Bad Egg

Fancy meeting you here.

2012-02-15T18:20:00.002-05:00

Long pause. Looooooong pause. Some things have changed, much is the same.

My dad passed away last September. Sudden, given his level of functioning only the day before, but certainly not unexpected. I have handled his passing pretty well, I think. I miss him, and think of him often, but the only acute pain comes in dreams, of which there are many. Not sure what it says about my unconscious, but I've had many unpleasant dreams about my dad since his passing. I'm not gonna try to analyze it too much, I think the dreams will stop with time.

Marriage sucks. We're headed to counseling, have a tentative appointment in a couple weeks. It's gonna be ugly.

The best thing? I'm in college again! And I love it! And I ROCK at it! For those that don't know, I never finished my bachelor's degree, so after a 20+ year departure from formal schooling, I decided to test the waters and take what would be for me a challenging class, algebra. Ended with a 96 average. I so enjoyed it. That was last semester, so this semester I decided to take two classes, one online and one on campus. And again, I'm enjoying/rocking/smoking 'em. Best thing I've done for myself in years. The eventual goal (subject to change) is to apply to nursing school so that I may become gainfully employed when the kiddos are older.

There's more, so much more, but those are the highlights. Or lowlights, if you will.

Hot? Or not.

2011-07-10T16:43:00.002-04:00

Unless you mean peri-menopausal hot flashes. Or the summer heat here in Georgia. Those, I've got. My mojo? Gone.

Long ago I wrote about being young & beautiful. Lately I've been feeling that those days are far, far behind me. It adds to my generalized sadness. I don't think I've morphed into some heinous beast, I'm just not as confident in my appearance as I used to be, and confidence is somewhere around 90% of good looks, IMO.

No idea how to get back to having "it." Could be that that stage of my life is over.

I hate summer.

2011-06-10T12:51:00.001-04:00

News flash: Summer Sucks! Oh I know, it's supposed to be full of fun family activities, relaxation, and the stuff memories are made of, but I'm hoping I'll be able to forget this summer. I have all three kids 24/7. Aside from half hour swim lessons four times a week for Little Boy and Little Girl, I have no other scheduled activities. My freelance business has totally dried up, so we're existing on B.'s salary alone, which doesn't leave enough $$$ to spare for summer camps, or much in the way of babysitters.

Can I just whine for a second? It's so hard dragging around three kids everywhere. Small errands become exhausting marathons. Every stop is slow and inefficient and takes forever. I have to pick and choose what gets done, since the kids (or I) will implode if I push too far.

The heat is killing me, and it's barely June. Taking three small kids with minimal to no swimming skills to the pool sucks. I have to be hyper-vigilant and in three places at once and like everything else, it's exhausting. On the rare occasions that he accompanies us to the pool, B. has the audacity to bring (and read!) a book. Seriously?

And then there's B. I don't know what's going on with him, but he's not in a good place. He's actually lost his shit with me a couple of times and raged, absolutely raged at me. Our relationship has broken down to the point where we're unable to communicate about anything of importance. I have no idea how to fix it.

To top it all off, I don't think my meds are working as well as they used to. I seem to be feeling things much more acutely, and I'd rather not. I'm going to give it a little time to make sure it's not just the beginning-of-summer blues, but if things don't change, I'll have to make some sort of adjustment.

Hope your summer is off to a better start than mine! Sorry for the self-indulgent whining.

Annoyed.

2011-04-23T18:44:00.000-04:00

It's a constant state for me. Which is in itself, annoying. It's perhaps one of my greater failings, that I'm more annoyed by my children than anything else. The meds have quelled the depression for the most part, but they haven't made me much more patient. Or able to tolerate the repetitive behavior that drives me Nuts. It contributes to my overall feeling of failure as a parent. I'm snarky & sarcastic & bitter with Little Boy and Little Girl, and aware enough of it to feel pretty guilty. I keep waiting for the next phase of their development, one presumably less annoying, but it never seems to come. And now Baby has entered the same challenging territory, and while as a singleton she's much easier to manage, my patience is already worn thin and she inevitably will also be the recipient of my aforementioned snark, sarcasm and bitterness. Sad, right?

Not much else to report from this end. Holding steady. My dad is still alive. My marriage sucks. The meds may have saved my life, but I'm still not enjoying it.

Cliff notes.

2011-01-19T16:48:00.001-05:00

Actual paragraphs are far beyond my abilities right now, so a list it is!

1. My dad is still not doing well and will most likely not recover. My mother & siblings are hot messes.

2. Can't stand my husband lately. Many reasons, none of them new.

3. Baby is no longer a baby, is officially into Everything, driving me nuts, and slowly weaning.

4. I keep waiting for Little Boy and Little Girl to reach an age where they're less "challenging" (read: annoying). Evidently four and a half is not that age.

5. I still have horrible eczema on my face. Allergy testing revealed I'm allergic to...(wait for it) nothing. I look awful.

6. I have wonderful friends. That I never see.

7. For whatever reason, I am really enjoying winter. I'm never cold, we've had snow, and it's been wonderful.Very odd for me, but I'm not complaining.

8. My meds are still keeping me pretty numb. I love it. I'd be happy to never have another intense feeling for the rest of my life. I've already had my fill.

9. We got a piano! Needs tuning, but looks great. I've been trying to pick out melodies with some simple sheet music, will someday take a lesson or two.

10. Our holidays were pretty good. Surprising, considering they included a buttload of travel. All went well. Everything would have been lovely were it not for the health of both my father and father-in-law.

And that's all I'm gonna say about that right now.

Disaster.

2010-10-12T14:55:00.001-04:00

For once, it's not about me. It's swirling around me, but it's not about me. My family is an unmitigated disaster. From my father's quadruple bypass/open heart surgery, to Little Boy on the verge of being kicked out of pre-k, I'm surrounded by Hot Mess.

My dad's surgery was sudden and unexpected, so therefore much more dramatic. My sister & brother are with my mom & dad in Florida thankfully, but that in and of itself is causing some drama. It turns out that my aging father has been digging a rather large financial hole for awhile now. On the cusp of his surgery, he confessed a few details to my mother, who in turn has enlisted my brother and sister to help sort through it all. I think we've only uncovered the tip of the iceberg. It's looking like a rather large iceberg at this point. Not good. Making things worse is my dad's current dementia. No other word to describe it, happened the last time he had surgery too, due to low sodium levels and anesthesia complications. Hopefully his right mind will return soon, but even so, his days as financial manager of his house are over.

Little Boy has been acting out at pre-k, so much so that B. and I have a conference with his teachers next week to see if he will be able to continue. He's been hitting, poking, pushing and biting his classmates. Yes, biting. Behavior you might expect to see from a two year old, but a four year old? Not so much. He and Little Girl are the youngest in their class, which I think is a contributing factor. I hope we can figure out a solution, 'cause if he gets kicked out of pre-k, momma's not going to be happy. At all.

And B.? Driving me nuts. So completely, ridiculously self-involved that I want to strangle him. Or at the very least, chuck his goddamn computer out the window. Things are not good between us right now.

Despite the shitstorm swirling around me, my head remains above water, if only barely. Thank goodness for modern chemistry and the drugs it created.

Itching & bitching.

2010-09-07T14:06:00.002-04:00

Plaguing me of late? Eczema. Around my mouth like a goatee, and on the sides of my neck. I've been to the dermatologist three times, and have exhausted all the traditional topical options (steroids, protopic) to no avail. Dr. doesn't want to try a systemic approach because I'm still breastfeeding.

I've had small flare-ups over the years, but nothing even remotely close to this. It looks truly horrible. The icing on my isolation cake, making me want to cry every time I catch a glimpse of myself in a mirror. And the itching, sweet jeebus the itching. I'm keeping my nails short so that I don't accidentally tear my face off.

Triggers? Not sure. Obviously some emotional/stress component, but I've been crazy plenty of times in the past without eczema flaring up. Might be the crappy water quality at our new house. Might be some weird allergic reaction. The flare-up began before we moved, but got dramatically worse this summer.

Things I've tried:

Drinking apple cider vinegar & using it topically
Too many eczema creams/lotions/unguents/potions to count
Evening primrose oil, orally & topically
UV, otherwise known as sunshine
Cool moisture
Warm moisture
Doing nothing and leaving it alone

Things that have worked:

Nothing

Sadly, Little Boy is having a flare up as well, although his is much smaller & less irritating to him. Our simultaneous conditions would point to an environmental cause, but how in the world do you figure out what?

Mentally, hanging in there. Still hating my life, then feeling like shit for hating it. Vicious cycle. Meds still working, thankfully. B. is driving me insane, but that's nothing new.

Baby is lovely, almost ten months old, almost crawling, still no teeth (!), getting better at eating solids, and just a happy spirit in general (if I'm around, that is). I've never been so enmeshed with another human being before (didn't have that luxury with twins) and oddly, I don't mind. Given how much I did not want Baby to exist, I'm surprisingly non-resentful and accepting of her. Thankfully.

Is the curtain lifting...or coming down?

2010-08-07T17:06:00.002-04:00

Sad to say, this blog is no longer where I feel I can come to vent or bitch & moan. Too many of my readers (confirmed and suspected) are people I know in real life, and like many bloggers before me it affects what I write. Maybe it's time to start another, more anonymous blog? I dunno. I barely have the energy to maintain this one, but perhaps that's partly because it's not a true reflection of my life.

So how have I been deceiving you? What sordid details have I been keeping from you? Wouldn't you like to know?

If only my life were that interesting.

Mostly I've been hiding how much I'm losing my mind. Sure, there are days where I'm okay, but there are also days when I'm not. Medication has helped, but it hasn't fixed my life. I don't think anything can, short of a one-way plane ticket to Anywhere Else. And that's what I dream of, almost constantly. Lately, things have gotten worse because B. no longer has any patience with me. If I'm anything less than happy, patient, gracious, grateful and loving he's extremely short tempered with me. I feel like I have to have my Happy Face on constantly, and keep stuffing down all the misery that's swirling around inside me at any given moment. Add to that an almost complete lack of contact with adults, and well, it's a pretty potent mix.

My unhappiness manifests itself in mundane ways. I'm drinking too much. That means a couple of glasses of wine every night instead of one or two nights a week. I'm eating too many sweets. I'm shopping too much, albeit for things we "need," but given our perilous financial situation, it'd be better if I could exercise more restraint. I've actually been a better mother the past few months (thanks Z0loft!) but at what cost to me? Is there even a "me" left?

I'm not sure.

Stay tuned...

In a nutshell.

2010-07-23T18:13:00.001-04:00

So much change to report, so little time to report it. Let's see...we sold our house and moved to the suburbs. I started taking an antidepressant. Little Boy & Little Girl will turn four next week. Baby is eight months old.

Overall? Still hate my life. The meds really, really help, in that I'm not suicidally depressed each and every live long day. As predicted, though, they don't change my circumstances, and while I'm enjoying the relative numbness the medication brings, I'm fearful that the effects will be short lived and I'll be cast back into depression someday. Instead of agonizing over how unhappy I am with my "job" I agonize about the medication someday failing.

It's obvious that I need to make some kind of change with my life. The twins will be in pre-k five days a week starting in August, so I'm considering either a part time job or taking a class of some sort. It matters less what or where, but more that I get out of the house and talk to other adults.

Bright spots? I am actually enjoying Baby most days. Sure, she could sleep better at night, and maybe be more enthusiastic about eating solids, but we'll get there. She's super cute, garners comments everywhere I take her, and is generally a sunny little person. The twins are another story. I keep waiting for this age/stage to pass but it never seems to. Infants? Easy. Toddlers? Soooooo hard.

And that is where I am...

The bubble, it's bursting.

2010-04-13T08:40:00.001-04:00

All is not rainbows and balloons and sunshine at my house. In fact, far from it. I’m back to being clinically depressed and hating my life. The bottom started falling out (again) when Baby was around sixteen weeks old, and it’s gotten progressively worse. I’ve got an appointment with a psychiatrist next week and anticipate being put on some meds. I’m hoping I won’t have to wean Baby. Dr. Google informs me that Zoloft is considered the safest antidepressant to take while breastfeeding, so that’s my guess of what’s in store for me.

I still feel that an antidepressant isn’t going to change my situation, that I’m stuck in a life I can’t bear, but I’m so miserable I’m willing to try anything. I have days that aren’t so awful, but then I have days that are soooo bad, so very, very bad. I can’t continue to have days like that. Drug me, numb me, do whatever it takes to stop this pain and suffering.

B. is of no use. He just doesn’t get it. I’m not able to talk to him at all, he thinks I should just be grateful for all my myriad blessings. I suppose he’s right, but that way of thinking doesn’t make me feel better, only worse.

Now it appears that I might not be able to go on a trip with friends that we’ve been planning since last year. I would be leaving all three kids with B. and while he’s great with the twins, frankly, he can’t manage Baby. At all. Once again, my needs have to come last and I must sacrifice for the kids.

Please keep me in your thoughts. I hope I can wade my way out of this murky depth.

Bust a move?

2010-04-06T17:14:00.002-04:00

Big changes afoot...our house is under contract to sell, and we’re under contract to buy a house in the suburbs, about an hour away from where we are now.

I should be excited, right? I’m not. I feel like it’s a horrible mistake, although there certainly will be some good things about moving. Not having to worry about schools for the kids, for one. But I wonder how we’ll fit in, how much I’ll miss where we live now, and whether this is the right thing to do.

We had the house on the market last fall and it didn’t sell. I made peace with the idea of staying here and making it work. We thought we’d try one more time to sell the house this spring, but I never actually believed that it would. Now that it appears that it will sell, I’m freaking out. The soul searching I’ve been doing this past year has left me unable to trust my own judgement. I guess time will tell...

How’s this for an odd coincidence: March 23rd, 2009, approximately 5:30 PM I found out I was pregnant with Baby. March 23rd, 2010, approximately 5:30 PM, the real estate agent calls to let me know we have a deal to sell our house. Freaky, no? Next year I’m buying a lottery ticket.

Breast is not best...for me, anyway.

2010-03-14T10:22:00.001-04:00

Back to my regularly scheduled bitching...

I hate breastfeeding. Yes, I’m grateful that I can, and that Baby has been a decent eater overall. But I am soooo tired of being the only one that can feed her. Tired of being sticky & damp with leaky breasts. Tired of having mouthfuls of breastmilk dumped on me out of her open mouth. Tired of being either engorged or raisined dry. I thought my supply was supposed to level out around twelve weeks, but here we are at sixteen weeks and I’m completely engorged and miserable this morning. And most of yesterday. I can’t even hug the twins, or B., ‘cause my chest has two swollen, painful rocks stuck on it.

Baby won’t take a bottle. At all. I’ve got a long weekend in the Hamptoms planned for early June. Plane ticket already bought. I lie awake at night wondering if I’m going to be able to go, since I’m the only one who can feed Baby.

I was never this enmeshed with the twins, only because others could and did feed them. I have to say, while breastfeeding has its advantages (of course) I can also appreciate the advantages exclusive pumping had. It would be nice to have a “middle of the road” Baby, one that is happy at breast and bottle, but that’s not the Baby I have.

Successes & failures.

2010-03-11T10:43:00.000-05:00

Every day I marvel at how strong a factor biology plays in parenting. I am nothing more than a big sack of chemicals, totally at the mercy of Mother Nature. While Baby was most definitely not planned or desired or hoped for, I’m madly in love with her. I’m powerless over this, and grateful that it’s so. I gaze at her while she feeds and think to myself, “I’m good at this.”

Then there’s other moments. Ones where I think that I absolutely, positively cannot do this for even one more second. Usually when all three children are being demanding at the same time, or when the mundane pattern of the days grinds me down.

I have done a surprisingly good job of blooming where I’m planted, to quote the old saying. Still, I can’t help but feel that this is not the life I was meant to lead. I’m a shadow of my former self, no longer interesting, attractive or unique. I’m just another minivan driving, ponytail wearing mom. And honestly? Not that good of a mom, either. Sure, I can manage Baby pretty well, but I fail the twins each and every day in a multitude of ways.

Briefly...

2010-02-07T10:09:00.000-05:00

Still alive over here. Baby is 11 weeks old, the twins are pooping & peeing in the potty 98% of the time, and our house is going back on the market. I’m still far less miserable than I was while pregnant. While I’m not exactly in love with my life, I’m not completely unhappy either.

How’s that for a condensed update? Hope things are going as well for you and yours.

On the other side...

2009-12-16T16:46:00.001-05:00

Where to start? First & foremost, I’m currently much less insane, which leads me to believe that at least part of the depression during my pregnancy was hormonal. Also, I think my dread of Baby’s arrival built up and became something worse than the reality. Whatever the cause, it’s a relief that I’m less mired in Awful, at least for now.

Baby is a sweet, beautiful baby. I’ve been able to enjoy her in ways I never could with the twins. I’m not going to say she’s “easy” but next to the drama & emotion of two three year olds, she’s at the very least simple. She’s already almost four weeks old, and in the midst of a growth spurt that has her feeding almost every hour, hour and a half during the day, with only slightly longer stretches during the night. Breastfeeding is going well, if you can get past the fact that she much prefers my left breast to the right, and my nipples are about to fall off from overuse. My breasts can’t seem to get used to her changing appetites, so I am either verging on painfully engorged or not certain I can satisfy her. She spits up a lot, but is a “happy spitter” and doesn’t spit up every feeding, so I’m not super concerned. Just sour smelling.

So far the most challenging aspect of having a new baby has been trying to get out the door to get Little Boy and Little Girl back and forth to preschool. Baby’s feeding schedule is totally unpredictable, but she seems to always need to nurse right at pick up & drop off times. I’d say we’re managing pretty well overall, but we’ve also had a lot of help. The true test will be when I’m on my own with all three kids starting in January.

Little Boy & Little Girl are pretty much holding steady at being mired in the Terrible Threes. Since Baby doesn’t really do a heck of a lot yet except steal my attention, they’re neither super interested in her, nor super upset by her arrival, or so it seems. They’re watching way too much television and not eating great meals, but since I consider us in survival mode, things could be worse.

I hope to be able to write about Baby’s birth, since it was pretty crazy. Good crazy, but crazy. Stay tuned...

Very good news

2009-11-26T21:01:00.002-05:00

I'm Antropóloga, guest-posting to announce that on the 20th of November the House of the Bad Egg welcomed a healthy baby girl via natural childbirth. She was 7 lbs. 2 oz., 19.5", and in the words of her mother (who sounds happy and well, despite also dealing with the ever-present drama of two three-year-olds) is "super sweet, a good eater and a most excellent baby so far!" Congratulations!

38 weeks.

2009-11-16T18:30:00.000-05:00

Sorry for the lack of posts, but it’s hard (even for me) to continually whine about my situation, and that’s what any kind of update is going to be. Things still suck and will continue to suck for the foreseeable future. B. has returned to work, but isn’t working full days and returns to the house exhausted and needing care. Ice pack, tylenol, dinner, remote, etc. When he is home he lays on the couch and plays on his laptop, but is incapable of multi-tasking, i.e. he can’t supervise the kids and play his video game/surf at the same time. That’s not at all frustrating for me. Ha.

Both my OB and perinatologist would like to go ahead and induce me. I was hoping to avoid an induction, but since little else has gone my way this pregnancy, I doubt I’ll be that lucky. I’ll be 40 weeks Thanksgiving weekend, so we either agree to an induction beforehand, or see if my doctors are amenable to waiting until the following week - which is doubtful. I hate relinquishing this control, and don’t really believe that their reasoning and rational is sound. It feels more like fear of liability to me.

