I can't even remember the last time I sat to write a blog post.  So much has happened since - there is no point in trying to play catch up, but I'm going to attempt to be better about it from here.

My pregnancy with the twins I got to pretty well document.  With plenty of bed rest and down time, writing was a time filler and outlet.  Now - I don't even have time to write my name in a greeting card.  No - seriously - poor Ken got his anniversary card two days after our 3rd anniversary, and I got to write in it only because I wrangled the kids and strapped them in their car seats ready to go while I took two minutes to scavenge an ink pen in my glove compartment and write a little.

My pregnancy with Nora - as far as a pregnancy goes - flew by and was so uneventful and stress free there wasn't much to write about.  At least not about the pregnancy itself - during that nine months we endured, subjected ourselves to, and made more life altering decisions than anyone should make over the course of several years in their life - and even more so not in a 6 month span while expecting a baby...but then again, we've never really done anything without jumping in with both feet.

It all began with a trip to Seattle to visit my old company in June - just before I found out I was pregnant with Nora.  Everything spiraled from there.  I realized the company's new owners were not a group of people I could work for or with as a contractor or employee.  Between June and October we built and launched Bidder-Connect.com.  I resigned from my role at BidSpotter, and transitioned out and left in October.  In October, I got a rather abrasive cease and desist order from my former company's new owners.  It led to an ugly legal battle that resulted in my buy out.  As of November, I am a full time SAHM (stay-at-home-mom).  In November, Ken also started negotiations for a new job.  These would go on for almost a month with discussions and offers. We put a contract in on a house in Monroe, GA.  We listed and got a contract on our then current house.  Ken accepted the new role and started in December.  Then - the contract on our house fell through with an epic fiasco,  we realized - there was no way we could live in Monroe - the commute for Ken was just going to be too much.  We were released from the contract on the Monroe house and were back to looking to sell/buy.  With time ticking away and Nora's arrival getting closer and closer, we had to step up our game with the house hunt/selling ours.  In February we put a contract on a house in Lawrenceville, GA - taking us back to my old stomping grounds around the Snellville area and soooo much closer to my family.  However -- the sellers couldn't close until April 1.  In the mean time - we finally secured a contract on the Johns Creek house, and would close on it by the end of April.  So...there I was - 8 months pregnant and packing a house while Ken was in India on work.  We had a painting crew in the first week of April, moved the second week, unpacked the third and fourth week and welcomed our sweet sweet baby girl, Nora Jane, on April 25th.    For the month after she was born I was pretty much debilitated with a fractured L4, torqued and tilted pelvic bone,  a compressed tail bone and torn ligament in my wrist - amongst a few other injuries from a fall down the stairs.   The next thing I know...it's rapidly approaching June again - a full year has passed and I find myself sitting on a sofa, surrounded by my three kids with a completely different life.

No - with the turmoil and bombardment of events that we went through in the 9 months I was pregnant with her, I didn't have the time or mental capacity to write about or even recount much of my pregnancy with Nora or the amazement I felt at watching the twins experience it and how much they grew...but I will be forever grateful for those events and that whirlwind of time as they have gotten us here----where I have been able to enjoy every waking moment with them since.

Good, bad, crazy ( and I mean it gets like twilight zone, out of body experience crazy with a newborn and twin 2.5 year olds), happy, sad, hyper, sick, well, screaming, laughing....whatever the day holds, I am there for it.  100%.  I'm not torn between juggling their lunch and phone calls, or site failures when the west coast is still sleeping and my kids are just waking up, or pushing press releases while they are potty training, or meeting ad deadlines wight the office doors shut instead of reading books, I get to experience with every ounce of my being, my full attention, not a fractured piece of me - and some days it takes more than I think could possibly bring to the table - but we power through and at the end I think I'm more grateful  for those days than the ones that come easy - I get to experience my kids.  All three of them in all of their glory.

