My heart is heavy lately. All the time, it seems. I could chalk it up to a summer full of misses and near misses--two family members' brush with death, the dissolution of my marriage, the death of a friend--all in a span of just a few months. But, somehow, it seems bigger than that. My confidence is rattled. My children are smelling my fear, and they don't like it.
A tough little guy but sensitive as all hell, I find myself both impossibly close to my son and completely estranged from him, all at the same time. His anger is so violent and raw--it reminds me of myself. And I don't know what to do with it. And Isa, with her penetrating looks and quiet calculations.... there's a storm brewing in there, too. She looks to me for comfort, to help her figure out why things are so strange and what happened to our lives. And I don't always have the strength or the patience. Each time I drop them off at J's, every single time I drive away, I feel like throwing up. My body physically reacts to the separation, knowing it will be days before I see them again. When I pick them up, it will take several hours to settle into ourselves, to adjust to being together again, to calm the sea of emotions that threatens to bubble up inside each of us as we learn to navigate these new circumstances. From full-time mama (24/7) to working mama (12/7) to part-time mama (4 days a week) in just 5 months... It's too much. And not enough.
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Sunday, August 9, 2009
separation anxiety
My childhood memories are a pretty mixed bag. As with most memories, it's not entirely clear to me which of them are actual recollections and which are fabrications--either from a story I heard, or a dream I had... Very few of them are from the days before my sister was born, but there is a memory that I swear is true from when I was a toddler, maybe two years old, that haunts me from time to time. I was at a party, and it was dark outside. I think the dress I was wearing was white and ruffly (but that might be imposed from a photograph of me taken around the same time). I just remember walking around, weaving between grown-ups' legs, and feeling happy. In another memory, I remember sitting in my living room with my parents and my brand new sister who they had just brought home from the hospital. I was not yet three. The only thing that is clear to me is the color yellow. Maybe her outfit? A blanket? The furniture? The sun shining through the windows? Or is that the color of what I felt? My parents' relationship was already on the rocks, and I'm sure the tension in our house was palpable. Yet I'm comforted by these two memories. I'm pretty sure I was a happy kid.
Whenever I realize that my kids' lives are still too young for lasting memories, at least in their conscious, grown-up minds, I feel a mixture of sadness and relief. I'm sad that they won't remember the fun days their father and I shared with them. All the cool places they've been, and the people they've met. Then there are days I'm glad they'll forget. Grouchy Sundays or exasperated bed times or days when I just didn't have much to give. Now that we're separating, I'm even more afraid of what their minds are processing, storing, re-visiting. Do they feel abandoned when it's Jeremy's night and I drop them off at our old house? I have no idea.
For better or worse, I've braved the world alone with my twins from day one. And that makes me feel like a Super Badass. How silly I think it is when moms have a second child and suddenly feel like they can't leave the house. Other days, I go to bed with a heavy heart thinking about the ways in which I lost my temper over the spilled water, or the public tantrum, or bedtime power struggle. And, on those days, I feel like a Big Fat Jerk.
My mom had a really bad temper when we were little. I remember seething after a spanking, swearing that I would never hit my kids. I understood very clearly then that the spanking did not teach me anything about why what I did was wrong. All it did was make me angry and afraid. And now I'm the mom, and mine are the buttons pushed, and mine's the big hand popping a little bottom, and I recognize the anger bubbling behind the hurt and wounded eyes. And I want so much to be the mom I thought I'd be.
Whenever I realize that my kids' lives are still too young for lasting memories, at least in their conscious, grown-up minds, I feel a mixture of sadness and relief. I'm sad that they won't remember the fun days their father and I shared with them. All the cool places they've been, and the people they've met. Then there are days I'm glad they'll forget. Grouchy Sundays or exasperated bed times or days when I just didn't have much to give. Now that we're separating, I'm even more afraid of what their minds are processing, storing, re-visiting. Do they feel abandoned when it's Jeremy's night and I drop them off at our old house? I have no idea.
For better or worse, I've braved the world alone with my twins from day one. And that makes me feel like a Super Badass. How silly I think it is when moms have a second child and suddenly feel like they can't leave the house. Other days, I go to bed with a heavy heart thinking about the ways in which I lost my temper over the spilled water, or the public tantrum, or bedtime power struggle. And, on those days, I feel like a Big Fat Jerk.
My mom had a really bad temper when we were little. I remember seething after a spanking, swearing that I would never hit my kids. I understood very clearly then that the spanking did not teach me anything about why what I did was wrong. All it did was make me angry and afraid. And now I'm the mom, and mine are the buttons pushed, and mine's the big hand popping a little bottom, and I recognize the anger bubbling behind the hurt and wounded eyes. And I want so much to be the mom I thought I'd be.
Monday, June 1, 2009
Toddlerisms
The Itsy Bitsy Spider (According to Isa and Manu)
bitsy bitsy 'pider went up & bonked his head
down came the rain and the doctor said
mama and the sun and the monkey on the bed
no more 'pider jumping on the bed
Ring Around the Rosie
ring around the rosie
parker posie
ashes ashes
we all fall DOWN!
Reinterpretation of a Joke
Q: What did the lifeguard say to the hippie?
Real A: You're too far out, man!
I&M A: You far away, hippieeeeee.
bitsy bitsy 'pider went up & bonked his head
down came the rain and the doctor said
mama and the sun and the monkey on the bed
no more 'pider jumping on the bed
Ring Around the Rosie
ring around the rosie
parker posie
ashes ashes
we all fall DOWN!
Reinterpretation of a Joke
Q: What did the lifeguard say to the hippie?
Real A: You're too far out, man!
I&M A: You far away, hippieeeeee.
Saturday, April 11, 2009
the writing on the playground walls
My monkey brain has been on overdrive for the last few months. My kids are old enough to go to pre-school, and I am ready (crawling-up-the-walls ready) to get back to work. But what should I do? My skill set belongs in an office, yet that is exactly the kind of environment that starts to eat away at my soul. Watching pretty days go by from a fluorescent lit cube, the obligatory co-worker birthday celebrations, office gossip, clock watching, boss trashing.... I want none of that. Yet, in some ways, I really love the nature of the work. Nothing makes me happier than tackling a neatly handwritten to do list. Few things are more satisfying than the deconstruction of the seemingly unmanageable into palatable bite-size portions. And being busy! How I miss being busy--work busy, brain busy, people busy! I'm so good at it. Now I need to find the next "it".
I know I need to brainstorm, think, write, plan....make lists of what I want and what I dream and how to get from here to there. But that's just it. I feel lost.
I know I need to brainstorm, think, write, plan....make lists of what I want and what I dream and how to get from here to there. But that's just it. I feel lost.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Vacation
I've been looking at RVs on Craig's List, and Jeremy's looking at me like I'm crazy. I don't get it. What's so crazy about wanting an RV? Airplane tickets for a family of four are not cheap, and road trips with screaming toddlers is not my idea of a vacation. Driving around the country in a motor home, on the other hand, sounds dreamy. Am I delusional, or do I just really really need a vacation?
Monday, February 16, 2009
que horror! que horror!
December 4, 2008
que horror! que horror!
Un dia paseando iba una vieja
Y una guagua de pronto la arrollo
La llevaron al Centro de Socorro
Y el Doctor Sotolongo la atendio--que horror! que horror!
Y el Doctor Sotolongo la atendio
Del buche le sacaron a la vieja
La retranca, los muelles, y el motor
La cabeza y los pies del motorista
La cabeza y los pies del conductor--que horror! que horror!
La cabeza y los pies del conductor
Caballero la cosa esta en candela
Cada dia poniendose peor
Los barrenderos no barren ya las calles
Y las cloacas despiden mal olor--que horror! que horror!
Las cloacas despiden mal olor
My grandfather sang this to my mom when she was little (early 60s Cuba), so she sang it to us, and now I sing it to my kids. I tried looking it up online to see if there are more verses that I don't remember, but I can't find it. Anyone else know this song (and who wrote it)?
que horror! que horror!
Un dia paseando iba una vieja
Y una guagua de pronto la arrollo
La llevaron al Centro de Socorro
Y el Doctor Sotolongo la atendio--que horror! que horror!
Y el Doctor Sotolongo la atendio
Del buche le sacaron a la vieja
La retranca, los muelles, y el motor
La cabeza y los pies del motorista
La cabeza y los pies del conductor--que horror! que horror!
La cabeza y los pies del conductor
Caballero la cosa esta en candela
Cada dia poniendose peor
Los barrenderos no barren ya las calles
Y las cloacas despiden mal olor--que horror! que horror!
Las cloacas despiden mal olor
My grandfather sang this to my mom when she was little (early 60s Cuba), so she sang it to us, and now I sing it to my kids. I tried looking it up online to see if there are more verses that I don't remember, but I can't find it. Anyone else know this song (and who wrote it)?
Dear Santa
November 24, 2008
1) I want to wake up in the morning on my own terms, at an hour of my choosing.
2) I want to feel driven and passionate about my occupation.
3) I want to figure out what that occupation will be.
4) I want to travel to Australia, Cuba, Spain, California, Brazil, Italy, New York....in that order.
5) I want a neighborhood park and a neighborhood coffee shop, both within walking distance.
6) I want some new earrings.
7) I want a new tattoo.
8) I want my kids to feel Cuban.
9) I want my friends to love my kids.
10) I want my family to visit me.
11) I want you to burn me your favorite playlist.
12) I want to learn to play the drums.
13) I want to kiss Eddie Vedder, for old time's sake.
14) I want to play piano with my grandmother.
15) I want something delicious.
1) I want to wake up in the morning on my own terms, at an hour of my choosing.
2) I want to feel driven and passionate about my occupation.
3) I want to figure out what that occupation will be.
4) I want to travel to Australia, Cuba, Spain, California, Brazil, Italy, New York....in that order.
5) I want a neighborhood park and a neighborhood coffee shop, both within walking distance.
6) I want some new earrings.
7) I want a new tattoo.
8) I want my kids to feel Cuban.
9) I want my friends to love my kids.
10) I want my family to visit me.
11) I want you to burn me your favorite playlist.
12) I want to learn to play the drums.
13) I want to kiss Eddie Vedder, for old time's sake.
14) I want to play piano with my grandmother.
15) I want something delicious.
the power of fiction
August 8, 2008
The headline story on this morning's CNN.com homepage read "Family Vows Suicide After Daughter's Rape". Underneath the bold typeface was a photo of a distraught teenage Afghani girl shamefully shielding her face with her hand. On any other day, I would have quickly scanned the story, shaken my head at the atrocity of it all, and clicked on the story about the Brangelina twins (about whom I know way too much already). But since I am in the last few chapters of The Kite Runner, a story set in pre- and post-war Afghanistan, I read the whole article, understood the general meaning of words like sharia--Islamic law--and noor--honor, and almost wept for this family whose whole world has been irreparably shattered.
More than likely, we will not get the "Shamed Afghan Family Commits Suicide" follow up story because some celebrity piece will trump the human interest story. Because we follow the stories of the rich and famous with more interest and attention to detail than we follow almost anything else in the media. I can tell you that Brad and Angelina's kids are named Maddox, Zahara, Pax Thien, Shiloh, Vivienne Marcheline and Knox Leon. But the president of Afghanistan? Something Karzai, I think?
As a child, I was a voracious reader, and an indiscriminate one at that. I read anything from Danielle Steele to Judy Blume to V.C. Andrews to R.L Stein to Christopher Pike to Charles Dickens to the Bronte sisters. Whatever. I just wanted to read. The internet didn't exist, and I didn't like my family that much. I didn't have a TV in my room so reading was my ticket to ride. It was my escape.
I spent 9 years in Catholic school but learned more about the sons of Isaac from The Red Tent. I've never been to Russia but have been haunted for years by the images of St. Petersburg in Dostoevsky's "Dream of a Ridiculous Man". And we've been at war for almost 7 years but this is the first time that words like "Taliban" and "jihad" evoke more than just (a) frustration with the Bush administration's oil thirst, and (b) fear of getting on an airplane. I wonder how things would be different if there was a reality show on Bravo about life in Baghdad.
I guess I can go to the library and check out any number of books on the conflict between Israel and Palestine. I can do a quick google search and get a detailed outline of the key players in this senseless war. But I'd much rather have someone tell me a story about it. Because then I would know what it smells like when "US Puts Violent Iraqi Prisoners In Crates".
The headline story on this morning's CNN.com homepage read "Family Vows Suicide After Daughter's Rape". Underneath the bold typeface was a photo of a distraught teenage Afghani girl shamefully shielding her face with her hand. On any other day, I would have quickly scanned the story, shaken my head at the atrocity of it all, and clicked on the story about the Brangelina twins (about whom I know way too much already). But since I am in the last few chapters of The Kite Runner, a story set in pre- and post-war Afghanistan, I read the whole article, understood the general meaning of words like sharia--Islamic law--and noor--honor, and almost wept for this family whose whole world has been irreparably shattered.
More than likely, we will not get the "Shamed Afghan Family Commits Suicide" follow up story because some celebrity piece will trump the human interest story. Because we follow the stories of the rich and famous with more interest and attention to detail than we follow almost anything else in the media. I can tell you that Brad and Angelina's kids are named Maddox, Zahara, Pax Thien, Shiloh, Vivienne Marcheline and Knox Leon. But the president of Afghanistan? Something Karzai, I think?
As a child, I was a voracious reader, and an indiscriminate one at that. I read anything from Danielle Steele to Judy Blume to V.C. Andrews to R.L Stein to Christopher Pike to Charles Dickens to the Bronte sisters. Whatever. I just wanted to read. The internet didn't exist, and I didn't like my family that much. I didn't have a TV in my room so reading was my ticket to ride. It was my escape.
I spent 9 years in Catholic school but learned more about the sons of Isaac from The Red Tent. I've never been to Russia but have been haunted for years by the images of St. Petersburg in Dostoevsky's "Dream of a Ridiculous Man". And we've been at war for almost 7 years but this is the first time that words like "Taliban" and "jihad" evoke more than just (a) frustration with the Bush administration's oil thirst, and (b) fear of getting on an airplane. I wonder how things would be different if there was a reality show on Bravo about life in Baghdad.
I guess I can go to the library and check out any number of books on the conflict between Israel and Palestine. I can do a quick google search and get a detailed outline of the key players in this senseless war. But I'd much rather have someone tell me a story about it. Because then I would know what it smells like when "US Puts Violent Iraqi Prisoners In Crates".
brain, child
June 23, 2008
Out of respect for my mental and emotional health, I'm taking a break from people, and moving back into my head for a little while. In preparation for my social hiatus, I've made a couple of trips to the library, and subscribed to a new magazine--Brain, Child: The Magazine for Thinking Mothers. In addition to the quarterly issues, I also purchased a collection of their greatest hits, all 194 pages of which arrived today.
After reading a couple of the essays while my kids splashed in the kiddie pool at my feet, I dragged them inside, put their clothes back on, and drove to Target to purchase a reading lamp for my bedroom. It's almost like discovering the eighth Harry Potter--I cannot put it down.
An excerpt:
From "Why I Hate Dr. Sears" by Cynthia Eller
(Of course that was the first essay I read. I've got some serious issues with Dr. Sears, and this woman articulated them beautifully and with way fewer cuss words than I would have used.)
Want to stay at home with your kids? Then do it. Do it because you want to and because you can. Want to leave your kids with someone else while you go work, or play, or follow out your own interests? Then do it. Do it because you want to and because you can. If you don't have a choice, do what you must out of necessity, and know that love, real love, matters more than time or money either one, as generations of children from many classes and cultures can attest.
But when you have a choice, don't choose to do what you'd rather not do out of a sense of beleaguered duty. Don't suffer on your children's account. Chances are, they will not thank you for it. Love them, enjoy them, let them see who you are (who you already are, not the Stepford Mom you think you need to be). Given enough time, they will become whoever they will be.
Out of respect for my mental and emotional health, I'm taking a break from people, and moving back into my head for a little while. In preparation for my social hiatus, I've made a couple of trips to the library, and subscribed to a new magazine--Brain, Child: The Magazine for Thinking Mothers. In addition to the quarterly issues, I also purchased a collection of their greatest hits, all 194 pages of which arrived today.
After reading a couple of the essays while my kids splashed in the kiddie pool at my feet, I dragged them inside, put their clothes back on, and drove to Target to purchase a reading lamp for my bedroom. It's almost like discovering the eighth Harry Potter--I cannot put it down.
An excerpt:
From "Why I Hate Dr. Sears" by Cynthia Eller
(Of course that was the first essay I read. I've got some serious issues with Dr. Sears, and this woman articulated them beautifully and with way fewer cuss words than I would have used.)
Want to stay at home with your kids? Then do it. Do it because you want to and because you can. Want to leave your kids with someone else while you go work, or play, or follow out your own interests? Then do it. Do it because you want to and because you can. If you don't have a choice, do what you must out of necessity, and know that love, real love, matters more than time or money either one, as generations of children from many classes and cultures can attest.
But when you have a choice, don't choose to do what you'd rather not do out of a sense of beleaguered duty. Don't suffer on your children's account. Chances are, they will not thank you for it. Love them, enjoy them, let them see who you are (who you already are, not the Stepford Mom you think you need to be). Given enough time, they will become whoever they will be.
a message to anyone considering weaning
June 9, 2008
Please pay close attention to what I am about to tell you.
(1) Make sure that you are absolutely, 100% done with nursing before you embark on this adventure. I thought I was 100% done, and now I wish so bad that I could just nurse them one time, just one tiny time, a day. And maybe for just like 5 minutes. But to do that would be cruel and confusing to everyone, so I guess we're done.
(2) Wean GRADUALLY. LLL suggests eliminating one feeding for 3 or 4 days, and then another, and then another. Otherwise, you will end up with lumpy, painful, leaky boulders like me. I imagine it's almost like getting a boob job.
(3) Don't hang out with anyone who is (a) nursing, or (b) having lots of fun. It will depress you.
(4) Ignore all the uppity AP types that you run into at the local co-op, who will cock their heads to one side and say, "Ohhh! You weaned already? Are they even 2 yet?".
(5) Force your wriggly kid(s) to sit in your lap while you rock him/her and sing them songs they're not listening to to "wind them down" for bedtime.
Please pay close attention to what I am about to tell you.
(1) Make sure that you are absolutely, 100% done with nursing before you embark on this adventure. I thought I was 100% done, and now I wish so bad that I could just nurse them one time, just one tiny time, a day. And maybe for just like 5 minutes. But to do that would be cruel and confusing to everyone, so I guess we're done.
