How Little G Came to Be (Part 1)

It’s amazing how different parenting is the second time around. For some it is easier, less anxiety ridden, a piece of cake really. For me, though, it is infinitely harder. Truth be told it was harder from the moment that pee stick showed me the plus sign.

During my first pregnancy, I was a full-time grad student with afternoon and evening classes so I could sleep in and schedule my doc appointments whenever. There was no morning sickness. I spoke to my Mom everyday and spent every available minute researching baby stuff and putting together the perfect gift registry.

I found out I was pregnant for the second time the day before we left for our family vacation which included wine tasting, San Diego and Disneyland. The drive through Big Sur was terrifying and uncomfortable. My Husband’s driving can be a bit nerve-wracking and while the drive through Big Sur is scenic, it is also very twisty. I was seriously nauseated. I missed out on the wine tasting. The tea cup ride at Disneyland was Lady M’s favorite and I indulged her. I was green. All of that spinning (I’m convinced) resulted in my egg splitting and upon our return home I discovered I was pregnant with twins. The next ultrasound determined that the twins were sharing a placenta and therefore identical. I graduated to “High Risk” pregnancy status.

After the initial shock, I was overjoyed to be carrying twins. I felt lucky and special. I hated being pregnant and I wanted three kids and I was going to get what I wanted without having to be pregnant ever again. But then I did something stupid. I did something that someone with my anal retentive tendencies and extreme paranoia should never do. I started googling data about twin pregnancies. The things I read about terrified me and every doctor’s visit I would hold my breath until I heard the words, “Everything looks good.”

I’ll stop here. This is going to be a longer story than I originally intended. More to come. Please stay tuned.

Hey, Whatever Works

I will be the first to admit that I do things as a mother that I swore up and down I would never do. For example, I am a stay at home mom. Never in a million years did I think that staying home with my kids (if I ever dared have any). When Lady M was born I was a full-time grad student and by the time I graduated my husband was deployed overseas. I eventually went back to work and after about a year and a half, I was pregnant again.

I have been a working mom. I have been a stay at home mom. Both have there challenges. Either way there is always going to be something that your kids will blame on you when they see their therapists. Mom 101 was feeling some guilt recently and some commenters on another blog were quite judgmental.  No one is perfect and we are bound to affect our children both positively and negatively. My goal is to have the good outweigh the bad. That’s it.

Look whatever works in your family may not be the way another family operates and that’s fine. Can’t we just agree that we want to raise the best human beings we can and do the best we can to achieve that?

An Open Letter

Dear Autumn in New England,

I knew I missed you. I was three thousand miles away, but you were always in my heart. So today as you were pelting acorns and leaves at me, I knew it was out of love.  I forgive you. I forgive your inability to settle on a weather forecast. After all, that’s what fleece vests are for. Thank you for being everything I remember.

XOXO,

Me

P.S. Pelting me is one thing. Please leave my car out of it. Thanks.

Country House = 1, City Girl = 0

I grew up in New York City. In my teenage years, when we moved, it was to the suburbs. I have never lived in the country. I wasn’t a Girl Scout. In fact, Nature gives me hives.  We recently moved to a new home which sits on approximately 2 acres of land which might as well be 200 hundred acres as far as I can see, because it’s mostly woods.

So when my husband almost steps on a garter snake less than five feet away from where I was sitting with the baby I almost peed my pants. I have never seen a live snake outside of a snake cage or terrarium or whatever they’re called. Never mind in my house where I sleep, where my children sleep, where my Jimmy Choos live.

Quickly trying to calm my nerves I remember an episode of The Cosby Show where the Huxtables had a snake in their basement too.  Dr. Huxtable (or someone) told the women folk not to worry since snakes couldn’t climb stairs.  So I say to the hubs, “Husband, it’s true that snakes can’t climb stairs right?” He doesn’t even miss a beat and exclaims “No,” in a tone that clearly says he feels sorry that I know so little on the subject. He then schools me on the subject of snakes and reminds me that while the bite of a garter snake is harmless, it still hurts and bonus: they are aggressive fuckers.

