Tonight I was reminded of my blog…oh! My blog!  I forgot what that was for a minute. 

Unfortunately I have started my “next post” more times than I can count in the past few months, saved the beginnings thinking I would have time in a day or two to come back to it and finish, and then never did.  Now, and with every new day that passes, the previous beginnings seem more and more irrelevant.  So…here I go again.

What’s important right now is that it is 1:37AM and I am still awake.  Still awake and scavenging the FB boards for Matilda Jane re-sales that “Olivia” can’t live without and learning all the in and outs and names of knots and tops and ruffles and peasants.

I have never struggled with my memory.  It was sharp.  Give me a number, name, face, concept---whatever, I got it.  I could understand it, learn it, and remember it in seconds.  Now.  Haha!  On a conference call with my largest client's entire staff a week ago I made the mistake of asking (as they were trying to create a boiler plate document) if the headline of the contract “North American Contract” would be replaced for other countries such as Mexico.  Tick, tick, tick.  Oh no you didn’t?!?!  Oh, yes.  I did.  Unfortunately. 

It’s funny, I have been told to write down the important stuff and the rest, just let it go.  Well, now, apparently, the important stuff is the names of MJ Platinum Dresses and not an accurate concept of geography.

The trouble is…you can’t write down how to have a conversation or how to not stick your foot in your mouth.  I have always been a little socially awkward.  I blame it on being in “the gifted program” and being labeled as weird or a dork as a child.  It made me massively insecure through high school--I mean, really, I'm still scarred.  I got drunk at my 10 year reunion to prove I wasn't... which just made it worse.  So, conversation and being able to make friends or even interact at parties or in groups has never come easy to me, but now---I can’t even talk to my dogs.

It is truly amazing the phenomenon of “mom brain.”  I can remember how many and what type of bowel movements my kids have had in a day, but have to write emails as opposed to answering phone calls for work so I have time to gather and assess my thoughts, thank God for spelling an grammar check.

Ken just laughs at me, but in so many ways it is frustrating in a way that, well—I don’t have the words for.  If you have read any of my blog posts, you know I have an ongoing “identity” struggle between wife, mom, professional, and Bridgette.  I don’t want to entirely give up who I am to be just one of these, but at the same time, who I am, I have learned, is constantly evolving. 

I am still the person who strives for perfection with her work—and it absolutely eats at me every day that my work suffers and is in ways neglected for the time I spend with my kids, but then again---the alternative is that my kids are neglected and that person that I have become, Mamamama (as Olivia says), is far more important than Director of Marketing or Consultant of anything. 

With life changing and moving more quickly every day, it’s hard to imagine missing a word or a step or even a hug—Oliver gives the BEST hugs.  Olivia, Olivia kisses, big, wet, open-mouthed kisses all over your face. 

So, no, there are no more trips to LA, or Seattle, or Chicago or New York, London or any other cool, important “business” places.  There are about 20 steps to my office, in my pj’s, hopefully with a cup of coffee, to hammer out 30 minutes of work during their morning nap and pray the dogs don’t bark and wake them while I manage my team remotely with texts and emails, to 1-keep from embarrassing myself with another Mexico incident and 2-have a paper trail to reference back to before I forget everything they told me two minutes earlier.  I beg off vendors with doctors appointments and sick babies, and dodge sales reps with crying infants. 

The fact of the matter is…I’m not giving up parts of myself, I’m just not that person anymore.   

The days of taking an hour or so to shower and dress at my leisure are long gone—I usually have between 10 and 30 minutes to quickly throw myself together.  Being anywhere before 10 or on a schedule---it’s just not going to happen.  Having clean Tupperware, glass accessories on shelves, curtains that touch the floor, hot coffee, clean clothes, remembering (or having the time) to feed myself, just running in the grocery store real quick, lunch with friends, painted toe nails, plucked eye brows, silk (or any other clothes that require dry cleaning), time alone, phone conversations, coherent thought…these are just a few of the things that are no longer part of my life.  Instead, I get these guys….purely amazing, perfect, smart and happy little people:

These two tiny humans don’t care if I know that Mexico is in North America, and aren’t going to ask me to discuss agendas or tech issues or even politics---I don’t have to worry about creating a conversation or remembering a word or trying not to feel weird or out of place when my thoughts are jumbled.  They just want to know where the heck their juice bottle is, and why their diaper is wet.  Those problems, I can fix—then to them, I am awesome.  Awesome is good.  I like the new me.  I can live with Awesome.

10 days.  Actually, now 9 days and 23.5 hours.  Probably a little less by the time I finish this.  I can’t avoid it.  It’s inevitable.  Maybe if I close my eyes and sleep through the day it will go away.  I’ll just pretend it never happened.  The dreaded 30. 

