2010 – A Toddler Odyssey or a.k.a. Twin Toddler Resolutions

Since I only ever keep my New Year’s resolutions for roughly eight hours, and most of my resolutions are a work of fiction anyway, Hadleigh and Maura have generously offered to give me a list of their own resolutions that they assure me they will have no problem keeping. 

2010  Twin Toddler Resolutions by Maura & Hadleigh

1. We will have random meltdowns at any given time.  And guess what, the older we get, the more magnificent in volume and scale they will be.  They may be for no logical reason (in your mind).  We may tell you “NO!”   We may even call you “Bad Mommy!”  We’ll definitely have more than a few of these in public as well.  We’ve started to arch our backs, hold our breaths, and cry for a good twenty minutes about not getting our way.  We love to throw ourselves on the floor, then come running to you, and then remember that we are mad at you, so push you away, lie on the floor again, cry even harder because we want you to comfort us, go to you to comfort us, and start cycle all over again.  On average, expect to have meltdowns of varying degrees about 1 every twenty minutes.

2. We will continue to put our food on our head, in our ears, and most assuredly, up our noses.  We love the feel of oatmeal in our hair, and believe it is a great conditioner.  The same goes for spaghetti, yogurt, and maple syrup.  If we are expected to go visit someone, or are having company come to the house, please know we are going to try to make our hair look its best, so food will be put in it.  As far as the food up our noses and in our ears, we just think it’s hilarious to see you totally flip out and run from one high chair to another, so it purely for our entertainment.

3. Speaking of food – we’ll become even more finicky about it.  The dish that we loved a few nights ago we will turn up our noses at tonight.  We will continue to throw our food on the floor when we tell you we are done and you tell us two more bites.  We are DONE!  If it were up to us, we would only eat popsicle, green beans, and blueberries every day.  Maybe some milk and a snack or two.  If you insist on us eating breakfast, lunch, and dinner,  we appreciate you trying to switch up the menu so it’s not the same every night, but really – how many ways can you cook pasta?  Use one of the many cookbooks you have that you yell at us to stay away from.  That”s why we pull them out – we’re trying to give you the hint to use them!

4. We may or may not begin potty training this year.  We are only 20 months old, and although you have had some success with us, we’re going to keep you on your toes.  We’re still going to try to stick our hands in our poopy diapers just to see you flip out (again – it’s funny), we’re going to fight you with wearing a diaper, with getting our diapers changed, anything having to do with diapers.  We are going to love running around the house nudie cutie (you like it too – you play that game of pinching the cutie patootie).  We’ll still sit on our potties before bath time, but then we’re going to still try to stand in them, put our toys in them, flush the big toilet, unroll the toilet paper, and generally drive you crazy.  We’ll tell you we’ve pooped, sometimes even when we haven’t, and then get mad when you check the diaper.  Which will cause a meltdown.  See resolution #1.

5. When we want to do something, we want to do it NOW!  When we want something, we want it NOW!  If we don’t get our way, we will repeat continuously what we want (i.e.  We want to color, so we say; “cuy-wer, cuy-wer”).  Then louder. “CUY-WER! CUY-WER!”  MAMA! CUYWER!”  Usually you give in, because you know if you don’t it results in a meltdown. Again, see #1.

6. You will repeat “don’t touch, no, don’t push, don’t stand on that, sit down, off, close that ____, get away from that_____, tell your sister you”re sorry, share” a few dozen times a day.  You will also gasp, look disapprovingly, and give a mean Mommy face at least once a day.

7. We will do something so unbelievably ornery and so stinking cute at the same time you will have a hard time keeping a straight face as you try to discipline us.  Count on us doing this at least a few times a week.

8. We’ll become even more brazen in our stunt antics.  We’ll climb out of cribs, scale chairs, tables, couches, virtually anything that we shouldn’t.  We’ll be very creative in what we use to help us scale these heights: empty diaper boxes (that had been makeshift bumper cars ten minutes before) buckets that our blocks are stored in, even our books are amazingly stackable!  And these are only a preview of what you have seen us do!  Just wait Mommy – we’ve been practicing on our stuffed animals and toys as well. 

9. Bath times and bed times will be a roller coaster of emotions.  At any given point, we may be happy and laughing, running around our room nudie cutie excited for the bath, or crying in the tub because we have to have our hair washed.  We may be happy because our hair has bubbles in it or sad because the water has gone bye-bye.  We may be laughing because we are singing our teeth brushing song or crying because we finished drinking our cup of water after brushing our teeth.  We may want to sit on your lap and read stories all night, or can’t wait to get in our cribs and bounce and laugh at each other.  During each evening, one of us (if not both) will be told to get away from the diaper pail, to sit down in the tub, to shut the drawers, to get out of the bathroom.  Regardless, every night, we will be sad because it means that we won’t see you until morning.  Unless we decide to wake up and call out your name, and then we know you’ll come and rock us, and kiss us, and tell us we’re ok.

