Video Cuteness

Relief

I'm writing this at 5 a.m. because it's just easier to stay up right now than go back to sleep for what might be 10 or 15 minutes. The babies have been up, oh, about ten thousand times tonight, but I can't blame them because they just had their 4-month shots and they're feeling like crap. Milo had a temperature of 101.9 earlier tonight but now it seems to have broken.

The weather is currently taking a shift from spring back to winter. I'm watching the temperature drop right this very minute, and I can feel the change happening as the cold wind blows in through the closed (crappy, ancient) window next to my computer. The job candidate we made an offer to decided not to accept the offer, so months of hard work and wining and dining has just gone down the drain. But I don't mind any of this too much because I am so relieved about Milo and his head. Today we saw a specialist to find out whether he had craniosynostosis, which is a condition in which some of the sutures in the skull fuse too early. The treatment for this is surgery, surgery on the skull, in other words cutting my baby's scalp open and conducting surgery on his innocent little baby skull. This was really intolerable to contemplate, so my relief that it doesn't have to happen is enormous.

Milo's flat spot is just positional, and in fact it's mild enough that he won't even need a helmet, so now that I know he's going to be okay I can start making light of the whole thing, which is my God-given right as a parent. But I guess I'll hold off for a few days, anyway, before I start calling him "denty" and other things, seeing as how he's not feeling so well from the shots. I'm sensitive like that.

We Called That One The Little Red Haired Girl

My college roommate and I used to make up a lot of nicknames for people. This probably happened because we would talk about people we only knew tangentially, and often we weren't sure what their names were. So we made up names for them. One freshman reminded us of the little red-haired girl who was the object of Charlie Brown's affections, so that became her nickname. Another guy in our physics class, or maybe it was our math class, became "pole" after a particular relativity word problem we had worked on. Reasons for that are lost to me now, but we named his girlfriend "barn" after that same problem.

And then there was Zero. One night, my roommate and I decided to start ranking people on an attractiveness scale of 0 to 100. This seems like a good idea when you're, like, 19. We realized that the scale would be meaningless without defining what would count as 100 and what would count as 0. When it came time to identify somebody who would rank as 0, I said "you know that guy in our linear algebra class? The one who always puts the date in the upper right hand corner of his paper when he takes notes, and then makes a 3-d box around the date?" She knew exactly who I was talking about. This guy always wore highwater slacks that were a size too small. He would pair them with outdated short-sleeved shirts, which he would tuck in and then tie the whole ensemble together with a striped cloth belt, the kind with a buckle that looks like an airplane seatbelt buckle. Those pants rested somewhere right below his ribcage. He would wear white gym socks and old tennis shoes, and he had enormous glasses, and I could never figure out if he was wearing a beard, or if he just hadn't shaved in a couple of weeks. "That guy," I said. "He would be the zero."

The unfortunate nickname stuck. For a couple of years we referred to him as zero, never figuring out his actual name. We saw him in various math lectures here and there, but never really intersected with him. Then, when I was a senior, a bunch of friends of mine were housed in a suite on campus, and one of the suitemembers was that guy! Zero! As I got to know him, I found out that he was a really nice guy. He was exceptionally smart, had a great sense of humor, and was fun to be around. He loved to play games, as did all of my nerdy male math friends, and we would sit around for hours playing cards. Of course as I got to know him as an actual person, he ceased to be "zero". He was no longer funny looking, he was just a nice guy who was fun to have around. We stayed in touch for years after college, he came to my wedding, and I still get Christmas cards from him.

This whole story reminds me of Milo a little bit. The thing is, when I was pregnant, I worried a little bit that we would end up having funny-looking babies. Even worse, what if we had funny-looking babies and we were too smitten to realize that they were funny looking?

When Milo and Nora were born, I didn't exactly think they were beautiful. I thought they looked like most newborns, sort of wrinkly and angry looking. But Milo especially seemed kind of funny looking. He had these huge eyes, and he reminded me of E.T. His forehead was constantly wrinkled, in fact his whole face was wrinkled, and red, and he looked like an old man. He would make these bizarre faces and only open one eye. I thought, "well, I guess we did produce a pretty funny-looking baby." I didn't seem to have any of those smitten blinders on at all.

Now 4 months later I think he's strikingly beautiful. I know that most of that is probably because I have gotten to know Milo, and I like who he is. He's a neat little baby with a great personality, and his face just lights up when he smiles. He and Nora look so different, but I think that they're both really cute in their own ways. And a big part of me realizes that I've lost all objectivity about them. Maybe Milo is more like Zero, maybe he is funny looking, but I just don't see it anymore because I like him so much. Or maybe he's not, and he's just grown into his natural cute babyness, and it simply took a while. I don't care either way, of course. But if you're secretly thinking that Milo and Nora are funny looking, that's okay. Don't tell me, because I won't believe you, and I'll just wait until you get to know them better, at which point you'll think they are beautiful too.

(I do, however, look forward to the day when they are no longer super bald).

Beginning and End

At the start of tummy time:


At the end of tummy time:


I should have waited another minute or two, and then I'd have a picture of both of them screaming their heads off!

Maybe I Should Burn the Books

Having twins takes a lot of the ego out of parenting. I think that if we just had one, we'd be attributing a lot of what works or doesn't work to our own parenting abilities. But when you do the same thing with two babies, and they react differently, you realize just how little control you actually have over the whole thing.

Take sleeping. The babies still both don't like to nap much; their naps, which (according to the baby whispering, sleep solutions, happiest baby on the block healthy habits books) are supposed to last about an hour and a half to two hours, often last only 25 minutes or so. After 25 minutes, boom! They awake and don't want to be asleep anymore. Theoretically the babies are supposed to be consolidating their awake times and their nap times, staying awake for longer periods and then napping two to three decent-length naps.

Nora and Milo prefer to do these short little catnaps, which is just killing us. In addition, they still like to get up and eat 2-3 times a night, which also shouldn't be happening according to these mythical textbook babies the books write about.