(2) Wean GRADUALLY. LLL suggests eliminating one feeding for 3 or 4 days, and then another, and then another. Otherwise, you will end up with lumpy, painful, leaky boulders like me. I imagine it's almost like getting a boob job.
(3) Don't hang out with anyone who is (a) nursing, or (b) having lots of fun. It will depress you.
(4) Ignore all the uppity AP types that you run into at the local co-op, who will cock their heads to one side and say, "Ohhh! You weaned already? Are they even 2 yet?".
(5) Force your wriggly kid(s) to sit in your lap while you rock him/her and sing them songs they're not listening to to "wind them down" for bedtime.
the end of an era
June 6, 2008
When I walked into my first La Leche League meeting, I was seven months pregnant and had just discovered that I was having twins. I had not come to terms with the fact that my midwife would no longer consider a home birth, and went to the meeting with the intention of finding a midwife that would. As we went around the circle and introduced ourselves (mostly women with small babies or toddlers, the leaders, and a scattering of pregnant first time moms), I felt myself losing the little grip I had on my emotions and essentially burst into tears during my confession to the group that I had just found out I was having twins and was (obviously) FREAKING OUT. In an effort to be helpful, I was shown photos of women happily nursing twins. "See?", they said. "You can do it!". But instead of being comforted by the images, I was appalled by the photos. The image in my mind of a mother lovingly gazing down at her nursing baby was replaced by the image of a mom covered in babies. Drowning in babies. Being eaten alive by hungry, sweaty babies. I walked out of there even more terrified, but convinced that I would nurse these babies come hell or high water.
When the babies were born, I had an entourage of people coming in and out of the hospital room. Instead of the peaceful, private, festive home birth I had envisioned, I was lying in a fluorescent hospital room with a backless gown and a belly full of stitches from where they pulled my babies out. At least once an hour, someone would barge in with some forms we needed to sign, or some test they needed to perform, or some very important discussion about nothing that needed to happen right then, at 3 in the morning. When we were finally discharged 3 days later, I brought my babies home to a house full of sunshine and friends. People were still coming in and out at all hours, but instead of charts and forms to sign, they walked in with delicious home cooked meals and assorted dark beers "to help with my milk production". Despite the chaos of my Cuban family, newborns, and a revolving door of friends and midwives, I felt at peace. With a garage full of baby crap waiting to be unpacked, I was content with the knowledge that all these babies really needed was a warm bed and the milk from my breasts. So I sat in an arm chair, all day and most of the night, drinking water and Guiness and Mother's Milk tonic, and watched them as they nursed and nursed for hours and days.
Then, on the morning of day 6, the blisters came. By midday, my nipples were cracked and bleeding, and the moment the babies' lips touched my breasts, I felt an electric current of pain shoot from my nipple to my back. With two babies nursing around the clock, I had no time to heal so, suddenly, despite the lanolin and nipple shields, I was in total nursing hell. The friends that came over with that evening's meal were greeted by my frantic mom, trying to sterilize bottles so that I could pump the milk for the next feeding. Meanwhile, as they sat uncomfortably on the couch, I paced around tearfully (and topless) in nothing but pajama pants so my nipples could "air out". That night, my mother and I slept in one hour shifts, pumping and praying that we could get another 3 ounces out before a baby woke up ready to nurse. The thought of feeding them formula was absolutely not an option, so I pumped and pumped and pumped that entire night and into the next day.
Three cranial sacral massages and a lactation consultant later, we were told that they both had severe tongue tie (when the flap of skin that connects your tongue to the bottom of your mouth is too short) and were physically unable to nurse efficiently because they couldn't move their tongues properly. Apparently, back in the day, it was customary for midwives to grow a long pinky finger nail (a.k.a. a coke nail) so that they could just slice the babies' tongue tie at birth. However, since no one at the hospital even thought to check for this, I'd been nursing for over 3 weeks in horrible, searing pain, and was almost at the point of giving up. That very day, I made an appointment with the recommended ENT, got their tongue ties clipped (totally painless procedure that took, literally, three seconds), and nursed pain free from that moment on.
That was 19 months ago. For the past year and a half, I've pulled my breasts out in most every restaurant in Austin, a few in Miami, and a couple in Alabama. I've been glared at, sneered at, and smiled at as my kids have grown from newborns, to babies, to toddlers from the milk of my breasts. Unashamed and unapologetically, I've nursed them on demand at home and in public for the last year and a half.
But for the last few weeks, I have been really wanting my body back. When my son wakes up at 6 in the morning, desperate to nurse for at least 45 minutes, all I want is to go back to sleep and pretend that I don't hear him. But I don't. I get up, and bring him to bed with me, and nurse him until his sister wakes up an hour later. And the entire time, I'm gritting my teeth and praying that he'll fall asleep again. But he doesn't. And when I'm nursing them both and they start to push each other away and pull each other's hair, I pry their mouths from my breast and declare the session over. Instead of the beautiful bond we once had, I feel like nursing has become an obligation, and I would rather end it on a high note. So, yesterday, after slowly weaning them from all day, to just before/after bedtime and naps, I nursed them for the last time. I wanted to make it special so I stroked their heads and sang them songs and smelled their hair. My eyes welled up with tears as I realized that it was truly the end of an era for us. But my conviction was reinforced seconds later when Manu grabbed a fist full of Isa's hair and brought me back to the present.
Tonight, I put them to bed with no tears and no requests to nurse. Though we'd been talking about it for days, I'm still surprised at how cooperative they've been. No tantrums, no begging. Just like that, they're done. My breasts are swollen and painful as my body adjusts to the change. And I'm terrified of what the hormones will do to my heart. So if I seem a little more emotional than usual in the next couple of weeks, bear with me. I fully expect this to be harder on me than it is on them.
When I walked into my first La Leche League meeting, I was seven months pregnant and had just discovered that I was having twins. I had not come to terms with the fact that my midwife would no longer consider a home birth, and went to the meeting with the intention of finding a midwife that would. As we went around the circle and introduced ourselves (mostly women with small babies or toddlers, the leaders, and a scattering of pregnant first time moms), I felt myself losing the little grip I had on my emotions and essentially burst into tears during my confession to the group that I had just found out I was having twins and was (obviously) FREAKING OUT. In an effort to be helpful, I was shown photos of women happily nursing twins. "See?", they said. "You can do it!". But instead of being comforted by the images, I was appalled by the photos. The image in my mind of a mother lovingly gazing down at her nursing baby was replaced by the image of a mom covered in babies. Drowning in babies. Being eaten alive by hungry, sweaty babies. I walked out of there even more terrified, but convinced that I would nurse these babies come hell or high water.
When the babies were born, I had an entourage of people coming in and out of the hospital room. Instead of the peaceful, private, festive home birth I had envisioned, I was lying in a fluorescent hospital room with a backless gown and a belly full of stitches from where they pulled my babies out. At least once an hour, someone would barge in with some forms we needed to sign, or some test they needed to perform, or some very important discussion about nothing that needed to happen right then, at 3 in the morning. When we were finally discharged 3 days later, I brought my babies home to a house full of sunshine and friends. People were still coming in and out at all hours, but instead of charts and forms to sign, they walked in with delicious home cooked meals and assorted dark beers "to help with my milk production". Despite the chaos of my Cuban family, newborns, and a revolving door of friends and midwives, I felt at peace. With a garage full of baby crap waiting to be unpacked, I was content with the knowledge that all these babies really needed was a warm bed and the milk from my breasts. So I sat in an arm chair, all day and most of the night, drinking water and Guiness and Mother's Milk tonic, and watched them as they nursed and nursed for hours and days.
Then, on the morning of day 6, the blisters came. By midday, my nipples were cracked and bleeding, and the moment the babies' lips touched my breasts, I felt an electric current of pain shoot from my nipple to my back. With two babies nursing around the clock, I had no time to heal so, suddenly, despite the lanolin and nipple shields, I was in total nursing hell. The friends that came over with that evening's meal were greeted by my frantic mom, trying to sterilize bottles so that I could pump the milk for the next feeding. Meanwhile, as they sat uncomfortably on the couch, I paced around tearfully (and topless) in nothing but pajama pants so my nipples could "air out". That night, my mother and I slept in one hour shifts, pumping and praying that we could get another 3 ounces out before a baby woke up ready to nurse. The thought of feeding them formula was absolutely not an option, so I pumped and pumped and pumped that entire night and into the next day.
Three cranial sacral massages and a lactation consultant later, we were told that they both had severe tongue tie (when the flap of skin that connects your tongue to the bottom of your mouth is too short) and were physically unable to nurse efficiently because they couldn't move their tongues properly. Apparently, back in the day, it was customary for midwives to grow a long pinky finger nail (a.k.a. a coke nail) so that they could just slice the babies' tongue tie at birth. However, since no one at the hospital even thought to check for this, I'd been nursing for over 3 weeks in horrible, searing pain, and was almost at the point of giving up. That very day, I made an appointment with the recommended ENT, got their tongue ties clipped (totally painless procedure that took, literally, three seconds), and nursed pain free from that moment on.
That was 19 months ago. For the past year and a half, I've pulled my breasts out in most every restaurant in Austin, a few in Miami, and a couple in Alabama. I've been glared at, sneered at, and smiled at as my kids have grown from newborns, to babies, to toddlers from the milk of my breasts. Unashamed and unapologetically, I've nursed them on demand at home and in public for the last year and a half.
But for the last few weeks, I have been really wanting my body back. When my son wakes up at 6 in the morning, desperate to nurse for at least 45 minutes, all I want is to go back to sleep and pretend that I don't hear him. But I don't. I get up, and bring him to bed with me, and nurse him until his sister wakes up an hour later. And the entire time, I'm gritting my teeth and praying that he'll fall asleep again. But he doesn't. And when I'm nursing them both and they start to push each other away and pull each other's hair, I pry their mouths from my breast and declare the session over. Instead of the beautiful bond we once had, I feel like nursing has become an obligation, and I would rather end it on a high note. So, yesterday, after slowly weaning them from all day, to just before/after bedtime and naps, I nursed them for the last time. I wanted to make it special so I stroked their heads and sang them songs and smelled their hair. My eyes welled up with tears as I realized that it was truly the end of an era for us. But my conviction was reinforced seconds later when Manu grabbed a fist full of Isa's hair and brought me back to the present.
Tonight, I put them to bed with no tears and no requests to nurse. Though we'd been talking about it for days, I'm still surprised at how cooperative they've been. No tantrums, no begging. Just like that, they're done. My breasts are swollen and painful as my body adjusts to the change. And I'm terrified of what the hormones will do to my heart. So if I seem a little more emotional than usual in the next couple of weeks, bear with me. I fully expect this to be harder on me than it is on them.
my identity crisis
May 2, 2008
To anyone not really paying attention (or the gainfully employed), it may seem that my life is one of relative leisure--swimming at the Springs, splashy parks, Wheatsville lunches, mama happy hours. And, while it is true that I spend a good portion of my time in flip flops and a bathing suit, I wipe A LOT of ass on a daily basis.
My babies are 18 months old, and are now becoming little people. They walk and talk and dance and sing and scream and kick, and live every single moment with eyes wide open. And, 90% of the time, those eyes are watching my every move. When I sing along to whatever's on the radio, they babble along in their beautiful falsettos from their car seats. Or when one of them gets into something they shouldn't, the other immediately wags his/her finger and says, "uh uh, Manu. No no no no".
So, a few months ago, when I started to lose my patience and freak out on them for clinging to my legs or whining when I left the room, I started to worry that the person they were watching was turning into a miserable grouch. It was rainy and cold, and I was stuck at home with two little people who wanted nothing more than my undivided attention. Meanwhile, I was bored and lonely, and wondered if I was starting to get depressed. Without a job to regulate my weeks, Mondays were no different than Fridays, and the only days I really looked forward to were the days when Jeremy was off. I'd never wanted to raise babies in a nuclear family setting. It always seemed so isolating and dull. Yet that was exactly what I was doing, and it was really starting to wear me down. My mind needed stimulating of the adult variety, and I could no longer stand the boredom of my domestic routine. Idleness, like kisses, to be sweet must be stolen. (Didn't someone famous say that?). Though "idle" is not exactly the right word when it comes to toddlers, I definitely felt like my star wasn't burning so bright...
Now, 4 months later, everything's different. I'm busy as a bee and happy as a clam. Though I'm really only working very part time and only two days a week. it's exactly what I needed to feel like a person again. For 10 hours a week, I can drive fast with the radio loud and pop in and out of the car in seconds! No strollers or wagons or babies to haul. I make phone calls without apologies for the babies in the background. I send emails with both hands on the keys. I eat lunch in peace and don't have to share a single bite! It's perfect. And, at the end of the day, when I walk through the door, they squeal out an excited "MAMA!" and run towards me with giant grins on their faces. Though it's only been 5 hours since we last saw each other, we have so much to catch up on--what they ate and read and played, were they good, did they fight? And I know that more important than the money I'm making is the person I'm remembering.
Before I was Mama, there was a person I was working on and I needed to find a way to bring her back. Going to work for a few hours makes me miss them, and make the most of our time together. Now my laptop is only open at nap time and after they've gone to bed. The occasional night out or singing with BEM energizes my social gas tank, so lazing around in the mornings and doing puzzles or reading books is just where I want to be. So, as cliche as it sounds when a mother says that she "did it for the kids", I can now truly relate. Because, ultimately, the happier I am, the better I am. And, from my vantage point at the tail end of this decade's identity crisis, I think I'm doing pretty good. And, as far as I understand their budding language, I think my kids think so, too.
To anyone not really paying attention (or the gainfully employed), it may seem that my life is one of relative leisure--swimming at the Springs, splashy parks, Wheatsville lunches, mama happy hours. And, while it is true that I spend a good portion of my time in flip flops and a bathing suit, I wipe A LOT of ass on a daily basis.
My babies are 18 months old, and are now becoming little people. They walk and talk and dance and sing and scream and kick, and live every single moment with eyes wide open. And, 90% of the time, those eyes are watching my every move. When I sing along to whatever's on the radio, they babble along in their beautiful falsettos from their car seats. Or when one of them gets into something they shouldn't, the other immediately wags his/her finger and says, "uh uh, Manu. No no no no".
So, a few months ago, when I started to lose my patience and freak out on them for clinging to my legs or whining when I left the room, I started to worry that the person they were watching was turning into a miserable grouch. It was rainy and cold, and I was stuck at home with two little people who wanted nothing more than my undivided attention. Meanwhile, I was bored and lonely, and wondered if I was starting to get depressed. Without a job to regulate my weeks, Mondays were no different than Fridays, and the only days I really looked forward to were the days when Jeremy was off. I'd never wanted to raise babies in a nuclear family setting. It always seemed so isolating and dull. Yet that was exactly what I was doing, and it was really starting to wear me down. My mind needed stimulating of the adult variety, and I could no longer stand the boredom of my domestic routine. Idleness, like kisses, to be sweet must be stolen. (Didn't someone famous say that?). Though "idle" is not exactly the right word when it comes to toddlers, I definitely felt like my star wasn't burning so bright...
Now, 4 months later, everything's different. I'm busy as a bee and happy as a clam. Though I'm really only working very part time and only two days a week. it's exactly what I needed to feel like a person again. For 10 hours a week, I can drive fast with the radio loud and pop in and out of the car in seconds! No strollers or wagons or babies to haul. I make phone calls without apologies for the babies in the background. I send emails with both hands on the keys. I eat lunch in peace and don't have to share a single bite! It's perfect. And, at the end of the day, when I walk through the door, they squeal out an excited "MAMA!" and run towards me with giant grins on their faces. Though it's only been 5 hours since we last saw each other, we have so much to catch up on--what they ate and read and played, were they good, did they fight? And I know that more important than the money I'm making is the person I'm remembering.
Before I was Mama, there was a person I was working on and I needed to find a way to bring her back. Going to work for a few hours makes me miss them, and make the most of our time together. Now my laptop is only open at nap time and after they've gone to bed. The occasional night out or singing with BEM energizes my social gas tank, so lazing around in the mornings and doing puzzles or reading books is just where I want to be. So, as cliche as it sounds when a mother says that she "did it for the kids", I can now truly relate. Because, ultimately, the happier I am, the better I am. And, from my vantage point at the tail end of this decade's identity crisis, I think I'm doing pretty good. And, as far as I understand their budding language, I think my kids think so, too.
giving thanks
March 6, 2008
I can't wait til November. I feel like my latest adventures have given me a new appreciation for that which I had begun to take for granted. So here goes.
Dear Lord*, thank you for:
Making me Cuban.
Making me my mother's daughter, and my sister's sister, and my husband's wife.
Giving me two perfectly imperfect babies.
Giving me a voice to match the size of my ass.
And thank you, Austin, for:
Boggy Creek Farm on Wednesday morns.
All the babies' mamas.
And the babies' mamas' mamas.
And the future (though they don't realize it yet) babies' mamas...
And, of course, the babies' daddies. Especially mine.
And the freedom to nurse toddlers in public without the constant threat of stink eye.
And mama margarita lunches on sunny days in stuccoed patios.
And my wonderful house in my awesome neighborhood with my kick ass neighbors.
And my friends' wonderful houses in equally (if not more) awesome neighborhoods.
And my kick-ass personal assistant gig that has brought the pep back to my step (and the green back to my bank account).
Though it is not easy to live so far from the ocean, and from my family, and from the influence of latino culture, this is exactly where I want to be. And who I want to be here with.
*loosely. Interpret as you see fit.
I can't wait til November. I feel like my latest adventures have given me a new appreciation for that which I had begun to take for granted. So here goes.
Dear Lord*, thank you for:
Making me Cuban.
Making me my mother's daughter, and my sister's sister, and my husband's wife.
Giving me two perfectly imperfect babies.
Giving me a voice to match the size of my ass.
And thank you, Austin, for:
Boggy Creek Farm on Wednesday morns.
All the babies' mamas.
And the babies' mamas' mamas.
And the future (though they don't realize it yet) babies' mamas...
And, of course, the babies' daddies. Especially mine.
And the freedom to nurse toddlers in public without the constant threat of stink eye.
And mama margarita lunches on sunny days in stuccoed patios.
And my wonderful house in my awesome neighborhood with my kick ass neighbors.
And my friends' wonderful houses in equally (if not more) awesome neighborhoods.
And my kick-ass personal assistant gig that has brought the pep back to my step (and the green back to my bank account).
Though it is not easy to live so far from the ocean, and from my family, and from the influence of latino culture, this is exactly where I want to be. And who I want to be here with.
*loosely. Interpret as you see fit.
the trade economy
January 24, 2008
Radical mamas and the trade economy: this is why I live in Austin, despite the fact that the allergies are slowly killing my husband, there's no beach worth a damn around here, and no family to help me raise these babies.
