Welcome to Motherhood April 27, 2010

Today the tots are twelve weeks old, which means my maternity leave is almost over. While I’m excited to get back to work and am lucky that I work part-time from home, a part of me is bittersweet about closing this chapter of my life. For weeks, every day has been about feedings, naps, spit ups and diaper changes. Now I’m adding an extra layer to all of that, and I’m scared that something will get lost in the shuffle.

Our nanny/mother’s helper started today, and she’s great (she even irons — God bless her). Having someone I trust keep the children takes so much of my anxiety away, but there’s still a part of me that wonders if I did the last twelve weeks correctly. As I reflect upon my time with the tots, I’m scared that I haven’t played with them enough, that I haven’t nurtured and encouraged them enough. It seems that I was always so focused on feedings, pumping, selfishly checking e-mail and napping, that I might have neglected them in some way.

When other people hold them, they get to experience the pure joy of infants. They make funny faces and coo. I try to do that too, but my faces are clouded by the work that’s involved. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind the work one bit, but I just want to the tots to know that mommy can be fun too, that mommy can relax and that mommy knows there’s more to life than feedings, even though I’m not sure they realize that.

I’m sure all of these feelings are normal. That’s why there’s Mother’s Day so everyone can celebrate the work and love that goes into being a mom. As I exit my maternity leave and enter the halls of motherhood, I need to figure out this balance, although I’m sure trying to crack this equation has eluded mothers for centuries. Regardless, I’m determined to give my kids all the love and nurturing I can muster plus some. That’s all I can do.

Oh What a Night April 20, 2010

Last Tuesday night the tots slept straight for five hours and fifteen minutes. When I awoke to realize this, I was shocked that there weren’t news crews lining our driveway, as to me this story was bigger than the volcano and way bigger than the Tiger Woods’ sex scandal.

This long stretch of sleep was no accident as John and I plotted to achieve it. First we kept them on the patio in the evening. For some reason, the night air seems to work like Lunesta on an infant. Then, thanks to a sage fellow new mommy, we began feeding them formula instead of breast milk at 6 p.m. Every time we fed them until bedtime, we gave them formula. In addition to that, we bathed them and put them in tight swaddles before saying, “Night, night.” Low and behold it worked.

I’ve never been more proud of our children. And although they haven’t done this since that magical night, at least I know they’re capable of it. At least I know that one day this very well could be a regular thing. Dare to dream!

You Make the Call April 13, 2010

People will tell you that being a parent is the hardest job you’ll ever love. What they don’t tell you is that it’s a series of judgment calls. I’m not talking about whether or not to ground your kid if they don’t study for a spelling test or how long to send your kid into time out when they put gum in their sister’s hair. I’m talking about the little things.

Ever since we brought the tots home, my days have been filled with judgment calls and split-second decisions. If I hear one of the twins take a poop in the middle of the night, do I change them immediately or do I wait until they let me know in full Dolby Stereo? If it’s not bothering them, why should either of us wake up? Do I have time to down a cracker before I go console Margot on the couch (think the Jujyfruits episode from Seinfeld)? Can I walk for ten more minutes even though Graydon has realized that his Nuk does not express milk and he’s ready to chow down — now? If I put the babies in bed with us, will they sleep an extra hour in the morning or will they develop a habit of having to sleep with mommy and daddy until they’re eighteen years old? Is it worth the therapy bills to have that extra hour of sleep? Sometimes, that’s an automatic, “yes.”

These are my daily dilemmas. Sometimes they’re laced with guilt; other times they are not. What these predicaments have taught me is that there’s no right or wrong way to be a parent. Of course there are the big rules like don’t let your one-year-old walk to the mailbox alone and don’t let your toddlers play chemistry class with your cleaning products, but overall, you have to do what works for you and for your babies. When you look at it that way, the judgment calls aren’t nearly as daunting.

In the Wee Small Hours of the Morning April 9, 2010

Tonight marks the second week I’ve been doing night feedings by myself. My wonderful in-laws took turns spending the night with us for six weeks in order to help feed the tots in the middle of the night. God bless them. Now that the little ones are eating less frequently, I’m going solo, and so far it’s going well.

I have their feeding routine down to a science. I approach it with the precision and speed of a NASCAR team. As soon as I hear one of the children cry, I pick them up and take them to the living room (they’re still sleeping in our bedroom) and place them on a Boppy. I warm the water in the microwave (two minutes and forty seconds to be exact) while I pick up the other tot. The only light on in the house is the stove light. For any other illumination, I depend on the street light outside, and the small light from the side of my laptop.

I feed them simultaneously, hoping that they’ll fall asleep during their meal, which they usually do. I only change diapers when I hear activity in that area. If there is silence, there’s no change. I burp them half way through their bottle, hoping that A. they’ll burp and B. it won’t wake them up. Once they’re done, I watch them rest on the Boppies for about two minutes, making sure that they’re off to night night land. I can usually tell by their grunting and breathing that they’ve moved on to better things.

Quickly, I pick up Margot and tip toe across the room to return her to the crib. I cover her eyes so she can’t see the microwave light. I must look like a cartoon character sneaking around so that the bad guy doesn’t catch me. Pink Panther comes to mind. Once both babies are returned to the crib, I stand outside my bedroom door listening for any signs of a meltdown. Once I determine that they’re back down for the evening, I return to the living room to pump and do things on my laptop, such as write this blog.