25 seemed like a mile stone, I woke up with a mild panic attack and declared I was having a quarter life crisis, changed jobs, put my condo on the market, drank entirely too much and wasted away the year planning out the rest of 20’s and wondering where time had gone and why I hadn’t found the love of my life at East Andrews or Park Tavern---or for heaven’s sake-the gym.  At 25, I was in the best shape of my life (to date) running at least 5 miles a day, working out daily and wearing those clever Nike t-shirts that said things like “Every Damn Day, Just Do It” or “I Make It Look Easy”, or my favorite…”Don’t Stop-People Are Watching”

That was then…  Honestly, I wouldn’t go back to 25, but that doesn’t make 30 any kinder.  29 was the best year of my life, I just hate to leave it behind, and broaching my 30’s I have do many goals still left unaccomplished and so little of my 25 year old self seems to remain.

Then vs. Now

115 lbs

Sz. 0-2, XS

Income—more

Debt—less

Job—prominent and social

Community—Involved

Sports/Fitness—Highly Active

Marital Status—Divorced and Dating

Leisure Time—Reading & Friends

Favorite Thing—Harvey & Shopping

130 lbs.

Sz 6-8, M

Income—less

Debt—more

Job—unappreciated and reclusive

Community—non-existent

Sports/Fitness—None

Marital Status—Married with 2 Kids

Leisure Time—None

Favorite Thing:  Sleep

(Ironic that I wrote that just now, seeing as how it’s 1:00am and I am missing a perfect opportunity with Ken in Charlotte and my mom staying upstairs with the babies to help while Ken is out of town. )

Here is the thing, when I make a pros and cons list of “ME” then and now, it looks just out right depressing…   I weigh more than I ever have (and cringe every morning when I step on the scale), my knees are in awful shape and PT, but I can’t spare the 3 hours a week to devote to it, my teeth shifted completely crooked with my pregnancy, I average about 4-5 hours of sleep a night between my in ability to sleep and my kids’ desire to be awake, I haven’t stepping in the gym in almost two years, can’t physically tolerate the pain in my knee running, my reading is limited to magazine pictures and invoices for work, none of my clothes in my newly renovated closet fit, I have 3 1’s between my ere brows, I never made it to law school, and I have cellulite-not a lot, but it’s there.

The funny thing is, I’m happier than I have ever been, so with that, I find it so difficult to find the time and motivation to keep making myself “better” with the same drive and ambition I had at 25. 

Ken and I battle through weight watchers in February and March.  He lost over 30 lbs.  I lost 7. 

The problem is, as I reflect on my life at 30—I am happy with my life.  I couldn’t have asked or planned or expected a more perfect life for me as a whole, but I’m not happy with me.  As much as I have gained, I feel like I have lost part of myself.  The part of myself that has the will to “Just Do It”

I am now consumed with feeding babies, changing diapers, bathing babies, dressing babies, cleaning up spit up, feeding dogs, taking dogs outside, playing with babies, taking them to Gymboree, the doctor, to buy more formula or butt paste, oh yeah—and work.  I do still work—full time, for myself. 

Morning after morning, I want to cry as I try on item after item in my closet that doesn’t fit.  Still though, I can’t seem to pull the trigger on my weight loss.  I can never get out the door to the gym.  One is crying or dirty or hungry or sleepy.  I can’t run with my knee.  I can’t get my knee well, because—there isn’t time enough in a day or week, and I’m doing good to remember to eat—eating something healthy or low fat—well, to do that I’d have to be able to go to the grocery store, and I can’t do that with two infants. 

But that is the whole point of this, Just Freakin DO IT.  With less than two weeks left in my 20’s I refuse to go through my 30’s disliking who I am or wanting to be someone else in my body or in my work.  As happy as I am with life, I want to be happy with myself.

 So, that is my plan for 30…  I’m not setting goals to disappoint myself 10 years from now, or compare side by side with a different decade and different person for that matter.  My plan is every day—regardless of the challenge, Just Do It.  The gym, work, diet, conquering the mounting pile of laundry and bottles…  A day will not end where I wish I had done more, if there was more that intended to do--but I also will not regret getting not doing enough if I have consciously gone into every day making every effort to accomplish what I set out, regardless of what happens.

Bring it on, 30.  I can take it.

So much time has passed since I last wrote, it would be impossible to catch you up in full. 

The overview---I feel incredibly old.  My mom turned 50 this month, my babies are 5, almost 6, months old and I am 30 in about 60 days.  It’s not so much that I feel “old” so to speak, as just extremely aware of age and time limitations (mortality), in general.  For the past 30 years, or at least solid decade, time has seemed to tick off day by day and no one seemed any older or different.  The past year has brought about a change in my perception that truly saddens me.  I’m not afraid of death or dying, or anything like that—nor is it something I want to talk about amiably as if I look forward to it or meeting my maker.  The mere thought of one day not being there for my kids sickens me.  The idea of my mom not being there one day for me to pick up the phone in call 20 times over the bumper stick on the car in front of me or the mom fight I had in BabyGap—yes, that happened, sadly.   Now, I know that 30 isn’t old by any measure, nor is 50.  It’s just the idea of borrowed time really—which every day is, that scares the ever living shit out of me.  Not the moving on part, but the hurt of what is left behind and what those you leave have to go through.  This whole idea has really toyed with my emotions in the past few months.  Nothing makes you feel more mortal than having children and watching them grow so quickly. 

