep at once. The questions from every grandmotherly type in the world. How old are they? Are they twins? A boy and a girl? Are they identical. Well, they don't look alike to me. Then there are the women who say, "oh, i always wanted twins." As if twins were something that someone would choose for themselves. I always wanna say, "that is nice, but really naive." I also get the question, "are they yours?" alot. I mean alot. I wonder why that is? Is it my hair? My non-mom attitude? I shouldn't complain about all the questions. People truly do get a lot of enjoyment out of asking them. And in the future, it will most likely help the girls to not be shy if they get to talk to stranger so much.
Then yesterday, things weren't too bad, either. The girls are going through a growth spurt, so they wanted to eat and eat and eat. But that was ok. Between feeding and bouncing and playing with various bunnies and bears dressed in bunny suits, Jeff and I each got to do things that we wanted to do. He got to read and play Xbox. I got to add items to my store. I even set it up so that you can write reviews of my silliness. During all those feedings, we were watching Arrested Development Season Two on DVD. Comedy always makes life easier.
Last night, I was watching the new Ricky Gervais show, Extras. I got so into it that even though I was holding a baby, I forgot for a while that I even had babies. This is good and bad and kinda mixed me up a bit. I had been thinking that I couldn't be wowed by art or televison or movies anymore. But this proved that wrong. That show is so funny and touching all at once. It took me away from my responsiblities for just 30 minutes. Thank you, Mr Gervais.
You never know if someone actually likes you until they make something for you. My friend, Edie, made me this amazing scarf. I mean amazing. It is long and warm and ORANGE! And soft and orange. Oh my. It is the best present I have ever gotten. See:
Anya's outfit on Wednesday was a tour-de-force:
And you already saw my dragon girls, but these faces were too good to not show:
Not sure why I uploaded this picture sideways... will have to fix that tonight.
We are so easily amused. Edie and I. We are. After dressing up Rachel and Anya in their Halloween costumes, we proceeded to prop them up like this on the couch. Then we giggled and laughed and laughed. They are supposed to be dragons, but they might be dinosaurs. Anya's suit is a bit too big, too. So she might just be a baby in a too big dragon suit.
I have not had dry hair in days and in this kinda wintery Washington autumn, that is not a good thing. I just took it out of a pig tail to find it slightly frozen in places. I have worn the same jeans for three days. I am not minding it much, they fit well and I barely smell bad. After days of feeling fevery baby heads, I put my hand to my own forehead. I am surprised by it's size and warmth. I suppose I am sick. Rachel had a fever yesterday, so we took turns staying home with her. Half the day for me, half the day for Jeff. During my half day at work, I did what I thought was something pretty important, but I kept worrying about Rachel at home. To tell you the truth, it was actually more sad to think of Anya at daycare without her sister. But when I went to pick her up, she was all smiles. Smile Time is the new nickname that Jeff has given her.
Smile Time has found her thumb and we are so happy. The only bad thing is that her thumb is so tiny that it barely makes her feel better. So we find her with her thumb and half of her hand in her mouth. I know that some parents are anti thumb sucking. But with twins, anything to make them able to calm themselves is cool. Smile Time also found her diaper this morning. Her little fingers grasped that tab and as she was about to pull it off, she looked at me as if to ask. I said, no, but laughed. To this she laughed, too. Smile Time is going to be pulling off her diaper soon. Oh, the fun we will have.
The girls are now sleeping in the co-sleeper attached to our bed. One used to sleep in this kind of tray or bin between us. But the bigger she got, the more she would slide out. Now, our bed is baby-less. This is kinda sad because I am not waking up to see little eyes looking back at me. I sorta can't wait until they are big enough to cuddle together between us for naps and such. Until then, I am taking the opportunity to find Jeff in the middle of the night and sleep close close close. This is something that I yearned for during my pregnancy, but something my giant tummy did not allow. I thought about it at 3 in the morning. About how I need to take every opportunity that I have to enjoy Jeff and the girls. Before I got pregnant, I didn't do this. I didn't try to enjoy every minute of life. I wasted a lot of time.
On my walk to work this morning, with my frozen pink hair like a dessert on my head, I thought about all the time I have wasted in the past ten years. Now with kids, It is important how I spend every moment. Every moment is a decision made. Every moment is an opportunity to change the lives of others. Every thing I do is important now to some little one or another. I have to think about that whenever I am lamenting that I don't have time for me.
We are all getting into a routine. The girls seem to be eating less times a day and while they aren't going to sleep at 8pm anymore (much to Jeff's sorrow), they are sleeping more deeply at night. I actually had to wake Rachel at about 7 this morning (we were up at 3, but still). I find that they are more interested in waking up to smile and play than to eat. This is cool.
Yesterday I didn't go see them at lunch time, instead I made my way to my favorite sushi by the pound place. I didn't get any sushi during most of my pregnancy, so I am wondering if I still have a taste for it! But, so sad no sushi! The by the pound place is gone! So I got a gyro instead, which was still great. I also stopped in the fabric store and bought a giant blue/grey button for $2, which I made into a ring. A little present for me. Today's lunch adventure will be to find another good sushi place.
I just wrote this in marker on a big pad of paper on the wall at work:
Pounds lost before getting pregnant = 70!
Pounds gained during pregnancy = 80!
Pounds lost since giving birth = 56.5!
This is the first step on my new weight loss adventure. Announcing it. I will tell anyone what I weigh. I weigh 248.5. That sounds really heavy, but it is nothing compared to the 305 the day I gave birth! I am currently wearing a size 20 and my goal is a size 14. My weight goal is 180. So, I have 68.5 pounds to drop. Oh that will be a piece of cake! wink wink. I think it will take about 14 months.
So. First step was to tell all.
Second step is to increase exercise.
Third step is to increase water intake and swtich back to diet pop.
Fourth step is to smallen portions.
Fifth step is to change what I eat.
I have done steps one and two. I will let you know when I for real do step three. But I think that steps one and two are good enough for this week. I think I will see a change on Monday when I weigh in.
