Those Baby Days

I don't know if more babies, or even another baby, are in the cards for my life.  I put my trust in God that the path I'm on, whatever that turns out to be, is more than okay.  In all things, joy. However, the absolute heartache to hold my babies and imagine this as the last set of firsts--the weight sometimes feels too much.

*Thomas*

I felt this way with Thomas too.  I would rock him in the dark of our 1st home, with that eager blue paint of the nursery's walls closing me up. I would touch the fat of his arm, the curve of his cheek, the wisps of hair on his head as he nursed. And it was then with the still of the night, I felt if I just thought willfully and squeezed my heart in just the right way I would freeze that moment forever.  Please, God. Don't ever let me forget.

Now that he's three I know some of those moments stayed and some, sadly, have faded into a fog of happiness that ties that season together.  Despite the challenges of being a new mommy, I delighted in the purity of a baby and the joy he brought to a home to hope and see the world in new, unexpected ways.  I savored the little coos and the babbles and him reaching for a toy. I looked at him over and over again in awe. A perfect gift to treasure, to love and be loved.

But there was a tiny voice in my head nagging me to enjoy.  Fear of missing out seemed to lurk at every turn. For every joy for something new he learned to do, a ping of pain for that just finished baby stage packed up and boxed along with the clothes that no longer fit his growing body.

And now I'm here with Alistair and Emerick.  I've been able to hold them as small ones even longer.  They are at five months the weight Thomas was at two months.  Their premature bodies a token of lingering joy, something to savor amid the double duty fatigue of caring for twins. And I've got the great expanse of time with which stay-at-homes are paid too. I can't afford dining out or new jeans, but yesterday Alistair and I just sat with no agenda whatsoever but to look out the back of our home at the wet fall leaves swaying in the wind. Crimson. Bright orange. Yellow burned over the brunt of fall. And a baby content to sit on momma's thigh, happy to rest his hand in momma's palm.

And yet, all the showers missed, the dishes that have waited, the countless hours I've done nothing but "enjoy every moment" (as all young mommies are too often told), there's still a sense I've not pulled it off quite perfectly. Or it is, what I mean to say, that there is no way to freeze the loving of a baby and thaw it years later.

I think it is all too easy to look back to babyful days and sweep the sleepless nights under the memory of our hearts, the way wanting to jump in the shower or heck, just to be in the bathroom for a moment by yourself, has you practically begging for God's miraculous intervention with the ceaseless needs of little ones who want nothing less than to tug at your hands and chest all the live long day.

I twitch with a nudge of resentment when a wise woman, seasoned with baby days long past, stops in her tracks to remind me to enjoy every moment, as if to say "watch out! you're probably, most likely doing it wrong".

I think most of us are doing it right more than we think.  We take a long pause before placing our baby back in her crib, soaking in the silence and the solitude of the night's offering. We take many untold moments, phone stashed away, to stare into blue eyes, to tickle, to trace the lines of their little features so as to never, ever forget.  Please, God. Don't let me ever forget. 

That pain? That heartache? It's not a sign we didn't do our very best with the tricky balance of loving that sweet little gift...and also making sure our family didn't slide into a steady diet of fast food vs. whatever happens to be in the fridge. It's not a sign you just didn't still your heart, silence the distractions, and welcome the slow, steady special outpouring of love a slobbering chubby mini-me leaves around the house like an obstacle course leading straight to the meaning of life dressed up in the deceitful simplicity of a baby that knows nothing else but to smile back at his momma.

The passing of baby days, the looking back to what was, and even in the heartache, as is mine, of feeling it slip right through your fingers, it's painful because it is so good. It is so very good.

The pain is the flipside. The pain is the mirror. The pain is the small price for experiencing something so strikingly beautiful.

Our hearts remember little toes and lips that suck when asleep and our hearts cry out to what it was all about. I was so unworthy, but you came.  I was so clueless, but you came.  I was such a mess, but you were designed to love me anyway. 

No number of hours loving babies will ever help me recover such a loss as my unworthiness disregarded.  No amount of staring into my sons' eyes will help me overcome my gratitude for gifts not asked for, gifts unknown, gifts delivered right into the heart of my home.