When I was 20-something, I had all of these ideals about where I would be, what I would be doing, what I would look like, what "old" was.  I had a ten year plan.  What I can now say for all of that is - I was wrong.  I was so incredibly painfully wrong.  I have spent years and years wishing for my mom that she had a career for herself, something to "do".  I was determined to "be something", and by my 20-year-old definition, I was.  I was Global Director of Marketing of an international company, offered a seat as it's CEO that I declined to be the founder of a startup.  I walked away.  Do I miss it - parts of it, yes.  I desperately miss being able to have a conversation that uses more than 2-syllable words and pronouns in the proper tense.  I miss having an actual name, Bridgette.  I miss being the "smart one" on the call or in the room.  At 30-something though, my definition of "being something" has drastically changed.  What I have realized is that my mom had and still has a career - she has never stopped being a Mom.  She devoted her entire being to us.  I don't think that is something you can understand until you are a mom.  You can appreciate it, but you never really "Get it".  There is a certain truth to it - to your connection with your kids, with your body that created them that draws a new reality for you.   Suddenly those stretch marks and scars have a new significance, they tell a story.  You see that a mom's inability to form a sentence or think of the word they need at the moment isn't from absent mindedness, but from constantly being stretched to their wits end and being maxed out in every possible way.  They are usually sleep deprived, occasionally un-showered, rarely shaved,  in clothes with stains from markers, food - you name it, no makeup and on many occasions running late.  But they are definitely "something".  They are mom, mommy, momma, mother.  You see that 30 - something, as a parent, isn't old at all, but just getting started.  You also see how quickly time passes as your kids grow and change, and time and age become relative their age.  Mainly, now, I just want to sit back and breathe in every moment with them.  This year has been a demonstration for me of how quickly time really does pass and how much things can change - I can only imagine what the future holds and quite honestly don't care to have a "plan" for it just yet.

Having spent the last 10 minutes rummaging through the bottom of my purse to find some sort of candy to rid the cotton-mouth I just woke up with at 3 hours on an air plane from Seattle to Atlanta, I find myself stuck somewhere in between time zones floating between 1:30 and 4:30am.

Uncomfortable, mentally and physically exhausted, and quite simply homesick and missing my kids after 3 days away, I’ll arrive back in Atlanta sometime just before 6am and just in time to get home for them to wake up and start another day.

In four days, they will be 18 months old.  This is the first trip where I have had to leave them for work – actually, aside from my short stint in the hospital, this is the first time I have left them period for more than a couple of hours running errands. 

In recent months, the options that have been placed in front of me concerning the company I work with and my career path have weighed heavily on me.  After two days of intense meetings this week, only to turn around in two weeks to do a 6 day travelling stint, I’m not sure if I have a clearer understanding of the direction that is best for me and my family - - for my kids, or if I’m finding myself, now, with fewer options and a more blurred line of right vs wrong.

In a sense, I feel like I need this challenge.  My mind has been forced to think – to actually work and function – this week and in the past few months -- in a way that I haven’t had a chance to apply myself or broaden my thought in years.  If I continue with this opportunity, it will expand not only my own abilities and career, but also satisfy a goal I’ve had for myself personally  for sometime and –ultimately – let me attain the highest level of accomplishment and respect that I could achieve in my field. 

On the other hand, and most importantly, there are my kids.  Continuing down the path I am on will mean an incredible lifestyle change for my family.  Sleeping on planes to miss the fewest amount of daytime hours with them will be my new norm.  Monthly board meetings in Seattle that are followed by planning meetings in Chicago and in depth reviews in London are what my schedule will become—and will be until I can make a decision beyond the immediate future, or we can position ourselves financially for me to make a decision otherwise. 

I am getting home just in time to have our summer family pictures on Friday, throw a shower for a friend this weekend, compile the reports and order the analysis I need to prepare for the following week – and leave again the next Sunday (Father’s Day) – Thursday or Friday for a multi-leg trip.

I don’t know the answer. 

Had I been given this opportunity four or five years ago or placed in the same position, I would have never thought twice about it.  Head down and get to work.  I didn’t need anything else besides my work – and more so, no one else needed me. 

Three or four years ago, I would have steamed ahead, driven but with caution to try to keep a balance in my life. 

Now.  Now I have this...