For the past few weeks, a combination of crappy weather and a crabby child have pushed me almost over the edge of reason. Though I've been toying with the idea of physically going back to work in some capacity, it's never seemed right. I don't want my kids in daycare, and other options were eluding me so I sat on it for a few months. Today, however, I was offered a wonderful position with the flexibility to grow into it at my own pace so I've decided to jump back into the working world on a very part time basis and see what happens....
In the meantime, my babies will be under the care of some radical mamas twice a week so, not only do I know they will be safe and sound, I'm excited about the influence these women will have over my kids on a regular basis. In exchange, I hope to babysit and offer my varied and eclectic mix of services as payment. As I've said a hundred times before, I am not enough for these babies--they need aunts and uncles and cousins and grandparents and neighbors and friends to teach them about the world. But that is really hard to achieve in our isolationist society so this feels like one step closer to the community child rearing model that feels more natural to me. At least until I pack up our things and get the hell out of the US for a few months.....
Radical mamas and the trade economy: this is why I live in Austin, despite the fact that the allergies are slowly killing my husband, there's no beach worth a damn around here, and no family to help me raise these babies.
For the past few weeks, a combination of crappy weather and a crabby child have pushed me almost over the edge of reason. Though I've been toying with the idea of physically going back to work in some capacity, it's never seemed right. I don't want my kids in daycare, and other options were eluding me so I sat on it for a few months. Today, however, I was offered a wonderful position with the flexibility to grow into it at my own pace so I've decided to jump back into the working world on a very part time basis and see what happens....
In the meantime, my babies will be under the care of some radical mamas twice a week so, not only do I know they will be safe and sound, I'm excited about the influence these women will have over my kids on a regular basis. In exchange, I hope to babysit and offer my varied and eclectic mix of services as payment. As I've said a hundred times before, I am not enough for these babies--they need aunts and uncles and cousins and grandparents and neighbors and friends to teach them about the world. But that is really hard to achieve in our isolationist society so this feels like one step closer to the community child rearing model that feels more natural to me. At least until I pack up our things and get the hell out of the US for a few months.....
isabel marina
January 18, 2006
Isa was born first. When they pulled her out of my belly (don't ask) and we first heard her cry, my heart exploded from my numb and tired body. While the nurse brought her over for me to see her, Dr. Polon tugged Manu out. Entranced by the beauty of our baby girl, it took us a minute to realize that we didn't hear him cry. A moment of terror set in as the nurses scuttled around and drained the mucus from his lungs. Our midwife conferred with them and reported back that everything was okay, he just needed some drainage. A few minutes later, he cried out in protest and then joined his sister on the scale.
While Isa slept and slept, Manu lifted his head and looked around the hospital room. In those weeks before the colic set in, he inspected the world around him with the furrowed brow of a wise old man. His gross motor skills from day one were far ahead of the curve.
Meanwhile, Isa nursed, slept, and pooped. She made no effort to hold her head up or keep her eyes open beyond the absolutely necessary. By the time they were 2 months old, Jeremy and I secretly wondered if there was something wrong with her. Not only was she impossible to excite, it was difficult to take a good picture of her compared to the hundreds we already had of her photogenic brother. My poor homegirl just wasn't that cute. Sometimes she looked like a monkey with her puffy eyes and puckered mouth. Eventually, our families even started to wonder if she was okay. Even our friends made comments about her lack of eye contact and alertness. Meanwhile, my midwife and every doctor we asked said she was totally fine and that I shouldn't compare her to her brother. But the difference between them was striking, and we were starting to prepare for the possibility of caring for a special needs child.
Then, suddenly, she started to smile. And then she laughed. And then she played with rattles and teething rings and my hair and my earrings... And slowly our fears diminished as our daughter settled into the world outside the womb.
Today, at almost 15 months, she's wise beyond her years. Her vocabulary consists of at least 25 words, and her gross motor skills, though still behind her brother, are on the lazy end of the spectrum but normal.
At bedtime, when we exchange kisses and I love yous, she says "uh ya yoo" back and presses her face into mine. And then the other night she woke up crying at 5am. I waited a few minutes to see if she'd go back to sleep before giving up and bringing her into bed. I nursed her for like 10 minutes as she played with her feet and tugged at my hair. Tired and frustrated, I said, "it's night night, Isa. Go night night!" and then I rolled over and away from her. She sat up and climbed over me, cupped my face in her hands and pressed her nose to mine. I gave her a kiss and said, "Night Night, Isa. Go night night". And then she patted my head and said, "nigh nigh nigh, mama. nigh nigh nigh", climbed back over me, and went to sleep. As my heart exploded from my chest once again, I knew that I would never forget that.
Isa was born first. When they pulled her out of my belly (don't ask) and we first heard her cry, my heart exploded from my numb and tired body. While the nurse brought her over for me to see her, Dr. Polon tugged Manu out. Entranced by the beauty of our baby girl, it took us a minute to realize that we didn't hear him cry. A moment of terror set in as the nurses scuttled around and drained the mucus from his lungs. Our midwife conferred with them and reported back that everything was okay, he just needed some drainage. A few minutes later, he cried out in protest and then joined his sister on the scale.
While Isa slept and slept, Manu lifted his head and looked around the hospital room. In those weeks before the colic set in, he inspected the world around him with the furrowed brow of a wise old man. His gross motor skills from day one were far ahead of the curve.
Meanwhile, Isa nursed, slept, and pooped. She made no effort to hold her head up or keep her eyes open beyond the absolutely necessary. By the time they were 2 months old, Jeremy and I secretly wondered if there was something wrong with her. Not only was she impossible to excite, it was difficult to take a good picture of her compared to the hundreds we already had of her photogenic brother. My poor homegirl just wasn't that cute. Sometimes she looked like a monkey with her puffy eyes and puckered mouth. Eventually, our families even started to wonder if she was okay. Even our friends made comments about her lack of eye contact and alertness. Meanwhile, my midwife and every doctor we asked said she was totally fine and that I shouldn't compare her to her brother. But the difference between them was striking, and we were starting to prepare for the possibility of caring for a special needs child.
Then, suddenly, she started to smile. And then she laughed. And then she played with rattles and teething rings and my hair and my earrings... And slowly our fears diminished as our daughter settled into the world outside the womb.
Today, at almost 15 months, she's wise beyond her years. Her vocabulary consists of at least 25 words, and her gross motor skills, though still behind her brother, are on the lazy end of the spectrum but normal.
At bedtime, when we exchange kisses and I love yous, she says "uh ya yoo" back and presses her face into mine. And then the other night she woke up crying at 5am. I waited a few minutes to see if she'd go back to sleep before giving up and bringing her into bed. I nursed her for like 10 minutes as she played with her feet and tugged at my hair. Tired and frustrated, I said, "it's night night, Isa. Go night night!" and then I rolled over and away from her. She sat up and climbed over me, cupped my face in her hands and pressed her nose to mine. I gave her a kiss and said, "Night Night, Isa. Go night night". And then she patted my head and said, "nigh nigh nigh, mama. nigh nigh nigh", climbed back over me, and went to sleep. As my heart exploded from my chest once again, I knew that I would never forget that.
C U L8R. LOL!
January 8, 2008
In my opinion, the greatest tech invention of my generation (aside from the internet, of course...and cell phones) is caller ID. As someone who is not particularly fond of talking on the phone, I really appreciate knowing who it is before I answer. If it's important or if I'm feeling chatty, I'll take the call and shoot the shit for a few minutes. If I'm busy or just not in the mood, it'll go to voice mail and we'll take it from there. Thankfully, email allows me to take care of business, catch up with old friends, make plans with new ones, and avoid the whole telephone mess altogether. I love it. I encourage all of you to send me an email if we haven't chatted in a while. I'd love to hear what you're up to.
But the whole text messaging thing? Honestly, I'm not that into it. Of course there are exceptions and there are times when it makes sense. I even feel a little excited when my phone beeps at me to tell me I've received a new text. But, for the most part, I think it's email's passive aggressive cousin and I can't fully embrace the trend.
In the first place, it takes me a long time to type with my thumbs and I feel pressed for time, like the sender is staring at his/her phone awaiting my response (which, I realize, is totally not the case...but that's how it feels). Secondly, it takes so much longer to iron out details than just a simple phone call (wanna have lunch? good. where? what time? OR i'm on my way to your mom's house. see you in a little bit). Third, the acronyms and abbreviations drive me a little nuts, especially LOL. I fucking Hate LOL. And fourth, it costs me 10 cents to both send and receive a text.
I'd be lying if I said I wouldn't be sad if no one texted me ever again. I like getting text messages. Just like I like getting (non work, non spam) emails. I'm just saying that I'm not ready to fully go there yet. Plus, I'm scared that you're going to crash into me and my kids while you LOL back to your friend while driving. Maybe you can just chuckle quietly to yourself instead and save us the 10 cents.
In my opinion, the greatest tech invention of my generation (aside from the internet, of course...and cell phones) is caller ID. As someone who is not particularly fond of talking on the phone, I really appreciate knowing who it is before I answer. If it's important or if I'm feeling chatty, I'll take the call and shoot the shit for a few minutes. If I'm busy or just not in the mood, it'll go to voice mail and we'll take it from there. Thankfully, email allows me to take care of business, catch up with old friends, make plans with new ones, and avoid the whole telephone mess altogether. I love it. I encourage all of you to send me an email if we haven't chatted in a while. I'd love to hear what you're up to.
But the whole text messaging thing? Honestly, I'm not that into it. Of course there are exceptions and there are times when it makes sense. I even feel a little excited when my phone beeps at me to tell me I've received a new text. But, for the most part, I think it's email's passive aggressive cousin and I can't fully embrace the trend.
In the first place, it takes me a long time to type with my thumbs and I feel pressed for time, like the sender is staring at his/her phone awaiting my response (which, I realize, is totally not the case...but that's how it feels). Secondly, it takes so much longer to iron out details than just a simple phone call (wanna have lunch? good. where? what time? OR i'm on my way to your mom's house. see you in a little bit). Third, the acronyms and abbreviations drive me a little nuts, especially LOL. I fucking Hate LOL. And fourth, it costs me 10 cents to both send and receive a text.
I'd be lying if I said I wouldn't be sad if no one texted me ever again. I like getting text messages. Just like I like getting (non work, non spam) emails. I'm just saying that I'm not ready to fully go there yet. Plus, I'm scared that you're going to crash into me and my kids while you LOL back to your friend while driving. Maybe you can just chuckle quietly to yourself instead and save us the 10 cents.
walkman/discman/ipod: making the dentist better since 1983
December 11, 2007
i love nitrous.
i love purple rain.
and i especially love pain killers.
i love nitrous.
i love purple rain.
and i especially love pain killers.
on the subject of...
November 29, 2007
on the subject of...
MAKE UP
I hate lipstick. Unless it's red. Park Avenue Red, to be precise. When I do wear make up, it takes me about 30 seconds to apply it. Eyeliner, mascara, some Burts on my lips. And then I'm out the door.* * *I wonder if wearing make up is a job requirement for dental hygienists. All you see as you peer up at them from your vulnerable slack-jawed vantage point is their eyes. Beautiful, eye shadowed peekaboos staring into your mouth as they scrape out the leftovers.
DEATH
A dog was shot across the street from my house on Thanksgiving morning. When I heard the gunshot, I was sitting in the living room with my cranky son on my lap while my daughter slept fitfully in a crib in their bedroom. Immediately, I asked Jeremy to check on her, terrified that the bullet had somehow made its way inside our house. Turns out both she and the dog were fine. Now I worry that the dog (who was shot by a cop because it had charged him and a neighbor) is going to jump the fence again and attack my kids as they follow me like baby ducks into and out of the car.* * * My grandmother isn't doing so well. She's old, and that's just how it goes. But she's my grandmother, and I am not quite ready for her to go.* * * Sometimes, when Jeremy wants to go to the store to pick up some smokes or milk or ice cream, I worry that he's going to get into an accident and die on the way there. I want to ask him not to go. Twenty minutes later, when he comes back through the door, I exhale and chastise myself for being so fucking morbid.
MARRIAGE
It really is a compromise. I get it now. My whole life I've done whatever the hell I wanted, or else. These days, it seems more and more selfish to continue pitching fits over stupid shit so I'm learning to compromise. He wants to watch football, I want to be social. Why don't we invite people over to watch the game? Perfect. He wants to sleep in, I want to make breakfast. Hmmm. Not so perfect. We're still working that one out.
MUSIC
In high school, I worked at a trendy record store. There I discovered The Smiths and The Pixies and Bryan Ferry and the Cocteau Twins. And so much more. It was such a huge part of my life and of my identity. It seems kind of strange to me that I now listen almost exclusively to NPR and the classical music station. If I'm in a mood, I might find the oldies station while driving around, or sing along to R&B jams on 105.9. But, usually, I want either calm or quiet, and I'll eventually switch back to KUT or 89.5. When did I get so old and boring?* * * I love the living shit out of the Arcade Fire. Maybe that's yesterday's news to all of you in the know, but it still brings me to tears sometimes.* * *I want to find a group of women and sing. Like in college, with the Moiragettes. Or in Catholic school, in the choir. I don't care how cheesy the music or how old the ladies. I just want to stand in a group of women and let it all out. Maybe I should join the local Baptist church and beg to sing in their choir.
on the subject of...
MAKE UP
I hate lipstick. Unless it's red. Park Avenue Red, to be precise. When I do wear make up, it takes me about 30 seconds to apply it. Eyeliner, mascara, some Burts on my lips. And then I'm out the door.* * *I wonder if wearing make up is a job requirement for dental hygienists. All you see as you peer up at them from your vulnerable slack-jawed vantage point is their eyes. Beautiful, eye shadowed peekaboos staring into your mouth as they scrape out the leftovers.
DEATH
A dog was shot across the street from my house on Thanksgiving morning. When I heard the gunshot, I was sitting in the living room with my cranky son on my lap while my daughter slept fitfully in a crib in their bedroom. Immediately, I asked Jeremy to check on her, terrified that the bullet had somehow made its way inside our house. Turns out both she and the dog were fine. Now I worry that the dog (who was shot by a cop because it had charged him and a neighbor) is going to jump the fence again and attack my kids as they follow me like baby ducks into and out of the car.* * * My grandmother isn't doing so well. She's old, and that's just how it goes. But she's my grandmother, and I am not quite ready for her to go.* * * Sometimes, when Jeremy wants to go to the store to pick up some smokes or milk or ice cream, I worry that he's going to get into an accident and die on the way there. I want to ask him not to go. Twenty minutes later, when he comes back through the door, I exhale and chastise myself for being so fucking morbid.
MARRIAGE
It really is a compromise. I get it now. My whole life I've done whatever the hell I wanted, or else. These days, it seems more and more selfish to continue pitching fits over stupid shit so I'm learning to compromise. He wants to watch football, I want to be social. Why don't we invite people over to watch the game? Perfect. He wants to sleep in, I want to make breakfast. Hmmm. Not so perfect. We're still working that one out.
MUSIC
In high school, I worked at a trendy record store. There I discovered The Smiths and The Pixies and Bryan Ferry and the Cocteau Twins. And so much more. It was such a huge part of my life and of my identity. It seems kind of strange to me that I now listen almost exclusively to NPR and the classical music station. If I'm in a mood, I might find the oldies station while driving around, or sing along to R&B jams on 105.9. But, usually, I want either calm or quiet, and I'll eventually switch back to KUT or 89.5. When did I get so old and boring?* * * I love the living shit out of the Arcade Fire. Maybe that's yesterday's news to all of you in the know, but it still brings me to tears sometimes.* * *I want to find a group of women and sing. Like in college, with the Moiragettes. Or in Catholic school, in the choir. I don't care how cheesy the music or how old the ladies. I just want to stand in a group of women and let it all out. Maybe I should join the local Baptist church and beg to sing in their choir.
the news is killing my buzz
October 5, 2007
Between the killer amoeba that's eating children's brains after swimming in Texas lakes and the old lady that died of West Nile here in Austin, I'm starting to fixate on all the possible ways my kids could die. Yesterday, I was driving in the car, singing happily to a mix CD while the babies gurgled at each other in the backseat. During a red light, I turned around and smiled at them and ruffled their hair, and then thought to myself, "what if we get slammed into by a semi right now and that's the last I see of my kids?". Buzzkill.
It's not a good sign when every cough is a prelude to pneumonia or a slight fever threatens meningitis. I've never been much of an alarmist when it comes to stuff like this, but I'm entering a new phase of paranoid parenthood and I don't like it.
Between the killer amoeba that's eating children's brains after swimming in Texas lakes and the old lady that died of West Nile here in Austin, I'm starting to fixate on all the possible ways my kids could die. Yesterday, I was driving in the car, singing happily to a mix CD while the babies gurgled at each other in the backseat. During a red light, I turned around and smiled at them and ruffled their hair, and then thought to myself, "what if we get slammed into by a semi right now and that's the last I see of my kids?". Buzzkill.
It's not a good sign when every cough is a prelude to pneumonia or a slight fever threatens meningitis. I've never been much of an alarmist when it comes to stuff like this, but I'm entering a new phase of paranoid parenthood and I don't like it.
mamamoons and a minivan
May 28, 2007
For Mother's Day, I got a minivan. Sort of. I had to convince Jeremy that it wasn't the lamest idea ever and that it really didn't matter who thought we were cool anymore. We deserved a little bit of comfort. So we got one and it's awesome and now he loves it. Check out pictures of it (and our babies) at www.flickr.com/photos/ayleencita. Driving it around this week has made me think of how much my life has changed, how my priorities have shifted, and how being "cool" now has a meaning that is not at all associated with the kind of car I drive.
All alone, without family in town or consistent help, the first six months of these babies' lives were the most challenging months of my life. Most days, I sat in an arm chair with little nurslings in my arms (and watched way too much television) while the world outside my door seemed to blossom into spring. Talk about being left out. In retrospect, we probably should have high-tailed it to Miami and accepted my family's help. It would certainly have been less isolating. But I'm proud of us for sticking it out. Having gotten through the last 7 months, I really feel like there's nothing I can't do...like the sky is the limit and we can do anything. And I'm especially proud of Jeremy for working his ass off to support us, and for being a thoughtful and gentle father to his babies. There's no sweeter sight than the grins that explode on their faces when he comes home from work.