First Comes Love

A great light flooded my world the day Alistair and Emerick were born.  Two tiny cries. Two babies to hear my voice. Two sets of eyes to lose myself in over and over again forever. I fell in love hard that day. 

While there has been a great deal of happiness in this season of caring for baby twins, I've had a particularly difficult time pulling it all back together. There's that place when fresh slates were wrapped in swaddling blankets and laid in my arms to nurse for the first time and then there's reality. The reality of three kids, not just two babies. Laundry that does not jump in the washer and clean itself.  A three year old who whines, grunts and baby talks, desperate for my attention.  Waking my husband up at 2 am with an avalanche of naughty words to describe my feelings on night time rounds with two babies for the 5th month of never-ending nights in a row. 

This time last year I was adjusting to a new job, teaching at a new location after five years at a rural school.  It took me too long to realize those students cared little who I was or what I could do or how much I said they mattered.  Success skidded on minimum even when I crafted perfect plans, stayed stupid late or poured myself over new ways to reach them.  Here's what mattered. One thing. If and when I sincerely cared. The rest took second place.  There's no cheap trick to convince kids you care. They can see right through the guise. They won't buy in or sign up for the rest of the program.

And just the same, as I'm coming back to life here at home I'm making sense of what's important first. I'm chomping at the bit to do it all. The projects. The organization. The routine that's starting to unfold. The friends I'm making. The lists. The skills I want to teach the boys.

But first, there's love. Long hugs. Highs and lows at the dinner table. Spontaneously getting into the car to chuck bread at ducks. Pretending the one million pieces of paper my spitfire cut up at the table are money that we found at the park and need to grab RIGHT NOW! 

I've got one broken-hearted boy who feels lost among baby cries and a mommy who seems to always be nursing or changing diapers.  I'm trying so hard to reach him. Countless days I've hung my head and wrenched my hands in pain that I haven't got his world pieced back together for him. 

Some of it is coming together. A lot of it is two steps forward, one step back. By way of force, I'm learning to chill out a bit. Clean the kitchen if I can. Get all the laundry put away if I can. Touch up the paint and sketch the garden plans and print off that resource and stuff those diapers if I can.  But love, I must. Be patient, I must. Listen, I must.

No one will see these things.  These little tiny choices of love I'm seeing now, at 28, I really need to daily, hourly re-commit myself to. In fact, they'll see them less than the thankless window wiping and cabinet scrubbing I thought I was signing up for. 

But I will know it in my heart. And hopefully, maybe, if I'm really lucky my sons will know it too. 

That is when I remember to not scream "SPACE!! SPACE!!" and walk over to put his hands in theirs instead. When I remember, friends. Please, Lord, help me remember!

Excuse me. I tooted.

Seven Quick Takes

-1

Escape pow wow.

I've taken notes on everything I've done since 6 am.  I thought maybe I would turn it into one of those A Day in the Life posts.  Maybe. Maybe not.  But I have noticed a couple things:

1. I'm much too hard on myself.  I do a lot and think I should be doing about five times more than I'm doing.  

2. I'm even more the introvert than I realized.  So far, the bulk of what I felt compelled to note was what I experienced internally like mental notes, feelings when playing with my kids, and the contrast between what I thought would happen and what actually did. What I experience in my mind seems to take on much more weight than what I actually do. I shouldn't be surprised by this, but I am.

-2-

Paul left this morning for a 4 day backpacking trip with a friend.  I'll be a tad more exhausted taking care of everything on my own, but I'm so excited for him to get a break.  I'm sure every wife is convinced her husband works the hardest so I won't even try to put my two cents in there, but seriously--he deserves every minute of a reprieve he can afford.

-3-

And no, I am no hero or liar when I write as if him being gone is no big deal.  Other than an emergency situation which would put me into full-on freak out mode, I am pretty much fine.  I'll miss him but knowing he's definitely not here is much easier than those nights he has to work late unexpectedly.  Plus, if you haven't heard me say one million kajillion times, I'm as introverted as they come.  Once I make it to 8 pm and all the boys are asleep and the house is quiet, I will be internally proclaiming over and over and over again that I'm experiencing the closest thing to heaven on Earth.   