If you weren't with me for my first weight loss adventure, I must sound like a total nut. Gender politics are really wrapped up in the weight and weight loss for me. The "fat positive" movement kept me down for a long time. I mean kept me fat! And while I always feel lovely no matter what I weigh, I am a bit obsessed with dropping the pounds for health reasons and also for emotional reasons. I love to know that I CAN do it. That I can do anything. The ability to change my body gives me this ultimate power. Once I get started I will be slightly addicted to it. But the truth is, right now, I love cheese fries. I love hazelnut 5 Star bars. Oh and guacamole! I love to eat. This is what I am up against.
It is funny. Embarking on this second weight loss adventure is way more low key than the first. And I think that is because I know that I sort of dodged a bullet with the first one. I can't imagine what it would have been like to have gotten pregnant with twins at my original 290 pounds. I would have died. I would be dead. Plus, this time around... I know I can do it. It isn't a question of if, but a question of when.
Today is my first day away from my girls, ie, my first day back at work.
Am I sad? A little. Not terribly so. Does that make me a bad mom? I don't think so. I have to say that I am more sad for me than for them. When we left them at the daycare this morning, Anya was smiling big and Rachel was a bit cautious. Which means they were being themselves.
There are 8 babies including mine in the room of the daycare where my girls are. All of the other 8 are crawlers. And when I left this morning, Anya was being wowed by all the babies crawling around her. I think she is going to have the best best time. When I went in to visit them at lunchtime, Anya had ink on her face from the piece of tape stuck to her bib with ANYA written on it in marker. Rachel, too. They looked like little coal miners. The teachers immediately washed their faces off as if I would freak out about it.
My choice to send my girls to daycare was not an easy one to make. But it is mine and I am living with it and in no way does it have to be forever. I keep thinking that dropping off just one baby would have been so much harder. I don't know why that is. Perhaps it is because I know that in the end, each girl has their sister with her. And someday, whether it is when they are 8 or 13 or 25, their primary relationship isn't going to be with me or Jeff. It is going to be with their sister. For some reason this makes me feel better about our current situation. But maybe I am just making excuses and trying to push the guilt away.
Eileen once said to me: "no matter what, you are still their mother." This was in reference to the breastfeeding situation. When leaving them this morning, I heard her say it again. No matter what, you are still their mother. I find comfort in that.
On my way to visit them at daycare at lunch time, I found myself on the giant giant escalator at the Dupont Circle Metro. It went on forever and my ipod was singing singing to me and the October air was coming cold down that giant wind tunnel. It hit my face and I shuttered and felt in love with the air. I thought about how 20 years from now Anya or Rachel will be taking the same escalator to work or to who knows where. It made me realize how much I missed being stimulated by the world these past few months and how I need to make sure that my girls never ever lack in that regard. It also made me remember what it is like to be an individual. And if going back to work helps me to feel that way again, I think it is so good for me and for the girls.
This whole mom thing has been hard. Sometimes I yearn to know what it would have been like with just one baby. What decisions I would have made differently. What things would have been different. I am sure all moms of twins think this way. For now, I think I need to stop feeling like a mother of twins and start thinking in terms of being a mom to one little girl named Rachel and one little girl named Anya. That way they get on the path to being individuals, too.
My girls are Leos. Like me and Bill Clinton, they are. The proof is in this photo, in which it seems that Rachel is giving the Clinton thumb to her sister:
All is currently quiet in the house of the baby Leos. We may be quiet for these few minutes, but we are all changing. We are waking up happy happy girls and are trying to vocalize. We are cooing when cooed at. We are imitating. We are finding our faces in mirrors and ahhing with delight. We are baby lions whose life is change. I envy that they can't fear change yet. And if they do, they hide it well.
I hate writing complainy posts. I hate to worry people. But here I am. This day in babyland has once again kicked my ass. It is 4:22 and this is the first minute during which a baby is not crying. As I typed that, I heard Anya screech from her crib. She and Rachel were supposed to be enjoying the mobile with the lovely octopus... but nope. There she goes complaining about it.
I had been trying to get them on a every 3 to 4 hours feeding schedule, but today it seems that we are back to every 2 hours or less. This means that I feed babies all day long. I wonder if I am stressed about my day because I know the end is near. I will be going back to work next week and then my days of taking care of two babies alone are pretty much done. I feel bad because the girls' special time with mommy is over, but dude... I need a break. This is so much easier when it is Jeff and I. But one person with two infants is just so hard. Of course there is the guilt of sending them to daycare, which I am sure I will explore to great length sometime next week. But man, I need some baby-free time right now.
I also tried to start weightwatchers hardcore today. No dice. The stress of the babies just made me want to make a batch of brownies and eat them all. No time for that, inside I ate all the cheese in the fridge. I have gained about 3 pounds in the past few weeks, which isn't bothering me too much, but I don't want to find myself at plus 10 pounds or more. I know it is a slippery slope. I know I could eat a giant bag of Reeces cups if I let myself (ok, I did that last week). So, I will wait until I am back at work next week to start my new weight loss journey in earnest. I can't wait to start the two mile walks a day and start eating sushi again. I know the pounds will drop off and my legs will melt away. I want to be melty again.
oh yeah... and my period started already. Yep. I stopped pumping breast milk two weeks ago. That is another story for another post. A story that involves, yes, guilt and then no guilt and now ovulation. Great. Just what I needed. More frelling eggs! My giant monster-y fear is ever getting pregnant again, considering what this pregnancy put me through.
Ok... now the babies want my full attention, as they deserve. I am off to give it.
Colic. I didn't think it existed. I am crazy. It does. Anya has it, which means Rachel will soon follow. It isn't that bad when Jeff is home at night. But during the day, it kicks my ass.
I love my daughters, but I totally don't get people who love babies. Like any old babies who aren't yours. Maybe that is the key. That it is easy to love babies when you don't own them. :) I have said this before, but I feel like we are in this waiting period. Waiting to be able to enjoy other things with the girls. I can't wait to take them to the movies! Or the zoo. I can't wait to entertain them outside in the world. Right now, our main love is the octopus on the mobile. We love him!
Ok, both girls are starting to cry. I will be back. Can you tell I am stressed? Momming is hard work.
This picture totally shows my girls' personalities. Anya is laughing at the mobile. Rachel is studying it with a certain seriousness:
Here is me looking super skinny... i think it must be the angle:
I woke up this morning with these words in my brainy brain: optimism is not your friend. Um, what the hell? How bleak. I am not feeling that. I do have to say that yesterday was a trying day in the world of twin motherhood.