10. Despite what kind of hell we may have put you through that day, and no matter how many times you say to us that we’re lucky we’re cute, when you go to check on us before you go to bed, you will forget all the trouble we caused that day.  You will thank God for your healthy, beautiful daughters, and will laugh silently at our antics from the day.  You’ll smile at how we came up to you and gave you a hug and a kiss just because.  You’ll feel a bit guilty that we cried when you left for work.  You’ll look down and see how much we are growing every day.  But You will marvel that we still sleep like we did when we were in your womb, Maura with her tushie up, and Hadleigh all stretched out.  You will make sure we are snuggled up, safe and secure, for now, and always.  And that’s the only resolution you ever need to keep Mommy.

Mother’s Little Helper

What a drag it is getting old
“kids are different today,”
I hear ev’ry mother say
Mother needs something today to calm her down
And though she’s not really ill
There’s a little yellow pill
She goes running for the shelter of a mother’s little helper
And it helps her on her way, gets her through her busy day

I have always loved this song by the Rolling Stones – even before I became a mom.  The tune is catchy, Mick Jagger’s vocals rock on it, and I thought it was a funny commentary on modern mothers.   I used to joke that I would probably be popping a Xanax and drinking a glass of wine just to deal with my kids.

Then I became a mom.  And for the last eighteen months, I have been dealing with postpartum depression.  I ignored it for the first eight months.  I chalked it up to exhaustion, stress, not working out.  I didn’t want to utter the word depression, as I felt that made me a bad mom.  A bad employee.  A bad partner.  I was embarrassed that I couldn’t be strong and work through it.  I was  embarrassed that I  needed help, and that I was always on the verge of seriously losing my shit.   I felt like a failure.  In a way, still do.

I have struggled with depression for over twenty years.  Although in the early years, I was told to just get over it.  Snap out of it, weak people let their emotions bring them down.  In retrospect, not the best pieces of advice for a teen who is depressed.  Finally, after I started having panic attacks when I was 23, I approached my doctor and she called my demons out.  I was depressed.  I found the initial diagnosis hard to swallow (along with the meds she prescribed).  Depression equals crazy – at lease that is the unspoken stigma.  I didn’t feel crazy, just completely overwhelmed.  She suggested I go speak with someone.  I maybe lasted three sessions.  I felt like a whiny cry baby, and I felt vulnerable having someone know my thoughts.  I am very good at keeping my drama buried in the abyss.  I use humor to cope, I didn’t want some stranger trying to psycho-analyze my every word.

For the next ten years, I dabbled in prescribed depression meds my doctors at the time felt I should be on.  I’d be on meds for a couple of months, feel good and stop them for a year or two, and then start the vicious cycle again.  From Ambian to Zoloft – I have run through the alphabet.  Some made me too wired to sleep, some made me gain weight, but all made me even more depressed after a length of time.  I hated having to take a pill to make me happier.    I felt it should be natural, after all, I had a good life.   I numbed my pain through shopping, alcohol, and men.  I was always trying to outrun that horrible void, the emptiness that always seemed to come back and engulf me.

When I became pregnant, I felt like I had never felt before – a true happiness that stemmed from my very core.  Didn’t hurt that I had all of the amazing pregnancy hormones surging through my body – times two.  I was so happy, I know I utterly glowed every now and then.   After giving birth, I existed in a sleepless brain fog for a few weeks.  Snapping out of it, I was overwhelmed and had episodes of blueness creep in.   I attributed it to everything but postpartum.   Besides, I didn’t have the right to be depressed, I had two babies who needed me.  What kind of mother was I?  Sadder by the day, and now a working full-time mom, I struggled with keeping my emotions at bay.  I would freak out if the dishwasher wasn’t loaded right (by my extreme standards).  However, I knew I needed help when I went into the food store trying to pick an argument with anyone and everyone.  What the hell was wrong with me?  I was trying to pick a fight with a rabbi over him jumping ahead of me in the deli line.   Since the birth of my daughters, I had been avoiding the reality that I was depressed.   I finally went to speak with someone at the Postpartum Center in Bryn Mawr.  I only went to one session.  She couldn’t write a script for me for medication, and I felt I didn’t have the money or time to sit and talk with a very nice woman about my downward spiral.   Give me all the non-medicinal coping skills you have, but I need something a bit stronger than focused breathing and meditation.  I needed medication. 

I contacted my ob-gyn (I kind of feel they got me in this mess by inducing me and therefore ending my nine month high) and they prescribed Prozac.  Great.  The drug that spawned books and songs.  Well, all it did was make me too wired to sleep.  So then they wrote a script for some Ambian.  Ugh.  My night stand looked like a pharmacy.  It seemed to help a bit though.  I wasn’t picking fights with anyone except my fiance, so the general public was temporarily spared.   But the insomnia and anxiety that the Prozac caused started to take a toll on me.  So I stopped it.  Within a week, I was a woman on the ledge.  I couldn’t deal with seemingly anything.  I struggled to get out of bed every morning, to shower, to have enthusiasm to do my job.  The only highlight of my day was the short time spent with my girls.  Even that started to feel like too much.

After a long weekend with my fiance gone most of it, I got close to rock bottom.  I had to go out on a Sunday night to get diapers from Target.  As I was driving and hating the world, I saw a sign for the turnpike.  For a minute I seriously contemplated how much money I had in my bank account and where could I go to escape for a day.   Guilt got the best of me (my babies really did need diapers) and I proceeded on to Target.  