After much drama on my part, my sister has agreed to come for two weeks in December, which is good. We’ve lined up a roster of friends nearby that can pitch in with childcare once I go into labor. Still, the bulk of the work will rest on my shoulders - as always. I’m so very, very tired of taking care of other people. There is no joy, fun or laughter in my life, nor the potential for much anytime soon. I’m dreading the holidays (usually B.’s effort) and the work they’ll entail.

And that’s the Official Pity Party Update for today.

Punch in the gut.

2009-10-30T08:00:00.001-04:00

Today’s drama? I’m reeling from news that my beloved sister has chosen to visit my parents in Florida for Thanksgiving, rather than come here to help. I don’t think she understood the scope of our situation, but even if B. hadn’t injured himself my feelings would still be hurt. And they are soooo hurt.

WTF, people?

Down, down, down.

2009-10-28T17:27:00.001-04:00

Our situation is verging on dire. B.’s surgery went pretty well. They were able to reattach most of the tendon in his foot, but now they’re saying he’ll be on crutches and not able to put any weight on his foot for anywhere from six to ten weeks - well past labor & delivery and into the newborn phase.

The suckiness of this is really beginning to sink in. I’m exhausted. Just absolutely exhausted, yet I’m the sole caregiver for the twins and a nursemaid to B. (who is admittedly doing his best to be as easy a patient as possible - much better than after his sinus surgery). I will get no reprieve anytime soon. We’re broke again, so funding for babysitters is limited and best saved for the actual labor & delivery. If they’re available, that is. Having no family nearby, if we’re not able to get babysitters when I go into labor, well, I don’t know what will happen. B. cannot care for the kids by himself at all.

All for a pregnancy I wish had never happened, and a baby I’m not at all excited about having. I keep telling myself that the baby is a blessing, a miracle, and part of me does believe that, but it’s not helping me wade through today or prepare for what’s to come.

I feel genuinely sorry for everyone around me*, and most of all Little Boy, Little Girl, and Baby. I am so much less of a mother than I want to be, and they pay the price. It’s gonna get worse before it gets better.

*And obviously myself too.

Enough of October, already.

2009-10-19T19:20:00.001-04:00

The suck continues. Last week B. dropped a chef’s knife on his foot, creating a nice gash. We got him stitched up at the emergency room where they told him to immediately see a podiatrist. One week later, after jumping through the hoops the military healthcare system requires, he saw the specialist today and he's going to have to have major surgery next Tuesday. The tendon appears to be severed and regressing up into his ankle. He’ll be completely incapacitated for a couple days, then supposed to stay off his foot as much as possible for 4 to 6 weeks. In other words, the remainder of my pregnancy. If I make it to 40 weeks, that is.

Icing on the cake? We are supposed to attend a wedding this weekend about two hours from our house. Our family is playing a pretty big part in the wedding: bridesmaid, flower girl, and ring bearer. The drive necessitates staying in a hotel for two nights. B. has an MRI on Friday afternoon, which means I’m flying solo for the drive up, hotel check-in, rehearsal, and rehearsal dinner. Look for me - I’ll be the large, pregnant lady with the out-of-control twins at her wits’ end. Fun!

I would ask, “what else can go wrong?” but I know better*. Tempting fate seems like a bad idea.

*Actually, the stomach flu is moving through the twins’ preschool. I’m guessing that’s next on the agenda. Or, real preterm labor!

More from the trenches...

2009-10-10T18:34:00.001-04:00

Neither my outlook nor my luck has improved since my last post. What’s happened? Let’s see...

Well, there was my 36 hour stint in the hospital because I was having tons of contractions, pressure and the urge to push. Terbutaline got everything under control, and the contractions subsided into my regular Braxton-Hicks. No recurrences so far. I’ll be 33 weeks on Sunday, so any additional womb time is a good thing at this point.

Our house will be officially off the market next week. All the work/effort/money spent getting the house ready for nothing. We’ll try again next spring.

Upsetting me the most? In all likelihood, tomorrow’s the day we’re trading in my beloved Jetta Wagon for a minivan. As trite as it sounds, it’s soul crushing for me. I looooove that car. I don’t want a minivan. If I had managed my fertility better, I wouldn’t have to have one. Did I mention that the “check engine” light came on in the Jetta today? It flickers on and off, but hadn’t been on in awhile. Almost as if she knows we’re planning on trading her in tomorrow.

Oh, the complaints of a middle-class American. I should feel grateful that we even have the option of having reliable vehicles. I’ve said it before, but counting my blessings only makes me feel like I have no right to be sad about anything else. So add “ungrateful jerk” to my list of shortcomings.

Goodbye sweet Jetta. I love you.

Can I get a break, please?

2009-09-28T08:11:00.001-04:00

What an absolutely lousy weekend we had. It didn’t start off badly...B. caught an earlier flight home on Friday night and I was able to pick him up and bring him home to surprise the kids, who were expecting him Saturday morning. Nice, happy reunion there.

Saturday we were excited because two different realtors called to arrange showings of our house, the price of which we just dropped ten grand (goodbye wiggle room! hello short sale!). We busted our hump to ready the house for showing, then took the dogs to doggie daycare ($40), since B. thought the two and a half hours we’d need to be out of the house was too long to leave them in the car. I thought they’d be fine, but didn’t want to push the issue - it was cool & rainy, and we’d have left the car in a safe place while we ate dinner. Had a nice - if hyper - dinner with the kids ($45). While dining, the skies just opened up with torrential downpours. Picked up the dogs from doggie daycare, headed home.

One of the realtors called to reschedule the showing to Sunday because of the rain. Okay, thanks for communicating - half of the agents don’t bother. Sunday morning we came downstairs to blood all over the couch and the dog bed. Our dog Feral had a two inch open gash on his shoulder, presumably from an altercation at doggie daycare. I can’t believe we didn’t notice it Saturday night, but it didn’t seem to bother him, so that’s probably why. Off to the emergency vet, and $450 dollars and nine staples later, Feral is on the mend. While at the vet, the second real estate agent called to let me know that she never brought her clients over on Saturday because of the rain, but they were down the street now and could they come by. Right then. Sure, I said, even though the house was not ready to be shown.

In the midst of all this, we’re trying to juggle having the dogs & the kids out of the house for the afternoon showing, as well as being at the house for a scheduled visit from a DirecTV repairman. Who never showed up. Turns out when I made the service appointment they meant next Sunday, the 4th. We’ve been without signal for a week now, I made the service appointment earlier this week, so I was shocked that it was going to be ten days before a technician could come out. Hubby gets on phone and after much drama we end up cancelling DirecTV. Oh well, we’re broke anyway.

And finally, this morning (not technically the weekend, but we’re obviously still on a roll) I started assembling the ingredients to make pancakes (a breakfast mainstay for Little Boy & Little Girl - we almost always have ‘em in the freezer) I found the new bag of flour to be completely riddled with bugs. Gack.

I’m back to being depressed. It feels like all this shit, major and minor both, could have been avoided if I had just managed my fertility correctly. Like I did for twenty years, but obviously neglected to do when it really mattered. I am reminded every day how much rests on my shoulders, and how much more is about to rest in my arms. Having B. home was supposed to be a relief, and it is, but you know what? I still do everything. He helps, but I run the show. And I am so tired of running the show.

So, where were we?

2009-09-09T10:15:00.001-04:00

Oh yeah, pregnant. 28w3d now, in fact. Starting to feel pretty large and slow. Weird pregnancy, in that I struggled to gain weight well into the second trimester, then bloated up really fast, then stopped gaining weight again. I think most of the fluctuations have been water weight, but I’m the only one that seems even remotely concerned about it. My ob/gyn practice is not at all alarmed, so I guess I shouldn’t be either.

I’ve been doing a tad better mentally. B. is out of town for the month of September, so I’m alone with the twins. We’re also experiencing a babysitter drought, due to financial reasons + our regular babysitters having really crappy schedules this semester. You would think that this combo would render me completely insane, but I’ve been managing oddly well. In fact, I’ve been taking better care of myself (eating healthy, sleeping a lot, etc.) since B. has left, and my stress level has been lower too. Which leads me to the conclusion that he might be the source of much of my stress. I know I’m harboring some pretty significant resentment towards him. I’m not sure what this says about our relationship, but probably nothing good.

Little Boy & Little Girl started back at preschool this week, so that means I have three blissfully childfree mornings a week. Heaven, I tell you. Expensive heaven, but heaven nonetheless. I get sad though, when I think about the fact that these mornings until the new baby arrives in November are likely to be the last significant chunk of alone time I’m going to have for at least a year or two.

No movement on the house. People come look once or twice a week, but no offers yet. I’ve been frustrated with the inability of the visiting realtors to show up during the allotted window of time that they specify. If you say you’re going to show the house between 1:30 and 2:30, don’t arrive at 3:00 and expect me not to be here. Trust me, I don’t want to be here when you’re looking at my house, but if I’ve already been driving around with two kids & two dogs in the car for the past hour, we’re not getting back in the car. Sorry.

Moving. Hopefully forward.

2009-07-23T10:45:00.002-04:00

Our house is officially on the market. B. has been away the past few days as I’ve put the finishing touches on the house and worked with the realtor to get the house listed. Each step along the way has been sad for me. I don’t want any of this: to move, another baby, such a drastic upheaval of our lives. It’s all just happening to me and I’m along for the ride. Nice attitude, right?

The biggest stressor about moving is the preschool situation for the twins. They are currently enrolled in a nearby school that I absolutely love. When we move this fall (assuming the house sells) we’re likely going to be too far away for them to continue to attend their current preschool. This breaks my heart. I am skeptical that I’ll be able to find a comparable program in the ‘burbs. If I do manage to find an acceptable substitute, what’s the likelihood they’ll have two openings? In Atlanta’s competitive school market, the odds are slim. All I know for sure is that my kids have to go somewhere two or three mornings a week as scheduled, or I’ll lose my last thin hold on sanity. I cannot fathom being alone with them plus a newborn 24/7. As much as I already need their time at school, I’m really going to need it after the new baby arrives.

Like most everything else about my current situation, it depresses me. I have made myself a promise, though. After the new baby comes and after I’m done breastfeeding, if I’m depressed I’m going to finally bite the bullet and get on some medication. I’ve resisted over the years, but if things turn out to be as miserable as I think they will, I’m not going to resist anymore. That’s a long way off, though. For now I just have to cope as best I can.

One last note...a previous commenter had suggested that I get more help with the twins in order to have more time away. I’m somewhat ashamed to admit that I do have a good bit of help, a babysitter two or three nights a week from 4 to 7 p.m., plus B.’s help when he’s local. I try to get away as often as I can, but it’s still not enough. I can go do something absolutely lovely for myself (pedicure, a nice meal, etc.) but I still have to come home to the grind. The routine is always waiting for me, no matter how long I step away from it. Knowing that I’m going to be more tied down in the future, not less, well, I don’t know if there’s enough time away in the world to fix how I feel about that.

40 & fabulous! Or not.

2009-06-25T08:00:00.004-04:00

Tomorrow is my 40th birthday. When I allow myself to think about it, it stuns me. I’m not upset, just shocked. How can this be? I remember turning 30 as if it was yesterday. Wasn’t it just yesterday?

Still pregnant, 17w4d. The perinatologist is “95% certain” it’s a girl, which was my preference. Easier toddler years, harder teenage years, so I’m told. I can’t even think that far ahead, so I’ll take the easier earlier.

This pregnancy and this baby feel like a lesson to me. As if I’m supposed to learn some greater truth from being in this awkward, unhappy position. It’s still a rollercoaster. In spite of not wanting to be pregnant, I can enjoy being pregnant a little bit. I would enjoy the pregnancy more if I didn’t have to deal with the baby that results. I’m dreading the newborn phase & the accompanying sleep deprivation. Actually, I’m dreading pretty much everything about the new baby, with the exception of labor & delivery. That I’m actually looking forward to. Yeah, I’m a weirdo. I’m hoping to give birth with as little medical intervention as possible while actually in a hospital. We’ll see how that goes.

I’ve realized something about my life. Even before this pregnancy I was struggling with motherhood. Frankly, I’m beat down by it. I don’t know if I’m not cut out to be a stay-at-home mom or what, but life as it is is hard enough. Add in another baby, and all I feel is trapped. Stuck. Like I’m never, ever getting out of this hamster wheel. Which in turn makes me a joyless, cranky and impatient person & mother.

Mid-life crisis, anyone?

Not-so-interesting news.

2009-06-11T15:33:00.002-04:00

Still here, still pregnant, 15w4d. Am I handling the situation any better? Some days, yes. Some days, no. I finally realized that my most depressed days might actually be exacerbated by my fluctuating hormones. They make the bad seem so much worse. Other days I fare pretty well; if not happy, at least functioning. The bad days, though? Are soooo bad.

I’ve been able to feel the baby move since late in the 13th week. Early, right? If I lay down and you smush your hand into my belly, you can feel the baby move from the outside too. Active little bugger, already.

My belly has definitely popped, in spite of the fact that I've not gained any weight. I've actually lost about 14 pounds so far, but I think I'm beginning to gain - I'm certainly eating better. I only have two skirts that will fit for much longer, and two pairs of shorts that probably won’t fit by next week. The thought of buying maternity clothes irritates me - once I'm done with 'em, they're basically useless. Seems like a waste of money. I’m hoping to be able to find most of what I need at thrift shops.

Our house will be listed for sale in the next few weeks. I dread the selling process. I hope it goes smoothly/quickly/well. In our favor, we live in a “hot” neighborhood. The house was built in 2003 and has a massive basement/garage, something most houses in the neighborhood don’t have.

In non-pregnancy related news, Little Girl has entered a new phase of behavior. An unfortunate phase. Tantrums, lots of them, over the most minor of issues. In public. In private. Several times a day. We have had days where I have literally been brought to tears because she just won’t stop. In general, when we’re at home I try to ignore the tantrums. That doesn’t work when we’re out in public, though. Let’s just say I’ve been pretty embarrassed more than a few times lately. Hope this phase passes quickly...

Potty training? Little Girl is wearing underpants about fifty percent of the time. Little Boy, not so much. He doesn’t seem to mind having accidents at all. Sitting in a puddle of his own urine? Okey doke with him. I’m at a loss how to properly motivate him to want to wear underpants and use the potty. Frankly, I’m sick of thinking about it. I’m alternately horrified that my children are almost three and not potty trained, and finally understanding of other parents that told me, “just wait, when they’re ready, it’ll be easier.” I’m not sure I actually believe that, but I’m hopeful.

The nicest three hours I've had lately...

2009-05-06T13:51:00.002-04:00

I am not well. Physically as evidenced by my three hour emergency room visit earlier this week to receive IV fluids to correct dehydration brought on by diarrhea and stomach cramps. A bug, I guess. Mentally as evidenced by the fact that those three hours were the best I’d had in weeks, in spite of feeling like Ass Warmed Over. I rested in the quiet, darkened room and wished my condition was serious enough to be admitted to the hospital. Anything to get a break from the ongoing nightmare that is my reality right now.

I’ve obviously not made much progress making peace with being pregnant. I’ve realized I might never. At this point I’m simply counting on falling madly in love with the baby once it gets here (assuming all goes well, of course) as I did with Little Boy and Little Girl. If I don’t enjoy this pregnancy, so be it. I hope that’s not an unrealistic scenario and I don’t end up resenting the baby.

Much change is on the horizon. Work has begun to get our house on the market. We’ll have to sell my beloved Prozac, the vehicle since there’s absolutely no way to fit three car seats into an already cramped wagon. We’ll probably end up with a minivan, and I am not excited about that at all. Then again, not much does excite me lately.*

10w3d today.

*Yeah, I know. I'm depressed.

News.

2009-04-22T15:40:00.002-04:00

This last long break between posts brought to you by surprise, shock and utter panic.

I’m pregnant. 8w3d today. One baby.

I don’t have the ability to completely explain where my head is right now. Suffice it to say that I’m not handling it well. I had long ago made complete peace with not having more children. Mother Nature—truly, in so many ways a bitch—seems to have other plans for me.

I’ll be forty this year and have so many strikes against me (high FSH, stage IV endometriosis, homozygous MTHFR, PAI-1, a missing fallopian tube) that my mind is still stuck on what happened, not what could happen. As we all know too well, being pregnant now is no guarantee of a baby down the road.

For those of you still grappling with infertility, I apologize. I have become what I used to hate: someone that didn’t manage their fertility carefully and got pregnant by accident.

Because...

2009-03-12T15:00:00.001-04:00

I am a bad mom because...

I yell too much. Especially at my son, who seems to not be able to hear what I’m saying any other way.

I haven’t enjoyed my children for awhile. If I spent this much time with anyone I’d dislike them too.

I’ve been so cranky & ill tempered lately that on the rare occasions that I am not, it really stands out. Then I feel guilty for being so cranky & ill tempered all the time.

Being aware of my blessings doesn’t help me enjoy them.

I am a good mom because...

I feed my children well. As much organic, unprocessed food as possible. I bake all their bread.* Yes, we eat occasional junk, but overall their intake is pretty darned healthy.

I am consistent. “No” means “no” - yesterday, today and tomorrow.

I’m not afraid to have my children dislike me. I’m their parent, not their friend. I fully expect to be hated and reviled for many of their growing-up years.

I will never shirk my responsibility towards these two people, as much as I might want to.

*In a bread machine, people. It’s not as impressive as it sounds. Delicious and healthy, yes, but also crazy easy.

Debbie Downer, that's me!

2009-03-03T11:22:00.001-05:00

I don’t much like my kids these days.* Every last thing is a challenge. Or a lesson. I open my mouth, words come out, but they fall upon deaf ears. I repeat myself endlessly, but to no avail. They still do whatever the hell they want until a more dramatic intervention is required. I yell too much, but can’t seem to catch their attention otherwise. At the end of the day I’m drained and wasted and full of nothing but negative. We watch too much television ‘cause I can’t muster up the energy or enthusiasm to entertain these two little people one minute longer. It doesn’t help knowing that each day is going to be exactly like the last. The view from the hamster wheel sucks.

The cause of this unhappiness? There’s been a shortage of “me” time the past few months. So much so that I no longer really know who or what “me” is, besides “mom.” Since last November we’ve not had funds for any mother’s helpers/babysitters. This means I’m pretty close to full-on insane. Clients are slow to pay me, we’ve had some unexpected expenses, we’re still digging out from the holidays, so the financial situation’s not going to change anytime soon.

It’ll get better. It’s just a phase.

Right?

*Yeah, yeah, I love my kids, eternally grateful to have them, yadda yadda yadda.

Trying.

2009-01-26T15:58:00.001-05:00

I seem to have lost the ability to write. Where once words flowed out of me with relative ease, now it’s a struggle to compose a simple update. Is it because I’m boring/bored? Has Facebook stolen my need to blog?* Whatever the reason, I suck at updating. Sorry.

We made it through the holidays. (Thanks Stacie for the nudge.) It was low key but still exhausting. I’m glad they’re over. Am I a Grinch or what?

The kiddos are back in preschool two mornings a week. Speech therapy is on (hopefully) temporary hiatus pending insurance approval for more visits. They’re starting to string a couple of words together, but it’s slow progress and they are still largely unintelligible, even to me. Frankly, I’m tired of worrying about/working on it/caring about it. We’ll get there.