First, I weighed myself to find that I have gained back the 5 pounds that I lost in the past two weeks. This is not a surprise. I have been a candy eater. I am eating for comfort again, but not even real food, not even Mac and Cheese. I am talking Lindt chocolate bars and Mega M&Ms. So, back to 247. Still 20 pounds to go before I get to pre-pregnancy weight and 50 more to go before I am done. I totally own this gain. Say it with me. I own this. I own this. I own this. Now I just need to get my ass into gear.
Then, both girls were hungry at the same time all day long and would refuse to eat because I kept trying to feed them at the same time. They are awake enough now to want want want the attention of a feeding. They want eyes locked and conversation, like on a date. I don't blame them. So it was a nasty circle of hungry baby, crying baby, calm for a bit, hungry again. Things didn't calm down until Jeff got home and saved me. NOt right away, of course. I mean, who can handle coming home to two crying babies and a desperate pink-haired wife? But once we got both babies fed and on the floor to look at each other, this were calmer. We listened to Heavenly and The Promise Ring and Jeff sang to each girl individually and everybody got happy. What a difference two people make. When I got up with Rachel at 2am, she was all smiles. I love that. That is a happy baby.
So, if anything, last night I learned that optimism is one of my few friends these days. One of my most needed friends. I need to feel optimistic everytime I look at a baby and everytime I look at the scale and everytime I think about the future. Because in the trenches of twin motherhood, it is hard to believe that things will get easier. But they totally will. I am optimistic.
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I have to shout out to Yelena, who sent me the most amazing letter and package for the tiny girls. What a surprise. I really am lucky lucky to be so well thought of. Once again, the nurturing from strangers kicks ass. Keep an eye out for a package from me.
Also, my emails don't seem to be going out, so if it seems that I am not writing back, I actually am
It is 9:51 pm on a Monday night and we are the only people on the little white bus going from Woodley Park to U Street. The girl in my front pack has finally calmed down after a good deal of hopping and binky giving on my part. Your girl is wearing a blue hoody sweatshirt that you picked out before she was born. Her head is turned and I can only see her tuft of hair. You look so tired in this blue bus light and I am filled with so much love that I can't stand it. At the bus stop you said we were like Mai and Satsuki waiting for the cat bus in Totoro. Iconic. But this moment is equally as iconic. I say that we are like a scene in a movie, the light is just right. You joke that they don't make movies about people with babies. But here we are, we will never be in this place again, on a night bus with 8 week old babies. You in your Bungee baseball cap and me with my pink hair. Some day when we can't afford this city lifestyle, I will remember this. It is funny how life always takes me to exactly where I need to be. And last night on that bus with you and the babies was that place.
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below is my new hair in phases... first the bleaching, then the new pink with some blond. the baby is rachel.
I love taking pictures of my girls. I love what the pictures tell me. I took this one this morning. What does this tell me about my girls? Rachel always looks at me when I take their picture, while Anya always looks at Rachel. There is something about when Rachel looks you in the eyes. Something old. She is a very serious person, Rachel is. I think this is why I see Jeff in her so much. Anya, on the other hand, is very easy going, very interested in her sister. She looks at Rachel as if she is in love.
The nanny who had the twin experience and excellent references took a job in Hawaii. Now, I am talking to work about coming back part time so that we only need someone one to two days a week. It should be easier to find and pay that person, I think. Do you know someone?
Oh... that bunny above. That bunny is rad, you can buy one at spidercamp.
I mentioned a few days ago that having a newborn is like waiting for someone to wake up from a coma. I was wrong. I have to wake them up. I know this now. I am waking them up with kisses and songs.
Here is me looking dead tired, yet crafty, working on art pieces for the Crafty Bastards Arts Fair, while Anya sleeps in the sling. I told you I mastered the art of baby wearing! I have made abotu 15 of those cool mirrors with lines from my blog on them. I am sure most will make no sense taken out of context, but I love that. ( The sling is from www.lucky-baby.com)
Being a mom is making me look older, sometimes when I look in the mirror, I see my grandmother. Mostly the shape of my body, all hips and butt. I don't mind it.
Ok, this is our current twin management. Whenever Jeff and i are both home, we each get a baby to take care of. That way, you always get some free time. And whenever someone cries you can say... "That's your baby!!" But! I worry that we are breaking the twin bond as the girls are rarely together. I am putting a stop to that by making sure the girls have some together time at least once a day. See:
I have mastered the art of carrying a baby in a sling. Rachel is nestled in one right now while I type this with two hands! Anya is happy happy in the swing. Whoohoo! I have a few minutes of baby-free peace.
Weighed myself this morning. 242! 15 more pounds and will be back to pre-pregnancy weight. Then I get to start up the hill of dropping anouther 50 or so pounds. I have been walking the girls to Jeff's work in the afternoons, about a mile there and a mile back. I can feel it in my butt and thighs. I love that feeling. But what is so great is that I don't feel it in my heart like when I was pregnant or when I was super fat before then. No matter what, I will never ever see 300 pounds on a scale again. I hate the way it makes my heart pound and my lungs huff huff. So how long will it take me to drop these 15 pounds? Hopefully no more than 6 weeks or so. Then I might might be able to fit into my old pants again, which I really would like to because the maternity pants are falling down down and I shouldn't be buying interim clothes.
The daycare situation was looking bad last week when we found out that the daycare we had been on a list for since we got pregnant would not have two spots for us, only one. Now we are interviewing a nanny on Sunday. I spoke to her on the phone and she seemed very sweet. I hope she likes us!!! We will see.
I have been asking this question on the art pieces that I am making for Crafty Bastards. When do we learn to laugh? I didn't think I would be getting the answer anytime soon or at all. But last night Anya kindly provided me with it.
It was about 11pm and we were all watching an ep of Lost on DVD. Sawyer said something quippy and I laughed really big. Anya was alseep on my chest as she often is. After I laughed, this amazing sound came out of the sleeping Anya. It was big and long and not a normal baby Anya sound. It was a laugh. I thought I was hearing things. But then, she did it again. This time, there was a smile and a laugh. All in her sleep. Jeff and I was totally floored and charmed and amazed. Of course, she was just mimicing me and didn't actually find humor in something, but still. Anya is learning to laugh. And I am teaching her. Whenever things get hard from now on, I will think of that.