So after months of exposing the ugly underbelly of new mamahood, I think I'm finally done with the wild-eyed exhaustion and embarrassing emotional outbursts. Thank the Lord. I was really starting to lose my mind. These days, my kids and I spend hours playing and singing and swimming and napping and eating. It's awesome. I'm starting to understand the bittersweet nostalgia with which parents view the passage of time. They really DO grow so fast. Soon my babies won't be babies anymore. And I'm going to have to start watching my mouth, and teaching them to walk then run then climb, and figuring out how to balance discipline with free will, manners with honesty.
This lady told me the other day that new parents have it all wrong. We have the impression that we're able to mold these babies into the people we wish we'd become. But raising kids isn't at all like molding a lump of clay. She said it's more like being handed a jagged rock and an emery board. They come into this world with their own ideas and direction, and the most you can hope for is to soften the hard edges. I'm not really sure what that means but it's been stuck in my head. Maybe I just like it because it means that I'm not 100% responsible for who they become. Or, like a mama friend said when I told her about the clay/rock metaphor, she said we're the lump of clay and they mold us. I like that. I feel softer already.
For Mother's Day, I got a minivan. Sort of. I had to convince Jeremy that it wasn't the lamest idea ever and that it really didn't matter who thought we were cool anymore. We deserved a little bit of comfort. So we got one and it's awesome and now he loves it. Check out pictures of it (and our babies) at www.flickr.com/photos/ayleencita. Driving it around this week has made me think of how much my life has changed, how my priorities have shifted, and how being "cool" now has a meaning that is not at all associated with the kind of car I drive.
All alone, without family in town or consistent help, the first six months of these babies' lives were the most challenging months of my life. Most days, I sat in an arm chair with little nurslings in my arms (and watched way too much television) while the world outside my door seemed to blossom into spring. Talk about being left out. In retrospect, we probably should have high-tailed it to Miami and accepted my family's help. It would certainly have been less isolating. But I'm proud of us for sticking it out. Having gotten through the last 7 months, I really feel like there's nothing I can't do...like the sky is the limit and we can do anything. And I'm especially proud of Jeremy for working his ass off to support us, and for being a thoughtful and gentle father to his babies. There's no sweeter sight than the grins that explode on their faces when he comes home from work.
So after months of exposing the ugly underbelly of new mamahood, I think I'm finally done with the wild-eyed exhaustion and embarrassing emotional outbursts. Thank the Lord. I was really starting to lose my mind. These days, my kids and I spend hours playing and singing and swimming and napping and eating. It's awesome. I'm starting to understand the bittersweet nostalgia with which parents view the passage of time. They really DO grow so fast. Soon my babies won't be babies anymore. And I'm going to have to start watching my mouth, and teaching them to walk then run then climb, and figuring out how to balance discipline with free will, manners with honesty.
This lady told me the other day that new parents have it all wrong. We have the impression that we're able to mold these babies into the people we wish we'd become. But raising kids isn't at all like molding a lump of clay. She said it's more like being handed a jagged rock and an emery board. They come into this world with their own ideas and direction, and the most you can hope for is to soften the hard edges. I'm not really sure what that means but it's been stuck in my head. Maybe I just like it because it means that I'm not 100% responsible for who they become. Or, like a mama friend said when I told her about the clay/rock metaphor, she said we're the lump of clay and they mold us. I like that. I feel softer already.
boob over my hammy
April 5, 2007
in anticipation of our flight to miami (babies' first plane ride), i bought a box of 200 earplugs at the suggestion of my friend haley. i figured that, if the shit hit the fan and the babies lost it on the plane, i could at least offer earplugs to my fellow passengers in order to avoid their scorn. for good measure, and at the suggestion of our pediatrician, i also dosed them with a little benadryl moments before take-off in the hopes that it would knock them out for the duration of the flight.
except for a few tummy-clenching moments of isa crying as we were landing in miami, i have to say that the flight there was virtually painless. my sister sat across the aisle from me and expertly rocked, patted, and shushed her lap baby from take-off to landing. as the babies yawned and stretched and slowly awoke on our way to baggage claim, christie and i exchanged a triumphant high five and exhaled for the first time in hours. only five minutes of crying in over five hours of airplane travel....not bad at all.
the way back, however, was a totally different story. this time, my dad was my travel companion. as we settled into our seats and prepared for take-off, the babies seemed to be slipping into benadryl's dreamy embrace. i even took out my US weekly and began flipping through the gossip columns as the other passengers settled around us. somewhere between take-off and the beverage service, isa decided that it was a good time to make a massive and incredibly stinky poo. as she wriggled in my lap, grunting with the effort, loud and stinky baby farts filled the air around us. with every noisy blast, my dad and i laughed harder and harder. finally, certain that she'd finished with her business, i asked a flight attendant where i might find a changing table. "unfortunately," she said, "this airplane is an older model. there is no changing table. you'd really be better off changing her in your seat". you've got to be fucking kidding me, i (and the woman eating in the seat next to me) thought. just as i was debating whether it was better to change her diaper or let her ass rot for the duration of the flight, manu starts pitching a fit on my dad's lap across the aisle. i hand my dad a baby bottle filled with water, in the hopes that this will keep him entertained long enough for me to figure out what to do with isa, but this only makes him fussier. shit. ok. let's switch. i'll nurse manu, and my dad can hold isa for a minute and then i'll deal with her turd situation.
so we do the hand off, and as manu settles onto my breast, isa starts howling as my dad fumbles to hold her comfortably. oh, jesus christ. "dad, she doesn't like to be lying down. you have to hold her up. but snuggle her, and pat her.... maybe bounce her a little." but it's been a while since he held babies and his clumsiness is only making her scream louder so, after some shifting on my part, i ask him to hand her over. at this point, i'm trying to discretely tandem nurse two fussy babies in an AIRPLANE seat! "i'm really sorry," i say to everyone giving me stink eye, "i have earplugs. please take some, they're right in here." no one takes them, but they keep glaring at me as i shush and wriggle in my seat and try to keep both babies on a boob despite their flailing about in protest. it's from HELL. people are really starting to get annoyed. i'm embarrassed and frustrated and doing the best i can. my dad keeps smoothing the spot on his head where there once was hair, and nervously chuckling to himself. this goes on for AT LEAST twenty minutes.
finally, after what seems like hours of screaming, they start to settle down and i've got them both nursing quietly. passengers around me are just starting to shake their shoulders down and loosen into their seats. i close my eyes and pucker my throbbing lips which are white and achy from being tightly pressed together for so long. i start to think again about the steaming stench emanating from isa's diaper and wonder what the hell i am going to do about it. and then my dad reaches across me for his coke, which i placed on the tray table next to me, worried that he would spill it during the baby swap fiasco. as he leans over us to grab his drink, the baby bottle that he'd put in his front shirt pocket falls to the ground. anxiously, he looks at me to see if i notice and i shoot him a "good job, dad!" look. as he bends over to pick up the bottle, he spills HIS ENTIRE CUP OF ICE COLD COCA COLA onto manu's nursing head!!! the kid sputters as the soda fills his ears, his eyes, his nose....and then lets out a blood-curdling scream which sends his sister into a tantrum. i look at my father in disbelief, but i see from the look on his face that he is mortified and paralyzed with shame. people around us are shifting around in their seats and looking at us in horror as the airplane is filled, once again, with the sound of wailing, pissed off babies.
a woman from the back of the plane comes up to me, as i sit there trying to console my screaming children, one of whom is COVERED in sticky cola, and says, "m'am. please let me help you. i have four kids." "no thanks," i stammer and awkwardly get up from my seat and march toward the back of the plane, shushing and bouncing avoiding the gawking stares of the passengers along the way. once i reach the back of the plane, the flight attendant squeezes my arm and then gently pulls down my shirt to cover my exposed breast.
awesome. not only did i walk down the entire length of the plane with two screaming babies. i walked down the entire length of the plane with a screaming baby, a boob, and a screaming baby (covered in coke). this is awesome.
long story short, i stayed in the back of the plane until they were both asleep. and then i walked back to my seat, squeezed into place, and did not move a muscle until we landed in austin 3 hours later. there's one for the baby book.
in anticipation of our flight to miami (babies' first plane ride), i bought a box of 200 earplugs at the suggestion of my friend haley. i figured that, if the shit hit the fan and the babies lost it on the plane, i could at least offer earplugs to my fellow passengers in order to avoid their scorn. for good measure, and at the suggestion of our pediatrician, i also dosed them with a little benadryl moments before take-off in the hopes that it would knock them out for the duration of the flight.
except for a few tummy-clenching moments of isa crying as we were landing in miami, i have to say that the flight there was virtually painless. my sister sat across the aisle from me and expertly rocked, patted, and shushed her lap baby from take-off to landing. as the babies yawned and stretched and slowly awoke on our way to baggage claim, christie and i exchanged a triumphant high five and exhaled for the first time in hours. only five minutes of crying in over five hours of airplane travel....not bad at all.
the way back, however, was a totally different story. this time, my dad was my travel companion. as we settled into our seats and prepared for take-off, the babies seemed to be slipping into benadryl's dreamy embrace. i even took out my US weekly and began flipping through the gossip columns as the other passengers settled around us. somewhere between take-off and the beverage service, isa decided that it was a good time to make a massive and incredibly stinky poo. as she wriggled in my lap, grunting with the effort, loud and stinky baby farts filled the air around us. with every noisy blast, my dad and i laughed harder and harder. finally, certain that she'd finished with her business, i asked a flight attendant where i might find a changing table. "unfortunately," she said, "this airplane is an older model. there is no changing table. you'd really be better off changing her in your seat". you've got to be fucking kidding me, i (and the woman eating in the seat next to me) thought. just as i was debating whether it was better to change her diaper or let her ass rot for the duration of the flight, manu starts pitching a fit on my dad's lap across the aisle. i hand my dad a baby bottle filled with water, in the hopes that this will keep him entertained long enough for me to figure out what to do with isa, but this only makes him fussier. shit. ok. let's switch. i'll nurse manu, and my dad can hold isa for a minute and then i'll deal with her turd situation.
so we do the hand off, and as manu settles onto my breast, isa starts howling as my dad fumbles to hold her comfortably. oh, jesus christ. "dad, she doesn't like to be lying down. you have to hold her up. but snuggle her, and pat her.... maybe bounce her a little." but it's been a while since he held babies and his clumsiness is only making her scream louder so, after some shifting on my part, i ask him to hand her over. at this point, i'm trying to discretely tandem nurse two fussy babies in an AIRPLANE seat! "i'm really sorry," i say to everyone giving me stink eye, "i have earplugs. please take some, they're right in here." no one takes them, but they keep glaring at me as i shush and wriggle in my seat and try to keep both babies on a boob despite their flailing about in protest. it's from HELL. people are really starting to get annoyed. i'm embarrassed and frustrated and doing the best i can. my dad keeps smoothing the spot on his head where there once was hair, and nervously chuckling to himself. this goes on for AT LEAST twenty minutes.
finally, after what seems like hours of screaming, they start to settle down and i've got them both nursing quietly. passengers around me are just starting to shake their shoulders down and loosen into their seats. i close my eyes and pucker my throbbing lips which are white and achy from being tightly pressed together for so long. i start to think again about the steaming stench emanating from isa's diaper and wonder what the hell i am going to do about it. and then my dad reaches across me for his coke, which i placed on the tray table next to me, worried that he would spill it during the baby swap fiasco. as he leans over us to grab his drink, the baby bottle that he'd put in his front shirt pocket falls to the ground. anxiously, he looks at me to see if i notice and i shoot him a "good job, dad!" look. as he bends over to pick up the bottle, he spills HIS ENTIRE CUP OF ICE COLD COCA COLA onto manu's nursing head!!! the kid sputters as the soda fills his ears, his eyes, his nose....and then lets out a blood-curdling scream which sends his sister into a tantrum. i look at my father in disbelief, but i see from the look on his face that he is mortified and paralyzed with shame. people around us are shifting around in their seats and looking at us in horror as the airplane is filled, once again, with the sound of wailing, pissed off babies.
a woman from the back of the plane comes up to me, as i sit there trying to console my screaming children, one of whom is COVERED in sticky cola, and says, "m'am. please let me help you. i have four kids." "no thanks," i stammer and awkwardly get up from my seat and march toward the back of the plane, shushing and bouncing avoiding the gawking stares of the passengers along the way. once i reach the back of the plane, the flight attendant squeezes my arm and then gently pulls down my shirt to cover my exposed breast.
awesome. not only did i walk down the entire length of the plane with two screaming babies. i walked down the entire length of the plane with a screaming baby, a boob, and a screaming baby (covered in coke). this is awesome.
long story short, i stayed in the back of the plane until they were both asleep. and then i walked back to my seat, squeezed into place, and did not move a muscle until we landed in austin 3 hours later. there's one for the baby book.
have i lost my latin flavor?
January 29, 2007
my grandmother has been here for two and a half weeks. when we discussed her visit, i was desperate for help and kind of losing it by myself with two tiny babies all day long. even though my mom warned me that she was old, losing her mind, and not as spry as she used to be, i really needed an extra pair of hands and a warm bosom to help me hold these babies. i also felt that this would perhaps be my last long stretch of quality time with her, and that i would be glad to have her here regardless of her age (and the fact that she speaks no English despite having lived in the US for 30 years). and, although i am happy to see her and will even gaze fondly at her as she snores in the armchair with a baby in her arms, i have to be honest and say that SHE IS DRIVING ME CRAZY! she leaves on wednesday and, although i am not looking forward to being alone again, i can't wait to have my house to myself again.
i've never felt as white as i've felt the last few weeks. i am disgusted and annoyed at the ridiculousness of the telenovelas that have replaced the chatter of npr from my kitchen radio. women in mini skirts and tube tops shake their asses and play dumb on almost every single show she watches. then there's the day time talk shows that make jerry springer look like it belongs on pbs. has spanish tv always been this trashy, or have i lost my sense of humor?
and at what point does her experience trump my maternal instincts? why does it make me so mad when she suggests that emmanuel's crying might be a belly ache, or that isa's probably cold and needs a sweater? i can't figure out why it irritates me so bad, but it drives me absolutely nuts! his belly does NOT hurt, he's just being a brat. and she's not cold, YOU are. you go put on a sweater and leave her alone! am i reacting to what i perceive as an alarmist attitude, or am i just annoyed that she thinks she knows what's wrong better than i do? i hope i'm not that ridiculous, but i might be. in any case, i have to watch myself and roll my eyes behind her back because i am trying REALLY hard not to hurt her feelings.
i love my grandmother. i want us both to feel like we shared a special time together. but i'm no good at the contrived "quality time" and time is running out.... as much as i'm looking forward to peace and quiet again, i'm also a little sad that her visit wasn't the hallmark moment i wanted it to be.
my grandmother has been here for two and a half weeks. when we discussed her visit, i was desperate for help and kind of losing it by myself with two tiny babies all day long. even though my mom warned me that she was old, losing her mind, and not as spry as she used to be, i really needed an extra pair of hands and a warm bosom to help me hold these babies. i also felt that this would perhaps be my last long stretch of quality time with her, and that i would be glad to have her here regardless of her age (and the fact that she speaks no English despite having lived in the US for 30 years). and, although i am happy to see her and will even gaze fondly at her as she snores in the armchair with a baby in her arms, i have to be honest and say that SHE IS DRIVING ME CRAZY! she leaves on wednesday and, although i am not looking forward to being alone again, i can't wait to have my house to myself again.
i've never felt as white as i've felt the last few weeks. i am disgusted and annoyed at the ridiculousness of the telenovelas that have replaced the chatter of npr from my kitchen radio. women in mini skirts and tube tops shake their asses and play dumb on almost every single show she watches. then there's the day time talk shows that make jerry springer look like it belongs on pbs. has spanish tv always been this trashy, or have i lost my sense of humor?
and at what point does her experience trump my maternal instincts? why does it make me so mad when she suggests that emmanuel's crying might be a belly ache, or that isa's probably cold and needs a sweater? i can't figure out why it irritates me so bad, but it drives me absolutely nuts! his belly does NOT hurt, he's just being a brat. and she's not cold, YOU are. you go put on a sweater and leave her alone! am i reacting to what i perceive as an alarmist attitude, or am i just annoyed that she thinks she knows what's wrong better than i do? i hope i'm not that ridiculous, but i might be. in any case, i have to watch myself and roll my eyes behind her back because i am trying REALLY hard not to hurt her feelings.
i love my grandmother. i want us both to feel like we shared a special time together. but i'm no good at the contrived "quality time" and time is running out.... as much as i'm looking forward to peace and quiet again, i'm also a little sad that her visit wasn't the hallmark moment i wanted it to be.
mom hair
January 10, 2007
i've never been one to shower on a daily basis. most weeks, i'd say i average two to three showers. maybe more often in the summer and less often when it's cold out. mostly, if my hair is starting to stick to my head in a weird way, it's time for a shower. or maybe i'll catch a whiff of an armpit and realize it's been a few days. so, clearly, showering has always been more of a necessity for me than a luxury. but it's always been my choice. if i WANTED to, i could take a shower. i just usually have something better to do.
except that lately, i am DYING for a shower, dreaming of the hot water pounding my back, as i sit in a chair with babies asleep on me. maybe it's because it's the only time when i am truly all alone. maybe it's because it gets a little sweaty with two warm little bodies on top of me all day. maybe it's because i am often covered in spit up. yesterday, i was holding isa on my lap while checking email and i felt her tense up, a telltale sign of an imminent poo. next thing you know, there is a loud squirting sound and i feel a warm puddle on my lap. yep. her shit squirt out of her diaper and onto my lap. a stinky puddle of mustard-colored poo soaking into my pants and dripping onto the carpet.
so when jeremy gets home after an 11 or 12 hour day, i struggle with the urge to just hand them over and disappear into the bathroom for 30 minutes. i try to give him at least 5 minutes to put his keys down and settle in. and even that doesn't happen every day because i'm the mama and i'm the one that they want. so when i am able to sneak into the bath, the last thing i want is for my entire shower time to be spent untangling my dreading curls. so i now have mom hair. i actually *cut my hair* because i don't have time to untangle it. i find that a little ridiculous, honestly. i mean, a girl should be able to determine her haircut based on preference or aesthetics.
my hair has now been added to the list of things i've given up in the name of motherhood. other items on the list include:
sleep
sex
privacy
personal space
the right to use the bathroom as needed
the ability to eat when hungry
button-down shirts (not practical for nursing)
parties
shows
movies
travel
but, i will dutifully say that the list of things i've gained is far greater! :)
seriously, i love these babies. for real. but i was really unprepared for all the things that change when you've got little mouths to feed and comfort.
ps--they'll be 12 weeks old on friday. i can't believe it. they're smiling and laughing and sucking each other's heads and basically getting grown. my biscuits.