I was really bothered by that episode.  Surely it was crazy thinking to want to run away from it all.  I finally confessed to a friend who has a daughter six months younger than my girls.  She said she felt the same way, and that she was taking meds for depression.  I was happy to know one of my best friends was as crazy as me.  The next day I went to a play date, and all five of the moms there were on depression meds.  I was the lone idiot struggling on my own.  As I become friends with more moms, I am always surprised at how many are on antidepressants.  I suddenly don’t feel so alone, so crazy, and so overwhelmed.  To a degree, we’re all in the same boat.   Whether or not a pill is needed, we’re struggling to be the best we can be, with so many hats to wear.

I finally made an appointment to see a doctor and I am going next week.  Hopefully he’ll have a magic pill that takes away my headaches, my anxiety, and my insomnia.  If it is makes me thin and blond, that would be even better.

This has been my most difficult blog posting to write, since it is about something I am ashamed of.   I debated writing about the way I was feeling for months.  Even though depression seems to be a common affliction, no one talks about it.   I hesitate to publish it, because then my Achille’s heel is out there for the world to judge me on.  However, I do know I am not alone, and that this doesn’t make me a bad person.  I am a good mom who occasionally swears too much.  I am a good friend who is loyal and compassionate.  I am a faithful partner and dedicated employee.  I know my strengths and am finally beginning to accept my weaknesses.  I look forward to the day when I feel like my old self, and I know it’s right around the corner.

Doctor please, some more of these
Outside the door, she took four more
What a drag it is getting old

Children of the Corn

(Originally published in the October 2009 Bulletwin)

It is a long standing joke in my family that I am no Julia Child.  I can’t even make Jello.  Seriously.  Before I had kids, I served two main dishes, Cheerios or Pasta.  I continued my gourmand lifestyle until the girls were about 9 months old.  They refused to eat Gerber 3^rd Stages, so I was forced to cook for them.

In the beginning, it was easy.  Rice. Pureed fruits & veggies. Chicken.  Then, we moved on to broader horizons – eggs, milk, cheese.  I remember my pediatrician at their twelve month visit saying they could basically eat whatever we ate.  Oh-oh.  I now had to plan menus.  I had to food shop for more than coffee and milk.  I was stumped.  I didn’t know how to plan meals for toddlers.  I wanted them to have a healthy lifestyle, with not a lot of processed foods.  It became my third full-time job.  Mercifully, my daughters can’t fire me for being a lousy chef.

 Then we went to their fifteenth  month well visit.  My little Peanut was only in the 7^th percentile for her weight.  Pumpkin was better, at 18%.  (She is 1 ½ lbs. heavier.)  I was instructed to have Peanut gain weight before their next well visit, the doctor was growing a bit concerned.  Almost everything she suggested, I had already been doing.  Making smoothies.  Giving them full fat milk, cheese, butter, yogurt.  Not too many fluids.  Not too many snacks.  Scheduled mealtimes. 

 She then suggested putting some Half & Half in their milk.  I used it instead of milk on Atkins, not as gross as it sounds.  Serving their veggies with butter.  That last piece of advice I had some issue with.  My girls are stellar (no butter) veggie eaters, I didn’t want to undo months of effort.

So, I have made a more conscious effort to provide them with higher fat and calorie meals, and still be healthy.  Although they did recently have their first doughnuts.  I struggle on a daily basis as to what to cook for dinner that is healthy and also fattening.

I recently struck gold with a recipe I found on the box of Stove Top Corn Bread Stuffing (Chicken Bake—so good and so easy!)  It’s a toddler friendly meal, and they seem to enjoy it.  But last week, upon pulling out  the above from the oven, I received 2nd & 3rd degree burns on my hand.   Don’t ask.  However, my injury has put a damper on my desire to get creative in the kitchen.  Not to mention the four pounds I alone have gained in the last two months from this new lifestyle.

Perhaps there is a reason why Jello is now  in the refrigerated section of the food store.  And why I have the local pizza place’s phone number memorized.

Unorexia

When I first wrote this blog, I said it was going to be about the good, the bad, and the ugly.  Consider this to be between bad and ugly!

On Sunday, I needed to run to the Genuardi’s for the weekly food shopping trip.  I took Hadleigh with me since she refused to take a nap.  She was too amped up from the morning’s birthday party we had attended.  We were having quite a nice time.  She was a minor celebrity with all the ladies in the store, and for once, she didn’t have to share the spotlight.  Upon checkout, the cashier asked if she was my only child.  I said no, that she had a twin sister at home, who was napping.  The old lady behind me asked, “Did you say she was a twin?”  I said yes, and smiled.  “Oh, how nice!  Are you expecting twins again with this pregnancy?”, the old bat asked.  I was so taken aback, I stammered, and mumbled something like we don’t know yet, and practically sprinted out the store.

I am not pregnant.  I didn’t think I even looked like I was pregnant.  But to this old biddie behind me, I was obviously big enough to be carrying two babies.  WHAT?????  For starters, I only gained 38 lbs with my twin pregnancy.  Not too shabby.  Fair enough, I have almost 30 lbs to lose of it still, but I joined Weight Watchers, so I am trying.   I just couldn’t believe this woman’s audacity.  When I related the story to my mom and some friends, they all asked why I didn’t embarass her, say I wasn’t pregnant, and make her feel bad.  I don’t think it would have though.  I am so self conscious about the way I look anyway anymore, to point out I was just fat and not pregnant would have been even more embarassing for me than for her.