I can't wait for the day that I hear both of my girls laughing at something. It is easy to forget in the trenches of twin motherhood what the whole point of this is. To grow people who can laugh.
The world still exists and we live in it.
Let's try again. This week, I learned that the world still exists beyond the window that I look out over the changing table. And that we girls indeed do live in it.
On Thursday, Jeff, the girls and I went to the Crafty Bastards party at the CityPaper offices. So at 6 weeks old, my wee ones have been to their first party. We got to meet Sara and the whole Crafty Bastards crew there who were so nice. Then we saw Heidi and Tom, who we adore. Oh my, the arts and craft fair is only 21 days away! Dude, I have a lot ot make before then. Here is a picture of me and the girls that I stole from Heidi's website:
Then on Friday morning, I trekked down the hill more than a mile to my work to show off the girls. I almost cried the last block there because I hadn't walked there is so long and hadn't seen those places in so long. I have worked in the same building for over 10 years and I never thought turning the corner and seeing it would make me cry, but it did. Weird. Everyone at work was so nice and excited to see me and the babies. It was pretty touching. And reminded me of the world/life? I have been missing/missed.
On my way out, the Indian street vendor and his wife in front of the building stopped me excitedly. I have literally walked past these people for ten years, and never talked to them other then to buy an umbrella. The woman was talking really fast, while the man translated. They were worried about me because all of a sudden I had stopped walking past them. They remembered watching me get bigger and bigger during my pregnancy and then I just wasn't there anymore. They were so excited to see me and the babies and were so surprised to see two! They had just become grandparents for the first time in June and were so excited to tell me about it. It was this amazing experience, like something from a Krzysztof Kieslowski movie. This perfect intersection of people and places and things. It reminded me that even though you don't know it, there are people in your life who love you and think about you. Just as you love and think about the person you see on the bus everyday or the man in the elevator with the funny hair. That we all have a story and connections and secret caring for strangers.
Pushing my giant double stroller, I made my way home, stopping at Chocolate Chocolate first for 5 Star bars. The store is so tiny that only the girls and I fit in it. I walked past the Gap, thinking about how excited I was when I could finally wear clothes from there and how excited I will be when I can again. My former life as this carefree girl all came flooding back to me. And I remembered how the dirty streets of Washington were always so inspiring. On bedrest at home and now caring for babies, I missed how dirty the streets really are. I missed all the smells and trash. I missed the allies and the panhandlers. I missed the world. But it still exists and I still live in it. And now there are two more. Two more people who live in it. I hope that some day my girls can be inspired by random trash and side streets. I have a lot of work to do before we get there, but we will.
We are 6 weeks old today.
Thanks to a home visit from a nurse, we now know that Anya weighs in at 8 pounds and 8 ounces while her older sister, Rachel, is 7 pounds and 4 ounces. Anya is the big eater. The home visit was conducted by the city of Washington, DC because until recently, DC had the highest infant mortality rate in the nation. Wow. Sad. So they send out nurses to all new moms to make sure they aren't planning on killing them or putting them at risk for SIDS. It was nice for me because I got to prove that Anya was way bigger than Rachel. This is how lucky I am.
My six week post partum appointment with my OB showed that the girls are indeed identical. At least the pathology report on my placenta says so. But we don't think they look alike at all. Perhaps it is the extra pound. To me, Anya looks exactly like Jeff's mom did as a baby and Rachel looks just like Jeff. The only thing on them that looks like me is their toes. All I get are toes. :) I am wondering if perhaps they are half-indentical... meaning that the egg split before meeting sperm and then each half of my egg got a different sperm. I read about this in a twin book, but I don't think that medical science can prove that it happens. Time will tell if the girls are identical, I suppose.
Six weeks old is a weird time with babies. I feel as if I am waiting for someone to awaken from a coma. Soon, they will be smiling at me and cooing and completely interacting with us. For now, I get little bits of this from Anya (always two days ahead of her sister with everything). But before I know it, my infants will be full babies. I can't wait.
Someone just started screaming.... duty calls.
>>> Jeff holding his youngest daugher (Anya). They both look sooo sleepy.>>>>
It is 3:41 on a Friday and you cannot imagine how much I need Jeff to be home for the weekend. And for his mom to come. I hate that i feel this way, but I need a break from babies. For the past 3 days, I have been not much more than a baby sofa. A big, soft place for babies to recline. This is nice and warm and lovely and I am glad that I am comfy to them (daddy likes to tell them how sorry he is that he is so boney), but there are so many other things that I want to work on. I am actually typing this with one hand!:)
While I am admitting things, let me tell you something else. I am eating like a pig. Gourmet chocolate bars, mac&cheese, pizza. There is no end to the bad eating. It is stress eating because I'm not even tasting it. There, I admitted it. First step to making it stop. I am holding steady at 248, which means only 20 or so more pounds to drop to get to pre-pregnancy weight, so that is good. But I fear I will see the scale creep up if I don't chill the hell out.
Eileen and I took the girls to the Whole Foods yesterday, which really increased my confidence in dealing with the girls in the world. It was also about a mile walk (maybe less), so I got to feel my leg muscles work for the first time in maybe 6 months. I was stiff this morning, like a new runner. She and I sat in the front of the store with the babies and there was much laughter. She made me miss having a full-time friend. Someone who lives near me and just shows up to sit around and do nothing. Eileen has been this amazing part of the past month for me. She and I were friends for a long time until more than a year ago when she moved half a world away to Chile. Then, on the day my girls were born, she blew into town for her own life event. And I have been so lucky to see her every few days since then. Yesterday was her last day with us, but she reminded me about the importance of community, the importance of letting people in. All of our friends have helped me with this in the past month, actually. I have never ever seen so much generosity of things and spirit.
In the Whole Foods, we watched people try to figure out whose babies these were. It was funny because Eileen with her wonderful dark hair could easily be their mom. And perhaps I look a little too immature to be someone's momma. While I wish she still lived here so that we could run around town letting people think we were a two mom family (lots of that in our town, actually more two dads) and wonder which one of us had the babies, I am so glad that she has found a place that she loves. I am so glad that she lives her life the way she wants to. Hopefully some day, I will take my girls to see her where ever in the world she is living. Below is a picture of Eileen holding Rachel. But I do do do miss having a full time friend. Oh well, it isn't like I have much time for new friendships right now. Perhaps I am holding my new full time friend right now. Perhaps I am forming two right now.