From one day to the next they are ever changing and constantly learning and absorbing everything around them.  They are both rolling over like crazy.  Olivia uses it as a means of transportation to get across the room or get to a toy.  Oliver, flips compulsively just because he can, but then becomes infuriated because that is all he can do.  They have started interacting with each other—cooing and touching and grabbing one another’s hands, heads, feet—whatever they can get a hold of.  Olivia has decided that spitting (thanks to my dad) and hitting (I mean full out bitch slapping, open palmed with a scowl on her face) her mom are fun things to do—immediately followed by laughing.  Oliver has discovered tantrums and sticking his tongue out at you with really no purpose other than he realized that he has a tongue.  He also found his belly—which he stares at curiously all day.   They are both trying their very best to sit, crawl, stand and walk with help, climb, jump, talk, you name it.  They know there is so much that they should be able to and want to do and their little bodies just won’t let them yet.  

They have also gotten an extreme Mommy attachment.  It starts about 8:30 at night.  Ken gets a good hour or so with them of fun and laughing, then it all goes down hill.  Absolute screaming bloody murder, shrieking, crying, kicking, arching, fits, until I take them.  Instantly, they calm down and go to sleep.  If there were only one--no problem.  I could hold them all night, but with two, it starts a juggling act.  I calm one down, Ken takes the other, that one starts crying, I give him the happy one, take the crying one, calm that one down, the other starts crying---it would go on all night.  The saddest one in the whole charade is Ken, who tries so hard and does so good with them, and just wants to hold his babies at the end of the day---but they won't have it.  Mommy and only mommy.

This month has brought all sorts of new challenges, but also a sense of peace with myself.  Up until this month, I had a nanny that helped a few days a week.   With her leaving, I have for the past few weeks (with the exception of the days I am with my mom), managed them both alone.  WOW!  Talk about a busy day…  We are still working out the kinks, but we are managing—not just managing but semi-thriving.  They are happy and healthy, and I am still sane, or at least as much as can be expected or I ever really was. 

I have had to accept that I have no control.   I have no schedule, and I will be nowhere on time (like I ever was…).  I will not shower before noon.  I won’t eat before lunchtime, and coffee pumps through my veins (yes, once again). 

There are some things I missed the memo on---8:30 bedtime.  Hasn’t happened once.  Getting rid of the swaddle at 2 months.  Yea---really screwed that one up.  Our pediatrician told us it was fine until they could roll over in it as long as they were small enough for it.  Well, I have REALLY small babies, and they starting rolling over proficiently at 5 months.  Whatever.  I got 5 months with at least 8 hours of sleep every night.  I’d do it again.

Then…according to the bat s*** crazy woman in Pottery Barn today, I missed the one on how I was going to mentally damage my children by having them in an over under stroller at the mall because the lower baby (who was sleeping, by the way) wasn’t stimulated enough and would gain a complex about being a lesser person because they were “on bottom.”  She was literally yelling in Pottery Barn.  What is wrong with people???  A- I am not going to intentionally damage my children any more that my parents did to me or yours did to you, or any parent does.  B-  MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS!  C-  If you don’t have twins…don’t comment, ever.  You don’t know what it’s like, and you can’t compare two kids of two different ages. 

On another note, what would be the appropriate ‘polite’ amount of time to have to stand to let strangers coo, attempt to touch, and talk to your infants?  Babies in themselves are a stranger magnet, you immediately get an “Awe! Look…”  However, when they realize that it is twins, it’s like a freak show they can’t move away from.  I have, without exaggeration, been caught, stuck talking to total strangers answering questions like “which one is older?,” “can you tell them apart?” “are they identical?” “they must look like their dad” “are they small for their age?” “do you have help” (what if I don’t?? are you volunteering?)…I could keep going.  They are the same questions over and over again, and I am not a rude person, I don’t want to be mean, but it takes long enough to get in and out of a store, just unloading and loading a stroller and two babies.  Give me a break!  And don’t touch my kids! --This is what the mom fight was over.  In the middle of Baby Gap, a mother let her child try to climb in the stroller with my babies, then yelled at me when I asked him not to.  Control your child.   Yea, I’m a little skittish about other kids getting in their faces (or in their stroller), but rightfully so.  I have developed so many more pet peeves than I ever thought I would have, about things that I never in a million years thought would ever even cross my mind.

I’m not saying I do everything right, or anything at all—I’m just winging it, and praying it all works out, but I’m not raining on anyone else’s parade either.

Lately, I have also been having this delusional reoccurring dream/panic.  The dream is that I have one of the O's in the bed with us (which I never do), then I actually wake up in the middle of the night, reach over for them and they are gone.  No where to be found.  I feel around the bed, throw back the comforter and sheets, move pillows, make Ken roll over.  They are no where.  My heart feels like it is jumping out of my chest.  I am patting the bed all over feeling for them, no where...  I go up stairs, look in their cribs, and they are both there, sound asleep.  