i've never been one to shower on a daily basis. most weeks, i'd say i average two to three showers. maybe more often in the summer and less often when it's cold out. mostly, if my hair is starting to stick to my head in a weird way, it's time for a shower. or maybe i'll catch a whiff of an armpit and realize it's been a few days. so, clearly, showering has always been more of a necessity for me than a luxury. but it's always been my choice. if i WANTED to, i could take a shower. i just usually have something better to do.
except that lately, i am DYING for a shower, dreaming of the hot water pounding my back, as i sit in a chair with babies asleep on me. maybe it's because it's the only time when i am truly all alone. maybe it's because it gets a little sweaty with two warm little bodies on top of me all day. maybe it's because i am often covered in spit up. yesterday, i was holding isa on my lap while checking email and i felt her tense up, a telltale sign of an imminent poo. next thing you know, there is a loud squirting sound and i feel a warm puddle on my lap. yep. her shit squirt out of her diaper and onto my lap. a stinky puddle of mustard-colored poo soaking into my pants and dripping onto the carpet.
so when jeremy gets home after an 11 or 12 hour day, i struggle with the urge to just hand them over and disappear into the bathroom for 30 minutes. i try to give him at least 5 minutes to put his keys down and settle in. and even that doesn't happen every day because i'm the mama and i'm the one that they want. so when i am able to sneak into the bath, the last thing i want is for my entire shower time to be spent untangling my dreading curls. so i now have mom hair. i actually *cut my hair* because i don't have time to untangle it. i find that a little ridiculous, honestly. i mean, a girl should be able to determine her haircut based on preference or aesthetics.
my hair has now been added to the list of things i've given up in the name of motherhood. other items on the list include:
sleep
sex
privacy
personal space
the right to use the bathroom as needed
the ability to eat when hungry
button-down shirts (not practical for nursing)
parties
shows
movies
travel
but, i will dutifully say that the list of things i've gained is far greater! :)
seriously, i love these babies. for real. but i was really unprepared for all the things that change when you've got little mouths to feed and comfort.
ps--they'll be 12 weeks old on friday. i can't believe it. they're smiling and laughing and sucking each other's heads and basically getting grown. my biscuits.
addendum to obsession: loneliness
December 15, 2006
i have to admit that, despite the beautiful moments that i am lucky enough to have with these babies on a daily basis, i'm kind of lonely. jeremy works ALL THE TIME. seriously. like 10 or 11 hours a day, six days a week. and we have awesome friends who check on me all the time, bring me lunch, or just stop by to say hello. but i'm still kind of lonely sometimes. maybe it's just the usual holiday funk, maybe it's hormones, or maybe it's the fact that i keep missing out on awesome parties and art shows and concerts. i know it seems ridiculous to care about parties when i have newborns to take care of, but i feel so isolated in baby land sometimes that i can't help but be jealous.
i know we did the right thing by buying this house and "building equity" but i also miss living in the heart of the neighborhood, where you sit on your front porch and watch your friends ride by.... the whole "it takes a village" mentality. so, instead of staying home and feeling sorry for ourselves, me and these babies hit the road most days. it's the only thing that keeps me going when i'm about to scream because they're both crying at the same time, or i haven't slept, or the dogs are driving me nuts....
don't get me wrong, i love these babies. i'm just adjusting to this whole motherhood thing.
i have to admit that, despite the beautiful moments that i am lucky enough to have with these babies on a daily basis, i'm kind of lonely. jeremy works ALL THE TIME. seriously. like 10 or 11 hours a day, six days a week. and we have awesome friends who check on me all the time, bring me lunch, or just stop by to say hello. but i'm still kind of lonely sometimes. maybe it's just the usual holiday funk, maybe it's hormones, or maybe it's the fact that i keep missing out on awesome parties and art shows and concerts. i know it seems ridiculous to care about parties when i have newborns to take care of, but i feel so isolated in baby land sometimes that i can't help but be jealous.
i know we did the right thing by buying this house and "building equity" but i also miss living in the heart of the neighborhood, where you sit on your front porch and watch your friends ride by.... the whole "it takes a village" mentality. so, instead of staying home and feeling sorry for ourselves, me and these babies hit the road most days. it's the only thing that keeps me going when i'm about to scream because they're both crying at the same time, or i haven't slept, or the dogs are driving me nuts....
don't get me wrong, i love these babies. i'm just adjusting to this whole motherhood thing.
sweet dreams are made of this
November 24, 2006
i would give anything in the world for a dark, cool room with fluffy pillows and a down comforter and 8 solid uninterrupted hours to myself. actually, 8 hours and a bed of hot coals sounds just fine at this point. most days, i get an average of about 6 hours of sleep, in one and a half to two hour increments. at night, i sleep sandwiched between two babies, turning towards one and then the other to stick a nipple in a sleepy mouth and drift back off to sleep while they nurse (it's a wonderful position we recently discovered called "side lying". i recommend it). but with jeremy teetering on the edge of the bed, our intimacy has been reduced to holding hands across the bed or playing footsie under the covers. in the morning, he goes off to work and i'm left to fend for myself and juggle two tiny little humans with only my two hands and a couple of swollen breasts to get us through the day. it's absolutely nuts. i feel like a warrior.
but my kids are f*ing beautiful. as exhausted as i am, and as maddening as it is when they cry and cry (both at the same time) for no reason i can decipher, i find myself staring down at their little faces while they nurse and being absolutely transfixed by the beauty of it all. i imagine part of it is hormonal (oxytocin, i think it is. the hormone that makes you sleepy and fall in love with your baby while you nurse) but it's also incredible to see pieces of yourself in such a tiny little person. i even marvel with tenderness at their bodily fluids. for instance, my son is anal retentive and requires a glycerine suppository in order to poo. this means that every two days, i stick my finger in his ass in order to stimulate his "tight rectal opening". and my daughter produces enormous slimy boogers on a daily basis. unless i suck these out, homegirl grunts and snorts like a little pig when she nurses. not to mention the mustard-colored poo that leaks out of their diapers, the constant spray of spit-up that i wear, the rings around my nipples from leaking milk, or the fact that my son has peed on me countless times already. it's a messy world and i am not disgusted by any of it.
i would give anything in the world for a dark, cool room with fluffy pillows and a down comforter and 8 solid uninterrupted hours to myself. actually, 8 hours and a bed of hot coals sounds just fine at this point. most days, i get an average of about 6 hours of sleep, in one and a half to two hour increments. at night, i sleep sandwiched between two babies, turning towards one and then the other to stick a nipple in a sleepy mouth and drift back off to sleep while they nurse (it's a wonderful position we recently discovered called "side lying". i recommend it). but with jeremy teetering on the edge of the bed, our intimacy has been reduced to holding hands across the bed or playing footsie under the covers. in the morning, he goes off to work and i'm left to fend for myself and juggle two tiny little humans with only my two hands and a couple of swollen breasts to get us through the day. it's absolutely nuts. i feel like a warrior.
but my kids are f*ing beautiful. as exhausted as i am, and as maddening as it is when they cry and cry (both at the same time) for no reason i can decipher, i find myself staring down at their little faces while they nurse and being absolutely transfixed by the beauty of it all. i imagine part of it is hormonal (oxytocin, i think it is. the hormone that makes you sleepy and fall in love with your baby while you nurse) but it's also incredible to see pieces of yourself in such a tiny little person. i even marvel with tenderness at their bodily fluids. for instance, my son is anal retentive and requires a glycerine suppository in order to poo. this means that every two days, i stick my finger in his ass in order to stimulate his "tight rectal opening". and my daughter produces enormous slimy boogers on a daily basis. unless i suck these out, homegirl grunts and snorts like a little pig when she nurses. not to mention the mustard-colored poo that leaks out of their diapers, the constant spray of spit-up that i wear, the rings around my nipples from leaking milk, or the fact that my son has peed on me countless times already. it's a messy world and i am not disgusted by any of it.
when instinct fails...
October 28, 2006
your nipples bleed.
breast feeding twins is the craziest thing i've ever done.
your nipples bleed.
breast feeding twins is the craziest thing i've ever done.
family
October 25, 2006
disclaimer: i'm overwhelmed with emotions due to hormones and circumstance so pardon the post partum rambling.
for the last two days, i've sat in my living room in an old lazy boy recliner with a baby on a (raw and enormous) breast and surrounded by my family. my mom, stepdad, sister and little brother are here until saturday, and it's moments like these that i realize why i fell in love with this house when we bought it. despite the tacky 70s wood paneling and ghetto carpet, this living room was made for family. christy reading on one couch, jose snoring on the other. andy playing on the floor with the dogs. mom pacing back and forth with a screaming baby in her arms while jeremy runs back and forth with diapers and extra blankets and socks and baby wipes. meanwhile, cell phones ring and babies cry and it feels like total chaos but it also feels more like home than ever. with the smell of my mom's cuban food drifting over from the kitchen and the sounds of univision on the tv, it's easy to forget that i'm not in miami and that soon i will be left to raise my own family with whatever words of wisdom and tricks of the trade i absorb from my mother in the few days she's here.
i'm overwhelmed and sleep deprived. my nipples are sore as hell and my hair is starting to dread from lack of maintenance. my ankles are still the size of pumpkins and i have an achy scar on the underside of my belly from where they pulled my babies out. this morning, i was ready to punch someone in the face after being up all night with fussy babies that kept up their crying til almost 2 in the afternoon. but, at the same time, i am so happy, i could cry on command. i love my family, old and new, more than anything in the world. jeremy is already an awesome daddy and so far i'm really into this whole mama thing.
disclaimer: i'm overwhelmed with emotions due to hormones and circumstance so pardon the post partum rambling.
for the last two days, i've sat in my living room in an old lazy boy recliner with a baby on a (raw and enormous) breast and surrounded by my family. my mom, stepdad, sister and little brother are here until saturday, and it's moments like these that i realize why i fell in love with this house when we bought it. despite the tacky 70s wood paneling and ghetto carpet, this living room was made for family. christy reading on one couch, jose snoring on the other. andy playing on the floor with the dogs. mom pacing back and forth with a screaming baby in her arms while jeremy runs back and forth with diapers and extra blankets and socks and baby wipes. meanwhile, cell phones ring and babies cry and it feels like total chaos but it also feels more like home than ever. with the smell of my mom's cuban food drifting over from the kitchen and the sounds of univision on the tv, it's easy to forget that i'm not in miami and that soon i will be left to raise my own family with whatever words of wisdom and tricks of the trade i absorb from my mother in the few days she's here.
i'm overwhelmed and sleep deprived. my nipples are sore as hell and my hair is starting to dread from lack of maintenance. my ankles are still the size of pumpkins and i have an achy scar on the underside of my belly from where they pulled my babies out. this morning, i was ready to punch someone in the face after being up all night with fussy babies that kept up their crying til almost 2 in the afternoon. but, at the same time, i am so happy, i could cry on command. i love my family, old and new, more than anything in the world. jeremy is already an awesome daddy and so far i'm really into this whole mama thing.
mom?
October 19, 2006
i'm going to be a mother tomorrow. there are many many words running through my head: excitement, fear, and anxiety are just a few. is it going to hurt? will my babies be healthy? what will they look like? will i know what to do? will i feel happy and confident or continue feeling terrified of the whole thing?
i can't imagine that i will get any sleep tonight.
i'm going to be a mother tomorrow. there are many many words running through my head: excitement, fear, and anxiety are just a few. is it going to hurt? will my babies be healthy? what will they look like? will i know what to do? will i feel happy and confident or continue feeling terrified of the whole thing?
i can't imagine that i will get any sleep tonight.
(not so) dry run
October 18, 2006
last night, at approximately 9:30pm, i was convinced that i had either peed myself or that my waters had broken. after phone calls to the midwife, my mother, and the OB (in that order), it was suggested that i head on to the hospital as i was more than likely in labor.
jeremy and i scrambled throughout the house, packing up toothpaste and cell phone chargers and other last minute items. meanwhile, the doggies followed us from room to room and looked at us with apprehension and confusion as we solemnly said goodbye to them and asked them to be good in our absence.
once we got to the hospital and i was admitted to a labor and delivery room, i totally lost my cool. i sobbed like a child when the nurse asked me to change into the buttless hospital outfit and climb into bed for my exam. i stumbled over questions such as, "how many years of school have you completed?" and "have you drank any alcohol during your pregnancy?". when asked about any surgeries or reactions to anesthesia, i totally forgot to mention that i WOKE UP in the middle of a heinous oral surgery procedure two years ago because i was given an insufficient dose. somehow, that seems like an important detail to share with the people that are about to slice my stomach open and extract two babies. i DEFINITELY want to make sure that the dosage is sufficient on that one.
while nurse A continues to ask me about a bazillion questions, nurse B is getting lubed up and ready for my physical exam.....
(an aside-- let me tell you something about being pregnant: EVERYONE and their MOTHER gets to put on some gloves, squirt them with lube, and jab their fingers deep into your vagina on a very regular basis. wanna talk about my sex drive? i don't think i'll feel comfortable unless jeremy dons some gloves before getting intimate in the future.)
...with speculum in place and her face between my legs, she asks me to take a deep breath and cough. then she scrapes some samples onto a slide. and, finally, she dips her litmus paper deep into my vagina to determine the nature of the wetness. if it is determined that it is in fact amniotic fluid, i will be scheduled for a c-section in the morning because emmanuel is still a footling breech, having kicked his sister's head out of my canal a few weeks ago. if the tests come back negative, i will be free to go.
a few minutes later, it is determined that it is NOT amniotic fluid and that the source of my wetness is the BABIES pushing on my BLADDER (yeah, gross). basically, i am involuntarily peeing all over myself and can't do anything to stop it except lie on my side to try to get them off my bladder. awesome. yet another exciting development in the progression of the never-ending pregnancy.
so we came back home to two very excited doggies and enjoyed another restless night without babies.
12:25 PM 2 Comments(
last night, at approximately 9:30pm, i was convinced that i had either peed myself or that my waters had broken. after phone calls to the midwife, my mother, and the OB (in that order), it was suggested that i head on to the hospital as i was more than likely in labor.
jeremy and i scrambled throughout the house, packing up toothpaste and cell phone chargers and other last minute items. meanwhile, the doggies followed us from room to room and looked at us with apprehension and confusion as we solemnly said goodbye to them and asked them to be good in our absence.
once we got to the hospital and i was admitted to a labor and delivery room, i totally lost my cool. i sobbed like a child when the nurse asked me to change into the buttless hospital outfit and climb into bed for my exam. i stumbled over questions such as, "how many years of school have you completed?" and "have you drank any alcohol during your pregnancy?". when asked about any surgeries or reactions to anesthesia, i totally forgot to mention that i WOKE UP in the middle of a heinous oral surgery procedure two years ago because i was given an insufficient dose. somehow, that seems like an important detail to share with the people that are about to slice my stomach open and extract two babies. i DEFINITELY want to make sure that the dosage is sufficient on that one.
while nurse A continues to ask me about a bazillion questions, nurse B is getting lubed up and ready for my physical exam.....
(an aside-- let me tell you something about being pregnant: EVERYONE and their MOTHER gets to put on some gloves, squirt them with lube, and jab their fingers deep into your vagina on a very regular basis. wanna talk about my sex drive? i don't think i'll feel comfortable unless jeremy dons some gloves before getting intimate in the future.)
...with speculum in place and her face between my legs, she asks me to take a deep breath and cough. then she scrapes some samples onto a slide. and, finally, she dips her litmus paper deep into my vagina to determine the nature of the wetness. if it is determined that it is in fact amniotic fluid, i will be scheduled for a c-section in the morning because emmanuel is still a footling breech, having kicked his sister's head out of my canal a few weeks ago. if the tests come back negative, i will be free to go.
a few minutes later, it is determined that it is NOT amniotic fluid and that the source of my wetness is the BABIES pushing on my BLADDER (yeah, gross). basically, i am involuntarily peeing all over myself and can't do anything to stop it except lie on my side to try to get them off my bladder. awesome. yet another exciting development in the progression of the never-ending pregnancy.
so we came back home to two very excited doggies and enjoyed another restless night without babies.
12:25 PM 2 Comments(
i'm RIPE!!!!!
October 11, 2006
i had a home visit with my midwife today. after giving her the grand tour and showing off all the baby acoutrements i've got ready and waiting, i climbed onto my bed and assumed the position: lying on my back with my knees bent and my feet heel to heel. she put on the glove, lubed up her fingers, and dug around my cervix. "oooh", she said, as she felt around for a head or limbs, "you are so soft and ripe!"
know what that means? that means another week, at the most! WOO HOOOOOOO!!!!!!!
we're having babies, people! it's really going to happen. i can't believe it.
i had a home visit with my midwife today. after giving her the grand tour and showing off all the baby acoutrements i've got ready and waiting, i climbed onto my bed and assumed the position: lying on my back with my knees bent and my feet heel to heel. she put on the glove, lubed up her fingers, and dug around my cervix. "oooh", she said, as she felt around for a head or limbs, "you are so soft and ripe!"
know what that means? that means another week, at the most! WOO HOOOOOOO!!!!!!!
we're having babies, people! it's really going to happen. i can't believe it.
drugs or no drugs? tie dye or scrubs?