>>>>Eileen with Rachie>>>>>
Last night the girls started screaming while Jeff was on his way out to walk the dog. He came back in to find me like this. To this he said, "dude, you rock". :) And yeah, that is a sun tattoo. Pretty lame, but I got it when I was 18.
Today has been better. I gave everyone a bath and then a bottle and now they are alseep. I think I might need to do the same. Sleep.
Oh! I will be doing Crafty Bastards again this year. I am so excited. I just hope I have time to make some stuff before October 1st! Get the information here: http://www.washingtoncitypaper.com/craftybastards/index.php
This is the most most fun and there is so much cool stuff to see and buy.
Saturday, October 1, 2005 • 10am–5pm+ at Western Market in Adams Morgan +
If you come, please say hi! And wish me luck on getting time to make some stuff before then! I will also be selling stuff at the First Baptist Church Fall Festival in Dupont Circle on October 8th.
Ok. Someone is hungry. Someone other than me, of course.
This is my first day of true motherhood. This is my first day at home alone with the girls.
Jeff left an hour ago and so far I have changed 4 diapers, tried to burp two babies twice, and fed two babies even though they just ate less than an hour ago. I still have a crib full of crying babies.
OK, let's see what I can do to calm them. Be back later.
I struggle to put on my lime green and blue Saucony sneakers while holding Rachel. We are listening to the new Death Cab for Cutie record and she is slowly closing her eyes, teasing me with sleep. I wonder how cool or lame I am when I inventory these cultural references. Not that it matters. But it is funny to think about. Am I the hip young mom that I want to be?
Jeff and I are struggling a little with the fact that we like one girl better than the other right now. I will not tell you who. But it is a fact and we whisper about it when the babies aren't around. All the twin parenting books tell you to talk about it. So we do. The books also say that this situation will flip flop over the months and years and not to feel bad about it. But we do. We are also spending a good amount of time discussing whether or not we think the girls are identical. They look so different to us now. We are also watching lots of TV on DVD and for some reason Dave Chapelle stand up. Chapelle makes Jeff and I talk like a stand up comedian. Calling each other MoFo and other things that I won't mention. We do this and laugh and laugh. Sometimes we don't laugh, usually in the middle of the night. Sometimes in the middle of the night we get frustrated. But everytime the girls sleep for at least 3 hours and we steal that time for sleep, too, we are all better.
It is a post-rainy afternoon and we open all the windows in the solarium. I wrap the girls in blankets and put them in their crib, removing the positioners that once kept them in their own sections of the crib. I want the girls to interact, and they do. They throw their arms around, randomly touching hands and faces. They seem free. One of the windows doesn't have a screen and Jeff tells me that a bird might fly in. This isn't Six Feet Under, I laugh. I do take note of the screen because I won't want a baby to fall out. I stand in front of it, looking down 7 floors and smelling someone cooking something out there somewhere. My pants are too big and my shoes are super cool and my babies are sleeping and I, too, seem free. For this moment. Soon there will be another feeding and some gas pains. Those things, too, bring freedom. Just a different kind.
Everytime I try to write, someone wakes on a velvety Boppy pillow from a deep sleep. Every free minute that I get, I have to choose my activity wisely. I am torn between what I SHOULD do and what I WANT to do. Breast pump or blog? Nap or work on baby books? Make a ninja necklace or prepare bottles for the next feeding? It is an unending question of priorities. I am not upset about this, but I do wish that I could be sharing this time with you a little more. I almost think that next week, when my adventure with the girls alone begins, I might have more time to write. I don't know how that is, but I think it will be true.
Today, I was sitting here pumping breast milk and I looked around to see 3 other people helping me with babies (my mom, Jeff and my friend, Eileen). I said, "this time next week, it will just be me". I thought I would say that with fear, but I didn't. It was just a statement of fact. That is what my emotional state is right now. I live and feel life in statements of fact. Fact: I have twin newborns. Fact: I do not sleep. Fact: the breastfeeding isn't working yet. Fact: I am eating way too much junk food. I can't get upset about any of my facts because, well, they are just that, facts.
Today, my friend Eileen asked me how I am doing emotionally. It was so great of her to ask because, well, she really wanted to know. That is what I love about her. I was kinda surprised to tell her that I am not doing badly at all. I thought I would be a perfect candidate for post-partum depression, but here I am, living with my facts and trying to love them. Don't get me wrong, this is so damn hard. Last weekend, when Jeff's mom was here, I got to sleep through the night for the first time in a while. When I woke up at 7 to change Rachel's diaper, I was totally wowed at just how beautiful she was. I was just floored by her tiny nose and thick Elvis hair. I don't think I have ever missed anyone more. Fact: sleep matters.
I have a couch full of wiggling babies right now. I wonder when someone will begin to meow. Anya just opened one eye, like a submarine, she is. Rachel's face is red, I think she may be pooping. These are my facts.
Here is an out-take from our announcement card photos. Rachel is doing Bill Murray doing Sinatra in Lost in Translation with that funny hand. If you have seen that movie, you know what I mean. She does this with her hand a lot. It is weird and funny.
Happy birthday to me. Today, I hope my orange Roos sneakers will be delivered. And I will eat the Mac and Cheese that Lisa and Jonah brought. Oh my! If I don't regain something from this amazing Mac and Cheese, I will surely be surprised. Today I will ditch the pjs again and walk out further into the world and grab a few minutes of feeling normal. There might be a breeze outside if I am lucky and I will close my eyes and feel it on my face and love my life.
We ventured into the world today. It did a lot for me emotionally. Will write more on that when it isn't 2 am. Isn't Jeff the cutest dad in the world?
OK. 5 am now. Waiting for Anya to fully wake so I can feed her.
Ok. 7 am now. Anya cried, but wouldn't wake up to eat, so here I am again. Waiting to see eyes and a tongue before I will feed her. My world is full of sleepy, yet hungry babies. They don't know which one they would rather be. If I were breastfeeding this wouldn't be a problem, but these stupid formula bottles have a shelf life. Formula also smells like trash. Great. It is my birthday and also the end of toxic breast milk. I will try to breast feed today. I worry it won't work, we will see. I should have had a lactation consultant lined up for today.... we will see how it goes.