So we're trying to help them sleep better. We're not at the point where we feel comfortable letting them cry, and we might never reach that point, I don't know. I say "might" because the only thing I've learned so far is never say never, and even though I don't think that I could do it now, I might be so desperate in a month or two that perhaps it would start to seem like a good idea. So anyway, we're trying a different method that basically involves going in to them when they make noise, patting them or soothing them, and telling them to go back to sleep. If they're really upset we're supposed to pick them up just long enough for them to settle back down, and then put them back down before they fall asleep. In other words, we're not supposed to rock them to sleep, because apparently that means we become sleep props and the babies need to learn how to put themselves to sleep.

They're actually pretty decent about putting themselves to sleep. Milo is great at it; I can sense when he's getting cranky, put him in a sleep sack, put him in the crib, and he'll go to sleep. Nora's a little less consistent at this but she's able to put herself to sleep sometimes. All of those books (whose babies fit with those books, anyway?) say that the key to keeping babies asleep is teaching them to put themselves to sleep. Then when they wake up, they'll put themselves back to sleep. Not Nora & Milo. When they wake up, they don't like to put themselves back to sleep, they'd rather have us there, thank you very much.

So we're using this patting/soothing/pick-up/put-down method of trying to help them extend their naps, and you know what, it's working like a charm with Milo. If I pat him and tell him to go back to sleep, or give him a pacifier, he'll basically go back to sleep. He stays asleep longer and longer and often only wakes because Nora wakes him up.

If Milo were my only baby, I'd probably be congratulating myself on my disciplined yet kind approach to helping him back to sleep. I'd probably think that those other parents whose babies don't sleep just aren't doing it right, or aren't being consistent enough or something. I'd probably be all smug and know-it-all about the whole sleep thing.

But...there's Nora. Nora's not having any of this lame patting / pick-up stuff. She doesn't want to go back to sleep, darn it. I'll pat her or pick her up and she's all smiles, happy to see me. She doesn't want to sleep, she wants to play! "25 minutes was plenty, mama!", she says. When I remove myself from her sight, she cries. I can repeat this 10, 20, 30 times in a row. Nora does not go back to sleep. She can put herself to sleep the first time, like the books say. The books then tell me to consistently do this pat and soothe thing, and she'll learn to extend her naps and eventually stop waking up and crying. Well, screw you, books. Apparently you haven't met Nora.

If Nora were my only baby, I'd probably be feeling like a miserable failure right about now. I'd be wondering why the solutions offered in those books I read don't work on her. I'd be convinced I was doing something wrong and I'd be constantly comparing her to other babies her age, wondering why she sleeps so much less than she's supposed to.

Well, lucky for me I've got both Milo and Nora. This has taught me that a lot of babies' behaviors have to do with babies' personalities. Maybe just as much as my own parenting techniques. Maybe more than my parenting techniques. So if one baby is really great at something, or if one baby is really struggling with something, I'm not attributing it to my parenting as much as I would if I just had one baby. It's just not as much about me as I thought it would be before I had children. Not that this is an excuse to remove my own behavior from the equation, or anything -- I think that how Jake and I treat the babies generally has a lot to do with their health and happiness. But our parenting behaviors certainly don't wholly determine the babies' behaviors, that's for sure. I guess they're their own little people or something, with their own minds.

Thank goodness I have two instead of one, or I'd probably be insufferably opinionated about this whole thing!

4 Months Old

Today Milo and Nora are 4 months old!

I remember when we took them in for their 2-month check-up, we were still struggling a lot. My mom had just left and I felt down about that, and the weather was horrible. I told the babies that the next time they went to the doctor, they'd be twice as old. Maybe the weather would be nice! Maybe it would be sunny, maybe the crocuses would be blooming, maybe we'd see daffodils and tulips. Spring seemed so far away but I was trying to find something to look forward to.

Well, we've had a lousy, late spring and the daffodils and tulips aren't up yet, but the crocuses are indeed blooming. It's supposed to climb into the sixties tomorrow and by golly I'll take it. Most importantly, the babies are 4 months old now and 4 months is a much nicer place to be than 2 months!

Nora is doing many new delightful things these days. She's holding her head up pretty well and sometimes even enjoys her tummy time on the surfboard mat that she got from Grandmom. Nora is still pretty easygoing about people and is happy to let anybody and everybody hold her. She also enjoys cooing at people, and she starts the day with a smile. Sometimes, I'll wake up in the mornings and just hear tiny sounds, enough to know that the babies are awake. I'll go into their room and find them awake, alert, and happy. They both burst out with huge smiles every morning as soon as I walk in there.

Nora is nice and chubby now, which gives me great pleasure. She's still not a fan of nursing, or of eating in general really, but we're hoping a doctor's visit will help her with some of her eating troubles. She's certainly the most prolific spitter upper I've ever met. Nora can really shoot it out, and then smile a moment later. She and Milo both take medicine for reflux and the medicine has a very tart taste. When I put the dropper in Nora's mouth, she'll grimace with her entire face, making the most sour face possible, and then try to smile at the same time while swallowing. Nora also likes to smile at people from across the room now. When I'm sitting her on my knee and burping her, she'll start smiling and flirting with dad all the way across the room.

Nora can pull on her toys to make them play music now, and she can amuse herself well with the toys in her bouncy seats. She also enjoys looking at herself in the mirror. She'll smile at her reflection, and then look at my reflection for approval. Her hair, what little there is, has grown somewhat longer and right after a bath it sticks straight up off her head. Nora has outgrown her 0-3 month clothes and is now ready to switch to 3-6 month clothes. One of her favorite tricks is to rub her feet together really hard so that her socks come off. We call her our little cricket. She's a cute, chubby, happy little baby who isn't a huge fan of eating or sleeping, but loves being held and carted around.

The other day I had a meeting at a coffee shop and I took Nora in the sling. She's so cute that strangers stop me all the time to exclaim over her. "What a little doll", an old lady said that day. She's as happy as a clam in the sling, content to look at the world around her while still cuddled up to mama.