B. has been local since November. He was supposed to have been gone this week and next, but the trip was cancelled. I was actually disappointed. I could use a little alone time, even if alone means me and the kids. B. is really unhappy with his work situation right now and is driving himself (and me in the process) crazy. I wish he could leave work stuff at work, but he can’t. He’s even more distracted than normal, grouchy, perpetually stressed and constantly trying on different “what if?” scenarios. It’s frustrating because much of what he’s worrying about is out of his control, which sucks for him. I’m trying to be patient, but patience is often in short supply around here.

I’m trying to drink less alcohol, but not because I think I have a drinking problem. More of a caloric thing. I’m heavier than I’d like to be and cutting back from 10-12 glasses of wine a week to 5 -6 is a lot of calories over time. If I could just combine that with smaller portion sizes and less sweets, I might actually lose some weight.

Toddler weirdness du jour? Little Girl is holding food in her mouth for extended periods of time. Usually graham crackers, but it has also been celery, carrots, and meat. She’ll literally walk around for an hour with a mouthful of chewed food. No amount of coercion will convince her to swallow. I think it’s a control issue for her. (Apple doesn’t fall very far from the tree on that one - I’ve been called controlling a time or twenty.)

Potty training is not going very well. They both pee on the potty most every day, but rarely poop and they never take the initiative to use the potty on their own. I’m planning on trying big kid undies in March or April - maybe. I’m dreading it, though. So many of the milestones looming on the horizon (potty training, toddler bed, no more binkies at night) seem like a lot of trouble & work. Isn’t it great how I can be depressed about the future?

*Save me from Facebook. I’m so ridiculously addicted. I used to be the snooty one saying I’d never get sucked in and now look at me. Hopeless.

Sloooooooow.

2008-11-12T14:55:00.001-05:00

We’re moving at a snail’s pace on the following things:

Speech acquisition for Little Boy and Little Girl. They’re still having speech therapy every week, but progress is very slow. They are using more words, yes, but not many and no “explosion” of language like I keep hoping for. Is speech therapy helping? I dunno. It’s certainly not hurting, but I’m not convinced that we’re reaping much in the way of benefit.

I cannot seem to fully shake a nasty upper respiratory infection. I’m on week three now and still have a ridiculously violent cough with phlegm (sputum? why are all the words for that sort of thing so gross? coincidence? I think not). After tasting blood every time I coughed two weeks ago, I went to the doctor, got a round of antibiotics, took them as prescribed, and now...nothing. Less blood taste, maybe, but still a wanna-see-a-piece-of-my-lung? cough and a sore, aching chest to boot. I probably should go back to the doctor, but I know the instant I jump through the necessary hoops to do so, my cough will clear up. So I’m holding off for now.

Holiday preparations. Can’t I just fast forward through these next few weeks? We’re broke, and I have no earthly idea how we’re going to manage to come up with presents for everyone on our list. Unfortunately for us, none of our relatives would be interested in receiving venison for Christmas, ‘cause that’s about all I have to offer right now.

My workflow has trickled down to virtually nothing. I’ve certainly enjoyed having a few more minutes of time to myself each day not consumed by deadlines, but see above, re: broke. It’ll pick up soon, but for now, no work = no money.

Hope things are moving more efficiently for you.

Tagged! I'm it!

2008-10-01T14:47:00.002-04:00

Thanks to Lorraine for the tag. It comes at an odd time for me, when I’ve been giving some thought to hanging up the old blog for good. I’m not very interesting these days, but for all the right reasons. Life is more or less okay, steady, consistent. And boring to anyone but me, I’m sure.

Anyway, seven things about me. Who doesn’t love to talk about themselves?

1. Those who know me now might be shocked to hear that I was once a bartender at an extremely popular country/western bar in New York City. The job involved dancing on the bar (no, not like Coyote Ugly, but both bars originated from the same source and opened around the same time), drinking large amounts of alcohol (or not - don’t ever buy a bartender a “vodka” shot at that type of place - news flash: it’s water), and finding the best way to humiliate our male customers (which they loved). I eventually got fired for dating too many customers. I’m so much more shy and quiet now that I can hardly believe I was capable of being the center of attention so often and on purpose. Was that really me?

2. I hate olives. I’m not a fussy eater at all, but cannot stand the flavor of olives. Might be genetic, since my dad hates ‘em too. Devil’s food, if you ask me.

3. I’ve been reading too many books about what’s wrong with our food system and now find myself being extremely neurotic about everything we eat. Which sucks and is counter-productive and isn’t getting me anywhere. I want to eat local, sustainable food, but it’s not happening on the scale I’d like it to because:
a) I’m lazy (but never too lazy to beat myself up for the choices I make when indulging said laziness).
b) We’re perpetually broke (yeah, I know all the authors say that eating sustainably doesn’t have to be expensive, but I haven’t quite managed to figure that one out yet).
c) The toddler palates I’m catering to make it difficult. They’re barely eating as it is. They sure do enjoy their extremely-high-carbon-footprint-bananas, though.
The whole issue has become extremely important to me and I find myself laying in bed at night agonizing over our food choices. I guess I have to find something to torture myself with, right?

4. I love being alone. Always have. That’s one reason B.’s heavy travel isn’t really an issue for me. Yeah, it sucks for the kids, but not for me. I miss him in some abstract sense but actually enjoy my time alone.

5. I took five years of violin as a child. It was the instrument my family happened to own, so even though I pined for piano lessons, violin it was. I sucked.

6. I am currently considering what to do with my motorcycle. I haven’t ridden since I got pregnant. I miss it very much, but am also hesitant to put myself in harm’s way. Not so much ‘cause I think I’m going to die, but more ‘cause I cannot imagine being at all incapacitated from an accident and having to take care of the kids. The bike is garaged and isn’t depreciating since it’s already vintage, so no immediate decision is necessary, but it’s something to think about. I’d cry if I sold it, though. Big time.

7. I never finished college. In fact, I only made it through one year. I dropped out of high school after my junior year to attend Antioch College. I loved it, but it was incredibly expensive even back in 1987. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to study, so it felt foolish to keep getting student loans and building up a huge debt without a game plan. Guess I didn’t really understand the concept of a liberal arts education...

So, enough about me. I’m far too lazy to actually dig up seven folks to tag, so I’m tagging my friend over at Antropóloga.

A long overdue update.

2008-09-09T11:41:00.001-04:00

Where to begin after such a long pause between posts? Pardon the randomness of the following stuff.

Speech therapy is under way for both Little Boy and Little Girl. After Little Boy’s session yesterday, B. reported back that he was spouting words left and right. At home? Not so much. I don’t know if Little Boy is trying to impress his rather attractive therapist or what, but it’s frustrating that he’s using words in some places and not in others. I can’t honestly say that we’re noticing any major progress, but it’s still early. The best part about the process has been the one-on-one time I’ve gotten to spend with each child. I think we need to make that a regular part of our lives.

After a loooooong August, preschool is finally back in session. I like the new school Little Boy and Little Girl are attending much more than where they were earlier this year. The transition has been relatively smooth for them, thankfully.

A lot of the parents at the new school seem like people I’d like to get to know better. I’ve been having fantasies about making friends with people who, a: live in the neighborhood, b: have similar age children, c: drink alcohol & like good food, d: want to be friends with me. Is that so much to ask? Time will tell. I’ve been trying to be more outgoing than I usually am. Hope I’m not coming across like a desperate loser. “Be my friend? Please?”

B. is leaving today for a month. His travel gets harder on the kids as they get older. I know B. hates it too. Maybe someday his job won’t entail so much travel. We’ll manage in the meanwhile.

Two!

2008-08-05T08:09:00.002-04:00

The twin’s second birthday has come and gone. We made much less fuss than last year's birthday, but it was still fun. It was also much less emotional for me than their first birthday. Not sure why, maybe it’s the chronic exhaustion that plagues me these days. I'm just too tired to be angst-ridden over my babies growing up. I’ve had a house full of company the past week, all of it absolutely lovely, but it’s still tiring. We’re also in the midst of a babysitter shortage exacerbated by preschool being closed for the month of August. And oh yeah, B. is out of town, but that's nothing new.

What this means is that I am not getting any kind of break from the kiddos. Things will loosen up when B. returns to town in two weeks, but for now it’s all Mama all the time. I expect to be fully crazy any day now.

Little Boy has his first speech therapy appointment in two weeks. The organization providing this service has been painfully slow to get started with. I’m hoping we pick up the pace and really dive into some sessions, but since I’m also scrambling to find childcare (I can’t take both kids to the therapy sessions) maybe the slow pace is for the best. In the meanwhile, Little Boy and Little Girl have added several words to their vocabularies, but not tons, and Little Boy is still largely unintelligible. Let’s hope that changes soon - I’m ready for these babies to talk!

He's not even two and already it's terrible.

2008-07-02T13:17:00.001-04:00

Please tell me that this is just a phase. Little Boy is rotten, absolutely horrible. We went to a story time at a library this morning and while we managed to make it through without having to leave, it was one of the longest half hours of my life. Little Girl behaved quite nicely, showing interest in the story and sitting quietly for 90% of the time. Little Boy was obsessed with inanimate objects. The cushions to sit on. The podium. The electrical outlet. The movie screen. The door handle and lock. He did not pay attention to the story at all and had a meltdown every time I pulled him away from an object. The lovely lady reading the story would save us by focusing her attentions on Little Boy to engage him long enough to stop the tantrum. Which worked until he was off to the next inanimate object and subsequent meltdown.

It was embarrassing. I did not like my son very much this morning. At home afterwards his behavior didn’t improve. He was especially defiant and difficult. I feel like I spend all day following him around telling him to stop doing things he already knows he’s not supposed to do. I was almost in tears by the time nap time rolled around.

Little Girl isn’t like this - at all. Sure, she tests boundaries and misbehaves, but she understands the word “no” and with appropriate encouragement/punishment, will listen. I have yet to find a discipline technique that makes any difference with Little Boy. Spanking? Tried it, he couldn’t care less. Time outs? He won’t stay put anywhere, and if I hold him on my lap that’s a reward to him, not punishment at all. Redirection? Nope. He goes right back to what you’ve removed him from. Over and over. It is exhausting.

I feel like a failure because I can’t seem to bend this little boy’s will to mine. Tell me, is this normal?

Sigh.

A quick reply to Anonymous...*

2008-06-19T13:39:00.002-04:00

You're two weeks in to parenting twins? Of course it sucks! It's gonna suck for a good long while yet, but that doesn't mean you've made a mistake. I long for my old life too, but I also am able to see that my current life is pretty darned awesome. Assuming you carried & delivered your babies (vs. adopting), it's safe to say that you're a hormonal mess right now, and it'll take a long time (months. really!) for that to regulate. You're exhausted and will continue to be so for the foreseeable future. Becoming a parent is overwhelming in ways there's no preparation for. All this stuff jumbled together makes a pretty potent mix for unhappiness.

It will get better. Honest. Don't be so hard on yourself for having negative thoughts - I think it'd be more shocking if you weren't. Newborn twins are tough, really tough.

Hang in there.

*From the comments on my last post.

More silence, less pooping.

2008-06-10T15:55:00.001-04:00

We still haven’t heard anything from our insurance company regarding what amount of speech therapy, if any, they’ll cover for Little Boy and Little Girl. It’s still pretty quiet here. Little Boy and Little Girl have added a few new words, but not many, and most of the words they do know don’t consistently get used in context. As they grow and mature in other ways it starts to become more glaring to me just how far behind they are with their expressive language. Again, I’m not all that freaked out about it - more frustrated than anything - but I’d like to feel that we were at least making an effort to rectify the situation. We’re considering just going ahead and paying out of pocket for a few sessions of speech therapy, but I’d hate to begin a relationship with a speech pathologist and then have to switch to another if/when our insurance finally kicked in.

What else is up? Let’s see...summer is here and it’s nuclear hot already. I wish I could take the twins to the pool by myself but don’t feel comfortable doing so. The baby pool on the back deck will have to do for now. The big difference this year from last is that the babies are not pooping in our baby pool every time we put them in. Last year there was a lot of “pool closed!” moments.

I’m busy with work but not at all motivated. Great combo.

B. is here this week, then off to Miami for a week, followed by another week in the U. S. Virgin Islands. Tough, no? Had we been able to arrange childcare I could have gone with hubby to the Virgin Islands, but it just wasn’t possible.

That’s it in a very boring nutshell. Hope the heat isn’t wearing you down.

Not at all unexpected.

2008-05-14T09:39:00.002-04:00

Little Boy’s speech evaluation resulted in a diagnosis of a pretty significant delay, more so than Little Girl’s, anyway. At twenty-one months of age, his receptive language rated as that of a fifteen month old, and his expressive language as that of a nine month old. I think his results are a tad skewed. He was not at his best at the appointment, and B. and I contradicted each other on the answers to a lot of the questions the speech pathologist asked. Little Girl’s receptive language tested within the normal range and I don’t think Little Boy’s receptive language abilities are much different from hers. I think the discrepancy might be due to the above mentioned contradictive answers from B. and I. Irregardless, intensive speech therapy was recommended. Now we’re waiting to see what our insurance company will pay for, if anything.

I hope everyone had a decent Mother’s Day. At the very least, I hope it wasn’t downright painful for those of you still in the infertility trenches. Mine was fine, better than last year’s. B. made a pretty significant effort to bestow me with gifts, and while our morning was somewhat of a disaster, I did manage to leave him with the bambinos during their dinner & bath time.

What's killing me today.*

2008-05-07T15:28:00.002-04:00

The hamster wheel I’m stuck on. I know exactly where I’ll be and what I’ll be doing at any moment of the day for the foreseeable future.

8:37 a.m.? Feeding the babies their breakfast.

12:48 p.m.? Working on getting the babies down for a nap.

4:16 p.m.? Handing out snacks and trying to think of a clever way to fill the next three hours.

6:21 p.m.? Post-dinner/pre-bedtime/bath.

Even specific days of the week have their own pattern. Tuesday & Thursday, preschool. Wednesday, storytime at the library or a playdate or an errand. Friday, the playroom. The weekends vary depending on whether or not B. is in town. If he’s not, the weekends are pretty much repeats of Wednesday.

It wasn’t my intent to have our lives scheduled quite so rigidly. It just happened that way. Sure, there are days that vary from the norm, but they’re rare. I believe routines and schedules are good for kids, that they flourish when they know what to expect, but oh my, it’s not easy for me.

Before babies, my days were varying and unscheduled. I worked hard to create a career that allowed me maximum flexibility. Not only is that flexibility now gone, it’s gone for good - or for as long as I can imagine forward.

*Standard disclaimer here: of course my children are worth it. I love them, I don’t regret them, I wouldn’t trade them for my previous life. I can still see the forest for the trees - I'm just bitching about the trees.

What's hard...

2008-05-04T19:17:00.001-04:00

Being a parent is an exercise in self denial. Each and every day I long for something I cannot have. Most of the things I’m desiring are pretty minor; breakfast in a restaurant, to sleep in, to go out for ice cream after dinner. They’re not impossible with Little Boy & Little Girl, they’re just not worth the trouble to do or logistically possible. If the scales tip and my desire to go out for ice cream after dinner wins out, sure, we’ll load the kids up in the car and go, but I’m constantly measuring my longings against whether or not it’s worth the effort to indulge them.

This wears me down after awhile. Constantly denying my simple little desires sucks. It’s a pretty minor problem to have, though, in the grand scheme of things.

B. is back after a three week class. It’s nice to have the extra hands, but it’s by no means a break for me. I’m still running the show and doing the bulk of the work.

I’m a bit blue. Can you tell?

As expected, but somewhat unexpected.

2008-04-27T14:08:00.002-04:00

Little Girl had her evaluation by a speech pathologist on Friday. Her receptive language is on the low end of normal, but still within normal range. At 21 months of age her expressive language is at the level of a one year old. Yikes. I knew she was behind, but I was shocked that she would be considered delayed by that much. Worse still? Little Girl is the "talker" of the two. Little Boy is much quieter and has far fewer words in his vocabulary. His evaluation isn't until May 12th, but I've got a pretty good guess how that's going to go.

It was recommended that Little Girl receive speech therapy one hour a week for the foreseeable future. The paperwork is being filed with our insurance company. I don't hold out much hope that it will be covered, though. If they refuse payment as expected, Georgia has a program called Babies Can't Wait that serves the developmental needs of children until age three. They charge on a sliding scale and come to your house for therapy sessions (a big plus). The downside with Babies Can't Wait is that it could take several months to get going with them. Evidently, Babies Can Wait.

As with the cranial remolding helmets Little Boy and Little Girl had to wear last year, if you have to pick a health problem to have with your children, a language delay is not so bad. A logistical, financial nightmare? Yes. Am I beating myself up for not working more with Little Boy and Little Girl? You know me, of course I am. This is at least partially my fault. I have been totally lax about teaching the bambinos much of anything. I can barely keep up with their basic needs, much less devote time to teaching them things like colors, or numbers, or letters, or any one of the myriad things toddlers should be filling their little brains with. The only consistent effort I’ve been able to make with them is that I talk constantly and narrate what I'm doing all day long. So much so that I find myself doing the same even when I'm not around the babies. Now that's irritating, and probably not least of all to me.

Chatterbug & Hive Boy.

2008-04-14T11:19:00.004-04:00

Little Girl has added a few new words to her repertoire. Ball, water (wa-wa), poo-poo, bye-bye, thank you (I think - it doesn't sound much like thank you, but it's always the same two syllables and the context is correct), bubble, and cheese. Add those to the mama, dadda and shoe she was saying and she's gathering quite a collection of words.

Little Boy is still stuck saying only dadda and shoe. Not much progress there, sadly.

Little Boy also managed to give us a pretty good scare this week with his most impressive outbreak of hives to date. We're not sure if it was from a viral infection (he had been running a low grade fever earlier in the day, but I thought it was more teething related than anything else) or an allergic reaction to a diaper doubler I tried using for the first time. Either way, the poor guy was covered in hives, head to toe. His armpits were so swollen and inflamed that he screamed when anyone picked him up. He was an itchy welt covered mess, but his breathing was fine and his face didn't swell, so the pediatrician advised Benadryl, a cool bath and topical antihistamines. It took three days for the hives to completely go away.

B. thankfully was home for Little Boy's hive outbreak. I'd have been quite a bit more panicked had he been gone. He's gone now, just out the door for another three week long class. I'm already tired, but the time will pass quickly - it always does.

What it wasn't.

2008-03-31T15:03:00.001-04:00

Much fun. Well, the bambinos had a blast in Florida, but the adults? Not so much. The sleeping arrangements were challenging, all four of us in one small bedroom. The first night there I ended up dragging a blanket and pillow to sleep on the bathroom’s cold terrazzo floor just to get away from B.’s earth shaking snoring. We bought an air mattress the next day and B. was relegated to the bathroom floor for the remaining nights.

The trip home was Awful. Yes, with a capital A. What should have taken nine hours was stretched to over fourteen due to obscenely heavy traffic on I-75. Silver lining? We now know that the babies are capable of making the trip to visit their other set of grandparents in Pennsylvania - a twelve hour drive - in one day. We have that trip to look forward to* at the end of May.

B. is already gone again, off to Denver for the week. He’ll be back for a week, then gone again for three weeks. As the children mature it’s getting harder and harder for him to leave home for so long. I wish I could go on some of the trips for him, ‘cause god knows I could use the break.

