A lot changes, a lot stays the same.

Good Lord it feels like it's been a million years since I last blogged. The initial whirlwind of parenting multiples is finally slowing down a bit. My two are now over two (can you even believe that?!) and keep me running from morning to night, but luckily they're allowing me some blog time today.

So much has been happening here. You may remember me mentioning that Hubs got laid off last August ('12) from a company he was with (and loved) for nearly ten years. It came as a shock and we both job searched for over five months before he landed a new role in a different state, so we are now mid-move, having packed up our life into the back of the family van, and moved to a rental until we can sell our house.

This, of course, brought a lot of mixed emotions on the Peyton front, with her hill being mere minutes from our old house. I don't know, long term, how that will make me feel to be several hours from her grave, but for now I am somewhat okay with it--because I just got to visit her there last week, and will be home nearly weekly for the foreseeable future until we get the house sold.

Leaving our house, on the other hand, was a no-brainer for me. Our beautiful yellow and white colonial that I so loved upon purchase, has been an unhappy place for me these last several years. I cried more tears in that house than I could ever count, and I'd be lying if I said that moving from there is anything other than liberating (though it is very stressful not knowing when/if our house will sell.) It may sound silly to hate an inanimate object, but I truly do hate that house.

It had represented so many things to the newlywed me, that just didn't come to be with Peyton, and while we had so many happy memories there with The Snowflakes, they couldn't dull the pain of all of the memories spent grieving there. I died in that house, or at least the carefree me died there.

Beautiful as it is, with it's daffodils and bay window, that house will always be the place that Peyton never came home to. Even now, four and a half years later, we still refer to the little yellow room with the green carpet as Peyton's room, despite that fact that her decorations are long gone, and the furniture was passed down to her siblings well over a year ago.

The kids are doing well. Really well. Bubba is still incredibly allergic to milk, but other than that, he's bright and funny and eager to learn, and honestly the boy just makes my heart sing.

Squeaks, ironically, has become the more physical/less verbal of the two, though she still Squeaks with the best of them at 72,000 decibels when excited, so we will keep the name going here for blogging purposes.

They are joyful and hard work and in the momma department they keep me very happy, though I must admit that personally I've been in a real funk lately. I don't know if it is the constant running around after them, the years of sleeplessness, the aging that grief has done to me, the reminders that PTSD bring, the stressing and worrying and hyper-vigilance of parenting after loss, the financial stress we have been under, moving, or a combination of it all, but I feel like shit and it shows. 

I am 33 but I feel simply ancient and look even worse and just wish there was some great rewind or delete button that would help me feel something other than worn out by life all the time. 

I envision myself doing something freeing and just for me, like going for a run (which is a funny fantasy since I hate to run), but the reality is that we are in a new town therefore have no one to watch the kiddos, and I don't get five seconds of daylight without one or the both of them (who absolutely refuse to sit in a stroller now) attached to me, so for the time being at least, that's sort of out of the question.

Anyway, that's where we are at for now. 

xoxo

Two years

Today marks two years since my rainbows came into the world.

Two years of laughter and love and sleepless nights and joy and tantrums and learning and teaching and all the wonderment that is parenting.

I have been so very, very blessed.

Today also marks two years since I last blogged here on a regular basis. 

I think of this space often, but life has a way of getting in the way of my writing, and right now, here, in this moment, is where I need to be.

That doesn't mean that I miss Peyton any less, of course, or that I don't think of this community every day. It's just that my heart and mind are in the moment, and that moment is a blessing to be taken in.

There have been so many changes over these last two years. So many milestones. Even as they pertain to how we remember Peyton, the kids' relationship with her is ever evolving. They say, "Bye Baby" when we wave to her grave now, and smile at her picture. I even think I heard Bubba call her "Peytey" one time. 

I feel so blessed by the incredible amount of love and healing that my Snowflakes have brought my heart. They've reminded me that life can be truly beautiful. Even a life once so broken down by grief as mine was.

Two years ago they came into my world and changed me forever.

They shined light in the darkness. Taught my heart to beat again. They are my world, my reason, my all.

They are, in a word, LOVE.

So here is to you my little Snowflakes, on the occasion of turning two.

You make me so proud and teach me new lessons every day. I wish for you a Happy Birthday and may many blessings be upon you always.

I love you xoxo

Momma

Catching Up

The days are busy, I am spread thin. As a result my blogging suffers--I apologize.

