Madeline

I have something I need to get off of my chest:

Last August -- before I was pregnant with Samantha and Conor -- I was pregnant with Madeline.  We lost her before I saw her heartbeat on an ultrasound, before the Husband and I had a chance to fight over names, and long before someone could even confirm her gender.  This was also long before viability, and I didn't talk about her openly because she was not real to a lot of people.  I make absolutely no judgment about that.

But she was real to me.

She was my first daughter.  I didn't need to see her face to feel her spirit.  I still feel her, actually.  I still think about her, still love her, and still miss her.  And I feel like I have done her wrong by not acknowledging all of those things out loud.

So that's it.  Today, for some reason, I just needed to tell you that I once had a daughter, and her name was Madeline.

Times, they are a-changin'

Let me start by saying that I find my absence from the blogging world completely unacceptable.  Because my job is getting in the way of blogging, I again make a plea to the Husband to create for us the kind of material wealth that would require me to solve legal issues only when it strikes my fancy.   (Yes, I'm putting it all on him, because that kind of thing requires the mental capacity that I just don't currently possess given the lack of sleep.  While the Husband gets the same amount of sleep that I do, he needs less and functions better during the day -- albeit more grumpily -- than I do.)

Next, I would be remiss if I didn't give a nod to Hurricane Sandy.  Right now, my area is getting some rain and wind, but we are far enough south that I don't expect that we'll see anything substantial.  As a former Floridian, I find myself scoffing at the closings and general panic that surrounds us (What? You call this a hurricane?  Hell, this is just damn good kite-flying weather.).  But still, in case things take a turn for the worse, we're prepared with the important things:  water, propane, and beer. 

So enough of the preliminary matters, let's get to the meat of it.  Things are changing around here!

Roar:

Roar is growing up at a rate faster than that which I am comfortable.  The best example is that he recently went to the Homecoming dance, without even a single muttering about how icky girls are.  Thankfully (for me, not for him), he did not take a date, but went stag with some of his friends.

Roar saw his brother standing and watching the picture taking, so he asked Zachary to be a part of it.  Awww. 

I will ignore the fact that "stag" in this case involved going out to dinner with the same-sized group of girls who were also going stag.  When I heard about the dinner plans, I demanded requested that I be allowed to transport the kids from dinner to school, so that I could exercise my right to embarrass my child and take pictures.

The faces of the young women are blanked out because I'm pretty sure that someday they're going to regret the fit and length of their dresses and the height of their heels...  Do I sound like a prude, or what??

Zachary:

Next, we are looking for a part-time preschool for Zachary to start in January.  For his part, he's fairly excited about the prospect, despite the fact that he's a pretty shy kid who I anticipate will flip out when it actually comes time to leaving him somewhere new.  I had been certain that, like his older brother, Zachary would go to a Montessori school.  However, I visited our local Montessori school and hated it.  It was housed in an old building, with a cold, gray classroom, and a teacher who fit in perfectly with those surroundings.  We also went to another school that was not Montessori, but was all-around warmer.  In fact, when Zachary got there, he said, "This is my school!"  I still question how much that school would teach him academically, but I realize that a large portion of that fear comes from my upbringing with Sri Lankan parents, where education was just about the most important thing.  But I asked the questions, the principal said they'd teach him, and I just need to relax about it.  He's two ferchrissakes.  (Even as I say that, I know I'm not going to relax.  Dammit, mom!) 

Also, potty training began.  Zachary had been wanting to wear the underwear that his Uncle Patrick and Aunt Cheryl bought him, so we let him.  We put Zachary in the undies, made a sticker chart for each successful pee and poo on the potty, and then we just let him go.  Literally.  The first day, he was able to use the potty on command about 50% of the time.  The next day, he was up to about 90% of the time, including poo!  I was so proud.

There were still several accidents.  Ultimately, I think those accidents ended up being detrimental to the potty-training process because when we ran out of clean underwear, he just...didn't wear underwear.  And you know how my boy loves his time without pants?  This was even better.

Despite all that progress and all that laundry, the next day Zachary woke up from his nap and decided that underwear was overrated.  Given that I had just found out that his daycare wouldn't help potty train unless he was able to tell her when he needed to go to the bathroom (a feat that he had definitely not mastered yet), we let him give up.  Don't tell him, but to say I was disappointed was an understatement -- not only that he wanted to give up, but because even if he hadn't, I would not have been able to keep him out of daycare so that I could continue working on it with him.  There's that job getting in the way again...