*Dread, actually. Nothing against my in-laws at all, it’s just so much work travelling with toddler twins.

Near disaster, nearly a disaster.

2008-03-17T14:04:00.001-04:00

In spite of a rather crappy week I’m feeling pretty lucky. The tornado that tore through Atlanta came less than two miles from our house. We were without power for thirty hours (in itself sucky) but had no real damage otherwise. Go down the street a mile or so and it looks absolutely unreal, trees uprooted and covering houses and cars, insulation blown and stuck onto everything, houses missing their entire roof, weird debris everywhere.

So yeah, lucky. Freaked out too, though. I was home alone with the babies and although I knew it was storming, had no idea that there were tornados in the area. We had lost power, everyone was asleep, and there were no sirens, nothing. If the tornado had veered in our direction, we’d never have known it was coming. Scary thought.

I’ve not been a good mother lately. This month long trip of B.’s is finally nearing its end, but I’m ragged and worn out. I snap at the babies and am impatient and not much fun at all. True, Little Boy and Little Girl have entered, shall we say, a “challenging” stage in their development and are themselves not much fun much of the time. I’d like to rise above and be the uber-mommy I fantasize about, patient, loving, always calm, never frazzled, but it’s just not happening. I’ll keep trying.

Although B.’s return is imminent, there’s no real break for me. A few days after he gets back we’re loading the kids up into a rented minivan and heading down to Florida to visit my parents. I get a vaguely ill feeling when I think about two defiant toddlers in my parent’s unchildproofed house. For a week. ‘Cause you know, I’m not already worn out and stressed enough. I would have much preferred to schedule this trip another time, but B. didn’t have much choice about when he could take leave. So it is. Wish us luck.

Still no improvement on the bambino’s talking. Little Boy and Little Girl will both say the word “shoe,” but that’s the only new acquisition. Little Boy still doesn’t say “mama” at all, while Little Girl will say it occasionally. They’ll both make a snake sound (“sssssssssss”) and bark like a dog, but that’s all the animal noises. They have hearing evaluations scheduled for early April, and then speech evaluations late in April/early in May. I still have hopes that they’ll be talking by then, but I realize that’s unlikely.

Alone again, naturally.

2008-02-18T15:50:00.001-05:00

B.’s travel never ends. He left today for a month, the longest he will have been gone since the babies were born.

It sounds worse than it is. At this age the babies are pretty manageable by myself. The separation is nothing compared to what thousands of other military families must endure. That’s what I’m telling myself, anyway.

The time will go fast. It always does.

In other news, the oaf that inquired as to my due date on New Years? I saw him this weekend and he claims he has no memory whatsoever of our exchange. He was suitably horrified when I refreshed his memory, though. I’m not 100% sure I buy the blackout story, but if it is indeed true then a lack of tact is the least of his problems.

The eighteen month checkup went well. Little Boy and Little Girl did shockingly well with their shots, thankfully. The pediatrician agreed that we could move ahead with evaluating the twins’ speech (or lack thereof) if we wanted to, so the referral/paperwork/headache process has begun. I have started giving Little Boy and Little Girl an omega 3 supplement. There’s plenty of stories online about how such supplementation can enhance speech development. “Little Suzie had no words, but after only three days on Such-and-Such-Supplement she’s speaking in complete sentences!” Likely bunk, but also not likely to do them much harm, so we’re giving it a shot.

All quiet on the Bad Egg front.

2008-02-07T16:03:00.000-05:00

Life marches on here at the House of Bad Egg. Little Boy and Little Girl are now eighteen months old. And nope, still not speaking. Little Girl says “dadda” with regularity and intent and “mamma” occasionally. When she sees a dog, she makes a bark that sounds like she’s clearing her throat. Little Boy will scream “dadda” if everyone else is, but doesn’t use the word with consistency.

They both know a few signs but don’t use them with any regularity or even always correctly. I think their receptive language is more or less okay, it’s the expressive element that’s sub-par.

Needless to say, their lack of speech will be the number one topic of concern at tomorrow’s pediatrician appointment. B. and I are going to push the start the process to get them evaluated. My gut? All over the place. One minute, oh, they’re just late talkers; the next, it’s autism, or apraxia, or hearing loss, or, or, or...

I had hoped that having them in preschool two mornings a week would jump start their speech. Nope. It has, however, jump started their ability to get sick, as predicted.

My infertility related idea from the last post? On the back burner, most likely permanently. I had come up with a slogan & tentative design for t-shirts that would identify the wearer as an infertility survivor. I thought I was being unique and clever, turns out I was not. After searching the internet, I found that others had beat me to the punch. I must say, though, that the design I was working towards was better than the others I’m seeing, but that still doesn’t give me the right to step on others’ toes. Oh well. I shouldn’t have sat on the idea for so long.

Happy New Year?

2008-01-01T14:14:00.000-05:00

I had an almost perfectly delightful New Year’s Eve. I say “almost” because I was blindsided by a casual remark from a friend I hadn’t seen in awhile. After bringing said friend up to speed about my current situation (17 month old twins, still living in the same house, still working from home, blah, blah, blah) he casually asked when the baby was due. While looking at my stomach.

What the fuck?

Flabbergasted silence ensued. He immediately realized his error and attempted to backpedal but only made it worse by saying that it hadn’t been that long since I’d had the babies (Yeah, dude, only seventeen months.) and it takes awhile for the body to bounce back.

Without intending to sound like a braggart, let me say that I am not fat. While I’ve certainly been above my ideal weight in the past, I’m as slim now as I’ve been in years. Yes, there is some loose skin around my belly. Perhaps I was slouching. Yes, I had been eating and drinking with great gusto all night, but still...

I wasn’t even wearing a tight shirt.

I laughed it off last night, but it is bothering me today. One of two things is going on here. Either my self image is completely wrong and I’ve got way more belly than I think I do, or he’s visually impaired. Which is the likeliest choice?

Either way he’s an idjit for the remark.

Anyhow...

Things are going fairly well here. Still no real speech from Little Boy and Little Girl. They are starting a part time preschool program this week that I’m pretty excited about. I’m not 100% sure how the adjustment will go, but I think it will be good for them in the long run. And for me.

And lastly, I’ve got an infertility related project in the works. It’s an idea I’ve had since I was pregnant, but I’ve only now begun to develop the concept. Stay tuned for further details.

Happy New Year to you and yours! I hope 2008 delivers all you hope and wish for.

Above water.

2007-12-02T13:43:00.000-05:00

My depression has miraculously lifted. Sure, I still have days where I’m not exactly what you’d call happy, but my overall mood is a pleasant, stable one. What a treat it is to not drag through every day.

What changed? I have no idea. I wish I did know. This seemingly random lifting of my mood is one reason why I don’t want to take antidepressants. A spontaneous mood change has happened before, so even in the depths of a major funk I feel like if I can just hold on long enough, relief will come. And so it has, thankfully.

One possible contributor might be that I’m feeling a tad less constrained with what I’m capable of doing with the twins while alone. I take them to the playground by myself with regularity now. We’ve had a few days where it hasn’t worked well and I’ve had to leave earlier than I would like, but we’ve had more days where it’s been manageable and even fun, if tiring - at least for me.

I’ve also discovered an indoor playroom at a nearby church. It’s only a dollar a morning per child to let them play, and they have a mother’s morning out program I’m going to try as well. The playroom is attached to a seemingly great* daycare that we’re on the waiting list for. My wonderful babysitter of the past year is leaving us for a real job as an art professor. I don’t need much help (okay, we can’t afford much help) so I’m exploring some part time childcare options. I’m trying to find a new babysitter too, but I have some reservations about hiring someone off the street. Daycare for two mornings a week actually seems like a better option right now.

Let’s hope this mood sticks for a good long while.

*I say “seemingly great” because I know nothing about daycare. The place seemed clean, the child/adult ratio and activities schedule were acceptable, and my overall impression was positive. I’m not sure what else I should be asking or looking for. I kind of wish I had been studying up and investigating my options before now, but I neglected to do so, so here I am learning on the fly and hoping for the best. And a fast moving waiting list.

Spring forward, fall back?

2007-11-07T10:22:00.000-05:00

I hate the time change. It has wreaked havoc on the babies' schedule. We had made the transition down to one nap but we've backslid and now they're napping twice a day again. They're exhausted long before their bedtime and waking up soooo early. They're hungry for every meal much earlier, too.

I'm working on adjusting the schedule very gradually, but it's frustrating. I have to keep reminding myself that they're not going to adjust overnight. After last spring's time change it took almost a month for things to get back to normal. In addition to the problems the time change caused I'm dealing with minor colds and major teething for both of them. There's been a lot of crying in my house the past few days. Not all of it by the babies, ha ha ha.

Los Angeles was exhausting. I’m glad I was able to be there for my sister. She had a seriously rough go of it for awhile, but it sounds like she’s on the upswing now. The babies were fine in my absence, thanks to the combined efforts of my in-laws, B., and our babysitter.

And my depression? Still there, but kind of random. It’s definitely not an everyday thing, which puzzles me. I started taking an omega-3 supplement since that supposedly can help with mood disorders. We’ll see. I’m still considering trying an antidepressant, but it’s hard to justify when I’m having a good day.

Underwater.

2007-10-22T19:15:00.000-04:00

I’m drowning in work. Pre-baby, this would be a good thing. Now I’m struggling to keep up, get it done, make deadlines. I’ve never missed a deadline in the almost ten years I’ve been freelancing* and I’m not about to start now.

Complicating matters, I will be leaving for Los Angeles next Tuesday to be with my sister who will be undergoing surgery for two herniated disks on Wednesday. B.’s parents have graciously agreed to come help with the babies while I’m gone. I heart them, big time. Because of their help I’m less freaked out about leaving the babies than I am about leaving my work. It’s just not a good time to be away, but supporting my sister is extremely important to me, so I’ll make it work somehow.

This whirlwind on top of my regular state of mind has me significantly depressed again. So much so that (gasp!) I’m actually considering** anti-depressants for the first time. I’ve never wanted to cave in and succumb to medication before. I've always held firm that my depression was purely situational and once “things” would change I’d be fine. Well, things have changed and I’m still largely a mess. I have everything I’ve ever wanted: children, a husband, good work, a nice place to live, good health. So why can’t I be happy? What’s wrong with me? Maybe there truly is something chemically wrong.

I watched crazy sexy cancer last weekend and there was a moment in there that rang very true for me. In a nutshell, this vibrant young woman was diagnosed with a rare, slow-moving cancer that she had to learn to live with. At one point she realized that, flat-out, this was something she was going to have to deal with. Every. Single. Day. From then on. Knowing that somehow lessened the burden for her. And so it is with depression for me. I’m deluding myself if I think that this isn’t something that affects the majority of my life. Yes, I have been happy at times (and I believe I will be again) but something clearly is wrong, has been wrong, and will continue to be wrong. Deal with it and live with it.

So yeah, underwater.

*I’m far too lazy to read back through my blog and lord knows I sure can’t remember if I’ve explained this before, but for those that might not know, I’m a freelance graphic production artist. Which means I’m a graphic designer of sorts, but I specialize in tedium like textbooks, redrawing site maps & floorplans for apartment complexes, that sort of really uninteresting stuff. I’m uniquely suited for the work - a perfect mix of anal retentive and self motivated - and I love what I do.

**Considering is all it is at this point. I’m just so desperate to feel better that I’m almost willing to try anything. But then, hey! I have a good day! Or two or three in a row, and I think I’d be nuts to medicate myself. I’m really torn.

Ho hum.

2007-09-26T15:50:00.000-04:00

I’m having longer and longer spans between posts, aren’t I? In spite of that I’m not mulling over whether or not to continue blogging like so many post-infertiles do. It’s pure indulgence for me, so it stays, boring or sparse as it may be. My writing has changed over the years in response to what I’m sure must be a few readers that know me in real life, so this blog isn’t quite as cathartic as it once was, but that’s okay. I was always holding something back anyways, if only to protect B. and my family. Funny, since I don’t consider myself a private person at all. Loyal, though. I guess that’s it.

Bambinos are fine. Stir crazy, but fine. We’re in the midst of transitioning down to one nap, which has its advantages as well as its drawbacks. Little Girl is still not walking and neither of them are talking intelligible words yet. I am fairly certain that we’re officially behind in some developmental areas, and also somewhat certain that it’s less to do with any failing on the babies’ part, more to do with my inability to work with them as I should. At fourteen months of age they aren’t doing a bunch of things I think they should be doing, like waving consistently, knowing any of their body parts, simple puzzles, or as I mentioned before, speaking a word or two. Language delay aside (‘cause god knows I talk to them constantly) I think they don’t know how to do those things because I haven’t taught them how. I’m alone most of the time these days, and it’s all I can do to keep them fed and entertained. Still, since I’ve made colossal errors of judgement before (re: misshapen heads and the necessity of cranial remolding helmets) I’m going to mention my concerns to our pediatrician at our next appointment in October. Maybe they’ll have caught up a bit by then.

Hope so, anyway.

Me? I’ve been depressed and tired. The repetitive days make it oh-so-hard to get out of bed in the morning. Knowing almost exactly what each day is going to hold doesn’t make it much fun to actually live through the day, if that makes any sense. It’s this phase with the twins, the being housebound, the difficulties in entertaining them, the everlasting monotony. I feel like I’m stuck in my own personal Groundhog Day. Not the first time a mother has made that comparison, I know, but it fits.

The mood will pass, I’m sure. I’m still able to count my blessings, so that’s a good sign.

A dry summer, over.

2007-09-03T10:43:00.000-04:00

For the first time in all my 38 years a summer has passed that did not include a trip, many trips, to a swimming pool. I was born mid-summer and my parents took me to watch my big brother and sister in a swim meet within weeks of my birth. I’m told I could swim before I could walk. I quite literally grew up at swimming pools, from every day all summer long recreation as a young child to lifeguarding as a teenager. Even during the four years I lived in Manhattan I would spend several hours a week sunning and swimming at the Carmine Street pool near my apartment.

I’ve not been to my local pool once this summer. Here it is Labor Day and I’m all of sudden frantic at the thought. A whole summer without swimming! How can this be? Simply put, I am unable to take the twins to a pool by myself. I know other twin moms have done it, maybe do it regularly, but I can’t figure out how. Even if I was able to manage it I doubt there’d be much pleasure in it.

B. is not much help. He’s got both arms completely tattooed and is overly sensitive about showing them in a military environment. Since the swimming pool we’d go to is on base, that pretty much means he’s not open to joining us.

Wow. A whole summer without swimming. I’m truly depressed at the thought. The babies are more than worth the trade off, but I can’t help but be a bit nostalgic for my life prior to their arrival. Or wish to feel a little less trapped and restricted at times.

How the tune has changed...*EDITED

2007-08-20T14:06:00.000-04:00

I’ve run into several parents of older multiples lately. It’s not been encouraging. More depressing, actually. Instead of always hearing the meaningless "it gets easier" now word on the street is that my life is about to get much, much harder. Life with the babies has been pretty manageable the past few months, but I’m beginning to see how that’s likely to end, and sooner than I’d like.

We’ve not had to really delve into discipline yet, only saying “no” and redirecting. Little Boy and Little Girl get along for the most part. They’re sleeping pretty well, and mealtime is generally a pleasure, if a mess. According to the parents I’ve chatted with lately, that’s all about to end.

I’ve recently learned that unless an area is completely babyproofed I cannot manage both babies by myself any longer. Even at home it’s extremely difficult to let them have the run of the house at the same time. Childproofing is an ongoing process, but frankly, it’s never going to be all the way done and all the way safe.

Also looming on the horizon is a move. When B. and I bought our house over four years ago we were far from sure if we’d ever have children. A neighborhood with a good school district wasn’t a priority, much less something we could afford. While a consideration, a lousy crime rate wasn’t a major deterrent. As you might guess, both issues suddenly matter a great deal more. We can’t afford to move into a better neighborhood in Atlanta, and since both of us are itching to get away from an urban setting we’ll be moving to an as-yet-unspecified area in north Georgia. I’d prefer to move entirely out of the state of Georgia, since I have no love of the South at all. Unfortunately for me, it makes the most sense for B. to stay in the unit he's currently stationed with for the next eight or nine years until he can retire from the military, so a move out of Georgia is unlikely at this point.

All this is making me a bit depressed. I’m not much looking forward to the challenges that are heading our way. I’m already exhausted at the end of each day...where exactly am I going to find even more energy to keep up with Little Boy and Little Girl? And a move? Just how is that going to transpire, exactly?

Blech.

EDITED TO ADD:

I just found out that B. is going to be entering a major travel rotation after Labor Day. He's going to be gone most of the next two months.

Now I'm really tired.

Just in case you were wondering...

2007-08-10T09:50:00.001-04:00

Little Boy still has not repeated his first word, Elmo. He hasn't said any other words either, for that matter. What's up with that? It's been over two months. He babbles, he chatters, but nothing really recognizable. If B. hadn't heard Little Boy say "Elmo" too I would be doubting my sanity at this point.

What Little Boy is doing is walking. He's a walking fool. Not yet more than ten or fifteen feet at a time, but each day he gets a little sturdier and goes a little farther. (Further? There's my lack of an education showing again.)

This is a golden time in the babies' lives. B. and I marvel at our luck and good fortune every single day. This is the age where it starts to kick in just how nice it is to have twins versus a singleton. Right now they're playing together in our blockaded off dining room (affectionately nicknamed "The Cage"), happy as clams. They've invented some crazy baby games that only they understand the rules of, and genuinely seem to enjoy each other most of the time. They are surprisingly independent and require very little interaction from B. and I in order to entertain themselves. How nice is that? It makes playing with them a total pleasure, and never a chore.

We're so, so very lucky. It's never taken for granted, not for a moment.

Milestones.

2007-07-26T09:52:00.000-04:00

In no particular order...

The babies will be a year old this Saturday. How did this happen? Wasn’t it just yesterday that we brought them home from the hospital? B. and I grappled for a long time about what sort of celebration, if any, to have, and decided to throw together a last minute cake and ice cream party with just a few friends. We’re broke, the house is a cluttered mess, and I’m not really looking forward to the chaos, but I’d feel bad if we didn’t somehow recognize the day. Not for the babies so much, but for B. and I. That we survived.
I’m no longer pumping. My breasts are entirely gone. And floppy. And small. And sad. I don’t miss pumping at all, but still find myself thinking that I need to out of habit. I wonder how long that’ll take to stop.
Little Boy is done with his helmet and we expect Little Girl to be done this week as well. Their heads look great, Little Boy’s especially. Little Girl still has a small dent at the crown of her head, but nothing that hair won’t cover, and it’s still a dramatic improvement over how flat the back of her head was. I hated the helmets every day they wore them, but am glad we did it. Little Boy has been without his helmet for a couple weeks now, and I’ve been doing my best to catch up with all the smooches and sniffs I’ve been missing. Poor guy probably wonders why his mommy constantly has her face buried in his head. I’ve got a lot of catching up to do with Little Girl too.
I left the babies alone with B. for the weekend and attended my 20th high school reunion back in Ohio. I had a good time and the babies survived just fine. B., however, refuses to admit that it’s difficult to take care of both of them while alone. He’s probably just being stubborn but it chaps my ass, big time. He did admit that he’s probably only doing a fraction of the stuff I’m doing any given day, but still...talk about not feeling validated.