I guess I have to hone up my survival skills and check on my shoes,

Let the Circus Begin

I knew this was coming and yet I find myself terribly unprepared.  Little G went to her first physical therapy appointment today.  She was born early under less than optimal circumstances and as a result she is at a higher risk for gross motor skills delays and developmental delays.  At eight months, she can’t sit up unassisted, feed herself, or crawl.  While the delays are not critical yet, we thought early intervention would be best.  She will be receiving physical therapy once a week.  Additionally she is being screened to see if she is eligible for home visits, also to see if she would benefit from other forms of therapy so that she can “catch up.”

We get home from therapy and the nephrologist calls.  New town, new specialists.  They don’t have an opening in the Manchester clinic, which is 25 minutes away, until January can we please drive to the children’s hospital on Monday for an ultrasound and an exam.  That would be a two-hour drive. My poor baby has been poked and prodded since birth and now she has to sit in a car seat for 2 hours in each direction for the privilege.

Her big sister, Lady M, also started her new preschool this week.  Three days a week is not enough even by her standards.  Because the Universe has me by the balls, none of the open physical therapy slots were during preschool hours. So now M gets to participate in physical therapy.  Maybe she can use that on her college applications  Lady M has also put me on notice that she would like to take swimming lessons and ice skating. 

My kids aren’t even in kindergarten and we’re already crazy busy. And he said I didn’t need a minivan. I predict I’ll be rocking the soccer-mom-mobile before we move again. Ice hockey equipment takes up a lot of room.

The Universe is Wicked Loud

Ok. Alright. I hear you already.

The Universe has been rather vocal lately. Exhibit A:

We recently moved into a new house.  The previous owners moved a few miles away, so they are still in the area.  Their cat has been back demanding to be let in twice now.  Each time, I called and/or texted the owners to let them know.  They were horrified and super apologetic.  I felt bad, because they were clearly (yet needlessly I assure you) embarrassed.  Each time, a family member has come and collected Mr. Kitty.* Then yesterday FedEx did a Ding Dong Ditch and left a package for them here.  So I texted and I got a text in reply that was overly apologetic and would I please leave the package on the porch.  I almost didn’t want to. I think the Universe wants us to be friends. I’m thinking of inviting them over for a cookout.  Is that weird?

Now if the Universe would shut the hell up long enough for me to finish my coffee, I would appreciate it. Wait I think I hear the cat

*I still don’t know the cat’s name

That Darn Wagon

Soon after posting how much I was enjoying running, I quit doing it.  I have a ton of excuses: we just moved, it’s too hot, no sidewalks, the list goes on. The truth is all of it and none of it. If I really wanted to run, I would find a way to do it.  I fell off the wagon.

So what is a person to do? Get back on? I’m thinking about it. In the mean time, I’m going to go bake something.

Who Is This Person?

I barely recognize myself and here’s why.

I hate to excercise. I think it’s masochistic.  However I have stuck to the Couch to 5k program for the entire nine weeks. My last day is tomorrow.  I find myself actually craving a run. Weird.

I think my husband thinks I’m tightly wound.  I let little things bother me.  I obsess over details.  On Wednesday we are closing on a house that I have not actually seen in person. Did you get that?  I am buying a house I have never seen in person and I can’t return it if it doesn’t fit.  I already asked.

I have been staying up past 10:00 pm.

I went an entire week without checking Facebook.

I don’t think twice about breastfeeding in public.

If I actually start listening to my voicemail, that’s when I’ll know that something has gone terribly wrong.

My Dirty Little Secret

Here it goes… I don’t like strangers especially when they’re children. I love my kids. I love my friends’ kids. I like my kids’ friends well enough. Kids at an airport before and during a red-eye cross-country flight? Uh, not so much.