Milo has also changed a lot in the last two months. He has just started to get a little bit of stranger anxiety, which makes him precocious according to our twin whisperer. He's not so sure about being held by new people, and he often looks for me or Jake for reassurance. Milo loves having his parents around. Every time I enter the room he rewards me with the biggest, goofiest grin. Milo likes to sort of stick his tongue out when he smiles, which makes it all the more silly and endearing. Milo also loves to talk, all the time. He'll talk on the changing table, he'll talk to us as we hold him, and he'll talk to his toys when he's playing in the crib. He makes lots of consonant sounds and his little voice sounds so very much like a boy's voice. I never would have guessed that this early in life Nora would sound so much like a little girl and Milo would sound so much like a little boy.

Milo eats very well. He's just started eating 7 ounces when he takes a bottle! I have no idea how much he eats when he nurses, of course, but he is a good nurser. The only exception to that is early in the morning because Milo can become distracted by his desire to be social. So he'll take a sip, then turn his head and look at me and grin. Repeat endless times. He loves that game, and sometimes the only way I can get him to concentrate on nursing is to cover him up so that he can't make eye contact with me. Milo spits up too and sometimes has trouble after eating, but it's much better than it was two months ago. Both Milo and Nora love being changed. They love being on the changing table, getting naked, and having baths.

Milo seems a little shy based on the way he likes to smile and then quickly turn his head away. He has an incredibly sweet demeanor. Milo loves the toys in his crib, and he seems to enjoy playing there more than the bouncy seat, more than the swing, more than the activity mat. Sometimes he'll roll from his back to his side so that he can play with a toy with both hands. The other day I saw him fall asleep with his hand wrapped around part of the toy, and he took his nap that way.

Milo is still incredibly bald, and that doesn't seem to be changing any time soon. I figure we'll just put lots of hats on him. His baldness emphasizes his enormous, bright eyes. Milo has also outgrown his 0-3 month clothes. He enjoys novelty, and is very happy being carried around the house so that he can look at different things and look out the windows. He could do that all day. He also loves it when his dad holds him up high in the air. Last week, Jake had Milo on the changing table and was tickling him under the chin. Milo started laughing, and that was the first time I'd heard his laugh. Jake then tried for about 10 minutes to make it happen again, but without any luck.

This is such a delightful age because Milo and Nora are doing so many new things all the time. It's also a frustrating age because eating can be difficult at times, and they're having some regression with their sleep, and they still don't sleep anywhere close to through the night -- far from it. I've heard that these kinds of regressions aren't uncommon at 4 months of age. So sometimes Jake and I get frustrated with all of the hard work, but other times I'm good at reminding myself that this is the only time they will be 4 months old. They'll never again be this small, and we should enjoy it. Yes, they wake, and they cry, but when again in my life will I be able to hold them like this, sniff their sweet little heads, and feel them cuddle up to me, so small and compact? It's going to disappear so quickly, so I'm enjoying it while it lasts.

Hooray for Jake

I knew that Mastitis was an infection, but I didn't realize it'd make you feel like you wanted to die. I've been so sick today, it's ridiculous. When you have two babies you don't get any time off, and how do you take care of two busy little ones when you can barely sit up? That's where I'm super lucky. Jake took care of them all day today, letting me sleep most of the day and only getting up for feedings. I don't know how single parents do it, I'm definitely lucky to have Jake.

One Year Ago Today

April 10 was the day of retrieval and fertilization -- Nora and Milo came into existence one year ago today, or more accurately a year ago tonight.

My life seems split in half now. There is the "before babies" half, or the bb half, and the "after babies" half, the ab half. Everything about bb life seemed to disappear once the babies arrived. Now I'm getting some of those things back, like walking to work or meeting somebody for coffee, so I guess over time the bb/ab split will seem less dramatic. Or maybe it won't, because the biggest difference is that Milo and Nora are here now, and we are a family of four now, and things will never be the same.

The bb/ab split was so earth shattering that it has almost caused me to forget the earlier split: life before infertility, and life after infertility. Before infertility I went from day to day, mostly living in the present, sometimes dreaming about the future, working towards my goals, having fun in my time off, just existing. After infertility, the rhythm of my life was chopped into 28-day cycles. I was either anxious about timing everything correctly, hopeful that it had worked, despairing that it hadn't worked, or recovering from the disappointment and grief of yet another failed cycle. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Over and over and over again.

Infertility causes stress levels in patients that are similar to those who face a fatal illness or a death of a family member. At first glance this might not seem to make any sense, because infertility is so much better to deal with than, say, cancer. It is, of course, but the cyclical nature of infertility is what makes it particularly hard to negotiate. There is no one primary painful moment that a person faces, deals with, grieves over, and then moves on from. Instead the grief keeps happening every month. Each cycle that fails brings a fresh wave of grief that has to be dealt with all over again, and it gets harder with every passing month rather than easier. I used to feel like I could never escape from infertility, not even for a little while, not even when I wanted to, because I couldn't get out of my own body. Even if the cause of infertility is a male factor, it is the woman who experiences the expectations, hopes, and failures of each cycle in the symptoms (or lack thereof) she experiences.

If any of you have friends or family members who struggle with infertility, here are a few helpful tips about what to say and what not to say:

Don't Say: Just relax!
I often felt that if I had to hear one more person to tell me to relax, I was going to smack them upside the head. Infertility is a medical problem, not a personality disorder. If you found out that I had hepatitis or a broken leg, would you tell me to fix it by just relaxing? Also, to everybody who ever told me to relax, I wanted to say "have you met me?" I don't "relax". Feeling like I had to relax just added an extra layer of stress onto an already difficult situation. Not only was I failing at the most fundamental aspect of womanhood (or so I felt), but I was making it worse by being all stressed out about it (or so it seemed).

Don't Say: I had a friend/cousin/aunt/colleague who couldn't get pregnant, but then she took a cruise / went on vacation / traveled to Hawaii, and blammo! Pregnant.
Goody for them. Those people were not infertile. Those little tricks work for normal people, not for infertile couples. Why not tell me to revert back to age 17, drink a six-pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon, and hop into the back seat of a Chevy? That worked for a lot of people I know.

Don't Say: You can have mine!
That's just tacky.

Don't Say (when I'm not drinking in order to improve our chances): Oh, well I was drunk when I conceived little Johnny.
Bite me.