The reunion was somewhat cathartic. I was a total oddball in high school and got picked on a lot. I hated high school enough that I went away to college after my junior year with the full support of my parents but not my high school’s administrators, who refused to give me my diploma until the rest of my class graduated. Whatever. Anyway, several people said some really nice things to me at the reunion. Stuff along the lines of, “you were such an individual,” “I wish I’d known you better,” “I’m sorry if I ever gave you a hard time,” and my favorite, “wow, you’ve really blossomed.”

Good stuff, all.

HUTH

2007-07-11T09:17:00.000-04:00

For those not up to speed on exclusive pumping acronyms, that means Hanging Up The Horns, or ending pumping. And so I am. My final regularly scheduled pump was earlier this week. I will not attempt to produce any real amount of breastmilk from here on out. I’ve been down to two pumping sessions a day for several weeks. My output has dwindled to about twenty ounces a day, so we’ve been digging into the freezer stash for awhile.

And yeah, I’m engorged like nobody’s business. I’ve tried the cabbage leaves trick but it doesn’t seem to make much difference. Ibuprofen seems to help the most. I’ve pumped just enough to relieve the pressure a couple of times, but I’m trying to avoid pumping as much as possible. It’ll be interesting to see how long it takes my body to adjust. I do seem to have reached some threshold where I’m as engorged as I’m going to get. I’m staying full, but it’s not getting worse. I’m enjoying large (for me) breasts probably for the last time.

I’m surprisingly sad about stopping. Yes, where I used to tolerate pumping pretty well now I hate it. Yes, I’m looking forward to my body being my own for the first time in years. Yes, it is truly, without a doubt, time to stop. In spite of the myriad of positives I’m more sad than excited to be done. Just one of those developmental milestones that means Little Boy and Little Girl are growing up, I guess. They’ll be a year old later this month, which boggles my mind. Who are these toddlers and what did they do with my two babies?

I’m hoping that the weaning process will be complete in time for my twentieth high school reunion later this month. I’m heading back to my small hometown in Ohio all by myself. Little Boy and Little Girl are staying with B. I, of course, have some anxiety about this, but they’ll be fine. (Oh sweet jeebus, let them be fine...) It’s only for three days. How bad can it be for them, right?

Right?

Vacationed out.

2007-07-02T11:39:00.000-04:00

Sorry for the long break between posts, but we’ve been vacationing. The ultimate white trash vacation, in fact, if not intentionally. We attended a small family reunion* in Tennessee and stayed at a “resort” on a lake. Certainly the most generous usage of that word I’ve ever encountered.

I wish I could link to the website for the “resort,” but it’s probably not a good idea, given the not-so-nice things I have to say about it. Here’s a rundown of some of the finer features:

The view out of our cabin included a trailer park and several dumpsters.
The pool was green, and the baby pool had a mighty collection of floating dead bugs. This didn’t stop other vacationers from swimming, though. Ick.
We had to relocate out of our first cabin due to a massive ant infestation.
Our second cabin smelled so strongly of cigarette smoke that all our stuff reeked when we left. I have had to wash everything.
The cabins were ancient, low ceilinged, dingy and dirty. After just a few moments of crawling around on the ground the babies were filthy.
There were no phones in the cabin, so no internet. High-speed? Ha! That's funny.
Occupants of neighboring cabins included a family with a John Deere Gator that they drove incessantly around the property, at all hours and at high speeds. And let their children drive at said high speeds. With no helmets, or seat belts, or safety gear of any kind. (Am I that much of a nerd? I think that’s horribly irresponsible.)
It wasn’t cheap. In fact, it was pretty pricey, well over a $100 a night. We had hoped that since B.’s mom & dad were acquaintances with the owners of the “resort” we would get a break on the price, but nope. In fact, they charged us the per person rate for the twins, adding an extra $32 per day to the cost of the cabin. Nice, right? Guess they knew we wouldn’t be coming back and wanted to get their money while they could.

Now, in spite of the less-than-luxurious accommodations, we had a good time. B.’s family is lovely and a delight to be around. We had helpful nieces and nephews eager to spend time with Little Boy and Little Girl, and Grandma and Pop Pop enjoyed their time with the babies as well. We ate a lot of good food, I drank plenty of good wine, and actually did some relaxing too.

Little Girl was more high maintenance than usual during the vacation, but for good reason. She cut two teeth on the bottom and is working on four (!) more on top. Have you ever heard of a baby getting so many teeth all at once? Little Boy? Not a tooth in sight.

That’s the word from this end. Hope your neck is not as red as mine!

*Just to be clear, it’s not B.’s family that’s white trash; in fact, they’re far from it. It was the “resort” and the lake it was on that earned the designation.

And before someone gets their panties in a wad about me calling any person/place/thing white trash, I do mean it with some affection. I’m pretty well in touch with my inner redneck, so white trash is just one step away for me.

Aaaargh.

2007-06-15T20:06:00.000-04:00

Not another peep out of Little Boy. Yes, I like the strong, silent type - I married it - but come on...Just one word, one more “Elmo,” anything.

Nope. Nada. He’s holding out on us.

Tiring days lately with the babies. They have decided that they no longer wish to be spoonfed. All nutrition must be delivered by their own hand. Only problem is that they suck at feeding themselves. I make beautiful trays of finger foods for them, only to watch them get maybe 30% in their mouths, then only 50% of that gets swallowed. This means they end up hungry when they shouldn’t be. During nap time. Overnight.

Please tell me this is a short phase.

Road trip, milestones & more misbehavior.

2007-06-02T15:47:00.000-04:00

After much worry, list making, preparation, packing, and again, worry, we have survived our first road trip with the twins. B. and I took them to Florida to visit my parents. The ten hour drive was a snap each way, mostly due to the fact that we left in the middle of the night each time, so much of the drive was accomplished before the babies even awoke. All the gear we brought fit just fine into our rental minivan. The babies slept amazingly well in the pack-n-plays, and miracle of miracles, I slept too, in the same room as them, and in bed with B. (who snores), no less.

We had a couple of milestone moments while in Florida. Little Girl is finally cutting her first tooth. You can really feel it underneath her gum line, and while you can’t see it yet, it’s only a matter of time before it’s through. Little Boy spoke his first word, or the first recognizable word, anyway. What was it, you ask?

“Elmo.” Clear as a bell, unmistakably.

B. and I were feeding the babies breakfast and had Sesame Street on in the background. When the theme music for Elmo’s World started up Little Boy blurted out his first word right on cue. B. and I screamed and scared the bejeezus out of Little Boy with our excitement. He’s not repeated the feat since, despite repeated exposure to Sesame Street and frequent off-key renditions of Elmo’s theme song by B. and I.

So yeah, they watch television. Mostly only Sesame Street, but obviously enough to make an impression. I feel somewhat guilty about it, but it’s the same sort of useless guilt I felt because I never was able to breastfeed Little Boy. This from a woman who is still pumping and able to give her twins all the breastmilk they need, albeit through a bottle. Whatever, right?

Speaking of pumping, I’m down to three pumps a day. Oddly, the less I’m pumping the more I’m hating it. You’d think having the end in sight would make the remainder more tolerable, but nope, I’m so ready to be done. My goal is to be more or less weaned in time for my twenty-year (gulp!) high school reunion in late July. I’ll be traveling back to Ohio by myself for the reunion and it’s only a week before the twins’ birthday, so that’s as good a time as any to say, “done!” with the pumping.

More on the reunion later, if I can scrape together a post about it.

Things with B.? Still not so great. He royally pissed me off in Florida. He ignored my request that he return from fishing in time for the babies’ afternoon nap so I could go shopping with my mother. He rolled in two hours late with no real excuse. There’s nothing like having your husband embarrass & humiliate you in front of your parents, let me tell you.

I was so mad I had to let it go, if that makes any sense. It ruined that day for sure, but we drove home the next day and I didn’t want to spend ten hours in a car not talking. The anger is still there, though, just buried.

Just another disappointment with him. Tiring, no?

What exactly is going on down there?

2007-05-21T20:09:00.000-04:00

The arrival of my period on Sunday brought with it an unpleasant discovery. It hurts to use tampons now.

What's up with that? Is this a permanent state of affairs? I hate pads. They remind me too much of medical procedures, not to mention the discomfort from having a soggy cushion stuck between your legs.

Please tell me this is only temporary. It's almost swimsuit season!

Bloody Sunday.

2007-05-20T10:55:00.000-04:00

It’s only 10:30 in the morning and I’ve already had enough of the day. I woke up to find my period had returned, the first since before Little Boy & Little Girl’s conception. Blech. I feel slow, lightheaded & dizzy, and not myself.

It’s made me sad, too. I feel as if I’ve come full circle somehow. The resumption of my cycle means I’m no longer actively involved in trying to get pregnant, stay pregnant and have babies. It’s back to normal, business as usual. At some as-yet-undetermined point in the future (assuming I ever regain a desire to have sex) I may try to get pregnant again, but without medical intervention. Given my medical history this means a future pregnancy is highly unlikely, but a smidgen of hope still lingers.

I miss being pregnant. Not a day goes by that I don’t think, “last year at this time...” My pregnancy went by far too fast. What I wouldn’t give to be able to do it again, discomfort, worry and all.

How lucky I am that I even was able to get pregnant.

B. left for a six day trip this morning, so the house was chaos. Can nine-and-a-half month old babies pick up on a vibe? (Our dogs sure can. They get super depressed when they see B. drag out his suitcases.) My usually easygoing tots were totally out of sorts this morning. We have a routine, they know it well, and normally things are pretty peaceful, but not so this morning. Lots of screaming. Lots. They’re napping now, thankfully.

Let’s hope the rest of the day is more normal.

And oh yeah, almost forgot. B. did realize the magnitude of his mistake in forgetting Mother's Day. He made a sincere effort to make up for it with flowers, several desserts, a bottle of wine, a letter of apology, and best of all, a gift certificate for a couple of acupuncture appointments. So he's somewhat out of the doghouse on that one, but I did reserve the right to bust his chops over it in the future.

Not exactly the Mother's Day I had hoped for.

2007-05-13T10:48:00.000-04:00

Is this what all the fight was for? I am lower than low, folks. It’s been a rough weekend. I’ve had it with B., just absolutely had it.

My first Mother’s Day? Nothing. Nada. Zip. Oh, B. remembered, he just didn’t bother to get me anything.

Realizing he might have made an error this morning he tried to leave the house “to get doughnuts.” Knowing full well what he was up to I called him out on it. I told him that leaving me alone with the babies while he ran and got a last minute, poorly thought out Mother’s Day gift was no gift at all. So he stayed home and hurriedly sent e-cards from Little Boy and Little Girl.

Gee, thanks. Hope that wasn’t too much trouble for you.

He said he didn’t realize until yesterday that Mother’s Day was today. He had plenty of occasion to get me something then, so why he didn’t is beyond me. He was even in a bookstore yesterday. And a gas station. By himself, both places. Have you set foot in either of those places lately? They’ve been screaming “Mother’s Day” for weeks.

My only consolation (and it’s a big one) is that I am a mom. Never thought I’d make it here, just wish I had the supportive partner I long for.

Silence is golden?

2007-05-04T11:04:00.000-04:00

I’ve lost my voice with B. Last Monday night he blew up at me over a minor issue and we’ve barely spoken since. More often than not I deserve to be blown up at due to the sheer level of my bitchiness, but this was not one of those occasions.

No apology has been forthcoming and I’m too tired to try to extract one. I don’t feel like talking to the man at all. Why bother? He’ll either completely ignore me, as I’ve mentioned before, or I’ll annoy him and we’ll have a fight. For now, this means there’s virtually no grown-up conversation in the House of Bad Egg.

I don’t miss the communication. Not yet. One of the things I miss most from my life before twins is silence. If B. was traveling, whole days could go by without me uttering a word to another human being. I would wake up in the morning and lay in bed and listen to the birds, the crickets, the traffic, for as long as I wanted. No alarm clock, no crying babies, no one’s schedule but my own. Days of quiet would pass effortlessly, days of being alone, and still, and myself.

Admittedly, I might be a little bit freaky about my alone time.

I don’t want my old life back, though. Honest. Little Boy and Little Girl are far too precious for me to imagine life without them. Could there be a better replacement for silence than their giggling, their babbling, even yes, their crying?

Revelation du jour.

2007-04-28T11:40:00.001-04:00

A “lightbulb moment,” if you will. As I was putting the twins to bed last night, alone, as B. played his effing video game downstairs on the couch, it came to me that I might as well accept the fact that I’m doing 98% of the work and will continue to do so. This is probably not going to sound right in writing, but these are my babies, my responsibility, my world. And I’m their world.*

Yeah, sure, B. is a good dad when he’s involved, but how often is that? Morning, noon and night, it’s Mommy doing the work. I have a choice to make here: I can either accept that I’m going to bear the bulk of this burden and reap the bulk of the rewards, or I can continue to ask for more help, make a fuss about the lack of it, and be bitter when my wishes are not acknowledged or accommodated. I can accept what help is given me graciously and with gratitude, or I can always think it’s not enough and wish for more.

I’m not sure if this realization is a good or bad thing. It makes me feel a tad lonely and yes, bitter. At the same time it’s freeing; if my expectations are lower I’m bound to be disappointed less often. Right?

I have continued to try to communicate some of my frustrations to B. Nothing much ever changes. That’s why I’m asking if it’s even worth the battle at this point? Why not spend my energies working to accept my situation gracefully and with good humor, rather than carry around a bunch of negative feelings all the time?

Probably easier said than done, long term. For today, though, it’s working for me.

*Little Girl has developed full-on stranger anxiety - even with B. She does warm up to him fairly quickly, certainly much quicker than she does with others, but still, it must be heartbreaking for him. Me, on the other hand? Mommy is the Sun, the Moon and the Stars, with both babies. Feels pretty nice, I must say.

Mama knows best, and man, does that suck.

2007-04-22T14:38:00.000-04:00

I’m tired of being in charge. I’m tired of being the only person on god’s green earth that knows all the little tricks, secrets, methods, timetables, ins-and-outs of taking care of Little Boy and Little Girl. Being the bearer of all this knowledge is exhausting, especially when you are asked for said knowledge only to have it ignored.

I’m speaking of B., of course. He returned yesterday after being gone for nine days. Granted, I am always somewhat of a certifiable lunatic by the end of any of B.’s trips, but within minutes of his stepping into the house yesterday I was irritated with him. Poor guy gets no reprieve, but I suspect he’s not even aware that I’m out of sorts. I do my best to not constantly snap at him, so maybe I am effectively suppressing my irritation.*

The man ignores me. I suggest a course of action and I might as well not have bothered speaking. He is also clueless about picking up the slack for me. He went from pitching in a good amount to, well, not. I am aware that I tread a fine line between being a bossy nag and merely giving instructions. If I don’t provide some direction, though, nothing gets done. Even still, providing direction or not, half of the time things just don’t get done.

I can’t talk to him about this. I’ve tried. He immediately gets defensive, gets his hackles up and shuts down. Any complaint I might have is taken as a critique of his parenting skills. I try to use the right language...you know, the “I feel such-and-such when you such-and-such” rather than the more accusatory “you do this, you do that.” At this stage I think I’m going to have to write him a letter. I’ve fallen back on written communication before when verbal fails. Whatever it takes so that I can stop feeling like a simmering pot ready to boil over at the mere sight of the guy.

Anyhow, onward...the babies have adjusted to their helmets. Little Boy’s already stinks, which means a intensive daily cleaning procedure for the helmet and a bath for the little guy. Quite a bit more work for me, who normally bathes them every other day or so. I suspect it’s only going to get worse as the weather heats up and Little Girl’s helmet follows suit with a stank of its own.

I’ve been taking them out in public quite a bit. So far there have been no awful moments, but it has given me some small insight into what it might be like to be handicapped. The furtive glances, the slightly patronizing smiles, the questioning looks. People don’t really know what to make of them. Believe it or not, I’ve already gotten so used to the helmets that I sometimes catch myself wondering what people are staring at.

I do miss ready access to their heads, though. A lot. One hour a day is not enough time for all the smooches and sniffs and snuggles I’m missing. Not nearly enough.

*He is certainly capable of being clueless about such things, evidenced by his recent admission that he had no idea I was depressed. Whaaaat? Come on now...

A longer update.

2007-04-08T20:36:00.000-04:00

Sigh.

It’s been a long weekend. We had our high notes, we had our low. At times I thought I might be escaping this depression, but those moments, delicious as they are, are fleeting. Still, I take it as a good sign that they exist at all. I will pull myself outta this, I’m sure. Or I sure hope so.

We’re gradually ramping up the helmet wearing. I’d give Little Boy’s overall helmet experience a B+. He occasionally scratches at his head as if he were surprised to find a hard surface there, but otherwise seems to experience little discomfort other than the heat we were warned about. Little Girl, on the other hand, she’s struggling a bit with the whole thing. Her first helmet time this morning ended after an hour of crying and fussing. I’m not sure what the issue was, as she had worn the helmet yesterday for several consecutive hours with no problem, and was able to wear it again this afternoon without issue. Residual soreness from wearing it so long yesterday? Improper positioning? It looked like it was on right, but something was wrong. I dunno.

I am adjusting to their appearance in the helmets. As I mentioned in my last post, the pattern on Little Girl’s helmet is not very appealing. I’m pretty peeved about it, actually. The sample photo we saw showed a pastel blue & pink camouflage pattern, but what we’ve ended up with is nothing even remotely like that. It’s far closer to neon than pastel, and there’s probably no other pattern that is louder and more obnoxious. If I’d wanted to be subtle, well, this isn’t it, and that sucks.

So it is...

Since perspective has often been an effective balm for me in the past, I’m trying to remind myself how very lucky we are. As far as health problems with the babies go, this is a good one to have. We are able to afford to treat it, as much of a stretch as it is. I suspect (hope!) that the babies will readily adjust and the next few months will pass quickly.

It still sucks, though. I want to sniff at will the downy hair on Little Girl’s head. I want to smooch Little Boy behind his ear, where it tickles him. I don’t want to worry about odd suntan lines, or sweaty stinkiness, or raw spots, or heat, or, or, or.

B. has been great with the babies this weekend. I think he was afraid that I would dissolve under the strain, and had it gone less smoothly I might well have. He stepped right up and handled the babies as needed, albeit always requiring my direction. I was even able to cook a bang-up Easter dinner today, probably the best meal I’ve made since the twins arrival.

I would have less issues with him of late if it weren’t for his current obsession with an online game. He spends every spare and some not-so-spare moments playing, and like the time he spent in grad school, it’s all concentration on the computer and no Claudia. We’ve had several (and I mean several - I’m not exaggerating) incidents of late where he’s not heard me when I’ve spoken to him, or misunderstood what I’ve told him, all because he’s completely, totally, 100% wrapped up in this online game.

It’s always something with me, isn’t it? Or maybe it’s always something with B.

Anyhoo...off to watch the first of the last new episodes of The Sopranos. A large small pleasure for me.

A quick update.

2007-04-07T11:36:00.000-04:00

Babies are helmeted. I didn't realize that there's a break-in period, so they're not wearing them 23 hours a day just yet. That comes in a few days. They seem to tolerate the helmets fairly well so far, but then again the longest they've had them on has been two hours.

They don't look like my babies anymore. I'm going to have to get used to their new appearance. Kinda sad about that.

Two irritating things...one, the velcro strap is on the left side of each helmet, which means that each time I pick up a baby and attempt to hold him/her close I get a face full of scratchy velcro. Ouch. Secondly, Little Girl's helmet is supposed to be covered in a pink camouflage pattern. Camouflage, my ass. More like a bad acid trip. It's definitely far more psychedelic than subtle.