-4-

I deleted the Facebook app from my phone last week sometime.  This Monday I went off coffee. Next week I might buy a dog and then we will all know I have completely lost my mind. 

-5-

Just kidding about the dog.  Never. Ever. Just 20 minutes ago, corralling 3 littles and myself into UPS I threatened urged Thomas to stay rightbymyside and poor kid ran right into a car's side view mirror.  That is to say: perfect illustration we are barely making it on standard errands and I consider showering an accomplishment.  I'm not about to add to the mix anything dependent on my care.

-6-

I'm happy it's October.  My favorite season, summer, got swapped out for fall sometime in my 20s.  I'm every bit the cliche swooning American on all things fall. Unsolicited photos of colorful leaves. Excessive baking of pumpkin bread. And a slow burning of my, from a purchase many moons ago, candles that only fall can claim--pumpkin pie, sticky cinnamon buns...okay, basically just more food I would like to be eating.  But there is one corner of life fall and I don't agree on: football.  I'll play it (granted anyone invites me to amateur hour), but you won't find me watching it on la t.v. It kind of goes against everything I believe in, that is being awestruck by someone else's dedication to the point of axing off whole days to revel in it. I would much, much rather be doing something and doing a super crappy job and all that comes with trying your hand at anything... than oogling at someone else doing that thing.  I'm just un-American like that.  Unless there's food. Then I'll be there.

-7-

Speaking of doing something myself even if I'm dong a "super crappy job", I made my 1st pizza crust a couple Sundays ago and again this past Sunday.  Other than pumpkin bread, because it's a quick bread and therefore totally doesn't count, I'm the world's worst baker.  Out of desperation for entertainment, I baked French bread during a blizzard a couple years ago and the result was something akin to the Lampoon's Christmas scene where they slice into the what-was turkey and find their fare to be little else than some extreme crust.  In college, I chucked zucchini bread off my apartment balcony into the sink hole below out of abject horror at my baking failure.  Sweet hubby put my hand under warm water, demonstrating temps which won't murder yeast, after coming face to face with a pizza this past Sunday that should have been advertised as The World's 1st Transparent Crust! 

Messy. Just like me.

Okay, that's all the time Magic School Bus had to offer. Check back with Jen for more and to wish her a happy ten more! 

* Just realized I was not totally truthful about #6. I watch MasterChef....so hypocrite I am. 

Quick Takes - Mmm. Milk.

-1-

I lamented on IG this week about investigation work necessary to eliminate whatever toxic substance in my milk is making the boys, at random moments and typically right as I've gone to work at a task, writhe in pain.  

In reality this simpleton's research, since I'm not the most disciplined person and would more so be defined as easily distracted, looks a lot like this: Me proclaiming to my husband "It's soda. I know it's soda. I can go off soda. That's easy. I hardly even like soda!" but the next day "It's dairy. It's always been dairy. It's that ice cream I've been eating. Why was I eating ice cream again?" and the next day "No! You know what it is?! It's those lemon bars. Totally the lemons bars. I don't know why I didn't think of the lemon bars"

Everything in my pantry has now taken on the feel of a foreign invader out to destroy all peace in my home.  Because do you know what it's like to take care of TWO gas-fighting bebes? If you guessed Hades on Earth---ding, ding, ding---ba-ingo!

-2-

In between being able to sleep decently through the night and feeling guilt for consuming pretty much any of the food available in my home, I predict shriveling into a prune of a woman in no time. But with post-pregnancy pudge clinging to my front side. So like a prune kangaroo thingy. Hot mama!

-3-

I don't know why I'm writing this as quick takes because, really, this is just a story.  As long as I've established this and you're fine with it, let's move on.