Don't Say: It was meant to be (or some other version of "maybe God didn't want you to be parents").
Are you kidding me? I'm not meant to be a parent and the couple in the news who had crack-addicted babies and then neglected them and let them wander out into the -5 degree weather by themselves without any shoes on were supposed to be parents? What kind of crazy reasoning is that? What about all of the people out there who become pregnant unintentionally and cannot, for whatever reason, have a baby at that point in their lives? They were supposed to get pregnant and I wasn't? And by the way, are you seriously suggesting that there's something about me or my personality that means I shouldn't be a parent?

Don't Say: I knew this one couple who couldn't have children, so they adopted and then, surprise, she got pregnant!
Infertile couples who adopt experience spontaneous pregnancies at the same rate as the rest of the infertile population: it happens about 5% of the time. There is nothing about adoption that causes it to happen, or we would see it occur in higher rates with adopting couples. Not to mention, isn't that remark kind of insulting to adoptive families? It suggests that adoption is a second-best choice and conceiving is the brass ring of family building.

I received all of those comments, and more. I heard them all many times. Fortunately, I also had a lot of wonderful, supportive, understanding friends and family members who said all of the right things, all the time. They listened to me complain and cry for what now seems like an eternity, but actually was only a couple of years. The support I received helped me enormously, and here are some of the things they said:

• I'm here if you want to talk.
• I'm sorry this is happening to you.
• Let me know if you want to vent about it, I'm here for you.
• Let's go get a drink and let off some steam.
• Even though I don't know the route you'll take, I know you will be a parent.
• I'm thinking of you/pulling for you/crossing my fingers.
  

A year ago today everything changed. Nora and Milo came to be, and a couple of weeks later we discovered that they had actually survived and seemed to be digging in for a long ride. The cyclical nature of my life was about to end. Everything changed forever. I'm glad it's now and not then, because as wonderful as it was to find out that we had a real chance at having a baby, it was nothing compared to living with them every day, knowing them, loving them.

Action Shots

Nora's nursing strike is getting worse instead of better, and I'm trying everything. Now Milo seems to be joining her. I'm worried about Nora's eating in general. She just doesn't seem to want to eat, even from a bottle. Could it be reflux that we haven't fixed with the medicine? A milk allergy? Something else? We've consulted with the lactation specialist and she's stumped, and now we're consulting with the doctor. It seems like it's always something. If she actually weans, which would be really weird at 4 months, should I just nurse Milo? That means I'd be the one feeding him all the time, and Jake would be the one feeding her all the time. The asymmetry of that bothers me. Feeding is such a bonding experience that I hate the thought that each of us is only bonding in that way with one baby. Should I just give up all of this nursing/pumping nightmare all together?

When I think of all the hours I've spent pumping, struggling to nurse with a baby who is protesting, and worrying about milk supply instead of just holding and enjoying our babies, I think that it's not worth the emotional and bonding cost, and I should just give it up. But then when I think about all of the health risks they incur from not getting breastmilk, it breaks my heart to think about giving it up. So, I don't know what we'll do.

In the meantime, here are some action shots. I think that on this day, Nora rolled from her back to her side, and Jake then helped her onto her stomach.

A Conversation With Nora

Nora: Blech! Get that thing out of my mouth! Aaaaaa! Aaaaaa! Aaaaaa!

Me: Dude, you have to nurse. It's time to eat now, so please nurse.

Nora: What, do you take me for a chump? I'm not going anywhere near that thing! Aaaaa, stop trying to make me, or I'll just scream!

Me: Look, I know you're hungry. I can tell by the way you're acting. Let's just be logical about this. If you nurse, then you'll stop being hungry. You'll feel a lot better, I promise.

Nora: Forget it! Where's that bottle?

Me: Uh...hey look! Nice pretty boob! Don't you want to nurse?

Nora: You think you can distract me away from the fact that I want a bottle, not you? Who do you think you're dealing with here?

Me: But you have to nurse. You need milk, not powdered evil. Don't you know that if I give you formula, that's akin to riding a mechanical bull while pregnant? Haven't you seen those public service announcements?

Nora: You don't let me watch tv, remember? Anyway, I'm only a baby and even I know how dumb that is.

Me: Well anyway, trust me when I tell you that it's important for your health that you nurse. Preferably sooner rather than later. Let's try again.

Nora: Forget it! Aaaaa! Aaaaaa! Aaaaaa!

Me: Oh my God Nora, please just nurse. I'm not going to give you a bottle. Don't you realize that if you stop nursing, you'll never get fed by mama? Do you really want daddy to feed you every single time? I mean, just between us, we know who you love best. Right?

Nora: ...

Me: Right?

Nora: I'm hungry! Where's that bottle? Stop trying to shove that thing in my mouth! No, don't even put it anywhere near my face, don't even make me look at it! Aaaaaa!

Me: Look. I'm the parent, and you're the child. So what I say, goes. And I say you must nurse, so you had better comply.

Nora: HAH HA HA HA HA HA.

Me: Let's just try one more time...

Nora: Aaaaaa! Stop it! Aaaaaa! Aaaaaa! Aaaaaaa!

Me: I can't make you do this, can I. Or anything, actually. Oh crap, I'm so screwed...

Nora: Welcome to parenthood, sucker.

And then they'll end up at Middle Kentucky Tech

An important benefit of having twins in the expanded opportunity for a father to be involved with his children when they're babies. A father's participation in early child care always enriches a child's life, but with twins it's a necessity...Nevertheless, there are issues that crop up between fathers and mothers of twins in the babyhood years...
(J.A. Friedman, from Emotionally Healthy Twins)

I should say right off the bat that Jake is a great father. He has a load of patience. He approaches most things with a sense of humor, including the babies' more frustrating behaviors. He is gentle. He hauls himself out of bed in the middle of the night every night to feed the babies. He does things that most fathers of infants don't ever have to do, or don't do on a daily basis.

But. But, he's not me. He's not the mom. And sometimes it seems like Nora and Milo need me, not him. They need to be soothed the way I soothe them, and only I will do. This is the hard part.