Me, I think I'm handling it all fairly well, given how much I was dreading this. We'll see as it soaks in...

I'll update more later and post a couple of pictures.

"H" minus one day and counting.

2007-04-05T14:52:00.000-04:00

Tomorrow's "H" day, or so I've been saying, to the point where B. has been shooting me dirty looks. I have been dreading it, moping about it, and generally ill-at-ease at the thought of it. I can't seem to smooch or sniff or put my cheek against my babies' uncovered heads enough.

I feel like a real tool for not handling this more graciously. I would be better able to if I wasn't convinced that at some level this is my fault. At least with Little Girl, anyway. I feel less guilt over Little Boy’s head just 'cause I wasn't a complete disbeliever about his head shape and went along with the appointments and repositioning and other efforts.

I'm doubly dreading tomorrow because after the helmet fitting appointment B. has to go to work and will be working all night. That means I'll be handling their first bedtime with the helmets all alone, and let me tell you, a normal bedtime alone is already a challenge. They've gotten mobile enough that it's a real struggle to get two babies changed, fed, read to, calmed down and into their cribs on my own. Seems one of them is always rolling off somewhere, god only knows what kind of new hell the helmets will add in. I'm hoping they adjust quickly, it's said most babies do, but in my usual manner I like to try to prepare myself for the worst-case scenario. Better to be pleasantly surprised at how things turn out rather than shocked at how awful something is.

I'm not looking forward to the attention the helmeted twins are going to get during our outings. I already have to answer the "are they twins?" question over and over, which doesn’t generally bother me, but this is a whole new ball of wax. I'm such a sourpuss that I'm contemplating making stickers for the helmets that say, "Mind Your Own Business!" That's me, giving a bad name to moms of plagio babies everywhere...

Maybe it’d be a better idea to type up a short explanation and hand out copies instead. Is that completely dorky? I’m worried that I’m going to have to defend my ~~already defenseless~~ situation and I’m not going to be able to do so without being defensive, or bitchy, or god forbid, teary-eyed.

Or, as B. puts it, if it bothers me so much, I can just not leave the house until the helmet-wearing stage is over. This, obviously from a man who hasn’t spent an entire day alone with two stir-crazy babies.

Stay tuned. I’ll let you know how it goes.

Maybe, maybe not.

2007-03-30T18:46:00.000-04:00

Sorry for the long spans between posts. I’m pretty depressed. It’s not new or interesting or anything but annoying. I am going through the motions in caring for the babies. I smile, coo, change diapers, feed them. I hug & kiss them, put them down for naps, all the while doing my best to not let the funk that is fermenting inside me seep out. Cracks in the veneer appear when I yell at the dogs, or lose patience with an inanimate object, or have to turn from the babies to wipe tears away.

The babies will have their helmets fitted next Friday, April 6th. I can’t imagine them with their helmets on without getting sad. I’m going to have to find some way to handle this better than I am...

A couple of commenters to previous posts have suggested that we get a second opinion, that perhaps helmets aren’t really necessary. That may well be the case. I wonder about that myself. Not much is known about the long term implications of untreated plagiocephaly or brachycephaly. Most of what I’ve read or been told makes heavy use of the word “may,” as in “may cause TMJ,” or “may contribute to sinus problems.” I have read and been told that there’s no evidence that plagiocephaly or brachycephaly cause any kind of developmental delays. Maybe all this helmet stuff is just another business capitalizing on parents’ fears.The “back to sleep” SIDS prevention stuff has caused an upsurge in plagiocephaly/brachycephaly diagnoses so now there’s a market where before there was none. I think the orthotics department that is treating Little Boy & Little Girl is not-for-profit, but I guarantee someone somewhere is making money off this.

Skepticism brought to you by my complete lack of faith in the medical community + my new lack of confidence in my own decision making skills.

I don’t see the point in a second opinion, though. Fact is, no one really knows what’s best in this situation. Bottom line: how important is a round head to us? Fairly important, I guess. In any event, I’d rather look back and think we were scammed but it was in the babies’ best interests, than look back and wish we’d taken action.

Jumping topics, thanks to Antropologa for the award.

Nice to know that not only is someone reading me, but they get me, at least on some level. According to the rules I’m supposed to nominate my own faves. I’ve been thinking about it some, and can’t really come up with a concrete list. Partly because I’m so darned scatterbrained and depressed right now, partly because I find value, entertainment, support, humor, etc. in all the blogs I read.

Secondary effects.

2007-03-15T19:32:00.000-04:00

So now I’m alone. My sister was here visiting from LA for a few days. We had a good visit, but it was clouded by my depression over the helmet issue. I was very grateful for her help, but now I’m grateful to be alone. It’s much, much tougher to handle the babies by myself, but suffering and struggling suit me right now. I want to be alone with my misery.

Thank you everyone for the supportive comments and the emails. I know that I’m truly not a really bad mom, stuff happens, life goes on, yadda yadda yadda. Still, I’m going to be beating myself up about my negligence for years to come, and I reserve the right to do so.

For the rest of our lives the memory of the babies’ first summer is going to include the helmets. In and of itself that’s not such a big deal, except I can’t quite get away from the feeling that it all could have been avoided had I not ignored things as I did. I certainly don’t mean to imply to anyone else whose child has worn a helmet that there’s something wrong with it, or them, or their parenting. This is my unique blunder, and as I’ve said before, it’s possible that even if I had not ignored the situation the babies still might have ended up in this place. We’ll never know, though, and it's my fault we're denied that possibility.

As a secondary effect, I don't feel like I can trust my own judgement anymore. For instance, Little Girl isn't doing well with solids. When we started her at six months she initially did fine, but for whatever reason lost the ability and the interest weeks ago. We offer her solids every day, but she chokes, gags, coughs, just doesn't get much down. She isn't opening her mouth anymore, and basically has no interest in anything but breastmilk. I had thought, oh, just be patient, keep offering solids, she'll get the hang of it, but now I don't know. I'm probably going to call the pediatrician and ask, 'cause what if something is wrong and I'm ignoring another issue?

I'm totally adrift. The time change has really screwed up the babies' schedule, and I'm struggling. They're not napping, bedtime is hell, they aren't hungry at the right time, it's all a mess. How one little hour can make such a huge difference? Again, is something else going on that I'm ignoring? Whatever confidence I had as a mom is gone.

Maybe I was overconfident. Maybe this is a much needed reality check. Whatever the case, things are different now. I don’t know if it’s a permanent change, but I’ve no idea how to get back to where I was. Second guessing myself is becoming second nature.

It’s tiring. Confidence takes a lot less energy than a lack of it.

Some clarification.

2007-03-11T20:28:00.000-04:00

I apologize, I wasn’t very clear about exactly why the flat head/helmet situation is my fault.

We aggressively intervened on Little Boy’s behalf and did our best to correct the situation from early on. His head has gotten better; maybe it’s not perfect, but it’s definitely better, and chances are good that it might continue to correct itself.

No such aggressive efforts were made for Little Girl. I pooh-poohed my husband’s concerns about her head shape. I, for whatever reason, refused to acknowledge that there was an issue. If we had intervened with Little Girl as we did with Little Boy, her head might have improved as Little Boy’s did. Because I ignored it for so long there’s no chance it’ll improve on its own now. It’s far too severe.

B. kept telling me, but I wouldn’t listen. He was right and I was wrong. Very wrong.

I keep sinking lower and lower as all the implications become apparent. Yeah, it sucks that Little Girl and (potentially) Little Boy will have to wear helmets, especially over their first summer. Beyond that I have fucked our financial picture for the foreseeable future. We’ve been extremely broke for awhile, and I’ve made it so much worse. Whatever hope there was for a reprieve is gone. Money is going to continue to be beyond tight until I don’t know when, and it’s all my fault.

Sorry to sound like a broken record with the self-blame stuff. When I was initially talking about this with B. he kept telling me not to blame myself, it wasn’t my fault, etc. I put it to him that if the shoe were on the other foot he’d feel exactly the same way. That pretty much shut him up.

Yup. My fault. At least somewhat. Had we intervened properly it’s entirely possible that we still might have ended up where we are now. We’ll never know, though, and since Little Boy’s head did respond to our efforts it’s easy to imagine that Little Girl’s might have too.

Self-flagellation, continuing.

And oh yeah, Suz, I will keep my fingers crossed for six weeks*, but the doctor's estimate was four to six months.

Four to six months. I bet I can beat myself up pretty thoroughly in that amount of time.

*See the comments from the previous post.

The worst mom in the world. Really.

2007-03-11T11:35:00.000-04:00

Where do I begin? This is so horrible I can hardly put the words in writing.

A little background...Little Boy was born with a slightly misshapen head. It was exacerbated the first couple of months by his favoring one side while sleeping. We questioned the pediatrician about it and she suggested we have him evaluated by a pediatric neurosurgeon, so we did. He suggested some aggressive repositioning techniques and that we keep an eye on it.

Right around the same time we noticed that Little Girl’s noggin was starting to flatten in the back. It seemed less dramatic, somehow, than Little Boy’s head, so I didn’t pay a whole lot of attention to it. Over the next few months we worked with repositioning Little Boy as much as possible, as well as increasing his tummy time. Progress was made, and his head gradually started to reshape itself, although not anywhere near completely.

All along, B. expressed a lot of concern over their head shapes, to the point that he was driving me nuts. I didn’t take it near as seriously, and while we were making efforts to correct the situation with Little Boy, Little Girl’s head kept getting flatter and flatter and flatter. (You can tell where this is going, can’t you?)

B. obsessed about it. I belittled his obsession, both to his face and to others.

At the babies’ six month checkup the pediatrician suggested that we go back and have the twins’ heads reevaluated. I assumed this was a CYA* maneuver on her part, but went ahead and made the appointment.

Helmets. For both of them, but mostly for Little Girl. She has severe brachycephaly. Little Boy has borderline plagiocephaly, but still within range for a helmet.

I am devastated. This is all my fault. If I had removed my goddamned head out of the sand earlier this could possibly well have been avoided. Little Boy is close enough to borderline that we could probably skip the helmet, and depending on what insurance decides to pay, we may do just that. Little Girl on the other hand? A helmet is a complete necessity. I don’t know how I could have just ignored how misshapen her head is for so long. What in the hell is wrong with me?

Adding insult to injury, it’s highly unlikely that our insurance will pay for either helmet. They’re $2700 a pop, so we are in it deep, folks. Time to liquidate a vehicle or two. If you’ve been following along this blog, you know how I lurve my vehicles, so this makes me so, so sad. First on the block will be my shitbox clunker of a ‘72 Bronco, which should sell for just enough for one helmet. Beyond that, I dunno. We have two motorcycles, but the thought of selling one or both of those absolutely breaks my heart, more than it’s already broken. It’s how B. and I met and first connected. I had always hoped we’d pass our motorcycles along to our children.

Now every time I look at my beautiful Little Girl I am having to try to picture her with a helmet on. The doctor said that treatment is often much harder on the parents than the children. I certainly hope that’s so, ‘cause that beautiful little girl doesn’t deserve one second of discomfort just because her momma turned a blind eye to her condition for months.

I know in the grand scheme of things that is not the end of the world. If the babies gotta have a health problem, I’ll take this one. Things could be so much worse and we’ve been incredibly lucky so far.

Parenting is an imperfect science and I know that mistakes will be made along the way, but still...I will likely never forgive myself for this.

More on this later...

*Cover Your Ass, for those that might not know.

Flashback.

2007-03-07T17:48:00.000-05:00

An odd thing happened today. Well, more annoying than odd, really.

I had a doctor’s appointment with my primary care manager. I have thrush, see, and while I’ve been living with the itchy, scaly patch of skin on my left breast for a couple of months now, it’s spread to underneath my left eye. Time for medical intervention.

As I have mentioned in earlier posts, we’re very broke right now. I’ve not been able to afford my regular babysitter for a few weeks, but called her in today so that I could go to my appointment sans twins. I made the appointment for 2:30, and scheduled to have the babysitter until 4, thinking that would be enough time.

Wrong.

While the nurse managed to get me back into an exam room quickly enough, they promptly forgot about me for the next fifty minutes. I finally stuck my head out of the exam room and asked a passing nurse if she knew when exactly I might get to see the doctor, since it was already 3:20 and I didn’t have much time left with my babysitter.

Ten minutes later the doctor comes in, and five minutes after that I’m out the door. He didn’t even examine me. I told him specifically what prescription I wanted, he asked a few perfunctory questions then wrote the ‘scrip as I directed.

I almost lost it, to the point that I was barely able to speak while checking out for fear I’d either start yelling or crying. I was furious that a huge chunk of my precious babysitter time was wasted waiting for a doctor that didn’t even bother to verify my self-diagnosis. I get so little time away from the babies and I wasn’t even left with enough to get the prescription filled. That’ll have to be done after the babies are in bed tonight, by which time I’ll be my usual exhausted self and not feeling at all like running an errand.

Is there such a thing as infertility-related post-traumatic stress syndrome? I’m aware that in the grand scheme of things this is really not that big of a deal and my reaction a bit excessive. I’ve been left in exam rooms for far longer - once for an hour with a speculum in place after an IUI. (Now, that sucked.) Still, something about today brought back every horrible minute of my infertility and the frequently-substandard medical treatment I received.

Along those same lines, I was reminiscing about giving myself shots. I have literally and with no exaggeration given myself hundreds upon hundreds of shots. The almost-year of Lovenox alone brings the tally into the hundreds, then add the mega-high doses of a variety of stims, the trigger shots and the progesterone in oil and well, like I said, hundreds and hundreds of sticks.

I can’t fathom doing it now.

I’m not sure how I did it then. I get sick and stressed and anxious feeling just thinking about it. More PTSD, I guess.

Infertility never truly leaves you, does it?

Doldrums.

2007-02-28T14:04:00.000-05:00

Some serious blahs going on over here, I think largely to do with the fact that I’ve got a head cold that I Just. Can’t. Shake. Me, who never gets sick. Or never used to get sick, that is. Since the babies have arrived I’ve come down with most any bug passing within a ten-mile radius. Am I that run down? Is all the pumping compromising my immune system somehow? The babies and I barely leave the house. You’d think we’d sail through cold & flu season with ease, and thankfully, they have - but not me. I dunno.

Being extremely broke doesn’t help my mood. We don’t have the money to pay my normally-ten-hours-a-week babysitter right now, so that makes for a very, very long week. Little Boy and Little Girl, possibly picking up on my mood, have decided that not much pleases them today. Milk? No thank you, and certainly no solids. And napping? Not today, or not much anyway. Bouncy seat? Exersaucer? Well, maybe, but only if we can keep fussing...

Just one of those days, I guess.

I’m struggling with the pumping thing, too. I finally managed to get my body to adjust to pumping only once through the night, so that’s good. Now I am having a hard time staying committed to the five pumps a day it takes to maintain my supply, especially since I have a bit of an oversupply right now. I’m not sure if it’s because the babies aren’t eating their usual amount (they’re not) or if I’m producing a huge amount of milk or some combination thereof, but I’m putting anywhere from three to ten ounces of breastmilk in the freezer every day. We’ve got a freezer in the basement, but it contains the meat from three deer, so what little room is left is almost all the way full with my breastmilk. Space is beginning to be at a premium.

So I find myself dropping pumps more than I should. My supply hasn’t suffered yet, but if past experience holds true as a predictor of the future, it will. Part of me thinks, so what? Let it go. The babies are seven months old (today! happy birthday Little Boy & Little Girl!), and if my supply tanks a bit I’ve got enough frozen to replace the difference for at least a couple of months. But what if my supply really drops? We’re too broke and I’m too cheap to pay for formula for any extended period of time. If I knew that my supply would just decrease a little, well, I’d go ahead and permanently drop a pump. But I don’t know, so I continue on, a slave to the pump. For now.

Does anyone else get awful hormonal rushes when they pump? I’m talking a few minutes of full-on-I-wanna-slit-my-wrists-and-those-of-everyone-around-me PMS-type feelings. I’ve felt that way every time I pump, if only for a few seconds, but more often than not, for a few minutes when my letdown is strongest. I remember being in the hospital, hooked up to the Lactina for the first few times and feeling so, so very awful. I attributed it to the post partum hormonal imbalance that was wracking my body, but it never went away. I wish I could recall whether or not I had the same feelings when I breastfed, but I can’t. There was only nine or ten weeks of actual breastfeeding going on, and that time is such a blur in retrospect.

Curious, no? When I think about just that aspect of pumping I’m surprised I’ve made it this far. Amazing what we’ll put ourselves through, isn’t it?

Bitchy? Why, yes!

2007-02-20T20:11:00.000-05:00

Cranky. That’s me of late. Still happy overall, yes, but cranky. (You’d think those two states of mind would be incompatible, but I’m living proof that they’re not.) The source of my crankiness? B. The man is driving me nuts.

After a weekend spent biting my tongue and otherwise stifling the impulse to bite his head off, I finally was able to relax when he went to work today. When he returned home my cranky quotient shot right back up. For the one short hour of the day that he has with his children before they go to bed he was largely unable to deal with them. Little Girl has been unusually fussy the past couple of nights. When B. is faced with dealing with her while she fusses, it’s as if a switch is thrown in him and he’s just off. He sits there like a statue, holding the screaming, fussy baby, making no attempt to soothe her, to comfort her, to do anything but sit there with a look on his face that suggests he’s in the seventh layer of hell.

What’s up with that? This happens with him from time to time and It. Drives. Me. Nuts.

He was so off tonight that I offered to finish putting the babies to bed by myself. I couldn’t stand having Robot Boy around the babies, much less in the same room as me. He took me up on my offer and left the room practically in a trot.

And so I seethe. Yes, the man works long hours at a stressful job. Both of us have low-grade colds, so we’re not at our best, but still...I manage to hold it together for the babies. Why can’t he?

There are seventeen bazillion other things about him that have been driving me nuts lately. I would love nothing more than to catalog said things here, but I feel as if that’d be too disloyal somehow. I feel bad for him, to tell the truth. I suspect that I’m no prize to live with myself. I’m sure he can sense my perpetual irritation, and that’s gotta suck for him.

I suppose this is all a normal part of adjusting to parenthood, and probably amplified by having twins. I worry, though. So much damage was done to our relationship by infertility. Is what’s left of us strong enough to withstand this current onslaught? I believe so, but it’s going to take work, and I’m not sure either of us are able to apply ourselves just now. He’s too busy being detached and I’m too busy being a martyr.

Perspective = Happiness

2007-02-08T16:23:00.000-05:00

At long last I think I’m finally able to say it...I’m happy. Or as happy as a perpetually semi-exhausted person can be. While I refuse to say that I’ve reached the much-touted “it gets easier” stage,* I will say that things have, at least for now, achieved an equilibrium of sorts. This is a golden age for Little Boy and Little Girl. I have made progress in accepting my new identity as a mom. B. is out of grad school. There is much to be thankful for.

In spite of my mostly upbeat outlook, I still harbor a great deal of nervousness about the future. I end up bone tired most days, which leaves me vulnerable to the ennui and borderline depression that’s plagued me for years. Given the multitude of blessings I am surrounded with each and every day, it seems ungrateful and immature to get bogged down by, say, a lack of sleep, but I can’t help myself. If only I could find a way to harness the good moments to tide me through the tough ones. I'm going to work on that...