Thank you so much to everyone who continues to follow us on this journey. Here are a few updates:

My husband was laid off in August.

This week marked 20 beautiful months since the Snowflakes were born. It is hard to believe how quickly they have grown, the time is truly flying by. They are saying some words (more Bubba than Squeaks surprisingly) running and jumping everywhere. They love books, give kisses, and do lots, and lots, and lots of giggling everyday. They also have hit some really cool milestones, like ENJOYING putting their toys away at the end of the day, so that's awesome. With twins, so much of each day seems to fly by that I almost can't believe it when I sit back and see how much they have changed right before my eyes. Blink and you'll miss something it seems.

They are healthy and happy and such joys. 

Here is a fairly recent picture. It's not as easy as one may think to get a pic of two toddlers looking at the camera, as is evidenced here, but I can't help but think those rays of sunlight are Peyton, and that all three of my children are with me in this one. Bubba is in my arms, Squeaks is in the background pushing her car.

And here is a closeup of them:

Bubba left, Squeaks right.

I hope this post finds you all feeling some measure of joy in your day to day life, and that those still early in their loss, or struggling with infertility, can see where my family is, versus where it was two years ago, and know that this is possible. 

There is joy waiting for you after the sorrow. 

There is a light at the end of the tunnel.

Oh the ways they grow, and grow...

What a difference a year makes...

I bought the cutest little hats and bunny tails for the Snowflakes last Easter on Etsy, when they were itty bittys, and decided to try to make them work this year, too. It was a tight fit, but I am glad we went for it. Comparing the pictures, I just love seeing how much my babies are growing and changing.

Bubba at just under two months old (Easter 2011)

Bubba, at thirteen months old (Easter 2012)

He says Momma, Dadda, All Done, Nanana (Banana) and is cruising.

Squeaks at just under two months old (Easter 2011)

Squeaks now at thirteen months old (Easter 2012) 

She walks all over the place, loves to stand on her head,
and of course, is as squeaky as ever!

"Enjoying" Easter Then... 

Enjoying Easter Now...

My cup runneth over.

A Day in the Life of a SAHM of Infant Twins!

One day last week I decided to document a "typical day" as a fun exercise to stick in my journal, or the Snowflakes' baby books, or whatever. 

So here you have it. 24 hours in the life of a SAHM of one year old twins.

****

11:00PM Breastfeed twins, change diapers, put twins back in their own cribs.

11:30PM Finish up the writing I was working on, brush teeth, head to bed.

12:20AM Nighty Night.

1:30AM Snowflakes wake up. Husband brings them to me to breastfeed (my side of the bed is against the wall, so it's easier for him to get in and out) then we put twins back in their own cribs.

3:30AM Snowflakes wake up. Husband brings them to me to breastfeed. Too tired to move. Both babies fall asleep on my arms.

5:30AM Oh God! I can’t feel my arms! Nudge husband with foot who wakes up and helps me reposition the babies back towards my boobs to breastfeed. Change diapers. Bubba rolls over and snuggles up to my pillow. I don’t think so kid - back to your own bed!

8:30AM Where am I? Hear children playing peek-a-boo and laughing in their cribs. Sneak into the bathroom to pee and brush my own teeth before being discovered. Go to the nursery and turn on the lights. Sing “Good Morning, Good Morning, the best the best the best to you this morning. Good Morning. Good Morning. The best the best the best to you today.” Ask the kids what they dreamt about. Change two blowout diapers then head, with one baby under each arm, back to my bed to breastfeed. Squeaks likes to stand, kick, twirl, twist, and bite while nursing. She also makes farting noises against my boob. Bubba finishes before Squeaks is done. He rolls off of my arm and crawls over to the wall and starts slapping it as if to say, “good wall. Nice solid construction here.” Next, like a flash, he crawls over to our curtains and tries to tug them down.  With one free arm I wrestle him back to my side (Squeaks is still latched on.) Bubba  heads back to the wall. More “Good construction,” slapping. Squeaks finishes and joins him. She starts laughing, jumping on the bed, and slapping the wall. I grab one child in each arm and head downstairs to start the day.

9:00-9:30 Play with toys in babyland (Play Room). Throw in a load of laundry.

9:30 Serve breakfast of Organic Blueberry Waffles with Peanut Butter, and Sliced Banana. While babies eat, I sit at the table in front of them and work on sewing straps onto the crib rail guard I am making since the babies have started using their fancy new teeth on the furniture. Look up. Squeaks has put all her food in her hair. Bubba has fed a large portion of his breakfast to the dog.