Imagine you have a baby and your husband is trying to get her to stop crying. She won't stop, and you sit there and watch him try and try and try, and nothing is working, and you know without a doubt that if you just took that baby and held her for about 10 seconds, she would stop crying. You know it. So what do you do? How long do you let your husband continue to try to get her to stop crying, how long do you listen to her scream? Do you listen to her scream for 5 minutes? For 10 minutes? For 15 minutes? Do you watch your husband suffer and listen to your baby scream and scream and do nothing to fix it? Do you wait until she gets to the stage where she's hiccuping and her face is all red and blotchy, and the screams continue with heartbreaking intensity? Do you just sit there and let all of that happen right in front of you, without doing anything about it?

It sounds insane to do that. But that's what I had to do last night, because the OTHER baby was nursing at the time. I cannot pick up and soothe Nora when Milo is attached at the breast. There is only one of me, but there are two of them, and sometimes they both need me at the same time, and it drives me crazy to not be able to take care of them when they need it. Ultimately it got to the point where I cut Milo off once he was mostly done so that I could attend to Nora. And then, of course, Milo started crying.

I know that these babies cry more than they would if they had been born one at a time. A lot more. Fewer of their needs get met because I am usually busy with one baby when the other one needs something. They get to have a very close relationship with their father, and I wouldn't trade that for anything, but sometimes only I will do, and I cannot be there for them. I hope we aren't damaging them for life because of this. If we have to damage them for life, and I'm sure we will, as that's our job as parents, I'd rather it be for a better reason. Something like, "oh, sorry we spent all of your tuition money on our new boat", not "sorry for that whole 'not picking you up enough' thing when you were babies."

Today I was holding Nora on the couch downstairs and I could hear Jake upstairs with Milo. He was awake and making noises, not quite fussing yet, but starting to get a little agitated. I knew he needed interaction. I could hear Jake in there, sitting near him but not talking to him, not playing with him. Jake is a quiet person who tends not to talk just for the sake of talking. I think he finds it hard to talk to the babies, and who can blame him, I find it weird and awkward myself sometimes. I have to force myself to talk to them, and I say inane things like "And now we're going to put your diaper in your wrap. Here we go, folding it into thirds! And now it goes into the wrap, and let's put it on, okay, here's one velcro tabby, and there's the other tabby! All done!" On and on and on, endless inanity. But I do it, because I know they need to be talked to, and they love it. They smile and wiggle and kick their legs. And I have to say that Jake talks to them more and more every day, and he's great at playing with them, so this was just one weird day.

But I knew Milo needed to be talked to, played with, and I couldn't do it because there I was, holding a sleeping Nora , who I didn't want to disturb. So I have to sit there with the knowledge that my baby isn't getting what he needs, and half the time that's just the way it is. They're not going to get talked to as much as they should. And again, this drives me crazy. I find it really hard to truly enjoy and be present with whichever baby I have when I am worrying about what the other baby isn't getting.

All of this makes me irrationally angry. Maybe it's just being overwhelmed by having twins in general, but whatever it is, I get a lot more angry than is called for. I find myself doing things like yelling at poor Jake, or yelling when I drop things, or trying to control the urge to just kick something across the room like a child because I'm so mad. Just typing that makes me realize that a major attitude adjustment is necessary on my part. I know the logical thing to do is just lighten the hell up about it all. It's not going to be the end of the world if the babies aren't talked to 24 hours a day. It's not like they're going to then have delayed language development, and therefore experience cognitive deficits that affect how they do in school, which will ultimately affect their attitude towards learning in general, which will prevent them from realizing their true potential and gaining complete happiness as they stagnate at some regional state college instead of going to Harvard on a full scholarship which they would have done if only we'd talked to them more as infants.

Yeah. Okay. So maybe I need to lighten up.

A Different First

Today was my first full day back at work! A full 8 hours scheduled to be out of the house entirely! Yes, it is now April, and we now have partial child care in place, and I can theoretically work 8 hours out of the house twice a week. Up until now I've been grabbing minutes here and there, sneaking away for meetings, working at odd times while I pump or after the babies are asleep, but never in truly long chunks.

What a day. 3 a.m., up for a feeding. It was going to be Jake's solo feeding but Nora was hungry at the same time that Milo was hungry, and rather than making her wait I got up and nursed her. Then she spit up a few times, and had an outfit change, and a diaper change, and finally they both went back to sleep. Then they slept all the way until 7 a.m.! Hooray! I got up, nursed Milo while Nora played in the crib, and was about to start nursing Nora when Milo had a huge, giant blowout. Okay, so Milo had to have a bath. Nora patiently waited while I brought Milo into the bathroom. I set him (without a diaper) onto the bouncy seat while I ran the bath. Once the bathtub was full I turned back and thought, hmm, why is Milo's leg wet? Did I dribble water on him? Wait, why is the cloth he's sitting on wet...why is the floor wet? Ooooohhhh. Cue me cleaning urine off the floor, discarding the cloth, and then bathing Milo.

Back to the nursery. Milo is happy, now feed Nora. Both are fed and changed, time to pump. I eat a bowl of cereal while pumping, killing two birds with one stone. It's now 8:15, so I'm behind schedule. Wash the bottles. At 8:30 our nanny arrives, aka the Twin Whisperer. I update her on all things baby, and then at 9 hop in the shower to get ready to go. I'm finally out and ready to leave at 9:30, just an hour later than I'd originally planned.

I walk to work. It's only a mile and a half. But I didn't think about what it would take to walk to work with my backpack, my computer, and my breastpump which comes complete with its own bag, parts, and bottles. Turns out that a half-hour walk carrying all of that is way too long. I don't want to give up walking, though, and yet I need to carry all of that stuff. So I'm still trying to figure out a solution for that.

Get to work a little after 10. Pump immediately. Answer emails while pumping. Disconnect the pump and then lean over while the pump parts are still attached to me, thereby spilling a bunch of milk all over my pants. Oh well. I have actually cried over spilled milk in the past, but not today. Time to move on. Store the milk, clean up my office, and proceed to the major non-administrative task at hand, which is crafting my research narrative for my annual review, which is due in a week or so. Work on that for an hour, then get a phone call from my former student. He needs help with his teaching, and he wants to collaborate on a grant, and he wants to talk about the recent report put out by the math advisory panel. Hang up with him, and it's time for lunch. Wolf down lunch, and then meet with a person I'm interviewing for a transcribing job. I need him to transcribe about 42 hours of video data, and the interview is promising. It looks like he'll be competent and able to do the job.