To further add perspective re: how life is so precious and so unpredictable...I found out today that the RE that got me pregnant died in a car crash last November. His wife gave birth to their daughter the next day. My heart aches for his family. Not a day goes by that I don’t silently thank him for his work with me, for helping to create the miracles that are Little Boy and Little Girl.

We came so close to not being in this place, parenthood. So, so close. If our last IVF cycle had not worked we most likely would have had to accept childfree living. Again, not a day goes by that I don’t marvel at how different my life is now, what could have been instead, what isn’t and what is. Infertility beat me down, hard, but it also taught me to never take anything for granted. Ever.

And I don’t.

*The “it gets easier” stage? Idiot that I am, I mistakenly thought that meant parenting twins would someday be easy. Lightbulb on: it’s never going to be easy. Easier, maaaaybe. Easy? No.

Pumping & shrieking. Not at the same time, thankfully.

2007-01-24T15:41:00.000-05:00

Little Boy and Little Girl have made great improvements in the sleeping department, at least at night. We’ve established a lovely bedtime routine that has them in the crib around 7:00 or 7:30 at the latest. The next waking/feeding had been around 1:30 or 2:00, which works great for me ‘cause that’s right around the time that I next need to pump after my pre-bedtime pump. Now, however, they’ve taken to sleeping until 3:00 or 3:30 before waking up. They’re clearly on their way to sleeping all the way through the night, which should be a good thing, no?

This causes me problems with the timing of my pumping, though. If I wait until they wake up at the later hour I am so engorged that I can barely stand it, literally. I get teary-eyed and frantic until I can pump, which of course can’t happen until after the babies have eaten. If I go ahead and wake up at the regular time to pump, that means I’m waking up more frequently than I need to, especially since it means my next regularly scheduled pumping time is not likely to coincide with the babies’ next waking. Does that make any sense?

How do breastfeeding moms do it? I’ve read that your body will learn to not manufacture so much breastmilk as your baby starts sleeping longer at night, but that doesn’t seem to be happening for me. Maybe I’m not giving my body enough of an opportunity to slow down. It’s only been a few nights of the delayed pumping, but oy, it’s not been pretty, not at all. Trying to delay my pumping session also makes for crappy sleep. Engorgement = uncomfortable & restless.

Any suggestions?

Also, how in the world do I discourage my beautiful almost-six-month-old daughter from continuously making ear-piercing shrieks? They are shrieks of joy, but are driving me batty. I walk around with ringing ears. I hate to try to silence her vocal enthusiasms, but my, oh, my...I’m going deaf over here.

Peace, made. *Now Plus Troll!

2007-01-15T17:26:00.000-05:00

As you know, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about this motherhood thing. Trying to get to the heart of the matter, I asked myself exactly what it was that I was frightened of. It’s that I won’t be able to handle all the upcoming parenting challenges, that I’ll somehow fail. Exactly what failing would mean, I’m not sure...not meeting my babies’ needs, or tipping over the edge and becoming a basketcase of some sort, I guess.

Naming the fear has shown me how ridiculous it is. I’ve handled everything so far, maybe not always gracefully, but the babies needs have 100% been met and I’ve managed to mostly hold myself together in the process.

I can do it.

I will do it.

I may even do it well, and enjoy myself in the process.

So yeah, some peace has been made with the future, whatever it holds. Here’s hoping the peace holds.

Jumping topics here...I’ve got my first troll! See the comment to my last post. I feel as if I’ve arrived in blogland. The poster came from a child-free living message board - read the “Another clueless Moo” post, that’s me they’re talking about. My reply is above their post.

I don’t get their thought process: because I “did infertility treatments” I’m not allowed to complain about parenthood? What’s that all about? There’s plenty of other fodder demanding response in their post, but frankly I don’t think it’s worth any more effort than I’ve already spent. After all, I’m just another “baybee rabid bitch.”

Yeah...and? Your point is?

As yet unsettled...

2007-01-05T17:08:00.000-05:00

I had hoped the issue would resolve itself by now, but here I am five months postpartum, still questioning how I feel about this whole motherhood business. Lately my thoughts have turned to the permanence of this state: I am in it for the long haul, obviously. There’ll be no resumption of my previous life, not anytime soon. I am neck deep in babies over here, and while I feel like I’m managing fairly well, I must admit that I am still hugely overwhelmed with this life change.

I miss my old life. It was a good one, except for the shadow infertility cast over it. My life now is also a good one. I have much to be thankful for. When I think of what the future holds, though, it doesn’t excite me so much as, well, frighten me. As I’ve said before, I no longer believe in the any-day-now arrival of the “it gets easier” time everyone says exists. It seems more that you resolve certain challenges, certain issues, only to have brand new ones pop up in their place. Such is parenting, no?

The thought exhausts me. I’m aware that the babies are in a pretty golden period of their lives right now. They’re immobile, they’re sleeping a tad better at night, they’re at maximum cuteness, we have a loose schedule, things are more or less okay. This stage won’t last of course, and I’m frightened at what’s to come. Little Boy and Little Girl’s imminent mobility scares the heck out of me. Discipline? I have no earthly idea how that’s going to work. It's the day-to-day details that bog me down.

Case in point...we started Little Boy on solids last week. While I won’t tell you that the pumping/bottle feeding routine we have is particularly convenient, it works for us. All of a sudden we’ve got a whole new ball of string to untangle. Any meal that includes solids takes three times as long, makes a huge mess, and is even less convenient than bottle feeding. When we get Little Girl started in the next few weeks it’ll be twice the complications, twice the mess, twice the time.

It’s a small thing, but those are the kind of issues that become mental hurdles for me. And it seems as if there are so many hurdles on the horizon. I know when the time comes I’ll deal with each and every one of them and find a way to cope, but just knowing that there’s all this stuff still to figure out exhausts me.

There’s no turning back. I’m a mom now, like it or not. I love my babies, very much so, but lately I find myself wondering all too often, “what if I’d never gotten pregnant?” My rational mind knows that I’d likely have been a mess left devastated by infertility. My marriage might have succumbed to the strain and I’d surely be clinically depressed. But that’s not what my irrational mind focuses on. Instead I dream of the freedom of schedule I had, the lack of commitment to much of anything but deadlines and my husband, the feeling of just being me, not Mom, nothing but Claudia, and knowing exactly who I was.

So yeah, still grappling over here. This identity shift is tough business. I always imagined myself being a good mother, a natural mother, and I am. I just never realized that it would come at the expense of the rest of my personality.

A crying Little Boy, some joy, and a baptismal ploy.

2006-12-27T10:52:00.000-05:00

Things are a changin’ at the House of Bad Egg. Last night’s initial foray into sleep training went fairly well, if you can get past the hour and a half I sobbed along with my babies. Well, along with Little Boy anyway. Little Girl cried some, but much less, then decided to show us that she understood what we were after and only woke once (!) for a feeding during the rest of the night.

We’ll see how tonight goes, but I’m hopeful that both babies may soon understand that night time is for sleeping, not eating.

Another issue being volleyed around the house? B. wants to baptize the babies. I do not. If we had ever attended church, or planned to, I’d consider it. As it is, I find it to be pretty darned hypocritical, and not an example I care to set. B. is much more spiritual than I am and firmly believes in God. I am a tried and true agnostic and believe that religion is like masturbation: something you should learn about only when you’re old enough and that should only be practiced in private. We are not finding much middle ground on this issue, neither of us being willing to bend much.

The only thing saving me from being flat-out angry and the fight escalating is the fact that B. is the repository of lots and lots of big ideas and plans, few of which ever make it to fruition. If I bide my time and don’t make a huge issue out of it, chances are it’ll fall through the cracks and never happen. That’s what I’m counting on, anyway.

Jumping topics yet again, we had a nice Christmas, if only because we received wonderful news from two of our infertility buddies. A positive beta after an IVF cycle for one, and the adoption of a beautiful baby girl for the other. Could there be any more wonderful a holiday gift than to hear such news? I am smiling from ear to ear just thinking about it.

I hope 2007 brings everyone their heart’s fulfillment. Good health, prosperity, love, peace, hope and joy to all of you!

Diary of a bad bedtime.*

2006-12-12T19:57:00.000-05:00

Bedtime was so rocky this evening that it left me dazed. Now that the tots are asleep I should be working; instead I’m sitting at the computer feeling more shellshocked than motivated.

Little Boy did not nap enough today and so started falling apart around five this afternoon. A smarter mom probably would have just put him straight to bed at that point, but not me. I’m always frightened that the babies will sleep one minute less in the morning, so I try to keep them up ‘til their usual 6:30 or 7:00 bedtime. So, he fussed. He cried. He screamed some. He drank a bottle, then fussed some more. Finally, at 6:15 I couldn’t hold out any longer and took him upstairs to begin the bedtime ritual.

Little Girl had been napping peacefully up until this point; again, a sign that they both probably should have been in bed earlier. After changing ~~Fusspants~~ Little Boy’s diaper and getting him swaddled, I brought Little Girl upstairs to do the same. While Little Boy cried in the background, I went about changing her diaper. In the calming, low-stimulation, low-light environment of the bedroom I didn’t notice that Little Girl’s diaper rash had flared up, big time. I wiped, she screamed bloody murder. We’re talking rigid body, bright red face, maximum volume, the whole shebang. I felt awful - is there anything worse than hurting your child, however inadvertently?

Little Boy, upon hearing his sister’s distress, amped his own crying up a few notches. Two inconsolable babies...and did I mention that B. is traveling so I’m alone? This would have been a rough bedtime with the both of us here.

I eventually got them calmed enough to get them into their crib, and they’re sleeping now, but without the benefit of the usual few ounces of breastmilk they eat before they fall asleep.

I think I’m in for a rough night...

*My apologies for this largely uninteresting post.

With a screaming baby in the background...

2006-12-04T13:56:00.000-05:00

Gawd, I’m such a flopawful mess that I’ve started this post about ten times and can’t get it right. Onward then...

It was a shitacular weekend. I am exhausted physically, mentally and emotionally. I did some reading online yesterday morning, hoping to find solace in other’s similar situations, but it seems everyone is doing far better than I. There are several infertility/twins blogs I read that I won’t list here, ‘cause I really do like these people and what they’re saying. I’m just feeling a bit jealous, that’s all. Most everyone else seems to have a better grasp on this twin mommyhood stuff than I do.

It has not gotten easier. I no longer believe that it will, at least not until the babies are significantly older. If one challenge has been surmounted, another has arisen to take its place. I don’t feel incompetent and I’m not doing much second-guessing of my parenting choices, but every day is still a struggle, each part of the day with its own unique challenge that fills me with dread.

Will the twins let me sleep past six AM?

Will they eat any significant amount today, or is it going to be all night feedings again as usual?

Will Little Boy take an afternoon nap? If not, how big of a pill is he going to be later?

Can I attempt to leave the house with them, or am I better off not trying?

Will they go to bed easily or will it be a struggle?

Will they sleep for more than an hour or two before needing to eat?

Repeat, ad infinitum.

And then there’s B. Things are not good between us right now. I am perpetually angry, resentful, cranky, irritated with him. There are a host of issues at hand, both small and large. They run the gamut from his continual habit of placing things (his shoes, a briefcase, etc.) directly in high traffic areas (a minor thing until you’ve almost fallen - repeatedly - while carrying a baby) to larger issues, like a couple of flat-out deceptions he’s been caught in. I honestly think that I don’t at all know the man I’m married to, not today.

To his credit, it’s not his parenting skills at issue. The man’s a good dad, no doubt, and I’m thankful for that. It’s just Everything Else...

Adding to my misery is the feeling that nothing but more difficulty lies ahead of me. Tonight we’re moving the babies out of the co-sleeper into their crib in the nursery. This is just the beginning of a series of changes afoot at the House of Bad Egg. Hopefully these transitions will make for an easier time down the road (ha!) but in the short term they promise to mean crying babies and a sad, cranky mom.

So what’s keeping me going at this point? Those little moments of joy babies bring. Little Girl is my ray of sunshine, Little Boy a sweet, sensitive munchkin. If not for their smiles, their giggles, seeing them sleeping peacefully at night, that sort of thing, well, I’d have jumped off a cliff long ago.

Enter: doubt.

2006-11-10T11:10:00.000-05:00

Up until this point I was reasonably confident in my parenting decisions. I didn’t agonize much over the day-to-day choices I was making. Sure, I felt (and still feel) like a failure for never getting the breastfeeding thing going*, but I’ve adjusted my expectations. Fact is, the pumping thing is going okay and they’re eating 100% breastmilk and that’s not too shabby. Now I find myself seriously second guessing myself over the babies absolute refusal to sleep more than two hours a stretch at night, much less through the night.

Am I making the night waking worse by feeding them every time they start crying? It occurred to me that maybe I am...but the alternative would be to let them cry it out, and then no one’s getting any sleep. And if I do decide to let them cry it out, are they, at fifteen weeks, old enough?

Is having them sleep in a co-sleeper next to our bed compounding the problem? Should I go ahead and try to move them into the crib in the nursery? What about swaddling? They had seemed not to mind being in their baby straightjackets, but now they bust their arms out most nights. Does that mean they don’t want to be swaddled anymore?

The real question? What am I doing wrong? Why, oh why, won’t these babies sleep longer at night? I am almost as worn out as I was at three weeks postpartum. Exhaustion is stealing all the joy out of this motherhood thing.

They won’t be eighteen and asking for a bottle every two hours at night (or at least not a bottle of breastmilk) so this has to end at some point. If it’s not sooner rather than later, though, my next post might be from the Ha Ha House.

*Just for shits and giggles (or in this case, milk and crying), I offered Little Girl the breast yesterday to see if she would eat. She didn't. She cried, and fussed, and acted as if she'd never nursed before. I was already overly emotional from exhaustion and her refusal broke my heart. I guess she's long since forgotten how to nurse. Sad.

At three months.

2006-10-28T13:26:00.000-04:00

It’s been the longest three months of my life. Everyone says I’ll look back at this and it will all be a blur, but I find that hard to believe. I feel like time has slowed to a crawl and I’m stuck in a neverending routine. Feed, change, play, pray for sleep. Laundry, work, food. Repeat ad nauseum.

Worst of all, I have moments when I think motherhood isn't worth the years of struggle with infertility. In the early rush of motherlove I was relieved to feel that yes, the ends justified the means. I still do largely feel that way, but when I’m having a particularly bad day, when the babies won’t sleep, when I’m all alone with them with no help, I have moments of thinking “what have I done?” And then I feel guilty for even thinking that. Or for feeling so trapped and stuck. ‘Cause you know, there’s no negative feeling that a little guilt won’t enhance.

PPD, anyone?

I dunno. The depression comes and goes. It’s directly related to how manageable the babies are and how much sleep I get. Because of this I’m not considering taking any antidepressants, not just yet.

See, I thought it was supposed to be getting easier by this time. Sure, some things are easier. I am less stressed about my milk supply than I was. I ditched my old model Medela Pump In Style and rented a Lactina, which has cut my pumping time in half. We’re not on a fixed schedule but I do know what to expect out of the babies each day.

The big hurdles for us right now are sleeping and eating. Several weeks ago it seemed like Little Boy and Little Girl were sleeping longer and longer stretches through the night, five hours being the max. They got their first colds three weeks ago and all progress went out the window. They’ve been over their colds for weeks, but are still waking every three, or horror of horrors, every two hours to be fed. Little Boy has backslid with eating as well. He went from eating three to five (and sometimes six) ounces of breastmilk a feeding to only eating one or two. You could think that this snacking behavior is tied directly into his inability to sleep more than two or three hours, except that he’s fully capable of sleeping four or more hours in a row...during the day. Little Girl is a better eater, but not consistently, and she’s well apt to fall into the same snacking pattern. I have tried to get them to go longer between feedings at night but they just howl. When they do finally eat, it’s still just an ounce or two. The only decent meals of the day they eat are in the early evening hours, when they cluster feed.

In an attempt to get out of this godforsaken pattern I’m going to start trying to maintain more of a schedule in the daytime. When they’re having a long nap I’m loathe to wake them, as it’s the only time I’ve got to get work (or anything else) done, but I’m at my wit’s end and have got to change something.

I’m exasperated, exhausted, frustrated. There are some decent days, but a lot of rough ones in between. Early on I used to try to imagine the babies at three months old. Here I am, still struggling, dreaming now of the babies older still.

One of these days I’m going to have a happy mom post. I promise.

I hope.

Hits and misses.

2006-09-29T16:22:00.000-04:00

Things I Miss:

Sleep. Uninterrupted sleep. Ten or twelve hours of it. Every night. Without a bra on.

Being alone during the day. Really alone, no babies to tend to, no one to answer to, just me, myself and I.

Spending quality time with my dogs.

Running errands easily, whenever they needed done.

Cooking meals with more than four ingredients.

Having a glass or two of wine while cooking those meals. (I am drinking wine if I want it, but instead of relaxing me it just makes me hot and sweaty. Fun! Please tell me that this is only temporary...)

My vehicles...the Jetta wagon that won’t hold two carseats, our piece o’ shit vintage Bronco, my motorcycle. If I’m leaving the house these days it’s in the 4Runner, my least favorite vehicle.

Things I’m Enjoying:

Having cleavage for the first time in my life. (My boobs look great! Too bad they’re off limits to B. and will disappear when I stop breastfeeding.)

Watching B. with his babies.

Imagining the future with the kids, all the holidays, and rituals, and fun things we can do as a family.

Losing weight without dieting. (The babies are eating me alive, and I’m loving it. I had gained a lot of weight before I got pregnant, but here at nine weeks postpartum I’ve lost all my pregnancy weight and am about eight to ten pounds below where I started.)

That my babies are getting truly smiley. And cuter by the day, if that’s possible.

The rare and all-too-fleeting feelings of competence and capability that I get at the end of a good day.

Lo, I have seen the valleys. Now where are my peaks?

2006-09-26T15:06:00.000-04:00

This is not going to be a cheery post about the joys of motherhood. Frankly, I’m having a difficult time finding said joys in the midst of all this neverending monotony. Every day is the same except for varying levels of fussiness - in both the babies and myself.

All too often I realize another hindrance to this new life...I can’t even pick up the goddamned drycleaning ‘cause it’s too much hassle to have to take both babies out of the car and I can’t leave ‘em in it. Errands require a ridiculous amount of preparation and planning - so much so that I’m just not doing them. I haven’t left the house in days, but don’t really care to. It’s that hard.

I feel like I’m half the mother I could be to a singleton. That means two babies are being shorted of their rightful mothering. I am depriving these children of a happy, joyous parent ‘cause I’m so tired, so overwhelmed, and so just barely getting it done.

Sweet jeebus, I worked hard to get here and now that I’m here I am not loving every single moment. Not that I naively thought I would, I just didn’t expect it to be such a challenge to make each day a positive one.

I’m tired of hearing “it gets easier.” I want it easier now.

Yes, I love my babies. I do, really, so don’t worry, I’ve not gone off the deep end. The shift in my identity to Nothing But Mom is still wreaking havoc with my psyche, and this post is written after a particularly difficult day with the babies. Who are doing fine, by the way. Better than their mother!

Adjusted expectations.

2006-09-07T11:57:00.000-04:00

Like a lot of folks, I am my own toughest critic. This is no more apparent than with my struggle with breastfeeding. In my eyes I am an abject failure. Never mind that both babies are getting 90% of their food from me*, I am still a failure.