To add insult to injury, I later saw pictures of me from the birthday party.  That day, I had thought I hadn’t looked too bad.  No, I didn’t have time to do my hair or put on makeup (it was a morning party and an hour away), but my outfit was cute, stain free, and ironed.   This said outfit was what I had on at the food store.  In the pictures though, I saw a puffy, tired looking mom with a frizzy ponytail.  I looked horrible.  There is no way I will ever look at those pictures and think I looked attractive. 

So, I started to really think about it, and realized I have a yet as undiagnosed disease.  It’s unorexia.  It is essentially the opposite of anorexia.  I look in the mirror and see a person who obviously isn’t as skinny as I think I am.   I’m not blind, I know I am bigger than I ever have been, but I used to think I carried it well.  Apparently, the only one fooled is myself.

I keep reminding myself that this body carried not one, but two babies to almost 37 weeks.  Two healthy babies.  I look at my arms, and notice how they are strong enough to comfort and pick up two toddlers at the same time.  I look at my legs, and although they could use a shave, they still work to run and dance, and do goofy things to make my girls laugh hysterically.  This makes me feel a bit more confident, a bit more self assured.

Having unorexia isn’t a bad thing after all.

The Devil wears Prada, and I look like Hell.

Yesterday, as I was running out to the grocery store for the second time in ten minutes, I happened to catch a glimpse of my reflection in the sliding doors of the Genuardi’s.  The image literally stopped me in my tracks.  “Holy shit!  I can’t believe I actually went out in public looking like this!” 

To an outsider (or the cashier who waited on me both times), I probably looked mentally unstable.  My hair was thrown in a half assed ponytail, with pieces flying out all over the place.  I had random strawberry and blueberry stains on my shoulders from teething babies who were giving love nibbles.  I had a big wet spot on my stomach from washing said blueberries and strawberries off the high chairs.  I had a pink shirt on, and green terry shorts – which did not match my green eye glasses.  To complete my look, I had flip flops on that are coming apart at the sole.    The only positive was that I had showered.  I am also fairly certain my teeth were brushed at some point that morning.

I’d like to lie and say this was a momentary lapse in judgment (and fashion sense), but sadly, it was not.  I have noticed more times than not, I have caught myself thinking “I can’t believe I look like this in public”.  Now, it’s not every day, but I can honestly say I look like shit more often than not.  I don’t know when this became acceptable to me, but something changed in the way I viewed myself once I became a mother.

For those who don’t know me, I am no beauty queen.  For those who know me, they’ll wholeheartedly agree.    However, I can honestly say I tried my best to be fashionable.  I used to hate it when people at work saw me in the same outfit within the same month.  I have always been a bit lazy about my hair, I usually just leave it wavy.  I too am a bit lazy about makeup, although I used to at least wear mascara and lip gloss most days.  The point is, I could still turn heads without trying too much.  Alright – to turn heads I had to try really hard, but on an every day basis, the villagers weren’t afraid of me.

After the girls came, I was happy some days to have even made it into the shower.   I remember a few weeks after they were born, I had to ask my mom to come over so I could take a shower, and have time to shave my legs.  After about six weeks, I was starting to get the hang of managing twins, and was even able to shower AND put on an outfit that wasn’t insanely wrinkled or covered in baby fluids of some sort.  I thought I was going to be ok.  I even managed to get a pedicure and manicure every now and then.

Then, it happened.  I was walking the girls along Montgomery Avenue ( a very busy road for those of you who don’t know), and I realized I hadn’t been checked out once by any male.  No whistle, no cat call, nothing.  Not even the foreign landscapers gave me a thought or a sideways glance.  The only ones who were checking me out were women.  It was either a friendly “aw, newborns” smile from one mom to a new mom, or a pitied “you poor thing” smirk from the other ladies on the road.  I was thoroughly depressed.  I felt so unattractive.  And very un-sexy.  I told a male friend (who is gay and can appreciate glances from men) and he asked me what did I expect?  I was pushing a bus for a stroller.  Nothing sexy about that.  Fair enough, I suppose, but the truth hurt.  I was no longer a luscious lady, I was a mom.  And certainly no MILF, to boot.

And my downward demise snowballed.  I had bought cute pajamas to wear to remind myself and my fiance that I was still attractive and sexy, but I never wear them because I don’t feel that way.  I am tired, run down, fat, and stressed.  I want comfort and security when I go to bed.  Lounge pants and a t-shirt are my nightly uniform.   I have bought cute outfits for when I manage to get some adult time with friends, but it seems like so much effort to look nice on a daily basis.  What for? 

However, I think I need to make an effort to feel pretty more often – for my own mental health.  I am truly depressed knowing I don’t care much about me anymore.  It shouldn’t – nor does it have to - be that way.  I don’t want to be in Costco with my daughters and have complete strangers tell me how beautiful they are and see them thinking that hopefully they look like their father.  I want people to say they are cute, and that we look so much alike.  We don’t, but a mom can dream.