While we're on the subject of bodily functions, I thought I'd include this picture from Zachary's virus-induced puke fest last week.  Unlike his dad, he's a trooper about vomiting.  Between heaving, he was actually happy as a clam because to keep him from running around when he's sick, the general prohibition on tv watching is lifted and he gets all-that-he-can-watch Mickey Mouse Clubhouse.

 Watching the tele with the Puke Pot close by.

The Babies:

Just hanging out

Samantha and Conor are now four months old!  Official stats will come tomorrow at their four-month appointment, but Samantha is around 12.5 lbs, and Conor is around 13.5 lbs.  They are both happy, happy babies (except for those moments when they are angry, angry). 

Although you can't tell from their expressions here, they love helping their mama with the laundry.

We FINALLY moved the babies from our room to their room (the nursery is still not complete to my satisfaction, but I don't know if it will ever get done - pictures will come later).  The move led to some pretty awful nights, but they seem to be used to their cribs now.   Regardless, my children still are not sleeping through the night.  You hear that universe?  My children are not sleeping through the night!!  (We already know that saying out loud that your children are sleeping through the night is the best way to stop them from sleeping through the night...I'm hoping that saying the converse works the same way.  I'll let you know how that turns out.)

Samantha is now able to fall asleep on her own.  This was something we discovered when testing her Angelcare monitor -- the Husband put her in her crib, then she rolled on her side and promptly fell asleep.  No pacifier needed.  Now, my girl is sleeping from about 7 pm until around 3 am when she gets a bottle, and then goes back to sleep until around 7 am.

Conor, on the other hand, cannot get comfortable on his own, and is not satiated long after a bottle feeding.  If we are able to get him to sleep by rocking him in our arms, he inevitably wakes when we lay him in bed.  This leads to a seemingly endless cycle of rocking and waking and eating, with no one getting much sleep, except for the parent who is assigned to Samantha for the night. 

Things are also changing on the food front.  First, to my everlasting guilt, I stopped nursing.  It had gotten to the point where I was making so little milk that the babies were getting about an ounce each every other day.  I blame myself for my milk production getting so low, but I wish that their doctors and the lactation consultant hadn't made it seem like nursing twins exclusively was an impossible goal.  The more I supplemented, the less milk I made.  If I could do it over, I would do things differently.  I feel sick that I couldn't make it to a year, but it is what it is, and that's all I will say about that for now.

On a happier note, they both took their first bites of rice cereal, using the same bowl and spoon that I used when I was a baby.  More ended up on their faces than in their bellies I fear, but there's plenty of time for practice.

That's it for now!  Things are slowing down a little at work, so I hope to get back into blogging more regularly this week.  Have a great day, and stay dry!

Falling behind!

There has been so much to post about in the last week:  fall festival, potty training, beautiful walks, photography classes, belly laughs, and searching for preschools.  But have I posted any of it?  No.  I am falling behind.

But it's coming.  Unfortunately, that other job -- the one that pays the bills on good months -- is going to keep me from catching up right now, but with God as my witness, people, it's coming.

And with that, I'll leave you with a poorly lit, but still-worth-seeing video (ignore the chaos that is my basement):

Happy Friday to you!  

Sleep - wherefore art thou?

Last night, 1:43 am feeding:  I lick my finger, and stick it in the Husband's ear.

"Oh, it's on," he says.

I would be scared but for my hair, which serves as an excellent deflector shield.  After two failed attempts at retaliation, he retreats, and I gloat.

I win.  Bwahahahahahahahahaha!

The Best Day Ever (Part 973)

Yesterday, Zachary had the Best Day Ever.  When we were driving home from daycare, as is typical, we were singing over the sounds of screaming babies.  Then the crying stopped.

Zachary:  It's quiet!
Me:  I know, what happened?
Zachary:  I don't know!  Where did our babies go?

They were sleeping.  That made for the Best Ride Ever.

When we got home, we put Samantha and Conor in the stroller and took a walk.  While we were out, it started sprinkling, but we kept walking anyway.  We made it home and ducked into the garage just as it started to pour.  We stood there for awhile to watch the rain, and the babies waited patiently in their carseats.

Zachary kept inching closer to the outside.

Then I told him to run.  That made for the Best Day Ever.

My phone couldn't capture the giggles, and could barely capture the image of my son running through raindrops, but it's not a sound or sight that I'm soon going to forget.