10:00 Breakfast over. Wash hands AND Squeaks’ hair in the sink. Change Squeaks into second outfit of the day, as first is completely covered in food.

10:20-10:30 While babies play beside me, I log onto the computer, check email, learn about a new writer’s conference coming to the area!

10:45 Back upstairs to breastfeed them, check diapers, one requires changing. Put babies down for nap.

11:00 Ahhhh. This momma is finally getting her first cup of coffee. Swap laundry. Check email. Start to write an article for Still Standing magazine about parenting after loss

11:30 Second cup of coffee, wait what was I writing about again? Eat a handful of cheerios. Check out a website about another writing conference coming to the area. Facebook distraction – squirrel!

12:30 Uh-oh. Babies are awake. Go in to find that Bubba has pulled a fabric belt that was sitting on the rocker off of the chair and into his crib by reaching through the slats. Lovely. Pull chair away from crib. Better thought, pull crib into center of room so Bubba can’t reach anything. Diaper time. Head back into bedroom to tandem breastfeed. While breastfeeding attempt to read a book to the babies – they fight over the book – we only get through two pages.

Head back downstairs to play. Start cooking lunch. Throw in another load of laundry. Read books. Babies start to fight over pacifier –they don’t even like pacifiers! Bubba sticks Squeaks in the corner.

1:00 Lunchtime! Pasta, green beans, carrots, o’s. More food in Squeaks’ hair. More food thrown to the dog. Attempt to sew a few more straps onto the crib guard while the kids eat. Run out of straps. Make more. Bobbin runs out. Refill bobbin. Bubba does NOT find watching me sew entertaining and lets me know, at 10,000 decibels, that he is bored. "All done! All done!" Shakes head no. "All done!"

1:30 Back over to the sink. Wash hands. Wash Squeaks’ hair – again! Head back into baby land. Diaper change. Set kids up with toys, then back to the kitchen where I grab their leftovers, pour pasta sauce over it, and call it lunch for myself.

1:40 Sit down(next to them) to eat my mish mosh of a lunch. Apparently I am not close enough. They want to be held and start to cry. I inhale my lunch. Sit with them. Try singing a song. A book. Not working. They need a nap.

2:15 Back upstairs to Breastfeed and cuddle.

2:40 Babies are in their cribs, playing. Hopefully they will fall asleep soon. I head downstairs and turn on the TV. Get sucked into a Kardashian show.  

3:45 Babies spent the last hour playing in cribs. They NEED to nap if we are gonna get any sleep tonight.

3:50 Okay,  clearly they never got the napping memo. Peek a boos and tossing toys at each other has eaten up all of nap time. Back upstairs. Change them. Breastfeed. Bring downstairs to baby land. Read books. Bubba learns to push his car walker. Pushes it into my leg. I say “Ow” very dramatically. He laughs and pushes it again. “Ow.” Laugh. “Ow. “ Laugh.  Squeaks wants in on the action. Sneaks up behind me and pulls my hair. I say, “Not nice.” She pulls harder. Joy. Divert attention to crawling through a tunnel. Play peek-a-boo. Read more books.

5:15 Pack kiddos in the car.

5:30 Meet daddy at the trail after work. Throw kids in Ergos and go for 45 minute walk along the river. Bubba says “hi” to all the trees we pass. Squeaks peeks over my shoulder like the Travelocity gnome.

6:45 Dinner time!  Broccoli pancakes. Avocado. Apple. Daddy handles this meal. I swap the laundry and check facebook.

7:15 Time for a bath. Splash Splash Splash. Daddy does bath while I put away laundry.

7:30 brush teeth. Sing songs. Breastfeed.

8:30 Snowflakes in bed. Ahhhhhhhhh. Mommy and Daddy go downstairs and start thinking about our own dinner. Thank god for Once A Month Club recipes. Take out premade ground beef mixture and mix with vegetable barley soup, cumin, red pepper, salt, pepper, onion, garlic – Instant Chili!

8:30-10:30 this is a blur of TV/Internet/Email/Working on novel

11:00 Squeaks wakes up wanting to be fed and wakes up Bubba by throwing her lovey into his crib. 

And the cycle begins again...

This post will make you feel better about yourself...