Don’t worry – my daughters won’t be raised by a woman obsessed with her looks – or lack thereof.  However, I owe it to them to learn the importance of taking pride in one’s appearance.  It’s not vanity, it’s reality.  I make sure my girls are always clean, and in virtually stain free outfits when we are out in public.  As their mother, I should insist on the same for myself.  You are judged on your appearance.  It’s human nature.  Studies show even babies are naturally more drawn to attractive people.  We are wired from birth. 

So, here I am, now facing the reality of having to wear matching, fashionable outfits daily.  I could use some new shoes, and maybe some new articles of clothing without stains.  I have to buy new makeup, and probably could use a manicure and pedicure to complete the look.  It seems I alone may be able to stimulate the economy with the required purchases I need to finish my look.  It is almost too overwhelming.    

And then I think back to a song from Carole King, and the lyrics couldn’t be more true:

“You’ve got to get up every morning with a smile on your face
And show the world all the love in your heart
Then people gonna treat you better
You’re gonna find, yes you will
That you’re beautiful as you feel.”

And suddenly,  I feel better.   There’s a saying “If you put lipstick on a pig, it’s still a pig”.  Technically, that’s correct.  But don’t you think that pig feels like the prettiest one in the pen? 

I know I have to have lipstick around here somewhere…..

If I wrap them completely in bubble wrap, am I done babyproofing?

Since moving two weeks ago,  I have become quite neurotic about the safety of our home for the girls.  Which is ridiculous, since we moved from the least kid friendly townhouse on the planet to one that is certainly more baby friendly.  This place has new carpet instead of crappy, nail protruding hardwoods.  We are at the end of a cul de sac, and not directly on Lancaster Avenue.  There is a playground, a park, and wildlife steps away from our door.  The last place had an insanely busy bank that was held up fairly often.  Not to mention the landlord’s drunk sons who inhabited the building sporadically.  Night and day.  We are all much happier here. 

Our pediatrician said the girls would adjust fairly quickly to the move.  She said at their age, it will be exciting for them, as there will be so many new things to explore.  She briefly mentioned that childproofing would be necessary.  No problem, I had the outlet plugs and cabinet locks from the old place.  I couldn’t wait to move to the new house.

I was so fortunate to have Hadleigh decide to join Maura on the day of our move in the ranks of full time drunk little Frankensteins.  Which is how they look when they walk.  She had been toying with the notion for six weeks.  June 2 it was official.  She was walking, and there was no looking back (she would fall each time she attempted to).

I  was so excited to have both of them walking.  I naively thought my life was about to become somewhat easier.  Even now, I laugh at my stupidity.  Of all the dumb things I have thought in my life (and yes, peanut gallery – there have been many – thanks for pointing that out), this has been up there in the top five.    The blissful euphoria quickly lifted when both jetted off in opposite directions in a very un-baby-proofed new home.

Of course one headed for the fireplace, and the other towards the stairs.  Then one found the sliding glass deck doors while the other was trying to make a break for it through the front.  I could not put up the baby yard fast enough.  By the end of the day, there were bruised cheeks, bumped heads, and a scary realization that I was seriously under prepared for walkers. 

So I went nuts at One Step Ahead’s website.  I bought gates for the stairs, a fireplace cushion, gate extension kits, another baby yard to increase their play area square footage.  I had the aforementioned outlet protectors and drawer locks.  I thought I was done.   For a small fortune, my house was safe.

But was it?  Looking around that first week, I realized I had my children living in a potential death trap.  I needed door knobs to be childproofed, along with toilets, screen doors, and the oven (all of the above my daughters kindly pointed out to me).   I even bought inflatable bumpers for the tub, so that when my two darlings push and shove and climb out of the bath seats, if they slip, they won’t chip a tooth or worse on the tub porcelain.  These are great in theory, but a huge waste of money since one twin is always pulling them off the sides while my hands are full with the other one. 

Finally I could breathe a sigh of relief.    But sitting on my deck, enjoying the beauty of Valley Forge Park, nature struck.  I saw the largest spider I have ever seen, hanging out by the screen door.  A speedy contract with Orkin was made (their pesticide is kid and pet safe).  Not even spiders could stand up to my childproofing.

Then my girls decided that their ladybug nightlight was the MOST FASCINATING THING IN THE WORLD and I realized they could receive quite a nasty shock if pulled out wrong.  I found a store that carried night lights that were kid friendly with electric shock deterent plugs.  Installed.

And then yesterday another child proofing oversight came to light.  I was leaving the house, and the girls were on their way up to a nap.  I happened to look up in their window and I see Peanut’s little smiling face peering out from their  bedroom window.  The windows are insanely huge in this place.  Which is great until you realize your toddlers (who are in the 10 and 20 percentile in height for their age, mind you) can peer out the windows.  Granted, it may be a few months until more than their chins scrape the window ledge.  However, they are smart.  You stack a few books, and voile, it becomes a very dangerous situation.

So now I need to invest in window locks, and tents to put over their cribs so they can’t climb out.  I need another toilet lock for the powder room, and I need to make sure the basement (which will be their playroom) is practically a rubber room. 