Bottom line---as a mom, I have become so much more relaxed about so many things, but overall I have mainly just become a paranoid freak that won’t leave my babies alone with anyone.  Yes, I have issues.  Acknowledging them is the first step-don’t expect anymore any time soon.

This time, it’s March 29.  The babies are now just over 3 ½ months old.  Wow.  Time flies. 

I’d like to say things are getting “easier,” but I don’t know if they ever really do—you just get used to them and they become the new norm.   You establish a routine and you make it work—with room to just wing it a bit. 

My saving grace the past three months has been my mom.  She’s really helped me kind of pull things together with the babies, the house, and she, as always has acted as a sounding board to just let me vent a little when things get hairy.  I can only hope that my kids have as good of a relationship with me as I have developed with her through the years. 

Oliver and Olivia have grown like weeds in the past couple of months.  With their reflux acting up, we had them back at the doctor last week to adjust their medication.  Oliver weighed 11lbs 3oz, and Olivia weighed 10lbs 2oz.  They have really started responding and smiling, rolling over, laughing, trying to play with toys, hugging blankets and really just turning into their own little people.  They are both sleeping all night—until about 7:30 in the morning—thank God!  However, I still don’t sleep.  Now that they are in their nursery, I spend the nights (as I am tonight—it’s 2:30am) lying awake listening to the monitor and springing to action with every little sound.  I am fully aware I’m neurotic, but hear me out… here is my fear…with their reflux, they are constantly vomiting or spitting up.  With the whole “back to sleep” deal, I am terrified that one of them will spit up, not be able to spit it out, and choke on it in their sleep.  So, I just don’t sleep.

What I have learned this month is this…

•  If they have been fed, changed, burped, held, etc., and are still crying---it won’t hurt them to cry in their crib or on their mat long enough for you to run to the bathroom.  Despite the slight bladder control issues post pregnancy, peeing yourself is not recommended. 

•  It is possible to rock a car seat that’s in the back, from the front seat, while driving…not safe, but possible.

•  Crying is acceptable when having to pack away their newborn…and 0-3 month clothes.

•  No cars were made with families of multiples in mind---except for maybe conversion vans, and that’s just not cool.

•  I hate doing laundry.

•  Even more I hate washing bottles.

•  So…I have Ken do both.

•  I am not “1c” (I’ll explain later)

•  While double feedings are efficient, babies are not in any way…it turns out it’s easier just to go with the flow, feed them, change them, hold them, nurse them one at time—sit back and let them enjoy it and relax. 

•  There are three types (so far) of baby crying (all demonstrated by Oliver daily)—“Whining for no real reason,” “WaaaaWaaaa---because I’m pissed but can’t shed a tear,” the worst of all and saddest thing I have ever seen—“My heart is broken and my feeling are so hurt, and I have real tears running down my face for a real reason---like, the sun is in my eyes or I don’t want my overalls on”

•  Short hair rocks

•  Baby chicken hair is hilarious.  Even more so is Oliver’s friar tuck look he has going with no hair on top.

•  Olivia think that cameras are going to steal her soul and refuses to cooperate for pictures---while Oliver makes love to the camera.
•  Moms are never in photos.  In 3 months, the only photo I have of me and the babies is immediately after they were born in the hospital operating room.  Every photo since--either I have been taking it, or someone else has made sure they were holding them for the photo-op.

•  Weight Watchers makes me want to cause my husband bodily harm.  He has lost 20lbs in less than a month, while I struggle to shed 10. 
•  Stretch marks look like tire tracks, and a my stomach looks like an 18 wheeler slammed on its brakes
•  There is such a thing as "fat deposits"--and they are grotesque 
•  Babies also have "fat deposits," yet--theirs are adorable
•  A baby's giggle--not laugh, but full on giggle, is the most intoxicating sound in the world

•  And…there is some sort of sick and twisted—highly mis-informed fascination with twins by the general American population…the following video is a perfect example and the conversation I have EVERY time I go out with them verbatim…

The past few months have also made me tremendously value down time with just Ken and the babies—which we get very little of. It’s really great to be able to just sit down in the evening, eat dinner, feed them, hold them and just relax for the first time all day. 

This has been an exhausting year.  With our One Year Anniversary just around the corner, it’s hard to believe what all we have done.  Our wedding, the babies, the renovation…  While I definitely can’t say this year will be boring—nothing is boring with twins—it will hopefully give a little more time for just relaxing as a family, just the four of us J