I’m not sure when I weigh my options if this one - this job - is really even on the table or if it so far tips the scale that I’m just hanging in there until I know the next move.  Then I find myself baffled by the decisions we have to make for the sake of financial stability - for "our futures".  You strive to work and succeed for the benefit of your family and children, but at what cost – time away from your children.  Missing the daily routine that develops them in to who they are and builds their character, personality, confidence, and determines their own success in life.    What is the line between those financial goals and the weight of the time you miss?  Where is the tipping point for where the pros of one outweigh the cons of the other?  Are my kids better served by a more meager lifestyle - shy of my own ambition - and my full and devoted attention, or by all the security that can be afforded to them by their father and I, and  having fewer hours of our time and affection?

 I know that a 50-60hr work week from home + one full week a month – 25%, possibly more, of my kids lives is, for me, too much.  However, right now, the alternative of going back into an office 40 hours a week, every week, doesn’t seem much better – possibly worse.

I’ve been spoiled.  They’ve been spoiled.  I’m fully aware of that.  Not many people get to have what I have – the best of both worlds (staying at home with their children full time and a successful career) – for this long, if at all.  But having had it – that leaves me knowing that there is another solution.  Where is it?  What is it?  This is what I am struggling to find.  But – it’s hard to focus or look any further than the current path when there is so much in front of me to be done, and such an unyielding schedule ahead.

Right now, what I am most thankful for is the support of my husband who misses the kids almost as much as I do during these trips with his work and them staying at my parents, AND the people who have been the most help to us since day one with the kids - my parents.  Words could never express their significance in my life – in my kids lives, or the weight that they have lifted in this situation knowing the babies are safe, happy, and in what she has made their second home so-to-speak. 

~

As usual, I didn’t finish this post in my first attempt, and now – a week later – I am back on a plane at 10:45pm.  I’m due to land in Seattle around 3am my time (12am PST), with an hour drive to my hotel and sunrise in Seattle just 4 hours later.  My original flight was slated to leave at 6pm but we were able to get it changed at the last minute, so I wasn’t missing the majority of Father’s Day traveling. 

Nothing has changed in the course of a week.  I managed to procrastinate on most of my week’s work to spend some extra time with the kids since I was gone the week before and will be gone this week.  So, I’ll be spending the flight tonight playing catch up and trying to trying to get some sleep. 

Ken and I have spent the last week brainstorming on what we can do to speed along a decision or “what-if?” scenarios.  Short of selling the house and drastically changing our lifestyle, which will still take time – we got nothing.  Every other option seems to be lose-lose right now.

Tomorrow will be tough – meetings with the London crew start at 7am.  We won’t break for lunch and will work through to an early dinner around 5:00 so everyone can catch up on some sleep….only, it never actually gets dark in Seattle in the Spring/Summer, and they don’t believe in black out drapes, so sleep is next to none for someone who already copes with insomnia.

I already miss the kids horribly.  I spent most of the drive to the airport tonight tearing up thinking what I would have done if one of them had been sick or gotten hurt before I left (I probably wouldn't have gone and would have lost my job) – or what I would be able to do if they got hurt while I was gone.  I know they are safe and in capable hands, but it’s my job to be there.  If they fall, if they cry, if they just want to be held…  Shit.  Well, now I’m crying writing this.  People around me are looking at me a little odd...

It’s not even like I can just jump in the car and get to them quickly if something happens.  In a best case scenario if something went wrong it would take me at least 9 hours.  An hour from Gig Harbor to the Seattle airport, an hour through the airport and to get on the plane, 5.5 hours in the air, 30-45 min from the plane to my car, and an hour to my moms house. 

It just makes me sick – literally, physically ill.

On that note – and a different subject – Oliver started head butting this week.  That’s fun.  He gave me a concussion – not even exaggerating.  What???  I have to leave my play date?  What??  I can’t have your HOT coffee???  BAM – take that lady!  I’ll make you see birds!  Seriously…  it’s that bad.

What’s Olivia up to while Oliver is head butting me?  Well, her favorite phrases right now are “take it,” “want it,” “I do it,” and “oh my, my, my!”  That should give you an idea.

Maybe it’s not such a bad week to be gone after all…  Good luck this week, Momma!  You’re gonna need it with my little monsters!