Pump again. It goes a little better this time, no spilling. Worry over the lousy amount that I'm pumping and wonder if this means that the babies aren't getting enough to eat when they nurse. Make a conscious decision to not worry about that for the next two weeks, at which point they'll visit the doctor and get weighed again anyway. Now I have two full hours to work on my narrative. Two hours! Of uninterrupted time in a row! What a luxury. Get working on my narrative. Get interrupted by another professor wanting to discuss an upcoming agenda item for a meeting I have to attend. Back to the narrative. Get interrupted again by a student who is having trouble with his field placement.

Okay. There's still time. Continue working on my narrative, when, whoops, it's time for my next appointment. I meet with one of my graduate students about her thesis. I cut her off after an hour. Pump again. I've been sore and semi-engorged all day, and I realize that the pump just can't compare to a baby. Tell myself, for the thousandth time in a row, that I only have 8.5 months left of breastfeeding. Then I can stop without feeling too guilty. Back to the narrative -- oh no! It's 4:55 p.m. and I have to leave in 5 minutes! Pack everything up, haul all of my gear onto my back, and make the 30-minute trek home.

Come home to find out that Nora had basically refused to eat for the last two feedings. She's been a little off lately. Otherwise, however, marvel at all of the wonderful things our Twin Whisperer did, including playing with the babies, giving them tummy time, feeding them, bathing Nora, and somehow also getting a load of laundry washed and dried and folded, and sweeping the floors. Hooray for the Twin Whisperer. I feed Nora immediately, and fortunately she does nurse. Put Nora to bed. Make dinner hurriedly while Jake walks around with an awake Milo in the sling. Milo is supposed to be sleeping, but he's not. Eat half of my dinner when Nora wakes up screaming. Soothe Nora back to sleep. Eat the rest of my (cold) dinner. Wash the dishes. Jake is still dealing with an awake and now fussy Milo. Wash all of the bottles and pump parts. Get the mail. Milo is still awake, and whoops, it's time to feed the babies again.

Feed the babies. Soothe them to sleep. Pump. Answer emails from prospective students while pumping. Finish pumping. Wash bottles and pump parts. Do some more work, finally finishing a draft of the narrative. Change into pajamas, get ready for bed. Write this post. The end.

All in all, I'd say my first day back was more or less a success.

Not Exactly the Algonquin Round Table

Today was my first full day alone with the babies. I've had them for short periods on my own before, but never for a full day. It was fine! There was no crying at all, and just a bit of fussing, mostly from Nora during Milo's bath time as I basically had to leave her in the Nursery O' Stink for a few minutes. They took a decent hour-long nap in the morning, which actually gave me some time to get things done. Their afternoon nap was terrible, only 25 minutes, so we still have to work on napping skills.

I now understand why parents get so excited about the little skills babies develop. You hear that a baby can put something in her mouth and you think "big deal, I do that all the time." But it's exciting when you start to see your kids finally doing something after weeks of just basically lying there. When they were first born they were pretty much cranky lumps. Now they're no longer lumps; they can do all sorts of things, which has me excited to see what new things they will develop. So far:

• Milo can roll from front to back.
• Nora has rolled once from back to side.
• Both can hold their heads up pretty well when sitting supported.
• Nora sits very well in the bumbo seat; Milo lists to one side a bit.
• Both babies can grab things and hold small things in their hands.
• Yesterday Milo pulled a ring on one of his toys and made it play a song. He then proceeded to do that about 18 more times.
• Both babies can see across the room and will smile at you from that distance, or respond to a smile.
• Milo is just now starting to get the hang of using iambic pentameter; Nora is pretty good at integration, but still sometimes forgets to add the +C.

Here's another video I took today. It's basically just Nora and Milo being cute.

Body, Hunger, Chocolate

When I was seventeen I'd look around at older women, mothers, matronly types with polyester pants stretched tight over their hips, the zipper on the fly exposed because they had tried to stuff themselves into a size too small. In my infinite 17-year old arrogance, I would tell myself "that will never be me." I would never be that...gross. It's all a matter of self control, I'd smugly think, carelessly enjoying the thin body that my genetics gave me. It certainly didn't have anything to do with exercise, or healthy eating, or self control. Not at seventeen.

Cut to today. Grandmom gave Nora and Milo huge beautiful chocolate and peanut butter eggs for easter. One read "Milo" and one read "Nora". Because they're still a little too young for chocolate, I had to make the sacrifice and help them eat the eggs. I had a sleeping Milo in the sling, and I was sitting at the computer responding to emails and eating a giant piece of that giant chocolate egg. I then looked down to see crumbles of chocolate that had melted all over the inside of the sling, Milo's shirt, and Milo's head. I actually woke up my sleeping baby because I was cleaning chocolate patches off of him. This is how low I have sunken.

How did I get from there to here? If I ran into my 17-year old self now, I'd disgust her. The pants are too tight. The shirts are too tight. I have entire sections of my wardrobe that I should just throw out now, because there's no way I'm ever wearing that skin-tight halter top or that bikini ever again.

Oh yeah, I know how I got from there to here. First I got old. Then I got pregnant with twins, and gained 40 pounds. I did that cheerfully, and every pound gained was a pound deliberately gained, as I tried to put on as much weight as I could. This took work because I wasn't hungry during my pregnancy. I was either sick or on a crummy diabetes diet which involved way too many servings of beef jerky and far too few servings of ice cream. Then I delivered the twins and finally learned what nursing hunger is all about. I am hungry and thirsty all the time, all day long and all night long. The next thing I know, it seems like a good idea to inhale a giant chocolate and peanut butter egg after having already eaten a complete lunch. A lunch that involved sour cream.

The babies are 3.5 months old by now, and yet my body is nowhere near back to where it used to be. When I was pregnant I went to a conference in Providence. The conference organizer was both beautiful and exceptionally thin, and I was surprised to learn that she had a 3-month old baby. She told me that my body would return to its normal state, or more realistically, "within epsilon of normal." Curses, I believed her. It worked for her, why not for me?