Walking in the world yesterday made me feel so much more normal. I weighed 249 yesterday. 56 pounds less than the day I gave birth. I can't imagine that I had 56 pounds of extra fluids, so I hope some of it was fat. 25 more pounds and I am back down to pre-pregnancy weight. I wore a non-maternity shirt yesterday (Q and Not U t-shirt!), but I am still stuck with maternity pants because of the c-section and all of my extra skin.
Katie, who I have only met a few times, sent me the most lovely email the other day about how we as women feel closer to others who have gone through this whole childbearing thing. It made me think and worry about the women I have known. Why is it that there seems to be this quiet surrounding childbearing. No one ever talked to me about it until I got pregnant. Why aren't birthing stories a huger part of our culture? There are 14 tv shows about investigating murder, but none about giving birth. I think women need to stop being so quiet about these experiences. And that whole TLC "A Baby Story" is so sanitized. Why is it called a baby story? It isn't about the baby. Anyway... I just wish women would start wearing their birthing stories on their sleeves. But I guess they don't because most people don't want to hear them or can't relate. Also, they don't because these stories are messy and scary and life-changing and who talks about these things in normal conversation. I have a new, deeper respect for women. All women, because even if they haven't gone through this, they have the ability to. I wish our culture would allow, encourage? us to share our experiences in more profound ways. More profound than complaining about weight gain and body changes. I can't imagine not liking what this pregnancy has done to my body. I can't imagine hating myself that much, like so many American women do.
Then there is the reality of the babies. This is hard. Sometimes I look down at them and am filled with so much love. Sometimes I wonder when this will end. Knowing that this won't ever end overwhelms me. Loving them so much overwhelms me. I know it is only slightly worse/better for me because I have two. I want to think that my experience is unique because I have two, but I know those of you out there with one baby at a time have had the same experiences. But mine are just doubled.
We live life in 3 hour intervals. If we are lucky, we get 3 hours. Yesterday, it was more like 1.5 or 2 because the babies were snackers rather than eaters. It makes you realize just how long things really take when you only have 2 or 3 hours to get things done. I'm not complaining, just noticing.
Jeff and I are offically on our own this week, as his mom's two weeks here are over. Some minutes I think this is much easier than I thought it would be. And then other times, I feel like I can't believe how hard this is. Everyone says this first month is going to be the hardest. I keep thinking that can't be. I mean, now, we feed and change and sleep and cuddle. In a few months, we will do those things, PLUS the girls will need to be entertained. There will be a bigger range of things that the girls will need to be learning, everyday, every hour. I know it will be fine, but I can't imagine that this will get easier the older they get.
Now that Jeff and I are on our own, the night feedings are less baby centered. We feed babies while watching DVDs of funny TV shows. Last night, we were watching the Chappelle Show and I was surprised to look down and see that I was feeding a baby. While the girls wake to eat every 3 hours at night, they generally sleep through said eating and DVDs of TV shows makes being up at 3 am seem easier.
We can tell the girls apart now. It didn't take too long. In fact, it is so easy to tell them apart that we are wondering if they are even idenitical. Rachel has way more hair than her sister, and it is wavy and thick. Her nose is also a tad bit different and her face is fuller. Anya is more elfin, with a smaller head and more delicate features. Rachel's thicker hair likes to come to a point after a bath, which makes her look a bit like Elvis. Rachel is so far the only of my daughters to have a nickname that has stuck. A few days ago, I went into the nursery to find that Rachel had milk dried on her face from a sleepy middle of the night feeding. Hence, Milk Face. We have been calling her Milk Face for days now and I can't look at her without thinking it. We are now saying things like, "Milk Face and her sister..." Funny.
This morning, I weighed 255. 50 pounds less than the day I gave birth. This is not from anything I am doing. I have been eating lots of peanut M&Ms in the middle of the night and Cherry Coke has replaced water. So, it must be the water weight dropping and the breast pumping. 30 more pounds and I will be pre-pregnancy weight. I have to say that I love my post-partum body. I am a huge fan of watching bodies change and these changes are so fast and fun to see. I have watched my wrist bones and neck bones re-emerge over the course of just a few days. But my favorite body part right now is my tummy. I have the cutest little pot belly (top tummy) with these huge red stretch marks. It looks like I fought in a war. I love my red marks, they remind me of how hard I worked, of my little war. The bottom tummy is another story that I won't even go into right now. But I love my little tummy with her red stretch marks.
Today is the day my girls were supposed to be born. Three days from now, I will turn 32. I marvel at how grown up we all are already.
We are two weeks old now. We have belly buttons now. We hate having the hiccups, but don't mind the baby papasan. So far, our poop is not smelly at all, but our pee smells like ceral. We are two weeks old now and we are happy and lovely babies.
******
Jeff and I ventured out into the world without the babies today. First time. We left them with Grandma and drove through Monuments to find a Walmart a little too deep into Virginia for our taste. We had a gift card that we used to buy newborn diapers and formula. In the car, I cried because I missed my babies. I never knew a trip to Walmart could be so emotional. I also cried because I was buying formula, which makes me crazy. I can't wait until next Friday when I can start working on breastfeeding again. When my milk becomes toxic no more.
Some positive things, though. This morning, I weighed in at 265. I was 305 the day I gave birth and 305 the day after (thanks extra fluids!). But the fluids and pounds have been dropping off slowly these past few days. 40 pounds gone, 40 more to get to pre-pregnancy weight, then the real fun begins. Today, I could actually wear my wedding ring again. Whoohoo!
Time to sleep before a baby wakes up. More tomorrow.