September 29, 2006
having two people monitoring my pregnancy is becoming very confusing. in the next week or so, i will have to think long and hard about whether or not to have an epidural, even though my original intention was a fully natural vaginal homebirth. at this point, i've discussed this with both my midwife and the OB and they both lie on far opposite sides of the spectrum. however, that's kind of how they lie on everything having to do with my pregnancy so at this point, i'm just confused.
on the one hand, there's my midwife. she's convinced that i'm going to carry these babies to term (4 weeks) because i'm not even "soft" yet. meanwhile, the OB thinks i've got two weeks, tops. so which is it???? she uses her fingers (quite forcefully) to assess my progress while he uses an electronic, dildo-like probe that allows him to see my cervix on an ultrasound machine. both procedures are equally invasive, but i have to say i'm a little more comfortable with the midwife's method.
according to her, an epidural would not only slow down labor, it could affect the babies' vitals and create complications that could lead to a c-section. the ob, however, thinks that an epidural would save us valuable time in the event that the 2nd baby turns after the first one comes out. for instance, if he has to manually turn the second baby in order to pull it out of my vagina, it will be a lot easier if i'm not screaming bloody murder in the process. or if he has to do an emergency c-section, we won't have to wait for anesthesia to kick in. in his opinion, an epidural is strongly recommended and that the benefits far outweigh the potential cons.
so i don't know what to do. i'd like to have these babies naturally and vaginally. and he thinks that that is entirely possible, with or without an epidural. however, if he has to stick his entire arm up my vagina and twist a baby out, i might really be grateful for the drugs. but what if neither of those situations occur and i manage to have a smooth vaginal delivery? will i be disappointed to have wussed out and gone the epidural route?
plus, after my weekly exam today, he told me that i was "a poster child for twin gestation". apparently, i'm doing a really good job of keeping these babies healthy. they both weigh nearly 5 pounds each and our vitals are kicking ass. but i can't really take full credit for that. i really think that my midwife has seriously contributed to the healthiness of my pregnancy and the babies because of the hard-core vitamin, diet, and exercise regimen that she's got me on. so maybe i should listen to her, and not fall for the worst-case-scenario mumbo jumbo. i just don't know!!!!!!!!!
having two people monitoring my pregnancy is becoming very confusing. in the next week or so, i will have to think long and hard about whether or not to have an epidural, even though my original intention was a fully natural vaginal homebirth. at this point, i've discussed this with both my midwife and the OB and they both lie on far opposite sides of the spectrum. however, that's kind of how they lie on everything having to do with my pregnancy so at this point, i'm just confused.
on the one hand, there's my midwife. she's convinced that i'm going to carry these babies to term (4 weeks) because i'm not even "soft" yet. meanwhile, the OB thinks i've got two weeks, tops. so which is it???? she uses her fingers (quite forcefully) to assess my progress while he uses an electronic, dildo-like probe that allows him to see my cervix on an ultrasound machine. both procedures are equally invasive, but i have to say i'm a little more comfortable with the midwife's method.
according to her, an epidural would not only slow down labor, it could affect the babies' vitals and create complications that could lead to a c-section. the ob, however, thinks that an epidural would save us valuable time in the event that the 2nd baby turns after the first one comes out. for instance, if he has to manually turn the second baby in order to pull it out of my vagina, it will be a lot easier if i'm not screaming bloody murder in the process. or if he has to do an emergency c-section, we won't have to wait for anesthesia to kick in. in his opinion, an epidural is strongly recommended and that the benefits far outweigh the potential cons.
so i don't know what to do. i'd like to have these babies naturally and vaginally. and he thinks that that is entirely possible, with or without an epidural. however, if he has to stick his entire arm up my vagina and twist a baby out, i might really be grateful for the drugs. but what if neither of those situations occur and i manage to have a smooth vaginal delivery? will i be disappointed to have wussed out and gone the epidural route?
plus, after my weekly exam today, he told me that i was "a poster child for twin gestation". apparently, i'm doing a really good job of keeping these babies healthy. they both weigh nearly 5 pounds each and our vitals are kicking ass. but i can't really take full credit for that. i really think that my midwife has seriously contributed to the healthiness of my pregnancy and the babies because of the hard-core vitamin, diet, and exercise regimen that she's got me on. so maybe i should listen to her, and not fall for the worst-case-scenario mumbo jumbo. i just don't know!!!!!!!!!
catholic guilt?
despite being a woman of loose morals and questionable reputation, i actually went to catholic school from first through eighth grade. for years, my mother's hard-earned money went towards granting her daughters a prestigious education at one of miami's finest schools, in the hopes that we would one day turn out to be fine young catholic women. and i was into it. i sang my little heart out in the choir every week, have 5 of the 7 sacraments under my belt (holy orders and last rites don't apply just yet), and even remember some psalms and gospels according to matthew, mark, luke, and john. but then i went to public school, met some pot-smoking hippies, and discovered the pleasures of the flesh. and i can't really say i've ever turned back.
however, lately i've been feeling a certain spiritual pull in the back of my neck. not that i would ever go back to the oppressive and classist world of the catholic church, or really any church, but doing pre-natal yoga re-opened a pocket of mysticism that i thought i had left behind many years ago. suddenly, i'm really into the whole idea of meditating (versus the term "praying") and imagining the different colors of energy that surround us. whatever, i'm half-joking, i guess. but my point is that i think being pregnant and feeling the babies move inside my belly has turned into something of a spiritual experience. and opening that door has left me wanting more.
which leads me to a very bizarre dream that i had the other night. i've been dreaming about the babies, in one way or another, for several weeks now. i dreamt that i had one baby and that the other was on its way, like a fedex package. i dreamt that i had to push and push and push to get the baby out and it was born healthy but it was a toaster and jeremy didn't want to cut the cord because then how would it work? i even dreamt that i was lovingly gazing into my baby's face, marveling at his beauty, lying in a bed full of poo because i was too tired to clean it up and we'd run out of baby wipes. some weird shit.
but the other night takes the cake. i dreamt that my midwife was the principal of my catholic school, sr. kathleen, a woman i have not seen or even thought about in over 10 years. if she's even alive still, she's definitely pushing 90 and my memories of her are not warm and fuzzy. she's prim, proper, and mean looking. and definitely not the kind of woman i want anywhere near my vagina. but in my dream, she had just delivered isabel, and she wouldn't let me hold the baby until i stood in front of the entire congregation (which had somehow managed to squeeze into the delivery room) and sang the ave maria. i kept telling her that i didn't know the words, as i struggled to cover my naked breasts, and sit up straight in my delivery bed. i could see isabel looking at me from sr. kathleen's arms, but i was too scared to wrestle her away from the grim-faced nun. finally, desperate to take my kid away from her, i told her that if she could find my laptop, i would google the "lyrics" and sing my little heart out, just like back in the old days. suddenly, the congregation burst into laughter and someone passed me a missalette (sp?) which has all of the appropriate readings and hymns for the corresponding season. with a mixture of terror and practiced poise, i opened it to the ave maria and sang it with all my heart, with one hand covering my breasts and the other reaching for my daughter. you tell me what the hell that means.
5:24 PM 5 Comments(Add Commen
however, lately i've been feeling a certain spiritual pull in the back of my neck. not that i would ever go back to the oppressive and classist world of the catholic church, or really any church, but doing pre-natal yoga re-opened a pocket of mysticism that i thought i had left behind many years ago. suddenly, i'm really into the whole idea of meditating (versus the term "praying") and imagining the different colors of energy that surround us. whatever, i'm half-joking, i guess. but my point is that i think being pregnant and feeling the babies move inside my belly has turned into something of a spiritual experience. and opening that door has left me wanting more.
which leads me to a very bizarre dream that i had the other night. i've been dreaming about the babies, in one way or another, for several weeks now. i dreamt that i had one baby and that the other was on its way, like a fedex package. i dreamt that i had to push and push and push to get the baby out and it was born healthy but it was a toaster and jeremy didn't want to cut the cord because then how would it work? i even dreamt that i was lovingly gazing into my baby's face, marveling at his beauty, lying in a bed full of poo because i was too tired to clean it up and we'd run out of baby wipes. some weird shit.
but the other night takes the cake. i dreamt that my midwife was the principal of my catholic school, sr. kathleen, a woman i have not seen or even thought about in over 10 years. if she's even alive still, she's definitely pushing 90 and my memories of her are not warm and fuzzy. she's prim, proper, and mean looking. and definitely not the kind of woman i want anywhere near my vagina. but in my dream, she had just delivered isabel, and she wouldn't let me hold the baby until i stood in front of the entire congregation (which had somehow managed to squeeze into the delivery room) and sang the ave maria. i kept telling her that i didn't know the words, as i struggled to cover my naked breasts, and sit up straight in my delivery bed. i could see isabel looking at me from sr. kathleen's arms, but i was too scared to wrestle her away from the grim-faced nun. finally, desperate to take my kid away from her, i told her that if she could find my laptop, i would google the "lyrics" and sing my little heart out, just like back in the old days. suddenly, the congregation burst into laughter and someone passed me a missalette (sp?) which has all of the appropriate readings and hymns for the corresponding season. with a mixture of terror and practiced poise, i opened it to the ave maria and sang it with all my heart, with one hand covering my breasts and the other reaching for my daughter. you tell me what the hell that means.
5:24 PM 5 Comments(Add Commen
i'm ready
August 28, 2006
i'm not sure if it's hormones, or a change in the wind, or just the natural course of this "condition" i'm in (i'm sick of the p word), but i woke up today in the greatest mood. even the doggies seem to be smiling today. and it's not even 10 o'clock.
yesterday was our austin babyshower. all of our nearest and dearest friends came over and brought food and drink and gifts and i soaked up every minute of it. i feel like i wore a silly grin from ear to ear the whole time. the last time there were that many people at our house was our shotgun wedding, which i barely remember because i was such a basket case at the time. so this was like a perfect do-over.
despite a nasty case of heartburn and a nagging backache, i think i managed to make it all day long without complaints because i was so distracted by the activities and the company. it really was fantastic. i wouldn't give up the friends we have and the community we live in for all the money in the world. these babies are lucky to have such a wonderful extended family. and now that i have all the necessary accoutrements, i say BRING IT ON! i want to meet my babies already.
i'm not sure if it's hormones, or a change in the wind, or just the natural course of this "condition" i'm in (i'm sick of the p word), but i woke up today in the greatest mood. even the doggies seem to be smiling today. and it's not even 10 o'clock.
yesterday was our austin babyshower. all of our nearest and dearest friends came over and brought food and drink and gifts and i soaked up every minute of it. i feel like i wore a silly grin from ear to ear the whole time. the last time there were that many people at our house was our shotgun wedding, which i barely remember because i was such a basket case at the time. so this was like a perfect do-over.
despite a nasty case of heartburn and a nagging backache, i think i managed to make it all day long without complaints because i was so distracted by the activities and the company. it really was fantastic. i wouldn't give up the friends we have and the community we live in for all the money in the world. these babies are lucky to have such a wonderful extended family. and now that i have all the necessary accoutrements, i say BRING IT ON! i want to meet my babies already.
perspectives
August 23, 2006
can't sleep. i should be used to it by now because it seems i haven't really slept since about april, but tonight it's my head that's keeping me up. i just can't get my mind to settle. i feel like it's about to burst with all the tension and pressure and steam that has been steadily accumulating since february. maybe that's why labor is such a bitch. maybe i'm supposed to take all this nervous energy and pant pant blow it out with every contraction. honestly, i could never understand why women near the end of their pregnancy would prefer the pain of labor to the continuation of the pregnancy. not to mention that after all the grunting and pushing and screaming, you are handed a tiny infant whose livelihood is entirely dependent on you. forever. but, right now, i would rather be up because of crying babies than continue to deal with the static in my head and the achiness in my bones.
i can't stop thinking about labor: when is it going to happen? what's it going to be like? will i wake up in the middle of the night in a pool of amniotic fluid or will it just gush from between my legs while i pump gas or check the mail? what's the hospital going to be like? are the babies going to be okay or will they have to stay in the nicu for days or weeks? i realize that this train of thought is entirely unproductive and i really need to chill so i try to change the subject, think about something else, but it just keeps creeping back in....
of course, then there's that other train of thought that makes me question myself and my relationship: do i have my shit together? what should i do to be more prepared? is our house clean enough? is our relationship healthy enough? do we have what it takes to be a good loving family? what if jeremy and i stop loving each other or fight in front of the kids?
we had a fight tonight about drinking and i went to bed angry which never makes for a good night's sleep. so maybe that's part of the reason my head's spinning with such nonsense. but i also realize that these fears are also totally normal and that everyone probably experiences them on one level or another. i guess i'm just ready for the next phase in this adventure. i'm ready to be done with the heartburn and back ache and pelvic pops, and get this damn show on the road. the suspense is killing me. and it's not like i'm getting any sleep anyway. i'd rather be smelling my babies' heads as they nurse than continue to toss and turn and imagine worst case scenarios.
can't sleep. i should be used to it by now because it seems i haven't really slept since about april, but tonight it's my head that's keeping me up. i just can't get my mind to settle. i feel like it's about to burst with all the tension and pressure and steam that has been steadily accumulating since february. maybe that's why labor is such a bitch. maybe i'm supposed to take all this nervous energy and pant pant blow it out with every contraction. honestly, i could never understand why women near the end of their pregnancy would prefer the pain of labor to the continuation of the pregnancy. not to mention that after all the grunting and pushing and screaming, you are handed a tiny infant whose livelihood is entirely dependent on you. forever. but, right now, i would rather be up because of crying babies than continue to deal with the static in my head and the achiness in my bones.
i can't stop thinking about labor: when is it going to happen? what's it going to be like? will i wake up in the middle of the night in a pool of amniotic fluid or will it just gush from between my legs while i pump gas or check the mail? what's the hospital going to be like? are the babies going to be okay or will they have to stay in the nicu for days or weeks? i realize that this train of thought is entirely unproductive and i really need to chill so i try to change the subject, think about something else, but it just keeps creeping back in....
of course, then there's that other train of thought that makes me question myself and my relationship: do i have my shit together? what should i do to be more prepared? is our house clean enough? is our relationship healthy enough? do we have what it takes to be a good loving family? what if jeremy and i stop loving each other or fight in front of the kids?
we had a fight tonight about drinking and i went to bed angry which never makes for a good night's sleep. so maybe that's part of the reason my head's spinning with such nonsense. but i also realize that these fears are also totally normal and that everyone probably experiences them on one level or another. i guess i'm just ready for the next phase in this adventure. i'm ready to be done with the heartburn and back ache and pelvic pops, and get this damn show on the road. the suspense is killing me. and it's not like i'm getting any sleep anyway. i'd rather be smelling my babies' heads as they nurse than continue to toss and turn and imagine worst case scenarios.
history will absolve me
August 1, 2006
i feel like i've been waiting for this day my entire life: the fall of FIDEL CASTRO. and now that it's here, i'm incredulous and confused and maybe even a little paranoid. my first reaction was terrible sadness. i can't believe that i didn't make it to cuba during his regime. who knows what is going to happen to cuba and how it's going to fend off the grubby hands that want to claim a piece of the very small paradise pie.
and then there's the mystery surrounding his surrender.
i mean, is he sick or is he dead? is this some sort of government cover-up or is fidel just a brilliant political player taking advantage of the current u.s. military involvement in the middle east? what the hell is going to happen now? are the crazy right-wing miami cubans going to attempt to take back the island? will chavez have any influence on anyone? THIS IS CRAZY.
i can't believe i'm not in miami for this. my mom says that they closed down calle ocho for celebrations and that there's a huge block party with congas and cuban flags in front of la carreta on bird road. move over, elian. the dolphins that picked you up out of those shark-infested waters and brought you to safety on u.s. soil are going to have to put their work boots on because this is going to be a cuban exaggeration like we've never seen before.
i feel like i've been waiting for this day my entire life: the fall of FIDEL CASTRO. and now that it's here, i'm incredulous and confused and maybe even a little paranoid. my first reaction was terrible sadness. i can't believe that i didn't make it to cuba during his regime. who knows what is going to happen to cuba and how it's going to fend off the grubby hands that want to claim a piece of the very small paradise pie.
and then there's the mystery surrounding his surrender.
i mean, is he sick or is he dead? is this some sort of government cover-up or is fidel just a brilliant political player taking advantage of the current u.s. military involvement in the middle east? what the hell is going to happen now? are the crazy right-wing miami cubans going to attempt to take back the island? will chavez have any influence on anyone? THIS IS CRAZY.
i can't believe i'm not in miami for this. my mom says that they closed down calle ocho for celebrations and that there's a huge block party with congas and cuban flags in front of la carreta on bird road. move over, elian. the dolphins that picked you up out of those shark-infested waters and brought you to safety on u.s. soil are going to have to put their work boots on because this is going to be a cuban exaggeration like we've never seen before.
ever wanted to punch a 7 year-old in the face?
July 28, 2006
in my attempt to build my empire as a freelance personal assistant/spanish tutor/baby sitter/errand runner (read: whatever you'll pay me to do for you), i flyered this town a few weeks ago offering my services for dirt cheap. i call myself MOTHER's LITTLE HELPER and really feel like it will be a successful enterprise, once i get my ass in gear and really put some effort towards advertising on craig's list and mommy web lists. so far, my clients range from a little old lady that needs to be driven to the bank and grocery store once a week, to a local musician/math tutor who needs admin help and light housekeeping, to random one-time gigs. since i will have to be on bed rest the entire month of september, i've become a lot less discriminate in the jobs i'll accept so i can save some money before the birth of the beans....which leads me back to the 7 year-old from hell.
i accepted a baby-sitting gig because i was going to make $60 for just 3 hours worth of work and the lady assured me that her two year-old was really easy-going and mellow. i was to arrive at her house at 9am this morning and help her watch the kid while she ran some last minute errands before a weekend getaway. apparently, her husband is the primary bread-winner and is very busy traveling from city to city making the family millions. she is a stay-at-home mom with three children (ages 9, 7, and 2), and they live in a huge (but boring and generic) house in west lake hills--a wealthy suburb of austin. as soon as i saw the house, while parking in the enormous driveway, i immediately regretted my choice of attire which exposed both the tattoo on my arm as well as my hairy armpits. suddenly, my $3 old navy flip flops seemed flimsier than ever and i reverted to a self-consciousness i'd left behind long ago when i moved the hell out of miami. since there was really nothing i could do about it, i gave myself a final once-over in the rearview mirror, walked up the windy steps to the massive front door, and rang the bell.
when the mom greeted me with a warm smile and an adorable toddler grinning at her hip, i was instantly relieved and a little guilty for being so prematurely defensive. the little boy really was adorable and sweet-natured and we had a lovely morning playing with his train set and reading books while the mom and the 7 year-old daughter hit the town with their errands. the shit didn't hit the fan until they got BACK from the errands and the little girl from hell suddenly wanted in on the games. one of the games she wanted us to play involved looking through her yearbook and putting people into two categories: fat and ugly or pretty princess. i really wasn't into it but was not about to lecture her on why i thought the whole idea was really fucked up so i attempted a distraction and suggested we play with some legos instead. she wasn't into that idea and immediately starting hurling some insults at me. a few choice quotes include: "were you always so fat or are you just fat because you're having two babies?" or "you really need to let me brush your hair (as she lunges towards me with a pink barbie plastic brush). you'd look a lot less fat and ugly if you brushed your hair and put on some make-up". it was really hard to keep my mouth shut at this, but i had no idea where the mom was or whether she was within ear shot so i just shot the girl a vicious look and decided to completely ignore her from here on out. the last straw was when the little turd threw herself on top of me, hitting me pretty hard on my belly, and grasping at my hair which she was DETERMINED to get her nasty little brush in. at that point, i really wanted to punch her square in the face but instead i grabbed her firmly by the arm and told her that she was not to touch me again. i really think i scared the shit out of her. she sat quietly in the corner and flipped through her yearbook for the rest of my stint there. just in case she forgot how mean and nasty i could be if i wanted to, i routinely made sure to make eye contact and shot her some "or else" looks just to make sure she kept her little mouth shut and her grubby hands to herself.