I think what is the most difficult for me personally with all of these adjustments is how the dynamic of mine and Ken’s relationship has changed in so little time.  Aside from dealing with the ongoing hormone surges, weight gain from the pregnancy, lack of sleep and mounting work which I used to kill—my self esteem took another blow with a recent conversation where Ken referred to me as 1C.  As in—“if our house were burning down and I had to save you all, you would be 1C”  I know it.  You know it.  He knows it—and quite frankly, I wouldn’t want it any other way… but nonetheless, that’s not something you actually verbalize, and it hurt.   In the course of a year I went from his fiancé who was his #1 in everything, to his wife who was supposed to be his #1—but within a couple of weeks I was the future mother of his children who he thought he had to protect to the point of my frustration, but not for my sake—for the babies, to Mommy---who is now “1C.”  So much for the first year of marital bliss…  That makes it tough.  We had enough struggles leading up to our wedding with family drama, that I had thought, finally, when we get married, it will be “us” and we can just sit back and enjoy each other for a while.  No stress.  Not so much.  Before I could blink, I am 1C.  No one wants to think they are third in line the first year they are married…  No one wants to have to share their time all week with people besides their new spouse.  Unfortunately/fortunately, however you choose to look at it, having our babies completely overshadowed (which rightfully it should have) our new marriage and life together with “us.”  We didn’t get to figure out how to be “us” before we became “US” and I became 1C.  There came a whole new set of identities and stresses before we even got to grow into who we would be together.  All of that being said, love the O’s more than anything in the world and more every day.  I wouldn’t change a thing.  You just don’t realize how much of yourself you give up and where you stand until a label is put on it.   1C.

I know how selfish that whole last paragraph sounds---trust me, I’ve been arguing with myself over it for weeks, but there is no part of being a mother that is easy and in all honesty—it makes me feel smaller, less significant and more humble every day.

On that, having my children has made me, for the first time in my life, consciously aware and terrified of my mortality—and even more so of my own parents.  Before having the babies days just seemed to roll into days and time passed, years passed, without anyone really seeming to get older or age to me.  I didn’t feel any older.  My mom and dad didn’t seem any older.  Now, watching the little ones grow pretty much daily has made me grossly aware of how precious and limited time is.  30 years have passed for me in the blink of an eye, and now, I find myself terrified of losing my own parents, and of the time when I am not there for my children.  The thought of either is just gut wrenching.  Events, tragedies, illness…they happen every day.  Now more than ever, I am grateful for everyday I have—thankful that no hardships have beset my family—and pray that we will all live full and healthy lives for a long, long time.


Wishing your family health and happiness, as well.

~B

I am beginning to write this one on Valentine’s Day---we’ll see how long it takes me to actually get it finished and posted…

Tonight, I’m sitting here trying to drink a glass of wine while the babies are sleeping (finally).  They had their two month check-up today where they got 3 shots each and some sort of drops squirted down their throat.  Not pleasant.  Not even slightly.    Olivia was initially really upset about it, but got over it and just went to sleep—Oliver…what can I say?  He is his father’s child.  He cried initially, went to sleep, ate, then screamed to the top of his lungs for an hour, then went back to sleep and continued to whimper in his sleep for the rest of the night—hands down, the saddest thing I have ever heard.  Heartbreaking.  Ken is in Charlotte for work, and my mom is in my guest bedroom with a 102º fever.  So, tonight it’s just me and the O’s.

So much has happened, has changed in the last two month—even more so, the last year—but with two months into having our little ones home, so much more has come in to perspective. 

I found out a few days ago that a friend of mine is also having twins—1.  I am so thrilled for her and her husband—twins are such an incredible blessing, trying, but rewarding.  What was absolutely terrifying almost a year ago (and still is most of the time), I now couldn’t imagine being any other way.  2.  After finding out, I sat trying to think of the answers I could give her on “twins” and the differences between them and ‘singletons.’  What it made me realize, was how many ways my own life has so drastically changed and what I have learned.

•  I can’t go to the grocery store without unless someone is home to watch the babies—you can’t take two infants in the grocery store, and still fit groceries in the cart.  It just isn’t possible.  You also can’t push a double stroller and grocery cart at the same time.  You can, however, clip a mountain climbing cantilever clip to the stroller, fasten a basket to it and do some minor emergency shopping if necessary. 

•  I don’t go to Starbucks.   Suddenly, that $5 cup of coffee just isn’t worth the effort to get out a stroller and two infant seats, just to pop in and grab a cup to go—and I don’t think those intellectuals sitting in the corner would have quite the same appreciation for the cooing and grunting coming from under the sun shades that I do, while sipping on their $5 cups of coffee and busying themselves on their Macs.

•  My day is planned in 2 hour intervals.  Their feedings are every 3 hours and take a full hour to complete.  So, I have two hours between each feeding to get done what is needed.  Two hours goes by fast.

•  I don’t shower unless someone is here to keep an eye on the babies—being that with two, they are never both happy at the same time, and rarely are they happy long enough to shower and get dressed.

                                •  I do A LOT more laundry.  Correction…Ken does a lot more laundry.

•  The décor in my house now is interrupted with multiple bouncey seats, swings, mats, bumbos, and toys.

•  “I’m sorry—now is really not a good time, my twins are screaming.”  Is ALWAYS a good excuse for pretty much anything.

•  On my original thought months ago to grow my hair out so I could “just pull it back…”  I was way wrong—long hair looks just as dirty as short after two days without time to shower.

•  Phones can ring without being answered…and ring and ring and ring…

•  Twins require at least 112 bottles in total per week—and at least 112 diapers—usually more.

•  When managing 112 bottles in a week—they are easiest when made in advance, warmed about 10 minutes before feeding time and washed in the dishwasher—not by hand.