If my labor and delivery had a baseball-type trading card, the statistics on the back would look something like this:
Attempts it took to insert my first IV: 5
Hours it took to induce labor: 20
Hours of active labor: 15
Hours of trying to push out Baby A: 3
Number of monitors attached to me during said 38 hours: 3
Minutes it took my doctor to decide it was time for a c-section: 2
Days we thought we would be in the hosiptal following a c-section: 4
Days we were actually in the hosiptal: 10
Number of uterus infections I got during labor: 1
Number of people in the room during my c-section: more than 12
Number of babies born: 2
Number of days the girls were away from us in the NICU: 3
Number of days of IV fluids it took before the fluid began to enter my lungs: 4
Number of catheters: 3
Number of times I had blood taken: around 20
Number of chest Xrays: 2
Number of CT scans: 2 (one of my heart and lungs, one of my uterus)
Number of Echocardiogram: 1
Number of doctors and medical students on my case: around 15
Final diagnosis from said doctors: pneumonia and fluid on the lungs from too much IV fluids, plus uterus infection from labor and of course the c-section itself
Temperature I had to stay below for 24 hours straight before I could leave the hospital: 38 C or 100.4
So, hopefully the above list tells most of the story. Basically, being induced was a bad idea. Yes, it started my labor, but it took way too long and all that time on IV fluids was too much for my body to handle. The fluids entered my lungs and then I got pnemonia. I also got a uterine infection during labor, which had something to do with when Rachel's water broke. After 15 hours of active labor and 3 hours of pushing (with the help of many female residents who work for my doctor), the party was over when my doctor came to check on me. I was 10 centimeters dialated and Rachel's head was at station 1, but my doctor used the sonogram machine to see that Anya had changed postions from head down to transverse across my tummy again, she was having none of this pushing!!!! So, no matter what, Anya would have been delivered c-section.
The decision to have a c-section was made and I have to say I was relieved. After 38 hours of work, I was ready to see these babies. It only took about 10 minutes before I was in the operating room, completely numb on a a thin table with my arms strapped down. The room was beautiful, so bright and white. Above me were these huge sci-fi looking lights and I thought, that is so beautiful. I wasn't afraid at all. I was actually excited to be almost done. Sometime after the numbing was done, I began to shake. It was all over, shaking. This, too, I almost enjoyed. It was so much better than being strapped to that labor bed with all those monitors. The shaking made me feel alive and awake in that bright bright room.
They finally let Jeff in the room, all dressed in scrubs. With his little red glasses, he looked so serious and fatherly. He told me how he had met a set of newborn twin boys in the recovery room before coming to be with me. It must have been such a positive thing for him to see and he shared the story with such excitement. Before we knew it, I was opened up and I could feel them tugging at Rachel. After those 3 hours of pushing, she was deep in my pelvis. I could feel them trying to wiggle her out by her feet. And then she was out and I felt empty where she had been wedged prior. It felt like forever, but two minutes later, Anya, too, was freed from my tummy. Before her liberation, I felt them break her water, gushing fluid all over my insides.
It must have been 30 minutes before the scrub-clad team were done cleaning up the girls and brought them to us. They were red and puffy and smaller than I thought they would be. Jeff and I were shocked by their features, though. They had the most interesting little noses and the most petite little faces. They looked nothing like most newborns look. We were warned that most newborns look like wringled old men. But not these girls. Jeff said it first, I think. "They look like tiny elves!" he said. And they did and they do.
And that ends the most important part of my hospital stay. The arrival of my tiny elves.
Of course we were in the hosiptal for 8 more days, during which the girls went to the NICU to be checked for traces of my infection, none was found. But they were successfully taught to drink formula from a bottle during this time of course, something that I was instantly upset about. By day 3, the fluid in my lungs was found when I woke up at 5 am, not being able to breathe. Days of searching for heart trouble, blood clots and who knows what else pointed to pneumonia. All the while, Jeff and his mom and I had to learn how to take care of twins in a tiny hospital room, while I was hooked to oxygen and IVs and catheters, recovering from a c-section. It was stressful to say the least. People could hand me babies, but mostly I just watched from bed.
I left the hospital after 10 days, with a prescription for the strongest antibodic around, thus also with instructions to not breastfeed for two weeks. My girls were already having trouble latching on since they were so small and only 37 weeks gestation. Now, I had toxic milk to deal with. Breastfeeding is on hold for now, so I pump and dump every 3 hours and feed my babies this gross formula. Yuck!
We are home and everyday gets easier. Being sick in the hospital made it hard to bond with the girls, but now I find it hard to put them back in their crib after they have been fed and changed. I love to feel their soft little heads against my chest, just like in the dreams I had before they were born.
Anya on the left, Rachel on the right.
Archie and Rachel meet.
This is just an update to let people know that we are all ok. It has been over a week and I just got home. Yes, we were in the hospital for 10 days. Girls were born on day 2. Then other things started happening, not to them, but to me. I will go into huge detail later, but just so you know, we are all home now and healthy and tired. Look for a real update tomorrow.
Rachel Leigh Barrus was born on July 28th, at 5:59 pm via c-section. She weighed 5 pounds and 3 ounces and was 18 1/2 inches long.
Anya Kathryn Barrus was born on July 28th, at 6:01 pm via c-section. She weighed 5 pounds and 3 -1/2 ounces and was 18 1/2 inches long.
Both look like tiny elves.
The pink hair caused a big ruckus while I was getting my lunch today. I would imagine it is because it is all out and big today and not put back in panda ears. It made me think about the benefits of not being so visibly loud. This made me think of what kind of long term affects my pink hair have on people? haha. No, seriously. I worry sometimes that I negatively impact little kids with it. I always here little girls telling their moms, "I want pink/blue/purple hair," as I walk by. I wonder how often my whimsy causes a mom to say "no" to her daughter.
Ah, and I always move back to motherhood. Last night, I had a bit of explosion of emotions. I think that being pregnant with twins has made me ignore my worries about becoming a mother in general. I am so wrapped up in the whole twin thing, that my old phobias about motherhood have been stuffed away. So, last night, I saw this Cingular wireless commerical, where a set of super cool in that O.C. way male triplets all come home from college for their mother's birthday. I reacted to this commerical in such a crazy way. It sent me to the bedroom in angry tears. I told Jeff about the commerical and about how those guys totally don't love their mother. They love beer and skiing and whatever cool O.C. boys love. And that I wondered what the whole point of this was since no one I knew really loved their mother. This was just totally out there and Jeff let me know it.
I guess I just worry that no matter what I do, at some point, my kids will feel like I harmed them somehow. Like I loved them too much or not enough or who even knows. Everyone is messed up somehow and it seems more than ever, people blame it on their parents. Maybe deep down, I have this fear of being rejected by my kids; even though I know it is a natural part of growing up.