in my attempt to build my empire as a freelance personal assistant/spanish tutor/baby sitter/errand runner (read: whatever you'll pay me to do for you), i flyered this town a few weeks ago offering my services for dirt cheap. i call myself MOTHER's LITTLE HELPER and really feel like it will be a successful enterprise, once i get my ass in gear and really put some effort towards advertising on craig's list and mommy web lists. so far, my clients range from a little old lady that needs to be driven to the bank and grocery store once a week, to a local musician/math tutor who needs admin help and light housekeeping, to random one-time gigs. since i will have to be on bed rest the entire month of september, i've become a lot less discriminate in the jobs i'll accept so i can save some money before the birth of the beans....which leads me back to the 7 year-old from hell.
i accepted a baby-sitting gig because i was going to make $60 for just 3 hours worth of work and the lady assured me that her two year-old was really easy-going and mellow. i was to arrive at her house at 9am this morning and help her watch the kid while she ran some last minute errands before a weekend getaway. apparently, her husband is the primary bread-winner and is very busy traveling from city to city making the family millions. she is a stay-at-home mom with three children (ages 9, 7, and 2), and they live in a huge (but boring and generic) house in west lake hills--a wealthy suburb of austin. as soon as i saw the house, while parking in the enormous driveway, i immediately regretted my choice of attire which exposed both the tattoo on my arm as well as my hairy armpits. suddenly, my $3 old navy flip flops seemed flimsier than ever and i reverted to a self-consciousness i'd left behind long ago when i moved the hell out of miami. since there was really nothing i could do about it, i gave myself a final once-over in the rearview mirror, walked up the windy steps to the massive front door, and rang the bell.
when the mom greeted me with a warm smile and an adorable toddler grinning at her hip, i was instantly relieved and a little guilty for being so prematurely defensive. the little boy really was adorable and sweet-natured and we had a lovely morning playing with his train set and reading books while the mom and the 7 year-old daughter hit the town with their errands. the shit didn't hit the fan until they got BACK from the errands and the little girl from hell suddenly wanted in on the games. one of the games she wanted us to play involved looking through her yearbook and putting people into two categories: fat and ugly or pretty princess. i really wasn't into it but was not about to lecture her on why i thought the whole idea was really fucked up so i attempted a distraction and suggested we play with some legos instead. she wasn't into that idea and immediately starting hurling some insults at me. a few choice quotes include: "were you always so fat or are you just fat because you're having two babies?" or "you really need to let me brush your hair (as she lunges towards me with a pink barbie plastic brush). you'd look a lot less fat and ugly if you brushed your hair and put on some make-up". it was really hard to keep my mouth shut at this, but i had no idea where the mom was or whether she was within ear shot so i just shot the girl a vicious look and decided to completely ignore her from here on out. the last straw was when the little turd threw herself on top of me, hitting me pretty hard on my belly, and grasping at my hair which she was DETERMINED to get her nasty little brush in. at that point, i really wanted to punch her square in the face but instead i grabbed her firmly by the arm and told her that she was not to touch me again. i really think i scared the shit out of her. she sat quietly in the corner and flipped through her yearbook for the rest of my stint there. just in case she forgot how mean and nasty i could be if i wanted to, i routinely made sure to make eye contact and shot her some "or else" looks just to make sure she kept her little mouth shut and her grubby hands to herself.
my body
July 25, 2006
i wonder what's going to happen to my body. when i stand before a mirror, i am amazed at the beauty of my large brown belly. it's so smooth and firm. as weeks go by, the black line that cuts through my belly button gets darker and darker, splitting my belly into two symmetrical halves. i can hardly believe that there are two babies growing in there. are they each confined to their half, or can they trade places and swim around each other? it seems like i would feel a lot more craziness in there if they could play around that much. luckily, i am not yet at the point where their movement is painful. i'm waiting for the swift kick to the ribs or the little fist outline on my skin. so far, it's still mostly flutters and gentle jabs. much to his frustration, even jeremy has only felt a handful of movements through my belly, despite their seemingly constant acrobatics.
it's really had to imagine that they still have so much growing to do. already, i feel like i'm carrying around a ton of bricks. if i make it to my due date, i still have 14 weeks of growing left and i honestly don't know how that is humanly possible. as it is, i am having trouble walking for very long. watching me get up is a sorry sight, and rolling over in bed now includes the added bonus of a painful coochie pop (called pubic synthesis pain) usually reserved for the last few weeks before childbirth. i'm lucky enough to have gotten it almost three months before my due date. plus, either i'm lazier than ever or i'm legitimately busted because i'm having to take a nap in the middle of the day. maybe it's my body's way of stockpiling hours for the sleepless months ahead once the babies are born....
i went to a meeting at la leche league today because i wanted to know if anyone had any advice about breastfeeding twins. apparently, it's not that crazy and i should really give it a good college try before resorting to formula. my left breast is already leaking some kind of milky substance which is supposedly a good sign that i will have ample milk for my hungry babes. now the question is whether to pump and let jeremy take on some of the feeding, or try to get a rhythm where i put one on each breast and let them suck away. i'm not quite sure how this is all going to work out, but i swear that i will try harder than i've ever tried at anything to be a successful breastfeeder. even if it means surrending my body for the next year.
i wonder what's going to happen to my body. when i stand before a mirror, i am amazed at the beauty of my large brown belly. it's so smooth and firm. as weeks go by, the black line that cuts through my belly button gets darker and darker, splitting my belly into two symmetrical halves. i can hardly believe that there are two babies growing in there. are they each confined to their half, or can they trade places and swim around each other? it seems like i would feel a lot more craziness in there if they could play around that much. luckily, i am not yet at the point where their movement is painful. i'm waiting for the swift kick to the ribs or the little fist outline on my skin. so far, it's still mostly flutters and gentle jabs. much to his frustration, even jeremy has only felt a handful of movements through my belly, despite their seemingly constant acrobatics.
it's really had to imagine that they still have so much growing to do. already, i feel like i'm carrying around a ton of bricks. if i make it to my due date, i still have 14 weeks of growing left and i honestly don't know how that is humanly possible. as it is, i am having trouble walking for very long. watching me get up is a sorry sight, and rolling over in bed now includes the added bonus of a painful coochie pop (called pubic synthesis pain) usually reserved for the last few weeks before childbirth. i'm lucky enough to have gotten it almost three months before my due date. plus, either i'm lazier than ever or i'm legitimately busted because i'm having to take a nap in the middle of the day. maybe it's my body's way of stockpiling hours for the sleepless months ahead once the babies are born....
i went to a meeting at la leche league today because i wanted to know if anyone had any advice about breastfeeding twins. apparently, it's not that crazy and i should really give it a good college try before resorting to formula. my left breast is already leaking some kind of milky substance which is supposedly a good sign that i will have ample milk for my hungry babes. now the question is whether to pump and let jeremy take on some of the feeding, or try to get a rhythm where i put one on each breast and let them suck away. i'm not quite sure how this is all going to work out, but i swear that i will try harder than i've ever tried at anything to be a successful breastfeeder. even if it means surrending my body for the next year.
aftershock
July 25, 2006
It's taken me days and days to adjust to the whole twin thing. Initially, all I could do was cry and cry. Then, it progressed to a few days where all I wanted to do was sleep. Although I'm still super tired and feeling generally busted, I think I've made it out of the shock phase and can start to deal with reality again. Honestly, I was really not prepared for the degree to which I freaked out, but I think that I am finally coming to terms with the whole thing and can even say that I'm kind of excited. There are many reasons for this, and I need to write them down for quick reference so that I can refer back whenever my courage falters in the coming months.
..1: JEREMY. He's awesome. The end. I've got the best baby daddy in the whole world. Despite the fact that I've kept him up for weeks with my incessant tossing and turning, he gently listens to me bitch and moan about how this hurts or that's sore, offers to give me back rubs and foot rubs, and talks to our babies every single night as he lathers me up with coconut oil. I would have punched me in the face by now.
..2: MY FAMILY. They're far away and have their own crazy busy lives but they'll be here in a moment's notice. And, if worse comes to worse, I can always move back to Miami for a little while.....these babies need to know about Cubans and Black people and the ocean so getting out of Austin for a little while might do us all some good.
..3: MY FRIENDS. Thank the Lord I'm an extrovert.
..4: OTHER MAMAS. AustinMamas, Prenatal yoga, and La Leche League kick ass.
It's taken me days and days to adjust to the whole twin thing. Initially, all I could do was cry and cry. Then, it progressed to a few days where all I wanted to do was sleep. Although I'm still super tired and feeling generally busted, I think I've made it out of the shock phase and can start to deal with reality again. Honestly, I was really not prepared for the degree to which I freaked out, but I think that I am finally coming to terms with the whole thing and can even say that I'm kind of excited. There are many reasons for this, and I need to write them down for quick reference so that I can refer back whenever my courage falters in the coming months.
..1: JEREMY. He's awesome. The end. I've got the best baby daddy in the whole world. Despite the fact that I've kept him up for weeks with my incessant tossing and turning, he gently listens to me bitch and moan about how this hurts or that's sore, offers to give me back rubs and foot rubs, and talks to our babies every single night as he lathers me up with coconut oil. I would have punched me in the face by now.
..2: MY FAMILY. They're far away and have their own crazy busy lives but they'll be here in a moment's notice. And, if worse comes to worse, I can always move back to Miami for a little while.....these babies need to know about Cubans and Black people and the ocean so getting out of Austin for a little while might do us all some good.
..3: MY FRIENDS. Thank the Lord I'm an extrovert.
..4: OTHER MAMAS. AustinMamas, Prenatal yoga, and La Leche League kick ass.
not twins
July 11, 2006
we went back to the midwife today. she dug her hands in my belly, smeared it with jelly and put the doppler to it, listened closely to the heartbeat and other noise in there, and gave us her professional opinion: there is only one baby in there.....lots and lots of fluid, but only one baby. but i'm still showing 4 weeks bigger than i should be so we're having a sonogram done on monday anyway. that should show why i'm so big, which could really mean that this kid is coming a month sooner than expected.
if i can figure out how to upload photos to this damn thing, i might even post my first baby picture on here.
we went back to the midwife today. she dug her hands in my belly, smeared it with jelly and put the doppler to it, listened closely to the heartbeat and other noise in there, and gave us her professional opinion: there is only one baby in there.....lots and lots of fluid, but only one baby. but i'm still showing 4 weeks bigger than i should be so we're having a sonogram done on monday anyway. that should show why i'm so big, which could really mean that this kid is coming a month sooner than expected.
if i can figure out how to upload photos to this damn thing, i might even post my first baby picture on here.
the baby archives
June 29, 2006
So, in corresponding with friends, I've been asked specific questions about how I feel or what this is all like or what is going through my mind. And, in responding to these questions, I've decided that I would like to save some of these thoughts because this whole marriage and pregnancy thing is a pretty big deal for me. I know it seems kind of lame and totally uncool that I keep posting all this baby crap (and, honestly, I'm a little self-conscious about it myself) because I should have other things to think about or to talk about. And I do. But this is the most important thing to me right now and I will never have this experience again. I will only be pregnant for the first time ever ONCE. I will only get to know Jeremy in this way once, right now, as the baby grows in my belly and we wonder about the sex and struggle with names and whether or not to circumsize or vaccinate and what kind of parents are we gonna be. And I will only have this much time on my hands to think about it and talk about it for just a few more short months. So, to all of you who are judging me for my recent posts, be patient. I'm sure that I will be back to my gossipy self soon enough. But for now, I feel compelled to record these thoughts so bear with me for a little while.
From email to Sara B.:
In answer to your questions, I have to say that I was not actively trying to get pregnant but we had not used condoms in over 6 months so I can't say that it was a complete surprise, either. Honestly, my first reaction was joy. I had been secretly thinking about wanting babies at some point, and was really feeling like, despite our issues, Jeremy is the best lover and partner I have ever had (or even dreamed of having) so I was into the idea of him being the baby daddy. Jeremy, however, stood in the shower and sobbed and sobbed for over an hour. It took him days to recover and I was really scared that it was too much for him to handle and that he was going to walk out on me. Although there is no doubt in my mind that he and I love each other very much, we had just moved in together 4 months before the pregnancy so it's not like we'd been together forever or anything. On the other hand, we already had a little family of sorts with our little house and our doggies, and our routine was already really domestic and comfortable. It's not like we were out partying all the time and had to make some huge lifestyle change all of a sudden.
However, neither of us was really at a point where it was ideal. Jeremy had just gotten his first adult job (at which he makes very little money and works very long hours) after being in the Army and then school. I had just started grad school and was really into my program. Although I kind of hated my job, it paid well and I had a really flexible schedule (plus, they paid for school). And, we had just started seriously looking for a house. I had put down a non-refundable $1000 deposit on our current house three days before finding out I was pregnant! Not to mention that I lost my job very shortly afterwards and became involved in a disgusting scandal through no fault of my own. Thus, the initial feeling of joy and excitement was pretty short-lived.
March and April were pretty much from hell--I felt like shit all day long, had a ton of shit of my plate (work drama, house drama, and school), and was an emotional basket case. Jeremy was constantly either trying to save me from the verge of a nervous breakdown or on the verge of one himself. We alternated between clinging to each other for dear life and virtually clawing each other's eyeballs out. And we honestly felt like we had no one to whom to turn. His parents didn't know I was pregnant and would have flipped out if they'd found out about it under our circumstances at the time. My parents are broke and have their own really hard lives to deal with 2,000 miles away. Honestly, it was awful. But, getting through that all of that is our biggest accomplishment and I really think it's made us both feel like we're f*ing badasses.
After our wedding fiasco in May, once everyone left and we were alone in our new house with most of the drama behind us, I feel like we really started thinking about the implications of my pregnancy. Suddenly, I had to think about it and it kind of started to terrify me. My family's far away. Who is going to teach me how to do this? Who's going to help me with this child so that I can work? How is Jeremy going to handle being the primary breadwinner for a few months? How am I going to make any money without putting my baby in day care? On the other hand, Jeremy went from being terrified and anxious and really skeptical about the whole thing to suddenly adopting this protective husband-like behavior. For instance, I called him to let him know that I was going to go swimming so I was leaving my phone at home and he was like, "Don't forget to bring some water with you...and maybe you should also pack a hat so you don't get overheated." Um, okay. When we heard the heartbeat for the first time, his eyes filled with tears and we couldn't stop laughing in amazement. He started checking out Daddy books from the library and actually reads them. He's come to every single midwife appointment with me, and is as involved as I am in all of the exams. In short, it's really amazing how he went from this petulant child, crying about how he's not ready for this and we don't have the money and how could we be so stupid, to a supportive and loving partner seemingly over night. So I've had to kind of buck up and deal with the fact that we will probably be really broke and it's going to be stressful as hell. But, if worse comes to worse, we sell a car or get a roommate or get two roommates, or take out a loan, or take out my 401k. Whatever. We'll figure it out. As long as no one wants to talk to me about labor and preeclampsia or gestational diabetes or epesiotomies, I'm good. And, really, the best part of the whole thing is that I love him more than I ever imagined loving someone. I really never thought that I would be healthy enough to have a relationship like this, or that anyone would ever love me this much or this well. We definitely have our issues and are a long way from being the perfect couple. But I can't imagine doing this with anyone else. He's gonna be an awesome Daddy. Plus, he's so mellow and kind and good-natured that I feel so much more confident about being a Mama because we'll balance each other out.
This is totally dorky but I went to a mommy's group today at a coffee shop. My friends had a brunch last weekend and there was a woman there, about my age, with a 5 month-old baby. She and I danced around each other for a while, neither wanting to seem too eager to talk to the other, before a friend introduced us. We chatted for a while about how far along I am and how old's your baby and all that bullshit and, at some point, I was like, "okay, you need to be my friend because I don't know anyone with kids and I'm freaking out" and she was like, "Awesome! All the moms I know are huge dorks and I only hang out with them because I don't know anyone with kids". So we exchanged phone numbers. Well, she called me this morning and invited me to this mommy's group that she hangs out with after yoga on Thursday afternoons. I felt like a huge dork, but I totally went and listened to these women talk about their babies' diaper rash, and the controversy on whether or not to vaccinate, and how often do you bathe your baby, and how often do you do it.....and I totally loved it. Every time I became conscious of other people overhearing our conversation, I felt embarrassed and knew that our conversation was pretty lame. But if I was un-self-conscious about it, I drank in every detail and even made some notes. I can't really say that I liked any of them as much as I liked Carrie, the brunch mom, but it was nice to see a group of first-time moms hanging out in a coffee shop with their babies in the middle of the day. If they can do it, I can do it.
So, in corresponding with friends, I've been asked specific questions about how I feel or what this is all like or what is going through my mind. And, in responding to these questions, I've decided that I would like to save some of these thoughts because this whole marriage and pregnancy thing is a pretty big deal for me. I know it seems kind of lame and totally uncool that I keep posting all this baby crap (and, honestly, I'm a little self-conscious about it myself) because I should have other things to think about or to talk about. And I do. But this is the most important thing to me right now and I will never have this experience again. I will only be pregnant for the first time ever ONCE. I will only get to know Jeremy in this way once, right now, as the baby grows in my belly and we wonder about the sex and struggle with names and whether or not to circumsize or vaccinate and what kind of parents are we gonna be. And I will only have this much time on my hands to think about it and talk about it for just a few more short months. So, to all of you who are judging me for my recent posts, be patient. I'm sure that I will be back to my gossipy self soon enough. But for now, I feel compelled to record these thoughts so bear with me for a little while.
From email to Sara B.:
In answer to your questions, I have to say that I was not actively trying to get pregnant but we had not used condoms in over 6 months so I can't say that it was a complete surprise, either. Honestly, my first reaction was joy. I had been secretly thinking about wanting babies at some point, and was really feeling like, despite our issues, Jeremy is the best lover and partner I have ever had (or even dreamed of having) so I was into the idea of him being the baby daddy. Jeremy, however, stood in the shower and sobbed and sobbed for over an hour. It took him days to recover and I was really scared that it was too much for him to handle and that he was going to walk out on me. Although there is no doubt in my mind that he and I love each other very much, we had just moved in together 4 months before the pregnancy so it's not like we'd been together forever or anything. On the other hand, we already had a little family of sorts with our little house and our doggies, and our routine was already really domestic and comfortable. It's not like we were out partying all the time and had to make some huge lifestyle change all of a sudden.