See, Little Boy** never got the hang of breastfeeding. Ever. Little Girl** was a pro from day one, latched on beautifully, ate well, even preferred the breast to expressed milk in a bottle, but would eat from a bottle if need be. Well, need be. Flying solo as I am now (B. is traveling quite a bit - way too much, in fact) it makes it very complicated to care for two babies, breastfeed one of them, and pump for the other. When it's just me here caring for the babies I don't really have the luxury of putting Little Girl to the boob. It takes too long and monopolizes my time and often means Little Boy is left to scream in hunger. When I'm bottlefeeding expressed milk I can feed both of them at once, or feed one and pump simultaneously. Sadly, the past couple of times when I put Little Girl to the boob she latched on just fine but wouldn’t drain my breast and had to be finished with a bottle. This is depressing for me - she was such a good nurser, and now she's losing it 'cause I don't have enough time to focus on her. Little Boy is still completely uninterested in nursing, and again, I don't have the time to work with him.

So I’m a failure. B. is exasperated with my frustration. All that matters to him is that the babies are getting breastmilk, not how they get it. I was hoping for the ultimate in flexibility: babies that eat well from both the bottle and boob, but that’s not looking too likely at this point. And it’s my fault. If I only had more time, more patience, more something, I’d be able to make it work.

They’re doing well, though, in spite of their mother’s angst. That’s all that matters, right? Right?

*Yeah, we’re supplementing with formula. Another failure on my part. It’s only a bit, maybe two to four ounces each baby each day, but still, not what I’d hoped. I feel like it’s necessary because sometimes I just can’t fill the babies up with breastmilk, almost always at night. Little Boy will have a feeding or two a day where he polishes off five ounces of breastmilk and is still hungry. I’m making lots of milk, but not that much. Sigh...

**I am still struggling with what to call the babies here. This’ll do for now, but is subject to change.

Head above water, barely.

2006-08-22T13:38:00.000-04:00

Where to begin? There are not enough hours in the day to describe what these past few weeks have been like, much less in the ten (or so) minutes I have to write this post.

Most importantly, the babies are thriving. They’re growing and changing in leaps and bounds. When people ask me how it’s going my stock answer is that the babies' needs are 110% being met. We both love them madly, and are trying hard to enjoy the little moments.

Now me, on the other hand, or B.? Different story. I’ve had a pretty rough go of it, and we’ve had a spate of bad luck. Cars breaking down. Dogs requiring surgery, then surgery again. B. having way too much stress and drama at both work and school. B. traveling already (can you believe it?). Mastitis. Money worries. Etc., etc., etc.

Bottom line? I’m ready for the “it gets easier” time everyone is promising me. Please don’t hate me for complaining, but I miss my old self, my old life. I am gradually making the shift and giving myself over completely to motherhood, but it hasn’t been a smooth transition for me. I am not shocked by how hard this is, not at all - it’s exactly what I had prepared myself for. What I was unprepared for was my identity shift. My multifaceted persona has been replaced by a one-dimensional one: Mom. It is all consuming with no room for anything else.

We fought hard to get here. Don’t get me wrong, I love being a mom (and am doing a pretty fine job of it, if I say so myself), and I wouldn’t trade these babies for anything. Honest. I’m just learning a new way of life, and there’s bound to be some bumps along the way.

The answer to my big question.

2006-08-03T17:57:00.000-04:00

Our struggle with infertility, all the years of stress, the effort, the pain, the misery, was it all worth it?

Yes.

Yeah, we're struggling, it's hard, it's exhausting, but damn, we love those babies. So very, very much.

Joy, times two.

2006-07-31T12:54:00.000-04:00

The babies are here. They were born on Friday, July 28th around 2:45 p.m. Our boy (I still haven't decided what to call them here) weighed in at 5 lbs. 12 ozs. and was 19.5 inches long, and our beautiful little girl weighed 5 lbs. 4 ozs. and is 18.5 inches long. Labor and delivery went unbelievably well. An as yet unconfirmed land speed record for twin delivery may have been set with only eleven minutes of pushing required to bring both babies into the world.

We're having moderate success with breastfeeding, more so with the girl than the boy. The dogs have been introduced and while weirded out, seem to be okay with the babies.

I am a hormonal mess, but hopefully that will pass soon. More to come once things settle down a bit (ha!), including the labor and delivery story and our rocky homecoming.

At the cusp...

2006-07-26T14:49:00.000-04:00

Official word on this end is that I’ll be checking in to the hospital Thursday evening to start the induction process. I’ll be given Cervadil and a sleeping pill (should I so desire), hooked up to the monitors and left to my own devices until six a.m. Friday morning, when they’re scheduled to start the pitocin, babies hopefully to be delivered sometime on Friday.

Crazy. Hard to believe I’ve made it here. If you’d have asked me a year ago if I’d ever thought I’d make it to this point, I’d have laughed in your face, then gone and cried in private. This destination seemed as far and unreachable as the moon, yet here I am.

I’m surprisingly calm about the labor & delivery. My only desire is to get the babies out safely. I don’t much care what happens to me, what I have to go through.

I’ll post as soon as I’m able...

The plans remain the same...

2006-07-19T22:09:00.000-04:00

Unless I spontaneously go into labor before then, I will be induced on Friday, July 28th. Nine days from now, people. Nine days. I am less freaked out by this concrete date than you’d think, but then again, talk to me tomorrow. Today seems to be one of those days where I’m not crying at anything and everything.

It’s estimated that both babies are close to six pounds each, or at the very least, over five pounds each - you know, margin of error and all. I had been worried about low birth weights, so this is good news. I’ll be 36 week and 2 days when they induce, so if all goes well I’m hoping to be able to bring both babies home with me when I’m discharged from the hospital.

A few random thoughts/issues/concerns:

A bit of bad news regarding our vehicle situation...Remember my much beloved car? A station wagon? A “mommy-mobile,” I believe I called it? Well, not so much. Turns out that the back seat is far too small to hold two rear-facing car seats. The front seats have to be pulled so far forward that it renders the car undriveable. Major bummer. I love that car, love it, love it, love it, and now I’m going to have to give it up for a year. We’re lucky that we even have a second vehicle that two car seats will work in, but B.’s Toyota 4Runner is trashed out, less safe, less comfortable, and a whole lot less “me.” When my vehicle’s shortcomings became apparent last weekend after the nice man at the fire station said no, the car seats couldn’t be touching the front seats at all, I cried. Big buckets of tears. For two days. I suffered with The Little Car That Couldn’t for ten long years, to finally get a daily driver that I wanted, only to now have to hand it over to my car-trashing, break-things, hard-on-stuff husband for a year. I know this is but a minor speed bump (“speed bump” - ha ha ha, a vehicle pun) on the grand highway of life, but gearhead that I am, it sucks. Big time.

Both babies are still head down. This means an attempt at a vaginal delivery. Have we been preparing ourselves for this? Well, no. The good doctors only gave me a 25% chance of such a thing, so both B. and I had largely ignored the possibility. In spite of that, though, I consider myself fairly well informed about the birth process after shepherding many girlfriends through it, watching a lot of television, and reading a few books. B., on the other hand? Clueless. This oughta be good...

I dread all the company we will have after the birth. I used to be more outgoing, more engaged with family and friends, more comfortable with people around, but not now. I credit infertility with this change, but was hoping that pregnancy would draw me out of my shell. It has, some, but truth be told, I’d hands-down prefer to have this baby in a distant cave with B. and a team of medical professionals at my side...and then stay there.

And in one final joke that’s not at all funny, B. will be out of town for work this Sunday night and Monday. Which means, of course, that that’s when I’ll go into labor. He’ll only be five hours away by car, so it’s manageable (she says, bravely) but I’m still not pleased at the idea.

Sigh. Hanging in there. Nine days and counting...

T-minus...

2006-07-11T20:13:00.000-04:00

...two weeks and counting. At today’s perinatologist appointment the good doctor said that he likely wouldn’t let me go beyond 36 weeks. I’ll be 34 weeks tomorrow, so yup, the babies are coming soon. The amniotic fluid around the boy continues to fluctuate; hence, the doctor’s prediction that delivery will be not much later than 36 weeks.

Life is chaos here at the House of Bad Egg. I am swamped with work and last minute details and it’s hard to tend to any of it when I’m supposed to be horizontal most of the time. I feel as if a bomb were about to be dropped on me and I’m unable to prepare my bomb shelter.

I am perhaps the least excited member of both of our families. I am more filled with dread; I feel horrible writing that, but it’s true. I love being pregnant, discomfort and all, and I’ll be sad when it’s over. And as we’ve already established, I’m frightened.

Stay tuned...

Gloom and doom.

2006-06-30T11:53:00.000-04:00

Every once in awhile I experience a sharp, stabbing moment of reality: I. Am. Going. To. Have. Babies. Soon. On days like today this can reduce me to tears. I’m that scared. I just can’t accurately know what to expect, and from what everyone tells me, to include books, family, bulletin boards, etc., my life is about to become a living hell. How can I not be scared by those gloomy predictions?

So little of what I’ve read or heard talks about the upside of having twins. Yeah, some books are more upbeat than others and have a few positive things to say, but mostly it’s more of the same: it’s hard, you’ll be exhausted, your life will never be the same, be prepared for hell.

Maybe I’ll get on the other side of this and have a different story to tell. Maybe planning for the worst-case scenario will make it seem less difficult somehow. Maybe pigs really can fly.

The only thing that seems to reassure me in any fashion is hearing other infertiles say, “yes, it was all worth it.”

It’s got to be.

Progress and dullness.

2006-06-27T20:19:00.000-04:00

At last Friday’s perinatologist appointment the amniotic fluid around the boy had improved but is still on the low side. I was contracting a whole heck of a lot less, though, and had another negative fetal fibronectin result, so it’s looking like these babies are staying put for the time being.

I’m to maintain the same level of activity and hydration until further notice. This makes getting anything done a bit of a challenge. The good news is that the whole low-amniotic-fluid-potential-early-arrival-of-babies-cancel-B’s-trip-to-Utah episode lit a fire under B’s ass and we’ve made great strides in getting things ready for the babies. The nursery is about 85% done, and aside from the finishing touches there, the only major things left to do are to install the carseats, find a pediatrician, and get a freelancer to help me with my work. (Okay, that last one is huge, admittedly, but according to my Head In Sand position, I'm not allowed to talk about it.) Progress is good.

I spend a fair amount of time trying to envision my life once the twins are here and I can’t, not at all. For a control freak/planner such as myself, this is hell. I lay in bed at night composing eloquent posts about my trepidation, my mood swings, my outright fear, but when it comes time to sit at the computer I am always struck with a mushy, dull brain. I apologize for both the lack of postings and the quality of them.

I’ll be 32 weeks Wednesday. This pregnancy has flown by much too quickly. How I wish I could slow it down...

Now it's getting interesting...

2006-06-18T14:00:00.000-04:00

Not that this pregnancy has ever been boring, at least to me. At Wednesday’s perinatologist appointment we discovered that baby A, the boy, has low amniotic fluid. Frustratingly, the doctor wouldn’t give me an actual measurement, saying that the boy was just too active to get accurate numbers. I’m not sure if I believe him; in fact, I had a difficult time interpreting his reaction overall. He was very calm about the whole thing, but at the same time, slightly alarming. We did my first non-stress test, right after he had told me they don’t usually start doing those until 32 weeks - I’m only 30 weeks. When he heard that B. was scheduled to leave Sunday for two weeks in Utah, very quickly said no, that’s not a good idea. But then I’m not scheduled to come back for another appointment until Friday the 23rd, so how serious can it be?

The non-stress test showed the babies were doing fine, but that I am continuously contracting. I was aware that I was contracting a lot when I moved around, but evidently I’m contracting even when I sit still. It seems odd to me that I don’t feel it, but the technician doing the non-stress test said that was common.

Anyway, bottom line is that my activities have been restricted, big time. No one has officially used the word “bedrest,” thankfully, but I was told that for every hour I’m upright I need to spend an hour horizontal. And I’m to hydrate, hydrate, hydrate, which I’ve been doing. I’m so sick of peeing that I almost wish I had a catheter in place.

The upside to this is that B.’s trip to Utah was cancelled. This means that for the first time ever we’ll be able to celebrate my birthday together. Every year in the past five years, without fail, he’s been traveling on my birthday. It’s never mattered much to me - it’s been funny, in fact, but this year will be a nice change.

In other news, I’ve passed my one year blogiversary. Hard to believe that much time has elapsed, and how much different my life is now. Thanks to all you internets - your support has been invaluable to me.

A big poopy post.

2006-06-07T14:08:00.002-04:00

More gross poop problems going on over here. If you remember, I’ve been clogging toilets with the sheer volume of my poop for several weeks. It got a bit better for awhile with an increased dosage of stool softener, but no more, I’m back to regular, full-on cloggage.

It’s morphed into another problem. I simply cannot produce the force, effort, strength, whatever, to push the poop out of me. Straining now causes contractions. Not straining means the poop stays where it is and gets more and more impacted. I spent yesterday visiting the bathroom every hour or so hoping that the poop would just magically slide out, to no avail. I slept poorly last night from the pressure in my abdomen, and when I awoke this morning I felt as if I were walking around with a large cucumber stuck in my lower intestine. My hourly visits to the bathroom were upped to every fifteen minutes, but again, no luck.

I have never been so uncomfortable from constipation in my life. So even though I had an ob/gyn appointment scheduled for this afternoon, I called the doctor to ask what could be done. A quick trip to the drugstore and one suppository later, I finally managed to unblock myself without blowing a gasket. And my oh my, what I produced! No wonder I felt so miserable. We are talking large, people, larger than I thought humanly possible. Large enough that I couldn’t immediately get the toilet plunged & cleared. I thought that today was the day a plumber would have to be called, but my last plunging attempt worked, finally.

I am sick of this shit, literally. I am well aware that in the grand scheme of things this is a minor pregnancy complaint, but still...I have plunged the toilet more times than any one human should have to. Before we left for our mini-vacation on St. Simon’s Island I asked B. if we should pack a plunger. He laughed, but what did I do our first morning there? Yup, clogged the toilet. We left a note for the maids and stayed well clear of the room all day. I was so embarrassed. My shower is this weekend (yikes!) and we’ll have a house full of company. I’ll be relocating the plunger to the master bathroom, but am dreading when I’ll have to use it, since anyone in the kitchen directly below the master bath will pretty much be able to hear everything. And what the hell kind of noises will a plunger make through the floorboards? I shudder to think of explaining that one...

And so it goes. Or doesn’t go, as the case may be.

29 weeks today. So much left to do.

All the news that's fit to blog about. Sort of.

2006-05-29T16:44:00.000-04:00

Sorry for the long pause between posts. Life is just flying by over here at the House of Bad Egg. I will be 28 weeks pregnant this Wednesday, and so far all is well. Yeah, I’ve got some complaints, but the bottom line is that both babies appear to be doing fine and that’s really all that matters.

B. is currently between semesters and on vacation. We had a nice week together that included a three night stay on St. Simon’s Island, B.’s 40th birthday, and a fair amount of work around the house. He is currently visiting his parents in Pennsylvania - a trip that I did not think he needed to make, but Stubborn man (he’s earned the capital “S”) that he is, there was no talking him out of it. He will return on Thursday and his next semester starts on Friday, so for me, his vacation is over.

Here’s a brief rundown of some of the stuff that's been going on:

The nursery is nowhere near ready. We were supposed to get B.’s office (read: junk storage area) cleaned out this last week while he’s been on vacation. We made some progress, but I underestimated the size of the job. This was the room that all the clutter that B. trailed behind him was eventually relocated to, and man, did it accumulate. I was hoping to have the room entirely clean and the kitchen island that we’ll be using for a changing table brought up from the basement, but as of today it’s only about 80% clear and the island remains in the basement. The thought of pulling it all together is overwhelming, but at the same time I’ve managed to throw my hands up in the air and walk away in a calm fashion. I can’t get the job done - it’s his stuff and I’m not able to move the island anyway. If the babies come before the nursery is ready, so be it. It’ll get done at some point.
I’ve become insanely clingy with B. He still irritates the bejeezus out of me on a regular basis, but in spite of that I’ve become this needy, clinging vine that despairs of a single moment away from him. It’s all part of the hormonal mess I’ve become, but no less irritating, probably not least of all for me.
Edema has visited me, decided she likes the digs and moved in to stay. My ankles (or cankles, as B. calls ‘em) are so freaking huge that they gross me out almost as much as how long an impression remains when you push a dent on the top of my feet. I only have one pair of shoes that will fit after, say, three o’clock. I see compression hose in my very near future. My $12.95 silver temporary wedding band that I bought in a much too large size? Almost too tight to wear, especially in the afternoons.
My appetite has still not returned. I’m beginning to believe it’s gone for the duration of this pregnancy. I am managing to eat without much problem, I just have no hunger sensation, ever. As of last Friday’s ob/gyn appointment I have gained 20 pounds, a tad less than I’d like, but not too shabby.
Speaking of ob/gyn appointments, at last Friday’s we saw a doctor other than Dr. Bumble - let’s call her Dr. Alternative, as in alternative to Dr. Bumble. B. and I liked her much better and at checkout booked our next appointment with her. I don’t think that means we’ve officially switched doctors, I’m just going to try to see less of Dr. Bumble. And oh yeah, I forgot to mention in my last post about the Visit Where They Did Most Everything Wrong not only did they miscalculate what week I was, Dr. Bumble wrote down a measurement for my fundal height without actually taking one. Nice! And wait, there’s more! That rhogam shot I was supposed to get? Turns out I don’t need it because B.’s blood type is O negative. No one ever thought to ask before Dr. Alternative did. Confidence inspiring, no?

That’s the update. Again, sorry to be such a slack-ass about posting, but the days do seem to be buzzing by rather rapidly.

Dr. Bumble bumbles.

2006-05-09T15:43:00.000-04:00

I had a one-hour glucose tolerance test this morning. I’d had the three-hour test back in the Trying To Figure Out What’s Wrong With Me days of infertility, and I don’t remember having any problem with it, but man, that glucose drink made me feel like absolute crap today! Hope that’s not a bad sign...

Dr. Bumble’s office was in rare form today. My visit started with a trip to the lab to have my blood drawn for the glucose test - 0r so I thought. Turns out that even though I had mentioned to three different nurses that that was what I was there for, it somehow didn’t get put on the lab form. The lab tech only discovered it as she was actually drawing my blood. I must have looked a bit rough ‘cause she asked if I was okay. I said it was the glucose drink making me feel ill and she said, “Oh, really? Are we supposed to be drawing blood for that now?” Ummm, yeah? She got another lab tech to check with the nurses while I sat there, butterfly needle in place, and waited for confirmation. At least I didn’t have to get stuck twice, right?

I didn’t figure this next bit out until I was back at home, but I somehow have magically progressed from the actual 25 weeks gestation that I am to 28 weeks on the doctor’s records. I have a form containing a brief synopsis of my pregnancy that they update each visit, and sure enough, it says I’m 28 weeks today. I was wondering about Dr. Bumble’s math as he lectured me, saying the next six weeks were crucial, but that once I got to 34 weeks we could relax a bit. At the time I wrote the confusion off to my glucose-addled brain, but nope, they’re messed up.

And finally, on the way in one of the nurses told me I’d need to get a rhogam shot today but it never happened. Whoops?

I dunno, I’m just not feeling the love there. They’re all nice enough, but I can only imagine what would happen if I wasn’t halfway on top of my own situation.