            This one should be updated---I have since learned that bottles are easiest when made with warm water straight from the faucet and immediately stuck in the crying child’s mouth – bottle warmers are for people with time on their hands.

•  Baby vomit is projectile.  It will shoot out of baby beds and onto the floor, without even so much as touching the inside of the bed.  It also stinks, as do baby formula burps and baby farts. 

            Update—Baby poop is projectile as well.

•  I am now ambidextrous.  I can also do things with my toes—like grab burp clothes that are just out of reach while holding a baby in one arm, and a bottle for the other in its mouth while its sitting in a Boppy.

•  Two Boppies are necessary for double feedings—yes they are possible and a tremendous time saver.

•   Manicures are a not necessary—actually, they are a waste of money, when you end up with poop and butt paste under your nails.

•  There is a certain criteria for restaurants when you have two babies…or one…fast service, spacious booths with room for carriers, not crowded, not loud, have hot water to warm bottles, and have tables far enough away from one another that you are affecting other patrons.

•  My SUV suddenly feels like a compact car once all things baby are loaded up.           

                                •  When it’s raining, you don’t leave the house.  When it’s cold—you

don’t leave the house.  When the babies are crying, you don’t leave the house.  When you don’t have help, you don’t leave the house.  When you are on the brink of a nervous break down and about to scream curse words at the golfers behind your house---you put the babies in the freaking car—help or none, and leave the house.

•  The gym—which is 20 minutes away—is not an option.   40 minutes of driving time during a 2 hour gap is entirely too much of a waste of time.

•  However, gym clothes are acceptable attire for getting puked on—

everyday.

•  Help—is necessary.  Not because you aren’t capable of doing it alone, but because it’s not healthy, and you won’t be sane come the end of the day.

I could give soooo many instances of how life has changed.  I could tell you how my boobs look like nice and fluffy when full, and like flat saggy U’s after nursing.  I could tell you about how when they both start screaming and crying at the same time, my first reaction is to burry my head in my hands and cry and rock myself instead of them.  Cars can’t drive fast enough when babies are screaming in the back seat—or slow enough when they are sleeping.  I could tell you I have spent every day some where in between an emotional break down, a psychotic break, and being absolutely smitten and in love.

It’s a balancing act.  It’s a constant, ongoing balancing act.  Thankfully, I’ve always been very good at multi-tasking.  I wouldn’t give it up or change it for anything, but I would be lying if I said it was easy or fun all the time. I feel like a lot of people have the misperception that babies are “fun,” and babysitting is fun, and that it’s just feeding and changing a diaper or two and it’s easy.  It’s not.  There’s not 1—there’s 2, and I don’t know anyone who can honestly say they’ve been there-they can handle it.  For this reason, I don’t trust anyone else to do it.  No one can possibly understand how difficult it is until they see it at its most trying moments first hand—but in those moments, I wouldn’t want anyone else to be responsible for handling that.  With that, it will be a very, very long time before I leave them with anyone unless absolutely necessary.  I am seriously struggling with this weekend because I am in a dear friends wedding and will have to leave them briefly two nights in a row.  It’s going to be nerve racking, gut wrenching.  A couple of weekends ago I left them with Ken for about 4 hours and cried when I got to the mall with my mom because it felt like something was missing.   Having had to go back to work almost as soon as we got to bring them home, and having not carried them for 9 months---Ken doesn’t quite ‘get it.’  While there are some people who I simply don’t think can handle watching them, my not leaving them is nothing personal against anyone else---I am just simply not going to do it because it’s not comfortable.  The sheer thought of it makes me sick.

Okay---it’s March 29, and I am just now getting back to this, so much has happened in the past month—I will just post this one as is, and start fresh. 

Oh…how time flies when you’re having fun.

~B

It’s Saturday morning.  It’s storming like crazy outside.  For the first time in a month I actually have a sense of calm or peace.  I have a million things to get finished, but they can wait.  Ken is in the shower.  The babies are sleeping, hopefully for another couple of hours…  and Mr. Harvey is getting some much needed “mom time.” 

It’s amazing how it only takes a few moments of peace to ground you sometimes.

It’s been one month since we brought the babies home.  At the doctor yesterday, Oliver was 7.4lbs and 20in.  Olivia was 6.4lbs and 19in.  They are doing amazingly.  Last night for the first time they went 4 straight hours between both feedings, so we actually got a little sleep (that could be making the difference in my sanity today as well).   They are struggling a little with reflux, but after a few visits to the doctor, inclining them while sleeping, being held upright for about 30 mins after eating and taking Zantac seems to be helping them both. 

It’s amazing how quickly their individual personality traits begin to show.  How quickly they really become little people…

Olivia-Olivia is very much like me.  Difficult.  She wants things her way, all the time.  She fusses, she makes sour faces, she wrinkles her nose and forehead and grunts and stretches.  She can’t stand to be tied down or made to be still—swaddling is miserable for her.  She wants to be up, looking around, investigating the world, seeing everything she is able, pushing herself up and being the most independent child she can be at 6 weeks old.  I love that about her.  So curious, so alert, and wanting to do more than she is possibly capable.