-4-

Yesterday, I decided to make good use of the milk that I was not about to drink.  I made some into buttermilk, whipped them into some impromptu halfway whole wheat pancake mix (dude, there's whole wheat flour in my pantry that's going to go bad in 3 months. Sister's on a budget so I figured, it's pancakes! who cares!) and made some Pinerest-y bacon pancake log things as text pic suggested from my workingroundtheclock husband.  Of course, 3 boys constantly crying/calling/goo-ing for my attention, I decided to skip reading any instructions beyond the process of eye-ing the picture which was enough to send me into lingering bouts of laughter and my son asking "what's wrong now, mama?".  Plus, I kind of have a hate-hate relationship with Pinterest. So there's that.

I bet it takes you one guess to figure out which one was my 1st try.

-5-

If any of you were wondering if I was smart enough to utilize the milk for pancakes but dumb enough to end up eating those pancakes, maybe because of the eternal allure of bacon or the violent appetite of a mom nursing twins... you would be on the money... again.  But hey, I didn't drink milk with the buttermilk pancakes so my brain was still working a little.

-6-

Earlier that day I tried to have Thomas drink the milk but he said no, thank you to my subtle nudge for him to operate as our human garbage disposal before the two days from now expiration date.  See, he is what some might call a strong-willed child (even though that label makes me cringe and I 99% of the time buck using, saying, or claiming it).  Regardless--The kid will come up with the most elaborate excuses for anything. Caught throwing rocks at day care? He told the director he was showing the other kids what not to do? Caught hitting a baby? The baby needed burping.  So when he claimed yesterday that the milk was "no good", I chuckled to myself that I heard 1001 of interesting excuses and maybe I should just go write myself a book titled Toddler Excuses & The Good Rebuttals You Shouldn't Use.  I held my ground and firmly told him it was that or nothing. And of course, Stubborn had nothing to do with it.

And I also made the 5th mental note of the day that was just vaguely: more parenting failure, Ash

-7-

I ambled into the kitchen this morning and to my sheer delight found a bacon pancake log waiting for me. After questioning the crew, yes, yes, it was left for me! There were golden rays beaming from where it rested on the counter.  I felt as if I had awoken to an explosive rainbow of confetti thrown into the air celebrating Friday, Friday, Good morning, it's Friday! And I thought, what the heck, I'll just drink a gulp of milk with this... you can't have pancakes without milk...that's basically a sin. 

My guilt for voluntarily, probably maybe, poisoning my babies had me pouring that milk so quick and putting it back in the fridge so quick and throwing it back like a shot so quick....

Isn't milk just the best?

But no! Because my brain went on red alert--vomit now, Ashey! Vinegar. Death. Milk. Water. More death. What is this stufffffff? 

Because I don't know what in the world of all things natural happened, but that milk is bad with a capital B. Well, was bad, before I spewed it out and sent the rest down the actual garbage disposal.

And there at the counter was my son looking at me with eyebrows raised.

"See. I told you it was no good. Member. Member, I said that. It's bad. It turned into juice!"

"Right, juice. Something like that. Eat your pancakes." 

We're waiting to see how long it takes her to realize it's the peanut butter. 

Blahging

It's obvious why I've blogged infrequently this summer. With the new babies and nursing and diapering and such this is how things go, staring at toes and echoing back "goo, gaa, yes, yes, I love you!".  That, and many of you have heard me all but beg for sleep. Any sleep. And you can't really complain about not sleeping and then be blogging about the intricacies of homemade soup.

But when I used to daydream about the possibility of staying at home rather than teaching I, without question, assumed an increase in blogging would be natural.  However, my inclination to share with the world has found a lull lately and it has little to do with losing sleep to hangry babies.  

Leaving the classroom and putting down my work roots at home has catapulted me into an experience just as intense, challenging, and exhausting I had ever known as a teacher. And before you start with well, duh! you just had babies--two babies, Ash!, that's not exactly what I mean.  Taking care of the twins has been its own beautiful and unique experience but it has not swallowed whole all the other facets of my life. Needs are surfacing which were waiting for some attention all along. Needs like how to negotiate medical bills or curb a toddler's whining or how to connect, un-distracted, with my husband after dinner and tucking children into bed and finally catching our breaths from our separate but equally craptastic days. I have lots to learn and knowing I have lots to learn leaves me feeling like I have not much to say.