I am sure all new moms worry about these things. I know I am not the first. And once again I think about how lucky I am that so many of the real worries of pregnancy are voided for me by modern medicine and life. That I can afford these emotional concerns. I wonder what the top concern of my greatgrandma who had 22 kids was. I am sure it wasn't being rejected by her children or not being loved. I'm sure it was food and clothes and losing her little ones to illness.
I am lucky. I am a fortunate panda. I am golden. I need to remember these things.
Today I am 15 weeks pregnant. 15 weeks! I feel like the weeks are spiraling away from me and before I know it, I will have two children.
We bought our first huge box of diapers this weekend. It had 228 diapers in it. I read that one baby will go through 3000 diapers in the first year. So, double that and you get 6000. 228 down.
Jeff and I spent some time with my extended family this weekend, who I haven't seen since before I got pregnant. I was telling my Aunt Katrina about how the babies told me they were twins before the machines did and all the other mystical craziness I believe I can sense about them. And suddenly the room was completely silent, everyone stopped their conversations to listen to this. And I felt a little silly, like the only person in a room who believes in ghosts. I hope they don't think I am crazy.
dreaming i am one of them
I dreamt the other night that I was one of my twin girls as a young adult. She was at a future-y party and met a boy who had snowflake tattoos on his face. They were blue and were like tears. He was an architect. She was falling in love with this boy. It was cold outside and she was wearing two hats, one on top of the other. He asked her why and she said one was for her sister, who wasn't there yet. She told him that her sister liked parties even less than she did.
what's going on with the passengers this week
Their skin is very thin, and blood vessels can be seen underneath. The skin is covered with a fine, fuzzy hair called lanugo, which will not fall out until the passengers near full-term. Their hearts are now pumping about 25 quarts of blood per day.
and how much do i weight?
I didn't want to weigh myself this morning. I thought, oh who cares what I weigh. I was a little afraid to see 250 on the scale. I hauled the scale out from under the bathroom sink, thinking about how this scale used to be such a source of joy. I stepped on it, thinking, again, who cares who cares who cares. And there it was, the new number. 244. Same as last week! I am holding at 18 pounds gained since I got pregnant. Not bad at all, considering all I do is eat. I was actually disappointed that I hadn't gained the 1 pound that I should have gained last week, but I suppose I can make up for that. It sounds like I am very emotionally involved in this whole weight gain. But surprisingly I am not. I weigh myself more out of curiosity than anything else. I was thinking the other day that I can't wait to stop eating so much. That it is almost a burden to know that I can eat whatever I want, within reason. I think I learned to love the weight loss journey eating habits. The small amounts of food, the restrictions. I am having a hard time writing about this without it sounding like I have an eating disorder. Nothing could be further from the truth, actually. I think that I am finally a healthy person when it comes to food.
I am sitting here humming the song that calls the aliens in "Close Encounters of Third Kind." I wonder how old my girls will have to be before they can see that movie. (Yes. we don't know what the passengers are yet, but I thought "my girls" and thus wrote it.) I always ask Jeff this question, "how old do they have to be before they can watch this?" And he usually says 8 or 9 and I usually say 4 or 5. This was the answer to "how old do they have to be before they can watch Buffy on DVD." I said 5 and he said 9. I was shocked! 9! Jeff was like, "it is full of sex"! But I was like, "but it is funny and has good storytelling"! I want my kids to understand humor and good storytelling more than I care about them seeing sex on TV. I am going to be the weirdest mom. We already decided that we aren't going to regulate bad language too much. I remember my parents sending me out of the room whenever Edie Murphy was on the TV. Lame. Language doesn't bother me. Perhaps it will when I have a 5 year old telling her sister to "F**K off". Haha.
I do think I am going to have a problem knowing what is appropriate for children. I just feel like my kids are going to be little people and shouldn't be shielded from things. It might also be my reaction to that whole, moral America Republican Party BS. Like remember when Guilliani or whoever was all upset about that Madonna (religious one, not lame old singing one) painting with the dung and butts all over it or whatever? I saw that painting in London on vacation this year. And it was so boring that I nearly walked past it twice before I realized it was the "infamous" one. I mean. It isn't a great work of art not because it defaces the holy mother or whatever but because it is well, kinda obvious. How many people in America would let their 5 year olds see that painting? Not many, I would assume. But for me, it is kinda pedestrian and if it was at a gallery with other cool stuff, I wouldn't hesitate to let my kids see it.
I guess I just feel like there is a big difference between the thoughtful presentation of certain material and recklessly allowing your kids to see whatever is available. This is all very easy for me to talk about since I don't have the passengers here yet, I suppose. END PARENTING RANT. :)
So, pregnancy update. My bottom tummy (you fat girls know what I am talking about, yes, some of us have two tummies) is starting to get really hard. A normal fat tummy is kinda jiggley and soft. But my bottom tummy where the passengers live is getting so firm. Both tummies seem to be finally inching towards each other to form one. And my boobs just get bigger and bigger. This morning in the shower, I saw the shadow of my boobs and thought, my god, I look like a porn star. This reminded me of the time in my senior year of high school when I was working at the movie theater and a boy from school came up to me and said, "If you lost some weight, you could be a porn star with those boobs." To this, I said, "Thanks for the career advice." Who says that kind of thing to someone? Anyway. Boobs=huge. Tummies=merging and so full of squirming babies. Dizziness=bad except when I eat Luna bars or boiled eggs all day.
After my night of vomitting and complaining that the dog smells bad, Jeff took this picture of the little test that I took this morning. So at 31, I am pregnant for the first time. And it is snowing tiny flakes outside. And I am craving Cheerios. Cheerios!
While my weight loss journey is taking a slight detour for the next 9 months, a new journey has begun. I woke up from a nap this afternoon after dreaming of the bright yellow room that my sister and I used to share when we were kids. The light in the center of the room was the first thing I saw and I felt this huge surge of happiness. Followed by the need to vomit. I thought, that is what my life will be like from now on... happy, then vomit.
From my calculations, I am about 5 weeks pregnant. I will know for sure after my first appointment on Monday. Jeff and I were talking about how it is funny that we have been together for 10 years and yet, here we are, pregnant for the first time. Weird but cool.
I am the captain of a great ship today. And I have a passenger. And he or she is telling me to eat Cheerios and Peach Sorbet and then throw up.
Hello new journey.
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