And yet, I know I have overlooked something.  I used to think that a bump here and a scrape there would teach them to be careful, to make them learn their lesson.  I mean, that’s how we all learned, after all.  Our parents didn’t have outlet plugs, or tub bumpers.  Geez, they didn’t even have car seats in the seventies!  My mom tells how she put a playpen in the back of our van to corrall my brother and I.   I am amazed I lived past the age of four.

I knew at a very young age what I was allowed to touch, and what I couldn’t.  I probably had my hand smacked a few times before I truly learned (I was a very stubborn child).  At the time, my parents were doing what their parents had done before them, but with improvements.  Every generation improves on child rearing.  I am no different.  I have baby monitors, car seats, and collapsible strollers that my mother didn’t have when she rasied twins.

I know it is technically a safer world, with advances in vaccinations, medicine, and technology.  However, why does their newly found indepedence seriously freak me out?  I know there will be falls, and scrapes, and even perhaps a trip or two to the ER.  But the world is a scary place, and every wobbly step brings them closer to meeting it.  People are crazy these days.  You have women stealing babies from the wombs of the mother.  You have sex offenders in every zip code.  Even children have become killers.    I try not to let my neurosis seep into their rose colored world, but I can’t help it.  I am going to have to teach them soon about how to stay safe in an unsafe world.  

I know I can’t keep them sheltered.  My job as a mother is to raise them to be able to leave me one day.   Until that day though, I am going to keep them close, with an ever watchful eye on them, catching them when they fall.  Except for tonight, when they both simultaneously bonked heads on the kitchen table.   Sorry girls, Mommy forgot to buy table corner cushions.   She’ll order them tonight.

Stay at Home vs Working – the maternal conundrum

I was always told I wouldn’t be able to have kids.  So, when I found out in September 2007 that SURPRISE, the impossible had occurred, I didn’t know how to feel.

I was traveling back and forth to Chicago for my job, living there two weeks out of every month.  I was falling in love with the area, and thought I would be starting a new position in my company that would require me to eventually move to Chicago.  I was very excited for my career.  Until I found out I was pregnant.

Since I was pregnant with twins and high risk, I wasn’t allowed to travel by plane after 15 weeks.  There went my opportunity in Chicago.  It was a very surreal feeling.  I was overjoyed at experiencing something I never thought I would, but resentful of the fact that something I had been working so hard toward for many years was for naught.

I was put on bedrest three weeks before I gave birth.  It was very hard transitioning from working woman to woman stuck in bed.   I was concerned about my job, if I would have one upon my return from maternity leave.  If my replacement would be better than me.  Fortunately, she wasn’t.  So my job was secure.

During my maternity leave, I started to think I could really enjoy being a stay at home mom.  I loved being with my girls.  I didn’t want someone else to raise them. 

But with all of the expenses, we thought it was best for me to work.  I wanted my daughters to have a good life, so we needed my paycheck.  He wanted to send them to day care.  There was no way in hell I was having that.  My office is at home, so I wanted to be able to see how my daughters were being cared for, and I wouldn’t have that in day care, so we hired a nanny.

Even though my nanny is wonderful, and I am so glad I am able to work from home, it is a Catch-22.  I am struggling with wanting to be a SAHM while wanting to be able to have nice things for myself and my girls.   I hate that my nanny sees their “firsts” usually before I do, and she gets to laugh and play with them during their best time.  I get them in the evening, when we all are tired and cranky, and  neither they nor I  have the energy to do much, except whine and have the occassional meltdown.

Then it’s bath time and bed time, and it’s all over by 7pm.  My mom used to say its the quality of the time spent together vs the quantity, and in theory, she’s right.  However, I am tired after working a full day (and not getting much sleep to begin with), so at best I have an hour of quality parenting in me.

I keep thinking if it’s all really worth it.  I was given the opportunity to be a mother, and I feel like I am wasting it.  I may never be able to have any more kids.  I don’t want to be filled with regret that I didn’t even get to enjoy them as babies and toddlers.  I don’t want a “Cat’s in the Cradle” moment when they are older.

However, on the flip side, I wonder if I even have the patience to be a SAHM.  My fuse is fairly short, and I also don’t want to be taken for granted if I stay home.  Which happens to 99% of all stay at home moms.  I don’t know if I am comfortable with totally giving up control of my life.  I would have to rely on someone else for money – for everything.  Plus, SAHMs are on call 24 a day, 365 days a year.  The dads I know feel it’s part of their wives’ duty as a stay at home mom to deal with the kids constantly, at all times.   I think I would be very resentful, very quickly, because I know that’s how it would be in my house.  I am already the primary caregiver in my home, while working full time.  If  I wasn’t contributing an income, I would be treated as a second class citizen.   

I just don’t think most men are that evolved to appreciate the sacrifice his partner makes to stay at home with the kids. My fiance said I would need to get a part time job if I wanted to stay at home.  What???  Why doesn’t the current generation of men see the overall value to the family when the mommy stays home?  Why doesn’t my fiance see that a SAHM is a full time job, without the pay and benefits?

I have always been an earner, so I can see how scary it is to a father to now be responsible for everyone’s well being, if a mother stays at home.   I think some dads have this image that when the wife is at home, she is getting her nails done, eating bon-bons,  and the children nap the entire day away.   In reality, most moms are thrilled to be able to get in the shower and that begins and ends their time of self pampering.