Being at home means a lot of quiet time to think.  Even when the dishwasher's running, a baby is crying, and my son's singing "He's got the whooooole word in his hands. He's got the itty bitty babies in his hands"--even then, the home takes on a different kind of quiet I wasn't accustomed to for as long as I had been a mother.  And that space and isolation and hum of the computer when littles are asleep, there's a lot of opportunity there. It's all a door to anxiety and grief and depression. Or a door to questioning, learning, humbling myself to consider a lot of new things.  

Being here amid the laundry and the chipped wine cabinet and the spider web under the t.v. console I just eyed a minute ago when nursing has my mind expanding in new directions, directions that need some water and sun and nudging before they blossom here on my blog.  

But above all else, my heart is crying out for me to show up and be present. I want carefree time with my husband to laugh and listen and work through some things that maybe we weren't allowing ourselves time or energy for before. I want time to read with a lingering spirit to Thomas and let his questions do the leading as he learns how letters make words. I want time to smile at Alistair & Emerick and babble with them "goo, gaa, yes, yes, I love you!"

And while I say all this and mean it about blogging, it doesn't change how I feel about writing and that is this: Writing helps me make sense of things, it cleans up my brain.  It fills my cup and is always worth the work.  Even though I don't feel I have much time or much to say, I'll still be drooling out my words here because I need to hear that other mothers were also embarrassed when they figured out they were doing ___________ ALL WRONG!! or at least to laugh at/with me when I reveal I have.

Plus, the hum of the computer can make me feel I'm going a little ca-razy some days.  If all this blahg turns out to be is a humble scroll of my cliche and totally ordinary mommy-ness (so I can connect with other mommies saving themselves from isolation the same way), I'm totally cool with that. 

Those of you who do read---which I guess would be you right now--thanks for stopping by, saying hello, and reminding me I've got a few people to share with when I've yet again managed to get baby poop on my cami. 

Alistair & Emerick - 3 Months

Um, hello 3 months!! We are so happy to see you.

I always anticipated relief at the three month mark because 90% of the tales of twin-rearing woe I read while pregnant concerned the gauntlet that is (as of today!) the rode behind us. Anticipation affirmed. I feel huge relief.

You know that whole idea about rock bottom and hitting it? Yeah, well, that totally happened this month.  Smarter women than me who are aren't so bent on being independent and avoiding help bypass rock bottom and say hello to sunshiny days earlier in this journey. Humility and vulnerability have never been my strengths, so I can't blame anyone but myself for going weeks on end so fatigued I functioned like a zombie overdosing on testosterone.

But my zombie days are over, friends, as you'll read in a sec, and I'm feeling alive! and happy! and myself! and let me say it one more time... alive!

Let's get on with this month's tid-bits shall we:

Nursing: I stopped feeling sorry for myself (in wanting to nurse one sweet baby at a time so badly) and returned to tandem nursing full time. First during the day and then at night.  I'm in love with caring for twins, but it has been difficult to shift to a different nursing relationship than what I experienced with my first. But how can I say no to nursing babies who grab each others' hands and stroke each others' faces?! So sweet. Also, they are big enough now that I can nurse hands free and therefore bulk up babies and encourage my reading addiction simultaneously. I feel very grateful that I've afforded the opportunity to nurse twins full time. It has its own set of challenges but is wonderful and beautiful.
* For my own amusement I would also like to note interesting places I tandem nursed this month including but not limited to: a funeral parlor, my parents' van and a rocking chair in an empty church nursery  (where I had to contort the babies legs in awkward positions...sorry bebes)--all with no props save some gumption and a prayer no one would walk in. 

Sleep Baby Wise: Having twins has converted me into a big believer in the method found in On Becoming Baby Wise.  I was late to implement one super important factor--babies always sleeping in the same place and that being their crib/s--but otherwise found enormous success in following the eat, wake, sleep method and even read On Becoming Preschool Wise this month which has proved a very beneficial resource for improving my relationship with Thomas. The boys are now sleeping 12 hours at night with one feeding in the middle (and Emerick skipped that feeding last night). This would have been possible much sooner had I not let myself get so freaked out about their reflux and therefore avoid the crib at all costs (all costs = sanity). Oh well. Live, learn, move on.