I also check the clock to see how good of time I made, and I quickly reflect to see if I could have done anything more efficiently. It turns into this game that in my mind could be an Olympic sport one day. I can hear the announcers now. “Tate has finished feeding both tots and is in the process of returning Tot A to the crib. If she can make it past the microwave light in ten seconds without waking the baby, she’ll have the new world record. Can she do it?” Ah, dare to dream.

I don’t mind getting up in the middle of the night for feedings because it gives me this special time with the tots. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll probably throw a huge soiree when they sleep through the night for the first time, but for now, I’m okay with this. There’s something special about looking at them in the dark, trying to decipher if they’re awake or not and if they need more food than is in their bottle. Their grunts that scared and annoyed me initially now sound sweet, and I get nervous when I can’t hear them. This is our special time, and it won’t last forever. Soon they will sleep through the night and then they’ll crawl, then walk, then feed themselves, then go to college. This time is fleeting, and I must cherish every moment.

F is for Fever

So last Friday we took the tots in for their two-month check up. Yes, it’s been two months since these adorable little creatures entered our lives. Everything went fine. Their weights were great. Graydon weighs over eleven pounds, and Margot weighs over ten. Their sight and hearing were great too. Then came the shots.

I knew they were going to have to get shots on this visit, but I was hoping our doctor would forget. Of course I want our children immunized, but the thought of them hurting hurts me to no end. As the nurses prepared their injections, I sat there frozen. I kept telling the tots that we were only doing this to keep them healthy and that we weren’t trying to be mean or cruel. At first they didn’t make a sound as the needle pierced their skin. Then came the expected wail, accompanied by a red face and tears. My heart sank.

They recovered in a few minutes, so much so that we went out to eat at a real restaurant where you actually sit down while nourishing yourself. Everyone did great. Afterwards, we went to see our IVF doctor and nurse to show them the fruits of their labor. Again, everything went great. Then we came home.

Graydon began crying as he always does when it’s time to eat. However, once we fed him, the crying became worse and our child became inconsolable. I started freaking out that he had heard us discussing colic with the doctor during his visit and had decided to give it a try. For three hours, he cried at the top of his lungs. Nothing we did would make him feel better.

Later in the evening, my father-in-law noticed he was warm. I had noticed he was warm earlier, but so was I, so I didn’t think anything of it. Turns out our little guy had a fever that eventually peaked at 101. I felt horrible that we hadn’t noticed earlier. As we began piecing the parts of the day together, we deduced that he must have had a reaction to one of his shots. A Google search combined with a call to the nurse confirmed this. He had a negative reaction to his DTP shot.

Eventually the fever broke, and we let him sleep in our bed that night. I kept waking up to find him leaning on my shoulder, gleaning comfort from the person he knows best in this world right now. Again, my heart sank because I felt as if we had failed him. We should have known immediately that was acting differently to let us know that something was wrong.

As I watched him sleep, I realized that this wouldn’t be the first time I wouldn’t know exactly what to do right away and that somehow I’m going to have to be okay with that. You learn as you go as a parent. That’s the beauty and the horror of it.

The Stroller Sorority April 2, 2010

I have to admit that I get a strange power strip when I push the tots around in a stroller. Doesn’t matter if I’m pushing the Snap ‘n’ Go or the Peg Perego, I feel invincible. The other day I was pushing the tots around Birkdale, as where a lot of other moms. I drew a lot of attention because I have twins, so many of the moms stopped to talk to me. It’s funny because at this time last year, I would have snarled at these women because I couldn’t have a child. Now I am one of these women, and despite how ridiculously happy I am (sleep deprived and all), I am haunted by guilt.

When I start comparing notes with other moms about feeding schedules, clothing sales and growth spurts, a part of me remembers my friends who can’t have those conversations. It’s like I’m now accepted by this sorority of women I wasn’t sure I could be a part of. Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy to accept membership, but it’s hard when I know there’s probably some woman walking around Birkdale who had to give herself a Follistim shot in the stomach that morning in the hopes of conceiving.

You never know who is struggling with infertility. That’s why you should never ask someone when they’re going to have children unless you know for a fact that they can have children. As I push the tots around the world in their stroller, I’ll enjoy the sense of pride that it gives me, but I’ll also remember how hard I worked to get this privilege and how so many others are striving to do the same.

Momdar

I’ve always had excellent hearing. However, since I’ve become a mom, my hearing has reached supersonic status. If I’m taking a shower, and the tots are a room away, I can hear the slightest whimper. If I’m dreaming I’m on a cruise in the land where people sleep at least eight hours and even sleep late, I can snap out of it in a second as soon as Graydon grunts.

Not only can I hear them before they make a sound, I’m also learning what those sounds mean. When Graydon’s cry reaches about ten decibels and he adds a cough between each wail, that’s his hungry cry and there is no negotiation. If he cries at half the volume and moves his head, that means he needs to be burped. If Margot gives her cute little “I’m upset cry” around 4 p.m., it means she wants to be held and she’s not backing down no matter how much Graydon protests.

My friends said these reflexes would kick in once I had children, but I didn’t believe them. It didn’t happen overnight, but after spending two months with these munchkins (that’s right, they’re two months old now), things are starting to click. I know when I simply have to feed them even though it isn’t time. I know when a pacifier will do the trick, and I also know that there are still cries I can’t decipher. Sometimes they just have to express their emotions, and they probably don’t even know why.