This was not our first cross-country move and likely will not be our last.  My family and I were moving back East from California.  My youngest was six months old.  For the first time, I refused to drive.  I would have probably conceded had we all planned to drive in the same vehicle, but the thought of driving the kids 300o+ miles in the sedan, while listening to Raffi’s Baby Beluga all the while my hubby cruised down the road in his pick up truck listening to whatever he damn well pleased, infuriated me.  I wasn’t going to do it.  So instead I booked a red-eye from Cali to JFK for my girls and I.  My dad would pick us up from the airport and my husband would tow my car as he drove cross-country.

I was nervous about traveling alone, but my oldest is an excellent traveler.  She loves to fly and is easily bribed. My little one was a newbie, but once she’s asleep she is usually fine. Also she is breastfed, so placating her is easy albeit not so comfortable for me.  We packed Lady M’s Trunki, stocked the diaper bag, and hubby drove us to the airport.  We got there two hours early because I knew it would take some time to get all of our stuff through security.  As I checked my bags, the Jet Blue employee informs me that our flight is delayed.  I should have known right then that I was completely screwed.

Getting through security was hard only because when you travel with young children you carry a lot of stuff.  By some miracle the TSA staff on duty was super helpful and once that was over, I figured the hardest part of that evening was over. Now I just had to kill 3 + hours in an airport. Since I had the kids, a bar was out of the question. Instead, I figured that the best way to tackle the situation was one kid at a time.  I handed  Lady M my phone loaded with her favorite app and she played with that as I fed Little G her dinner.  Then I attempted to get Little G to sleep.  This involved letting her sob, while I pushed her stroller around the airport.  Once she was asleep, I let Lady M ride her suitcase down the ramps in an empty part of the airport. I was feeling pretty damn proud of myself, then we returned to the gate. 

There was another family there with two kids who also had no business traveling at this time of night.  Their youngest couldn’t have been more than two probably younger. He was just running wild, his parents too exhausted to care at this point.  The little boy became enchanted with the darn Trunki. Much to Lady M’s dismay, he really wanted to play with it.  He kept coming after it. The parents made half-hearted attempts to stop him.  Finally his older sister came over and asked Lady M if she could ride it too. Lady M agreed begrudgingly, but then as kids do, they started playing together and seemed to be enjoying themselves.

This was all exhausting for me. Every time those kids came over I held my breath because I was afraid that they would wake up the baby, or cough on us, or both.  I was so excited when boarding began and so was Lady M, the poor thing was exhausted.  I managed to get the baby from the stroller to the airplane seat and get her car seat all strapped in.  I finally thought I truly would survive. 

Wouldn’t you know, the family from the waiting area was seated directly behind us.  The little boy’s cries woke up Little G and the marathon breastfeeding began because that was the only way to keep her quiet.  The kids behind us eventually fell asleep and so did we.  All was well until I was awoken by some strange lights.  The dad behind us was taking flash photos…on a dark airplane…while my kids people were sleeping.  The flash in the baby’s eyes woke her up and at this point I gave up sleeping and started wishing for voodoo dolls.

What is that Smell?

When I was pregnant with my firstborn, among the plethora of pregnancy related symptoms, ailments, and side effects that I developed, was a super sensitive sense of smell. This is not uncommon. A lot of women experience this phenomenon. It’s a blessing. It’s a curse. It’s a party trick. Long story short: two children later, I still have my super power. All of my of other pregnancy related symptoms, along with some brain cells, went out with the placenta. Even the baby weight is gone, though my body is forever changed.

So please believe me when I say that my hair smells like the My Little Pony Perfume Palace I had when I was a little girl. I ran out of conditioner and rather than buy some more (because that’s what you would do right?) I raided my stash of hotel size travel bottles. You’ve been warned. Gilchrist & Soames hair conditioner smells like fragrant plastic.