I know it's time to stop inhaling chocolate eggs and time to start breaking out the jogging stroller. I also know, or suspect anyway, that my body will never look the way it used to look. There's just too much...stuff around my middle. Is it skin, is it fat? What makes up this strange shelf that hangs over my giant scar? I don't know, but I doubt it's going to disappear for good. Even if it does, the stretch marks don't look like they're going anywhere. So I have to calibrate to a new normal.

And you know what, that's okay. The shelf is creepy, but I find that I look at the shelf, and then I look at Milo. I look at Milo's wrinkled forehead and his giant eyes. I look at the stretch marks, and then I look at Nora's upturned nose, and her tiny perfect mouth. So this imperfect lumpy body made these two perfect little people. The tradeoff is worth it. It's a trade I was begging to make for years. So it's okay.

I think.

(Above -- a picture of me at age 31, pre babies, and a picture of me the day after the babies were born).

Grandpop the Photographer

I guess I was Wrong

A few months ago, Jake and I had this conversation:

A: T's [photography] work is so different from, say, the piece we have downstairs in the living room.

J: What piece?

A: The one hanging opposite the sofa.

J: Uh...what does it look like?

A: You know, the one of the shoes and the dress.

J: What? What are you talking about? What does it look like?

A: You know, that photograph that's been hanging on the wall for, like, the last 3 years? The one that you've been looking at every time we sit on the sofa? The one you see every single day when you walk through the living room?

J: Huh? Is it black and white? Is it in color?

A (head about to explode): How can you not know what I'm talking about? Every night you sit on the couch and look right at it! It's a HUGE framed photograph! It's the only thing hanging on that wall! You know, the one with the shoes and the dress?

J: I have no idea what you're talking about.

A: Aaaaaaaaa!

I concluded that Jake was just remarkably, disturbingly unobservant. But apparently I was wrong, as evidenced by today's conversation:

J (as we're walking on the sidewalk in front of somebody's driveway): That car belongs in this driveway.

A: What?

J: That car. It's going to turn into this driveway.

A: What car?

J: That black Audi.

A:Where?

J: There, down the block, driving this way.

(The car does indeed turn into the driveway.)

A: How did you know that? We're not even anywhere close to home.

J: I notice things.

No Mother of the Year Awards Here

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This morning I was pulling Nora's onesie over her head and one of the snaps on the bottom got folded under so that it scraped along the top of her head. The onesie was already a little tight so it was a hard scrape. She started screaming immediately, of course. She was easy to calm down but now she has an angry red mark along the top of her head, and I feel like a class-A jerk.

The whole week has been like that. I stand up and knock over my water cup, spilling water everywhere. I twist the ice-cube tray and ice cubes pop out and spill all over the kitchen floor. I trip several times a day for no good reason. I bang the car seat against the inside of the car door, leaving a mark. I just can't seem to get anything right, to get it together. Geez.

How long can I blame stuff on sleep deprivation? I've been sleep deprived for 3 months now and at some point I imagine the sleep-deprivation excuse for being a dumbass is going to wear thin. Or already has.

The worst part is that I can't afford to make mistakes when taking care of babies. What if the next mistake I make results in a dropped baby? I don't want to drop a baby on his or her head and then end up with a kid who leans to the left all the time or something.

I won a national award last week and this news has just been posted to our national organization's web site, so now I'm getting all kinds of congratulatory messages from people. It's so odd to receive these career accolades while screwing up again and again both at home and at work. Some day people are going to figure out what a giant impostor I am. I just hope I can keep fooling everybody until after tenure!

It's a strange feeling to simultaneously exist as this career person who is supposed to have her shit together, and as this new mother who keeps making rookie mistakes.

Up above, Milo's cute shoes and Nora trying to sit in the bumbo seat. They are both great at holding their heads up when they're on our lap, but when they sit in the bumbo seats, they still let their heads loll back.

Numbers

Today the babies are 3 months old, and 13 weeks old. I estimate that I have spent over 11,000 minutes pumping since they were born. That's over an entire week just pumping. That doesn't count actually nursing the babies.

Pumping is such a pain, but on the other hand, it gives me time to write blog posts.

We have changed almost 1,500 diapers since the babies were born.

Last week Nora was over 9 pounds and Milo was over 10 pounds. Nora has doubled her weight since she was born. Milo has probably done the same by this week. Way to go, babies!

I thought maybe I would have to pay for taking this picture, but the flash didn't wake them up after all. This is how Nora and Milo sleep. You can see Milo's flattened head in this picture, and how we encourage him to sleep facing his left by putting Nora on his left side.

This week my mother in law left unexpectedly, three weeks earlier than planned. So now it's just us. It's kind of scary, and kind of nice. On Monday I had meetings that I couldn't miss, so Jake stayed home by himself with the babies for a few hours. When I returned home they were all still alive, so things must have been okay.

One way we need to deal with things like errands and meetings is to just split up the babies. It turns out that I can handle going to the grocery store with one baby, but the thought of going by myself with both babies seems overwhelming. However, Jake can take care of one easily enough if I take one with me. Same with work. I can take a baby to work if necessary, leaving the other one home with Jake. Today I took Nora to a faculty meeting and she slept through most of it, but woke up at one point to raise her arm, as if she were in school and had a question. The chair said "you don't get a vote, Nora."

I have a feeling that maybe things will get easier as the babies get a little older and a little bigger. Right now they can play in their crib with toys and the mobile, or they can play under the activity gym downstairs, but basically their playing consists of lying on their backs batting at toys above them. Or lying on their bellies either trying to roll over, or doing face plants and crying hysterically until the 5 minutes of tummy time is up. So the play isn't all that exciting, and it can't last that long. So what do I do to entertain the babies? I can either have them playing in those ways, or I can carry one around in the sling, but then what do I do with the other one if they're both awake? I can put them in bouncy chairs or in the swing, but then I kind of feel like I'm neglecting them by doing that, even though I'm in the same room and they're watching me. I keep worrying that they're thinking "Pick me up, mommy! Don't leave me in this chair!" Which is silly because when I do put them in a bouncy chair in order to take a shower or something, they seem perfectly happy.