Tripped Out: Paul left for two business trips this month. Or three. I honestly can't remember. We also drove to my parents' house two different times and to my sister-in-law's place to check out our brand new nephew, Everette. 36 hours ago we were thinking Paul was headed, by possible last minute plans, from CT to Chicago and straight to China... and I would have handled it okay. But he's here! So reprieve for me.

The Situation: (a note to twin mommy-to-be's) I would like to say for the record that taking care of twins is not particularly difficult. And it's a lot of fun! However, each person has his/her unique situation, as is life, so DO NOT feel bad if either you find yourself thinking a.) Hey, this is so much easier than I thought it would be...What's all the fuss about? or b.) Woah. What the what?! I'm drowning here. Suriously! I'm dying! Okay, maybe that last one was a bit dramatic but you get the point.  At the moment my situation's difficulty is served up by way of the following factors: 1. transitioning to SAHM 2. attention starved three year old due to tandem nursing, no older/talking siblings to play with, and 3 years of flying the kid ship solo 3. a husband who works a lot.  So, when people want to know how difficult it is to have twins, I feel like scratching my head. There's no good way to answer that question. I think we're all trying our best and also feel maxed out in a lot of ways most the time. One kid. Ten kids. Three jobs. Whatever it is. I would like to think other mothers of multiples would agree with me when I say this: You will rise to what your situation needs. You will do your best! And you'll see a ton or fruit from your labor. But you may also find that you are not enough (are we ever?) and will find ways to cut back, slow down, welcome help, work smarter, lower expectations, and at the end of the day know that with a little work and a lot of love all is okay and that is good enough. Speech over. Like I should be giving speeches. Dude. Blind leading the blind here.

Nicknames: I'm so sorry guys. I don't know what has possessed me to call you my "cutie wooties" but I can't un-say it now. I'll work up something much cooler, but you can't have the one I bestowed on Thomas: Little Foot. That's his. We'll think of something else for you guys.

Joyful, Joyful: Alistair & Emerick are very easy, happy babies. They are quickly becoming tons of fun. They "talk" to us a lot, especially right after I nurse them, and they go crazy when Thomas passes by. Considering Thomas's track record of excessive kissing and experimental prodding, they have every right to be terrified of him, maybe play 'possum as some innate survival instinct but no, they do whatever they can to get his attention.  Their faces light up instantly at the sight of him. Daddy can get them to smile the most and he talks to them one on one and they love it. Oh, and today Alistair squeed at me. Like a happy shriek/squeel thing. It took me by surprise. Very happy babies.

Hey, You There: Dare I say they're starting to interact with each other. They'll stare at each other and break into smiles, goo and gaa in this really cute swapping manner as if they're taking turns, and two nights ago as I was giving Emerick a bath he was overtaken by Alistair's crying and his lips started quivering even though I know he was perfectly pleased with his bath.  I had a talking to with the boys this month. I told them that it's really cool that they have each other, that that's called having a twin, and that most of us don't get a twin and that I'm pretty stoked about this enterprise they've got going.  They seemed to think I was being silly.

I probably had a lot more to say about this month but I can't remember at the moment. My stolen time has been made possible by Thomas staring at the t.v. Mommy guilt is setting in...

It's Friday baby and the Andersons are raising our glasses tonight to a packed to the brim, overflowing with joy journey with these cute dudes.

Thank you once again to family and friends that have helped us out!! We are ever and always grateful of all your love and support!

Alistair & Emerick - 2 Months

Oh boy.  The 2nd month.  I survived. It was a marathon of a month and I crossed the finish line, sweating and drooling. I wish I had more of a glowing report for twin mommies to be. Maybe that will be the case in a few months.  For now, the bags under my eyes tell a different story, one of epic sleep loss and desperation.

I wish there was a way to detail all the trials and tribulations and yet spare you of the urge to pity me, but I don't have the necessary brain power to pull that off. It's being spent on baby survival essentials. And I think the fact that this post is 8 days late is all the illustration any of us could ever need to understand just how trying things have been.