I think it is interesting that every year around Mother’s Day, a statistic comes out saying what a SAHM is really worth.  I believe this year it is the equivilant of a salary of $110,000.   I’ll take that in large bills please.

The tragedy of Jon and Kate

I used to love watching Jon and Kate plus 8.   It was a guilty pleasure, especially when struggling to manage infant twins.  It made me feel better.  It made me feel that I could get through this stressful time, since after all there were only two kids the same age, not six.

During last season, I noticed how Jon and Kate seemed to constantly be at each others’ throats, often fighting in front of their kids.   Their body language on their interview chair was painful.  More and more they were angling away from each other.  Jon said he had about enough of being a stay at home dad while Kate never seemed to be home.  The writing was on the wall, their relationship would not last under these cirmcumstances.

The allegations came out.  He cheated.  She cheated.  She is a huge bitch, obsessed with fame, freebies, and her appearance.  He wishes he is single, purchasing a two seater sports car.  Even more rumors.  He sleeps in the garage apartment.  She is alienated from her entire family.  They haven’t gotten along in years.

So I felt like I had been duped into believing they were this “real” couple, that struggled with this large brood of unruly kids, and that it was tough.  I remember Kate saying she basically did it all, the cooking, cleaning, the household chores.  Now I read they have nannies, babysitters, household staffers.   Did they really know parenting struggles?  Who in suburbia have staff?

I swore I wouldn’t watch the new season.  I didn’t want to see her tanned, thin, in designer fashions.  I didn’t want to see his hair implants, his sports car, the million dollar home.  I didn’t want to see people who could no longer relate to being parents.   I didn’t want to see how they were royally screwing up their kids.  I mean, let’s face it, Mady has HUGE issues.  I didn’t want to see the rest of them end that way.

But flipping through the channels on Monday night, I caught the episode underway.  I was too busy mopping, doing laundry, and packing for our move to have caught it at the beginning.  I saw Kate being interviewed by herself.  And then Jon solo as well.  I heard Kate frustrated that Jon wasn’t there to help, and I heard Jon ask his daughter if she missed him.

I heard one of the septuplets asking Jon when was he going to come back home.  I saw the children hugging their Daddy and Jon just holding on.  And giving extra kisses to their Mommy.  And I felt it was breaking my heart.

You see, I am a twin myself, and my parents were divorced by the time I was three.  My fiance and I are really struggling in our relationship currently.  One child tests the strength of a relationship.  Multiples test that relationship to its breaking point.  So seeing and hearing both Jon and Kate’s pain touches me.  I used to think that if they could do it, I certainly could.  They were these faithful Christians, I am a recovering Catholic.  They renewed their vows.  I have been divorced already, and am not even married to the father of my children yet.  They have a set of twins and septuplets.   I only have twins.  They gave me hope.  Who cares if it was a scripted reality tv kind of hope.  It was all I had to go on at times.

I didn’t fall asleep until very late last night.  I kept thinking about Jon and Kate.  I don’t want that kind of life for my daughters, I have already lived it, and don’t want them going through that kind of pain.  Don’t get me wrong, my parents are wonderful, caring, loving people who did the best for my brother and I.  However, I remember asking my Daddy to come home, to stay the night, to come back to visit the next day.  Anything to keep him around.

Divorce sucks.

I remember running after his car crying because he was leaving, and we weren’t going to see him until the following weekend.  Once a week is too long a time for a kid not to see their parent.  I remember being teased that my daddy didn’t love me because he didn’t live with us.   I remember thinking if only  we were better kids, perhaps Mommy and Daddy would get back together.  I remember I had friends not allowed to sleep over my house because my parents were divorced.  The attitude towards divorce has certainly changed in the last thirty years.

Watching the show brought me back to some of my most painful memories of childhood.  There are fortunately only a few, but they are vivid and raw.  I could certainly relate to how those kids will be feeling if their parents continue the way they are. 

Even when the parents are civil and friendly to each other, like mine were, it still shapes a kid in a not so positive way.   I am a living testament.  The reality is, when my relationship gets tough, my first impulse is to call an immediate end to it.  Just move on.  And until last night, I thought that was where I was heading.  I didn’t give my relationship more than a year, at best. 

But remembering how it felt to not have my parents together served as a huge wake up call for me.  You always want what is best for your children, and I don’t want to cause that kind of pain, if humanly possible.  So, I will be reinvesting in my relationship with my fiance, for ourselves and for our daughters.  It won’t be easy, we have an uphill climb, but I know the end results are worth the effort.

And I can’t believe I have Jon and Kate Gosselin to thank for this.

If they are so tired, why won’t they sleep?

I am a sleeper.  Let me re-phrase that.  I used to be a sleeper.  Honestly, I could waste the day just sleeping.  I love sleep.  The thrill of climbing into bed for a mid day nap, or even snoozing on the couch during lame afternoon tv shows.  Don’t even get me started about bedtime.  Snuggling under blankets with pillows all around, my glass of water and tv remote within arm’s reach.  Ahh, my own nirvana.