Oliver-Oliver just, makes me smile.  He is our little man.  He is always happy, content, and peaceful.  He sleeps when is should, he eats when he is supposed to (slowly, but well).  He smiles in his sleep, and in general for no reason at all.  He stares at us—not everything around him—just us, like there is nothing else in the world.  He also thinks he should nurse 24 hours a day, everything that is in sight, including his sisters head if he can get to it or a finger or the sofa cushion, but hey—he knows what he wants.  He thinks the baby K’Tan is the greatest thing ever!  Being strapped to mom all day, where he can snuggle down and go to sleep—euphoria. 

They are both so different already, and making such incredible leaps everyday.  It’s fascinating to me how excited you get over the smallest things.  Olivia tried to put her own pacifier in her mouth last night in the car.  I, of course, called to tell my mom.  There have been so many spectacular moments already, I have a hard time even imagining what is in store for us in the coming months and years and they continue to grow and learn. 

As wonderful as this month has been—I would be lying if I acted like or said it was all roses.  It has also been, quite possibly, the most difficult month of my life.  With somewhere between very little and no sleep, the days just simply don’t have enough hours in them to accomplish everything.  Since I work for myself—I didn’t get the traditional maternity leave.  I was back to work from my hospital bed the Monday after I delivered the little ones.  So, needless to say—managing one newborn full time is exhausting.  Taking care of two, plus a full time job from home…I’ve got say, some days….feels hopeless.  The bottles (18 of them a day, 15-30min each), the diapers (about 25 of them a day), the pumping (about 2 hours a day), vitamins once a day, medicine twice a day, holding-on demand, dishes, dinner, laundry ---wash, rinse, repeat………..    Over and Over.  Then the day is over and starts again.  Forget time for putting on makeup—I’m lucky if I get a chance to shower.  At the beginning of December I hired a nanny/intern/assistant to help me out with everything.  Just having that extra set of hands a few days a week is priceless.  It’s hard.  It’s not just hard it’s physically, mentally and emotionally wearing.  

For the first time in my life, I find myself neglecting my work.  Granted it’s out of necessity, but none-the-less, it leaves me feeling like a failure in many ways.  My body is in horrible condition, with awful stretch marks, already saggy boobs, and new wider hips and rounder stomach muscles.  I find myself getting mad at or frustrated with Ken of little things or really for no reason at all other than being overwhelmed and exhausted.  I never knew that I could be so incredibly happy, and so miserable with myself at the same time. 

People talk about post partum depression, but I’m not depressed.  I’m happy.  Life is just changing and evolving, priorities are changing in a way that I can’t control and sometimes I don’t know if I was ready for—but when are you ready to give up yourself entirely and the person you have spent years trying to become. 

My work is something I have always taken extreme pride in—to give up even a little bit of that, while I am happy to do it for my babies, is still a little disheartening.  Actually, it is a lot disheartening.  It’s giving up a piece of who I am, or was.  With that, a decision was made for me this week that I have needed to make myself for sometime and haven’t had the will to do it.  So, now I am walking away from a place and work that had an oddly special place with me, and from people that I felt a strange connection—but also away from a chaos it created.  Maybe that contributes to the sense of peace I feel this morning, but it also hurts.

Another hurtful moment this month…  our “family” dog, Ruby—my Christmas gift when I was 14, had to be put down.  I don’t know that I have ever felt sadder.  Watching that, as awful as it is to say, was as bad as watching my grandparents die.  My mom had a mobile vet come to the house, rather than taking her to an office of strangers.  Without going into details—I’ll just say, it was horrible to watch one of our family go and have to make that call.  She was a dearly loved pet and will be missed greatly. 

It’s safe to say---this month has been a roller coaster, as I’m sure many more in the future, and pretty much, the rest of our lives will be.  It’s life.  It’s a beautiful mess, but the moments of pure joy with my babies, husband and family make it…happy.

I am way behind on blog posts, and, I promise, I will catch up…but this one couldn’t wait…and much more has happened since that is soon to follow.

After months of anticipation, anguish, excitement, preparation, weight gain, emotional melt downs, worry, frustration, hospital stays, thousands of dollars in medical bills, complete surprise, sheer joy…and a complete lack of patience…

We would like to welcome into the world, born 12/10/11 at 10:46PM:

 OLIVIA JAMES MEYER

            3lbs 14oz, 17 1/4in

                        &

OLIVER SCOTT MEYER

            4lbs 11oz, 18in

Never in my life have I felt so fortunate or blessed, nor have I felt such an indescribable attachment to something so small, yet so big.  It’s an overwhelming desire to protect, worry, embrace and love at any and all costs.

After a little concern Saturday morning, we called the doctor and went in to the hospital expecting only another false alarm as we have had so many of in the past few months.  Little did I know that I was actually going into labor and we would be delivering two perfect, tiny, babies, Olivia and Oliver.