In the morning, after I feed the babies, they are usually awake and happy but I have to pump after the feeding. So I'll turn on the mobile and they'll coo at it and play with their crib toys while I pump. But again I worry that I am neglecting them by just leaving them in the crib like that while I'm pumping. Stuff like that makes me want to give up pumping, but then I know that means less breastmilk and more formula. I've decided to keep pumping until they are 6 months old, and then give myself permission to stop.

I know the thing is that I have to find ways to go about the day and get things done with the babies, and because they don't sleep all the time anymore, I need to be okay with doing something like putting them in bouncy chairs while I cook dinner or do the dishes. I hope that's okay. I have this feeling that it'll get easier as they get bigger because then they'll be big enough to play in the exersaucer, or jump in the Johnny jump up. So there will be more play options and I can rotate them between different fun stations, so to speak.

Right now I'm typing with Milo in the sling, and Jake is on his computer with Nora in the sling. When both of us are here it's okay, because there are two adults to hold two babies. It's those times when I'm on my own (or when Jake is on his own) that I fear. But the only way to get more comfortable with it is just to do it.

I worry that twins, by nature, just have to live with less parental attention than they deserve. It's too bad. On the up side, they will, I hope, always have each other.

Life with Milo

Jake just said, "dude, you can't afford to poop. Your ass is on fire." That's not exactly about Milo, though. That's more about Jake and Milo. Today Milo pooped the poop of death, or rather, the poop of acidic fiery molten lava, the kind that burns away at the skin. Literally. We changed his diaper and he must have pooped an hour before that or so, and that hour left a burn all over his bottom and his legs. A weepy, red, angry burn. I can't imagine how much it must hurt. It must hurt to have his bottom wiped and it must hurt to have his diaper changed, and I can't blame him for screaming as loudly as he did.

Milo is amazingly good at calming himself even under the most stressful circumstances. Heck, I'd be crying too if I had a nasty, weeping burn and somebody started rubbing it. Milo brings his hands together in front of his chest and holds them close to each other, grasping at himself as he calms down. It looks like a deliberate calming mechanism. Milo purses his lips in a look of sad concentration, clasps his hands, and stares right into my eyes as his cries fade into wimpers, and then into silence. Sometimes he'll then start smiling even as his eyes are still red.


Milo's got some mad skills. He can roll from his belly to his back, and he can reach out and bat at a toy with pretty good accuracy. He tries and tries and tries and tries to grab those toys, and sometimes he succeeds. The best skill of all is one that Milo possesses; he can put himself to sleep. We can put him in the crib drowsy but awake, and he'll go to sleep. That is the gold star of baby skills right there.

Nora likes the mobile and the mirror; Milo likes the soft ball and the soft cube. He can't get enough of touching those toys. Milo also loves his little blue bear that hangs upside down. He'll hold entire conversations with the bear, sharing his little baby secrets in his deep, husky little baby voice.


Milo is a serious baby. He always looks like he's thinking about something deep, and sometimes I swear he's holding his head up with his eyebrows. His whole forehead wrinkles up in concentrated worry. Then, I pick him up, or I sing "Morning Milotown", or I say "Hi Milo man, hey there Milo", and he grins the biggest grin, changing his face entirely. He looks like a different baby smiling that wide, sweet smile. I don't know if I love him more when he looks worried, or when he lights up. Each time I decide I love him more when he's doing whatever he happens to be doing at the moment.

Milo's head is a little flattened on one side and, being the paranoid first-time parents that we are, we took him to the doctor to have her take a look at it. She wasn't worried about it but suggested that we do things to encourage him to rest his head on the other side -- the round side -- and otherwise stop worrying about it. So we've switched the changing table to the other direction, and I try to remember to hold him in my right arm instead of my left, and most successfully we put him to sleep with Nora on his left side. Inevitably Milo will turn his head and sleep facing her, every time. He looks like he's watching over her. I can almost see the child he will become, the man he will become.

Life with Nora

Nora loves to raise her arms and stretch them whenever she's not confined in the straightjacket swaddle we wrap her in to sleep. As soon as the velcro comes off, her arms shoot out above her head like some sort of victory gesture. Sometimes Nora will even eat like that. She'll spread her arms out and guzzle her milk as she grunts with satisfaction.

Nora grunts a lot. She grunts when she drinks, grunts when she sleeps, grunts when she farts, and the funniest of all, grunts right after she farts in some twisted baby expression of extreme satisfaction. We get a huge kick out of that.

Nora was the smaller twin, born at only 4 lbs and 9 ounces, so in the very beginning I was inclined to worry about her. But that disappeared pretty quickly because something about her just seems...tough. She seems resilient. Nora knows what she wants and does what it takes to get it. If she wants to eat, she yells, and she gets it right away. If she wants to be held instead of put in the crib, lo and behold I'll get to the end of the day and realize that somebody's been holding her almost constantly. When Nora gets mad, she cries like she's mad, not like she's distressed. She just sounds pissed.

Actually, she sounds exactly like Cartman from South Park. Any of you who have seen that cartoon might remember the way he whines to his mom when he wants something: "But mommmmm...." That's what Nora sounds like. I expect that she'll soon start telling Milo "Respect Mah Authoriteh!"

When Nora gets excited, which happens most often while she's looking at her mobile, she starts huffing in these high-pitched excited sounds. "Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah!" This baby girl is so verbal that I have a feeling we're going to have a real talker on our hands when she gets older. She's either cooing, grunting, or huffing in excitement.

Nora has discovered her fist, and is now able to get it to her mouth with fairly reasonable accuracy. For some reason Jake and I both just love this. She is so cute, sitting there sucking away on her fist. The other day Jake was holding her and she started sucking on her fist, and we both said "awwww...how cute." Jake remarked "This makes it all worth it." That's such a lame parent cliche, but I knew

exactly what he meant. Somehow watching our little girl suck on her fist like that, watching her accomplish that major baby feat, it made everything seem worth it. All of the broken nights and all of the tears, all of the frustrating days seemed to melt away as we sat there, transfixed, grinning like a couple of idiots as we proudly watched her shove that fat little fist all the way into her mouth and start sucking.

Mama and Daddy love you, you little grunting fist-sucker, you.