For now – I’m going to try to get a little sleep on the plane.

An Unhealthy Addiction

I haven’t blogged in…I have no idea how long, I’d have to look at my last post, but when I have no other way to express my feelings in a time of joy, turmoil, amazement and still-fear, it seems like an appropriate outlet.

Two years and 2 days ago, I married the love of life—the kindest, most caring and sweetest man I have ever met – and I love him every day more than the one before.  That day was the happiest of my life up until 1 year, 4 months, 2 weeks and 1 day ago, when this absolute miracle occurred.  Somehow, some way we were given not one, but two beautiful babies – a girl and a boy.  Born 6 weeks premature and tiny – but perfect, healthy and thriving. 

It never ceases to amaze me how life changes so quickly, unexpectedly, and can constantly take you by surprise.

April is a month of a lot of anniversaries for me.  It was 4 years ago April 1st that I went to work as a contractor for this little, essentially start up, company . . . It was a huge risk.  My dad thought I was crazy—said so several times.  I was leaving a job with some level of security, insurance, and people who in some way cared about me to go to work as a contractor for this “internet” company, and initially make a fraction of my previous salary, that was even based out of the COO’s basement in Port Orchard, WA at the time.  Honestly---I am laughing at myself now for making that move.  It was a complete leap of faith.  I don’t know what I was thinking!!

I was working from my house and traveling extensively.  It was on one of those trips, to California, that I met Ken.  Fast-forward 4 years and it was the best decision I have ever made.  That chance I took, that plunge to hope for a better future – it got me to where I am today.  Happily married with two children, working from home where I am afforded the luxury of staying with my kids and needing no childcare, in an amazing house my husband busts his ass to make perfect for us, with a company that has grown leaps and bounds, now has a real office – and where I have thrived and still been able to grow myself professionally. 

However, right now, at this moment, I am supposed to be writing a press release announcing the change of ownership of our little company.  Friday it was sold to a software and media company that is based out of London. 

I can’t do it.  I can’t put the words to paper.  My eyes are welling up with tears as I try to write.  Four years ago there were about 8 of us.  Now, on the board of directors alone, there are 8.  Right now, the only person in the company with more tenure than myself is the COO, and I am essentially looking down the barrel of a loaded gun. 

I’ll find out my fate with them as time progresses, no later than the end of May would be my guess--I have to make a trip out to Seattle at the end of the month.  My contract secures me, or at least my salary through next April, but there are points in time where you have to choose to take that leap---and as I grind my teeth and furrow my brow knowing just how quickly life can change and how unsure I am of what the future holds---I find myself knowing in my heart that this is one of those times that I am going to have to jump. . . and I'm just not ready.

You see…the thing is, I have kind of grown to have this unhealthy addiction.  It’s my kids.  I haven’t missed a day in their lives since birth.  I don’t want to start now.  I’ve seen too much.  I know what I would be missing.  That’s just not ok for me.  I don’t want, I need that random hug in the middle of the day on the backs of my legs from Oliver as he is running by me.  I need to see Olivia clap her hands and hold them up just to be held for a few minutes - or yell momma for the thousandth time.   That’s mine.  That’s my privilege as their mother to have those moments, and I don’t want to just hand them off to someone else who doesn’t have the same love or appreciation for every second.  I can’t.  I won’t.  This is one addiction I am just not going to give up.   I think about them every second of every day.  I put them to bed at night, just to sneak in to see them again before I go to bed.  I can tell you every mark and dimple on their little bodies, and exactly where each piece of hair falls - even where it's going to stand up after they've eaten and run their food through it.  I know when they are going to wake up before they wake up, and if they are going to sleep through the night before I ever lay them down.    Sure, they would be fine - safe, happy still - if I had to leave them for a couple of days.  I know they would be ok if they had to go to daycare or a nanny every day...  I'm not irrational.  That's just not the path I want to choose.  In the pit of my stomach, I don't feel that it is right for me or my kids, personally.

So…what do I do? I’m lost and miserable.  Torn.  Desperately looking for a safe landing place for this next jump.  Praying the landing doesn't force me into a position that I just can't live with...

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