I have never been so nervous about anything in my life.  Being prone to problems with anxiety already, I started having heart palpitations as soon as the anesthesiologist came in and they haven’t stopped since—it’s been a month and apparently is a permanent part of being a parent.

They gave me the epidural around 10:30 --- I started shaking and crying immediately and cried hysterically all the way into the OR-and through the surgery.  The blue curtain pulled up and I could see or feel nothing at all.  For the first time in months, I couldn’t feel them move, which was even more terrifying.  Around 10:46 I heard Olivia cry…the first breath of relief.  Seconds later, literally, I heard Oliver.  They cleaned them, weighed them, bundled them up, placed them by my head for me to see for a few seconds, then wheeled them away immediately.  Ken followed the babies down to the NICU.  Over the next 45 minutes, I was stitched up and moved to a recovery area. 

I have never felt as helpless as I did lying in the recovery “room” with a curtain drawn around me, completely alone.  Ken was with the babies, and no one was allowed in but him. 

In a matter of minutes, I was cut open, and had the two small lives that had been growing inside of me for 8 months removed from me and taken away—with no idea of their health or safety, or even the chance to really hold them.  I had no feeling in the lower half of my body; I couldn’t sit up, and was shivering uncontrollably. 

Ken finally came in, what seemed like hours later.  He brought pictures of the babies and an update.  Olivia was perfect and healthy, but was being kept in NICU because of her weight.  Oliver was healthy but was struggling with his breathing.  He was hooked up to a machine to assist him and being given oxygen.  The doctors insisted that was normal, but there isn’t much you could have said to convince me of that.

The next few days went by quickly.  The next day I was finally allowed to get out of bed and be pushed down in a wheel chair to see the little ones, and come hell or high water, I was getting down to that NICU nursery.  The epidural had some residual effects and for two days I had no feeling in my right leg—terrifying!  We weren’t sure if the feeling would come back or if it was permanent and made getting around highly difficult.  To try to get past the leg issue, (and convinced they would harm the babies if I was nursing them), I weaned myself off the motrin and morphine entirely within 48 hours. 

The next few days passed by quickly, and painfully, with most of our days spent running back and forth between the two different NICU nurseries, and my room to check in with my nurses and doctors.  Wednesday came entirely too fast.

They had my paper work ready for checkout early that morning, and had me packed up and ready to go by afternoon.  They put me in a wheel chair, pushed me through the hospital and to the car.  They loaded me up and shut the door.  Just me.  No Oliver.  No Olivia.  Ken and I pulled off, and I made the mistake of turning around to see the two empty car seats ready and waiting for our little ones.  It’s safe to say, I lost it…

Nothing can describe the feeling of carrying not one but two children for eight months, unexpectedly going to the hospital on a Saturday morning, being cut open that night and having them taken out of you and away from you, then having to pull away and leave them behind, with no idea of when they will be able to come home with you or what will happen over the coming days.  It was gut wrenching…empty, frustrating, heart breaking…

We were back at the hospital bright and early the next morning, stayed all day, and the next and the next, and the following two weeks.  They lay there so helpless and fragile with tubes and wires everywhere.  Oliver struggled with the bottle the first few days and was immediately put on a feeding tube.  He failed his first two hearing tests, and struggled to catch up.  Olivia, who started out like a rock star, slowed down drastically with her feedings and had to have a feeding tube put in after a few days.

The following week and a half was filled with sleepless nights, frustrating days, steps forward and then back, then forward, then two back.  They had to complete 8 bottle feedings per day before they were allowed to go home, which seemed like climbing a mountain for these little guys.  Who would have thought they would make the jump in just a matter of days. 

For sometime I have heard the commercials about the quality of care at Northside Hospital.  Being in marketing and PR, I have thought very little of them until I experienced it first hand.  I’m sure just as with any hospital stay, or service in general, the people make the difference. 

There are two particular nurses that we owe a tremendous thank you--- Justina and Kelly.  While all of the staff was kind and caring and genuinely concerned—if it had not been for these two, we wouldn’t have had the best gift we could have ever gotten for Christmas…our family home, together.  Justina was the night nurse who figured out how to adjust their feedings to help with Oliver’s residuals and their reflux.  This got them on the right track to increase their feedings.  Kelly---I cannot thank enough.  Before leaving town for the holidays, she made sure EVERYTHING was in order to get them home.  Tests completed, orders set, and she removed the feeding tubes to force the other nurses to attempt the bottles at every feeding.  To our surprise, a couple of days after Christmas, we received a phone call from Kelly to check in and make sure everyone was doing okay and wish us well.  Above and beyond…  People just make the difference.  They made what was a terrifying experience seem a little easier and gave us peace of mind in a very difficult situation-which is priceless.

Oliver and Olivia got to leave the hospital on December 23^rd.  After 13 days in NICU, our twins got to spend Christmas where they belonged—at home. 

There are some things that change you in a way that can’t be described—milestones, Hallmark moments so to speak…  I could keep writing for pages on end about this experience as whole and my beautiful new babies, but I could never put the feeling, the emotions, the change into words.