I have not had a good night’s sleep since September 2007, when I first discovered I was pregnant.  Pregnancy was the worst.  I was so damn tired, and would climb into bed by 7pm.  Just to be awakened every few hours to visit the bathroom.  Then when I got over that hump, I was too big to sleep on my stomach.  I looked like a tick about to burst and I was only 5 months pregnant.  My back hurt when I laid down, I couldn’t find a comfortable sleep position, and it was a total bitch to get out of bed for my hourly potty trips.  I looked like Ralphie’s kid brother from “A Christmas Story” – the parts when he is all bundled in his snowsuit, and is knocked down to the ground, and rolling around trying to get up.  That was me. 

Of course then you have the fucking idiots who tell you to get your sleep now, because after the babies come, you never sleep.  Or another classic line - it’s nature’s way of preparing you for sleepless nights with a newborn.   However, my favorite piece of shitty advice – you’ll sleep when the babies sleep.  At the time though, I thanked these fountains of knowledge and stupidly shook my head in agreement.  I thought that newborns sleep a lot.  And that I would be able to sleep when the babies slept (during my too short maternity leave).  As a first time moron, I mean mom, I didn’t realize that yes, newborns do sleep a lot – but in too cruel for the real world short spurts.  Babies need to be fed every two hours in the beginning.  And forget about sleeping when they nap, there is laundry to be done, bottles to be washed, thank you notes to be addressed, etc.  I even attempted to breastfeed in the beginning.   It got to the point that I was operating on tops two hours of sleep in a day.  I was exhausted, miserable, and felt like a failure.  That’s when my pediatrician told me my daughters would be just fine if I didn’t breastfeed.   There seemed to be a distant light in my dark, dark tunnel!

I forced  the girls to have the same schedule.  Poor Hadleigh was probably as sleep deprived as I was, due to Maura and her fondness for waking up the birds. And anything else that slept for more than two hours straight.  They got a bit better after three months, and would sleep for almost four hours straight.  By then, I was back to working full time.  There were a few nights that I honestly didn’t remember waking up and feeding them, but I had the empty bottles as evidence, and I knew I hadn’t developed overnight a craving for Nutramigen.  So by six months, I was really very tired. 

I kept hearing about these horrible bitches whose babies started sleeping through the night from the time they came home from the hospital.  Really?  Just what a sleep deprived mom wants to hear.  Let me guess, these same stupid bitches probably lost all of their baby weight by the six week visit, and were happily enjoying their pre-baby sex life too.  I can’t help but be a hater, I am a tad crabby without my beauty sleep.

Anyhoo -  after six months of torture, I had two sleep changing moments in my daughters’ lives.  The first was the night when they rolled onto their tummies on their own accord to sleep.  They slept for 8 hours straight!  It was pure bliss.  The other was when I downloaded a sleep program.  It was a few weeks after they had been sleeping for an eight hour stretch. I came to find I was doing everything I was supposed to EXCEPT the biggest factor in getting babies to sleep – and that was putting them to bed awake.  They then learn to fall alseep on their own.  Literally the night I did the sleep training program, they slept from 7pm to 7am.  It would have been awesome, except paranoid Mommy that I am, I awoke every few hours to make sure they were still breathing.  After a week, I too started to relax and thought I had finally reached the light.

Now they are a year, and I don’t know if it’s the thrill of newly found independence (from walking), whether they can sense that Mommy and Daddy are stressed, whether they can sense we are moving in a week, these children are not sleeping well again!  It could be the cows above us who vacuum at 11:30 pm at night (I mean, seriously???), it could be no reason at all.  I just know if these babies plan on seeing their second birthday, they had best start sleeping through the night again!  Mommy is so tired! 

I think all of the sleep solutions are b.s.   Maybe our grandparents were on to something when they would coat the kids gums with whiskey.  I am going to coat my gums nightly.   At least then someone in this household would be sleeping through the night.

I’m seeing double, and haven’t had a drink in ages…

Ok, so I am a total newbie when it comes to the world of blogging, but since becoming a mom of two gorgeous (and no, I am not a bit biased) twin girls, I have no street cred factor, and hopefully blogging will keep me one step further away from mom jeans.  You see, I no longer am the person I once was.  I used to be a partier.  I used to have a decent figure.  I used to dress stylishly.  I used to refer to myself as Heather, and not Mommy.   I used to have a life.  Yes, it was a self absorbed kind of life, but it was what I knew and I was really good at it.

This whole mom thing – I do my best, and I’d like to think I am a good mom, but a sneaking suspicion has me doubting.  Seriously, how great of a mom can I be?  I have told each of my daughters more than once in their short existence to shut the fuck up when they were crying.  I have seriously been able to see how a person could be so sleep deprived (and totally insane) to shake a crying baby.  I never would, ok people, I am just saying – I can see how you can get totally nuts and lose your mind.

All this said, I can honestly say being a mom has been the  hardest and most rewarding thing to happen to me.  But being a mom is also responsible for some of my lowest moments, and this blog is a sort of confessional.  You’ll read it all – the good, the bad, and the ugly. 

Hopefully, this won’t be my first and last post, but I am a working full time mom of twins, and this certainly isn’t a priority.  It’s just my chance to vent.

I mean seriously, I don’t even know what I am doing with this.  My luck, I have spent 20 minutes typing, and I will delete this and think I posted.