Nursing: The first month was all perfect, perfect as is my wont. I tandem nursed and recorded every minute of it. Neat. Tidy. Smart. I scoffed at the idea of nursing one baby at a time. Who would do such a wasteful, lazy thing? ... I'll tell you who! Me! About a thousand times this month. I did it first so I could semi-sleep through nursing one night. Gateway drug. Then I did it because my nerves were shot to hades in a handbasket when Thomas would hover and touch and add to the already overstimulating experience.  Bless his heart. The 2nd month was a month of experimentation and frantic nursing: one baby, then this baby, then both babies because we have to go to that thing and I need both babies fed.  I keep telling myself I'm going to return to full tandem nursing and never look back. After just one more solo session.

*I could write an entire book about twin nursing alone. Ok, not really but I feel like it.  But I'll sum it up this way: Tandem nursing is efficient. Solo nursing is lovely. Either way, I get to share it with two little souls staring up at me so win-win.

Sleep: I slept 5 hours in a row one night this month.  Everything else has been in one to three hours (and three hours very, very rare) increments.  I know I should get more sleep and insist on it and so forth but I'm so tired I forget to do so.  I know that sounds like one of the dumbest things you've ever read, but it's entirely true.  I'm sitting here typing this and blinking my way through remembrance of the past sleepless month.

Outings: After seeing my shortcomings this month in nursing and sleep management, I'll say a bit about getting out of the house to boost my morale. This month we managed to get out of the house often for programs, for "me time", or just to pick up groceries.  We've started going to the library for story time every Monday, just me, the boys, the Eddie Bauer (affectionately referred to as Eddie) and lots of prayers that we make it there and back again.  We've also started going to programs at the Nature Center.  These are great things for Thomas to enjoy with his peer group and me to enjoy in the sense that it forces me to shower, look decent, and talk to adults who are not my husband.  I refuse to think taking the boys out by myself is a big deal.  I don't want us to miss out on fun stuff just because it takes me something like 3 hours to prepare us to get in the car.

Growth: At the one month check-up the doctor announced the boys were at the 23rd and 28th percentile for weight...on the preemie chart. Now we've made it to the regular chart! I worked darn hard for those 1st and 3rd percentiles. Alistair weighs 9.13 lbs and Emerick weighs 9.10 lbs. It's bizarre to think some babies are born this big. When we're out people exclaim "newborns!" Mm. Not so much. But they are right about the size. The boys are just barely still fitting in newborn clothes, a size Thomas wore for maybe a week of his life.

New Tricks: Alistair & Emerick ----> smiling (it takes a bit of work...but they're adorable)
                      Me ------> herding all three boys in the same direction
                      Thomas -------> toothpaste art in the bathroom sink when mommy is busy tandem nursing

A Day in the Life: Wonder how things are with twins? (Well, and a toddler).  It's like this... It's really not a big deal. I'm just like everyone else in any other situation. The boys are fun. There's extra work. The washing machine gets just as little rest as me. But it's all good...until it's not.  And this probably has just as much to do with bigger families as it has to do with twins but there can be extremely intense periods where multiple needs are being thrown my way and it's particularly stressful.  Sometimes it only lasts 10 minutes. Other times, things won't settle for 3 hours. I'm talking non-stop go, go, go. The trick is repeating to myself: this will pass, this will pass, I love my kids, this will pass.  And it does. And then I smile because I feel pretty awesome for answering the call to love and somehow not breaking down into a puddle of tears.

Cloth Diapers: We use bumGenius 4.0s. We love them. I need more in the worst way.

Happy Holy Baptism!: The boys were baptized during this month and we hosted family for the celebration. Alistair & Emerick are so blessed to not only have my sister, Andrea, and my brother-in-law, Josh, as their godparents but so many aunts and uncles (just counted... as of today, 17!) to watch over them and guide them.  The boys just don't know how good they've got it. But Paul and I do, and we're so appreciative!

I'm raising my mug of coffee to surviving that 2nd month and hoping big that the 3rd month is just a tad easier!