However, neither of us was really at a point where it was ideal. Jeremy had just gotten his first adult job (at which he makes very little money and works very long hours) after being in the Army and then school. I had just started grad school and was really into my program. Although I kind of hated my job, it paid well and I had a really flexible schedule (plus, they paid for school). And, we had just started seriously looking for a house. I had put down a non-refundable $1000 deposit on our current house three days before finding out I was pregnant! Not to mention that I lost my job very shortly afterwards and became involved in a disgusting scandal through no fault of my own. Thus, the initial feeling of joy and excitement was pretty short-lived.
March and April were pretty much from hell--I felt like shit all day long, had a ton of shit of my plate (work drama, house drama, and school), and was an emotional basket case. Jeremy was constantly either trying to save me from the verge of a nervous breakdown or on the verge of one himself. We alternated between clinging to each other for dear life and virtually clawing each other's eyeballs out. And we honestly felt like we had no one to whom to turn. His parents didn't know I was pregnant and would have flipped out if they'd found out about it under our circumstances at the time. My parents are broke and have their own really hard lives to deal with 2,000 miles away. Honestly, it was awful. But, getting through that all of that is our biggest accomplishment and I really think it's made us both feel like we're f*ing badasses.
After our wedding fiasco in May, once everyone left and we were alone in our new house with most of the drama behind us, I feel like we really started thinking about the implications of my pregnancy. Suddenly, I had to think about it and it kind of started to terrify me. My family's far away. Who is going to teach me how to do this? Who's going to help me with this child so that I can work? How is Jeremy going to handle being the primary breadwinner for a few months? How am I going to make any money without putting my baby in day care? On the other hand, Jeremy went from being terrified and anxious and really skeptical about the whole thing to suddenly adopting this protective husband-like behavior. For instance, I called him to let him know that I was going to go swimming so I was leaving my phone at home and he was like, "Don't forget to bring some water with you...and maybe you should also pack a hat so you don't get overheated." Um, okay. When we heard the heartbeat for the first time, his eyes filled with tears and we couldn't stop laughing in amazement. He started checking out Daddy books from the library and actually reads them. He's come to every single midwife appointment with me, and is as involved as I am in all of the exams. In short, it's really amazing how he went from this petulant child, crying about how he's not ready for this and we don't have the money and how could we be so stupid, to a supportive and loving partner seemingly over night. So I've had to kind of buck up and deal with the fact that we will probably be really broke and it's going to be stressful as hell. But, if worse comes to worse, we sell a car or get a roommate or get two roommates, or take out a loan, or take out my 401k. Whatever. We'll figure it out. As long as no one wants to talk to me about labor and preeclampsia or gestational diabetes or epesiotomies, I'm good. And, really, the best part of the whole thing is that I love him more than I ever imagined loving someone. I really never thought that I would be healthy enough to have a relationship like this, or that anyone would ever love me this much or this well. We definitely have our issues and are a long way from being the perfect couple. But I can't imagine doing this with anyone else. He's gonna be an awesome Daddy. Plus, he's so mellow and kind and good-natured that I feel so much more confident about being a Mama because we'll balance each other out.
This is totally dorky but I went to a mommy's group today at a coffee shop. My friends had a brunch last weekend and there was a woman there, about my age, with a 5 month-old baby. She and I danced around each other for a while, neither wanting to seem too eager to talk to the other, before a friend introduced us. We chatted for a while about how far along I am and how old's your baby and all that bullshit and, at some point, I was like, "okay, you need to be my friend because I don't know anyone with kids and I'm freaking out" and she was like, "Awesome! All the moms I know are huge dorks and I only hang out with them because I don't know anyone with kids". So we exchanged phone numbers. Well, she called me this morning and invited me to this mommy's group that she hangs out with after yoga on Thursday afternoons. I felt like a huge dork, but I totally went and listened to these women talk about their babies' diaper rash, and the controversy on whether or not to vaccinate, and how often do you bathe your baby, and how often do you do it.....and I totally loved it. Every time I became conscious of other people overhearing our conversation, I felt embarrassed and knew that our conversation was pretty lame. But if I was un-self-conscious about it, I drank in every detail and even made some notes. I can't really say that I liked any of them as much as I liked Carrie, the brunch mom, but it was nice to see a group of first-time moms hanging out in a coffee shop with their babies in the middle of the day. If they can do it, I can do it.
twins???
June 23, 2006
we went to our monthly midwife appointment today and ran through the regular routine--i weighed myself, they took my blood pressure, checked out my heart beat, asked me about my symptoms, checked my reflexes, and chastised me about the fact that i'm not drinking enough water. basically, the same old song and dance...as usual. then, she busted out her little measuring tape and pulled it from my pelvic bone to the top of my uterus (which she feels by digging her hands deep into my belly). just then, a look of confusion came over her face. "i'm really big, huh?" i said, knowing that my belly is abnormally large for 21 weeks. "yeah, let's get a second opinion". so the other apprentice digs around my belly, finds my uterus, and measures again. "yeah, you're definitely really big".
basically, the centimeters on the measuring tape usually correspond with the number of weeks. thus, at 21 weeks, i should be measuring 21 cm. instead, the first lady got a measurement of 30cm. the next lady determined that my pelvic bone was higher than the other lady thought so her calcuations came up at 27cm. either way, those are several centimeters bigger than i should be at 21 weeks. "what does this mean?", i asked. "i had a pretty good belly before i even got pregnant, could that be it?" nope. they're measuring my uterus, not my belly.
so, basically, the verdict is that either i am having twins (a definite possibility since they abound on jeremy's side of the family--multiple sets of twins and triplets) or i miscalculated the date of my last period. given my meticulous record-keeping, i am 100% sure that i did not miscalculate my last period. i know exactly when that was, and i know exactly when we conceived. thus, the more likely option is that we're having twins (unless, of course, i had a full menstrual cycle while already pregnant, which is also a possibility).
so now we wait. if i still measure well above average at our next appointment on july 11th, then we get sent in to get an ultrasound. then we'll either see two little bodies growing in my belly, or a gigantic baby well beyond the development stage i am assumed to be at. can you believe this? i can't really believe it. jeremy's excited about the possibility of having twins. people keep saying that would be a "blessing". i can only think of it as twice the pushing, twice the nursing, twice the crying, twice the pooping, twice the diapers......holy crap.
we went to our monthly midwife appointment today and ran through the regular routine--i weighed myself, they took my blood pressure, checked out my heart beat, asked me about my symptoms, checked my reflexes, and chastised me about the fact that i'm not drinking enough water. basically, the same old song and dance...as usual. then, she busted out her little measuring tape and pulled it from my pelvic bone to the top of my uterus (which she feels by digging her hands deep into my belly). just then, a look of confusion came over her face. "i'm really big, huh?" i said, knowing that my belly is abnormally large for 21 weeks. "yeah, let's get a second opinion". so the other apprentice digs around my belly, finds my uterus, and measures again. "yeah, you're definitely really big".
basically, the centimeters on the measuring tape usually correspond with the number of weeks. thus, at 21 weeks, i should be measuring 21 cm. instead, the first lady got a measurement of 30cm. the next lady determined that my pelvic bone was higher than the other lady thought so her calcuations came up at 27cm. either way, those are several centimeters bigger than i should be at 21 weeks. "what does this mean?", i asked. "i had a pretty good belly before i even got pregnant, could that be it?" nope. they're measuring my uterus, not my belly.
so, basically, the verdict is that either i am having twins (a definite possibility since they abound on jeremy's side of the family--multiple sets of twins and triplets) or i miscalculated the date of my last period. given my meticulous record-keeping, i am 100% sure that i did not miscalculate my last period. i know exactly when that was, and i know exactly when we conceived. thus, the more likely option is that we're having twins (unless, of course, i had a full menstrual cycle while already pregnant, which is also a possibility).
so now we wait. if i still measure well above average at our next appointment on july 11th, then we get sent in to get an ultrasound. then we'll either see two little bodies growing in my belly, or a gigantic baby well beyond the development stage i am assumed to be at. can you believe this? i can't really believe it. jeremy's excited about the possibility of having twins. people keep saying that would be a "blessing". i can only think of it as twice the pushing, twice the nursing, twice the crying, twice the pooping, twice the diapers......holy crap.
is the baby moving or is it just gas?
June 8, 2006
it's really hard to tell but i honestly think that i felt the baby move last night for a solid hour. i was in the middle of teaching a class when suddenly i feared that i would have to make a run for the bathroom. my stomach was fluttering, but it was really concentrated down below my belly button and a little to the left, so after a moment's panic, i realized what was going on. (s)he kept it up for like an hour, too, and then started up again shortly after i got home. it was really incredible. i don't think i've felt it yet today so maybe i'm just crazy....
it's really hard to tell but i honestly think that i felt the baby move last night for a solid hour. i was in the middle of teaching a class when suddenly i feared that i would have to make a run for the bathroom. my stomach was fluttering, but it was really concentrated down below my belly button and a little to the left, so after a moment's panic, i realized what was going on. (s)he kept it up for like an hour, too, and then started up again shortly after i got home. it was really incredible. i don't think i've felt it yet today so maybe i'm just crazy....
baby dream
May 26, 2006
I had a dream last night that I had the baby and that it was a girl and she was born with clothes so I was only able to figure out that it was a girl by touching her crotch over the panties and feeling a little vagina. It's wierd that I wasn't comfortable just taking off her panties and looking at my own naked child, but I think it was the kind of thing where her clothes were stuck on her, like a doll's clothes are sometimes stitched on.
Also, she was born super early, like 4 months early, but she was huge and really smart and by her second day, she was already saying words and walking. The wierdest part, too, is that I knew that I should probably take her to a doctor to get checked out because she was born so early, but I was kind of keeping her a secret because I was scared that they were going to take her from me, or that something was wrong. So I kept feeling her forehead to see if she had a fever.
That's the second baby dream I've had this week. A few days ago, I dreamt that I was in the house and heard gurgling noises from a baby monitor somewhere. I opened a door to a room, and in the middle of the empty room was an ornate crib. Inside, a little boy was sitting somewhat cross-legged, muttering to himself. When he saw me, he smiled and held up his arms for me to come carry him. I can still picture his face really clearly. This whole thing is really getting very bizarre. I'm not sure what to think of it.
I'm supposed to be able to feel the baby move any day now, too, so I've been concentrating really hard on that. I'm hoping that that will take it from a surreal abstraction to a more tangible reality.
I had a dream last night that I had the baby and that it was a girl and she was born with clothes so I was only able to figure out that it was a girl by touching her crotch over the panties and feeling a little vagina. It's wierd that I wasn't comfortable just taking off her panties and looking at my own naked child, but I think it was the kind of thing where her clothes were stuck on her, like a doll's clothes are sometimes stitched on.
Also, she was born super early, like 4 months early, but she was huge and really smart and by her second day, she was already saying words and walking. The wierdest part, too, is that I knew that I should probably take her to a doctor to get checked out because she was born so early, but I was kind of keeping her a secret because I was scared that they were going to take her from me, or that something was wrong. So I kept feeling her forehead to see if she had a fever.
That's the second baby dream I've had this week. A few days ago, I dreamt that I was in the house and heard gurgling noises from a baby monitor somewhere. I opened a door to a room, and in the middle of the empty room was an ornate crib. Inside, a little boy was sitting somewhat cross-legged, muttering to himself. When he saw me, he smiled and held up his arms for me to come carry him. I can still picture his face really clearly. This whole thing is really getting very bizarre. I'm not sure what to think of it.
I'm supposed to be able to feel the baby move any day now, too, so I've been concentrating really hard on that. I'm hoping that that will take it from a surreal abstraction to a more tangible reality.
is someone trying to tell us something?
Saturday, April 22, 2006
for everyone closely following the dramatic events in our lives lately, get ready for another doozie. yesterday, at 7:30pm, i receive a call from my realtor. "ayleen," he says, "we've got a situation." what could possibly go wrong at 7:30 on a friday night? when i spoke with him an hour earlier, he confirmed that we were all set: our financing went through, our paperwork is signed and ready to go, and we're scheduled to close on wednesday. have a good weekend. the end.
except for the fact that there was a small FIRE and there's now a HUGE HOLE on the side of the house where the "small" FIRE ate through the exterior wall. apparently, a neighbor put it out with a garden hose moments before the fire reached the attic and spread into the ventilation system (which would have deemed the house condemnable). the best part of this whole fiasco is that the lady who still currently owns the house CANCELLED HER HOMEOWNER's INSURANCE last month. so i'm not really sure what is going to get fixed and how, or what this means for our contract, or where the hell we're going to have our wedding party, or more importantly, where the hell we are going to live.
however, despite these issues, i am really proud of myself for not completely losing it and for actually having a sense of humor about all of this, for once. i guess when faced with a situation that i have absolutely no control over, i have no choice left but to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all.
for everyone closely following the dramatic events in our lives lately, get ready for another doozie. yesterday, at 7:30pm, i receive a call from my realtor. "ayleen," he says, "we've got a situation." what could possibly go wrong at 7:30 on a friday night? when i spoke with him an hour earlier, he confirmed that we were all set: our financing went through, our paperwork is signed and ready to go, and we're scheduled to close on wednesday. have a good weekend. the end.
except for the fact that there was a small FIRE and there's now a HUGE HOLE on the side of the house where the "small" FIRE ate through the exterior wall. apparently, a neighbor put it out with a garden hose moments before the fire reached the attic and spread into the ventilation system (which would have deemed the house condemnable). the best part of this whole fiasco is that the lady who still currently owns the house CANCELLED HER HOMEOWNER's INSURANCE last month. so i'm not really sure what is going to get fixed and how, or what this means for our contract, or where the hell we're going to have our wedding party, or more importantly, where the hell we are going to live.
however, despite these issues, i am really proud of myself for not completely losing it and for actually having a sense of humor about all of this, for once. i guess when faced with a situation that i have absolutely no control over, i have no choice left but to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all.
we're going to the chapel...
Thursday, April 20, 2006
yesterday, jeremy and i went to the county clerk's and applied for a marriage license. it took about 5 minutes and cost $41. after the obligatory 72 hour waiting period, we will take that to the courthouse, have a justice of the peace fill it out (after we swear to a few things), and then...i guess that's it. we're husband and wife.
at the suggestion of several friends, we've also gone an additional ridiculous step and registered at target. we walked around the store yesterday with a scan gun and pointed it at everything we could possibly want. it was tons of fun. i recommend it.
yesterday, jeremy and i went to the county clerk's and applied for a marriage license. it took about 5 minutes and cost $41. after the obligatory 72 hour waiting period, we will take that to the courthouse, have a justice of the peace fill it out (after we swear to a few things), and then...i guess that's it. we're husband and wife.
at the suggestion of several friends, we've also gone an additional ridiculous step and registered at target. we walked around the store yesterday with a scan gun and pointed it at everything we could possibly want. it was tons of fun. i recommend it.
thank heavens for grandparents
Wednesday, April 12, 2006
Just when we thought they'd sunk our battle ship, Jeremy's grandparents jumped in and saved the day. Hopefully, our good fortune will last through the night and into tomorrow and we'll get our house after all.
My new goals in life are to be a good person, establish good credit, and maintain a low debt-to-income ratio so that I can one day co-sign for my grandchildren.
Just when we thought they'd sunk our battle ship, Jeremy's grandparents jumped in and saved the day. Hopefully, our good fortune will last through the night and into tomorrow and we'll get our house after all.
My new goals in life are to be a good person, establish good credit, and maintain a low debt-to-income ratio so that I can one day co-sign for my grandchildren.
el universo
El sabado, 25 de febrero, me sente a fumarme un cigarro antes de hacer lo inevitable. Inhale, exhale, y lo disfrute hasta el ultimo buchito. Al apagarlo, agarre la bolsa de Walgreen's y fui directamente al bano. Al ver los resultados positivos en el examen EPT, supe que habia fumado por ultima vez. "No te preocupes", le dije a mi novio angustiado, "por lo menos tengo un buen trabajo con seguro medico y sueldo razonable. Vamos a salir bien, vas a ver." La semana siguiente, perdi mi trabajo por razones completamente fuera de mi control.
Llevo 43 dias sin fumarme ni un solo cigarro. Manana cumplo 11 semanas de embarazo. Ya el feto ha desarrollado todos sus organos principales, el cerebro, la columna vertebral, brazos, piernas, manos, pies, ojos y oidos. Si quisieramos saber el sexo antes de que nazca, ya se ven los organos sexuales en el sonograma. Ya se oyen los latidos de su corazon.
Por los momentos, sigo sin trabajo, sin seguro medico, en plenos examenes finales, y con el cierre de nuestra primera casa rapidamente aproximandose. Nos mudamos a finales de abril y ni hemos empezado a empacar. Pero por lo menos nos hemos graduados del estado de panico. Ahora lo que siento es mezcla de felicidad y ansiedad, pero como recien me dijo un amigo, "the universe takes care of babies". El trabajo me llegara, los muebles se mudaran, y los examenes van y vienen.
Ahora estoy en busca de un nombre bilingue. Algo que pueda pronunciar tanto mi abuelita Cubana como la familia Alabamena de Jeremy. Apellido Marty Perez. Me gustaria un nombre literario, como Amaranta Marty Perez. Pero que si nos sale gordita? Que nombre tan cruel para una gordita. Y si es nino? Lucas, Oscar, Pablo, Andres, Guillermo, Gabriel....ahi si que me resbalan los nombres.
Llevo 43 dias sin fumarme ni un solo cigarro. Manana cumplo 11 semanas de embarazo. Ya el feto ha desarrollado todos sus organos principales, el cerebro, la columna vertebral, brazos, piernas, manos, pies, ojos y oidos. Si quisieramos saber el sexo antes de que nazca, ya se ven los organos sexuales en el sonograma. Ya se oyen los latidos de su corazon.
Por los momentos, sigo sin trabajo, sin seguro medico, en plenos examenes finales, y con el cierre de nuestra primera casa rapidamente aproximandose. Nos mudamos a finales de abril y ni hemos empezado a empacar. Pero por lo menos nos hemos graduados del estado de panico. Ahora lo que siento es mezcla de felicidad y ansiedad, pero como recien me dijo un amigo, "the universe takes care of babies". El trabajo me llegara, los muebles se mudaran, y los examenes van y vienen.
Ahora estoy en busca de un nombre bilingue. Algo que pueda pronunciar tanto mi abuelita Cubana como la familia Alabamena de Jeremy. Apellido Marty Perez. Me gustaria un nombre literario, como Amaranta Marty Perez. Pero que si nos sale gordita? Que nombre tan cruel para una gordita. Y si es nino? Lucas, Oscar, Pablo, Andres, Guillermo, Gabriel....ahi si que me resbalan los nombres.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