Ever have one of those If I don't laugh I'll cry moments?

This whole morning has gone like that.

Squeaks has a stomach bug. It is not even 9AM and here is how this morning has gone so far.

Woke to learn that she had blown out her entire bed (thankfully it was Hubs who discovered this, and not me, so I was spared the cleanup.)

He brought both children to me to breastfeed. In the mornings we breastfeed laying down where essentially they are each laying in the crook of my arm as they feed. It's really sweet cuddle time... usually. 

A minute or two into our feed Squeaks started to projectile vomit all over me. Because of her location in the crook of my arm (essentially laying ON my arm) and Bubba on my other arm, I was pinned. She proceeded to vomit about nine times - in my face, across my boobs, into my armpit, under my back, all over my bed - you get the picture.

I cleaned her up. Scrubbed our mattress with vinegar and baking soda and decided to take a shower (because, as you will recall, I was covered in vomit) and that's when it hit me - we were now out of clean towels.

Happy Hump Day!

Fun with Babies - 10 months

Thought it would be fun to change it up a bit and do a post about what we have been up to.

The snowflakes are now ten months old, and cruising. With the weather being so cold we haven't been able to spend much time outside, so we have been trying new things to keep little hands and minds occupied.

A few weeks ago I started doing a treasure basket for the kids where I remove the rest of their "usual" toys from babyland, and when they get up from their nap, they find a basket waiting for them to explore.

Here is what we have in today's treasure basket:

 Puffs container full of colorful ribbons

 Large knob puzzle pieces for little hands

2 Red Solo Cups filled with Melissa and Doug Wooden toys and a B Toys teether

2 Discovery Bottles with red ribbon, multi-colored puffs, pasta, and a shimmery pipe cleaner. They really love shaking and twirling these to see what is inside.  

Make sure lids are secure/glued.

Board Book

Fabric Rattle

Mini Tupperware with fun treasures inside

Tupperware full of bright wood blocks

Bottle with fabric and socks for little hands to pull through hole in lid

Red wooden ball with a hole

Plastic lid.

Finished product. 

Let's see what they think...

All-in-All a Big Success!

Counting Blessings in the Dark

There was a storm.
A big storm.
It hit our area the Saturday before Halloween.

A tree fell on our house.
Then another.

Large branches damaged our deck.
Landed on our car.

One of the trees that fell ripped the power lines out of our house,
and we were left in the dark.

NINE days later... We are still there.

The hotels in our area were booked immediately. Then most of them lost power, too, and people were left paying to sit in the dark and the cold.

The first few days we "toughed it out."
Poured water in the toilet to flush.
Ate food packed in snow.
Slept huddled in one bed in 20 degree weather,
trying to keep our Snowflakes from freezing.

Then a friend offered up a room at their house.
They had a generator that could power one space heater.
They used it in the guest bedroom to keep my little family warm,
while they slept in the cold.
Can you think of a more selfless act?


By Wednesday, with no end to the outage in sight, we headed out to stay with family who had gotten their power back, and have been there since.

Twice we were told our power was restored, and we packed up and headed home,
only to find it had not been.

The house was cold and dark.
Every tree in our yard had been destroyed.
It was pretty disheartening.

Yet moments like these make you realize just how good we've got it.

Yes, we complain about things like the price of oil (nearly $4 a gallon where I live, and the only way to heat our house)or about paying $5 a gallon for milk, but we generally don't have to worry about staying warm. Or having the lights on. Or our next meal.

My family struggles, as we all do these days, with our finances. I clip coupons. Worry about paying certain bills. Sacrifice to make ends meet. But our basic needs are always met. Even in this storm I knew the power would EVENTUALLY return. Life would EVENTUALLY go back to normal. That knowing, is itself, a blessing.

Over the course of the last week, I have learned that the friend of a friend died in pregnancy - leaving her husband without his wife and child. I learned that a very special baby that I have been praying for and have come to care so much about, is in all likelihood going to lose his battle.

These are REAL problems.

Yes, my property has suffered significant damage.
Yes, we have lost all of our food, and had to make it through some uncomfortably cold and damp nights.
Yes, we waited in line over an hour for gas - have been kept in the dark for nine days - and even lost our pet fish to the cold.

But my family is together.
And healthy.
And safe.

We have the love of family and good friends who were willing to take us in.

So I am counting these blessings.
Even in the dark I can see that they are what truly matter.

16th Friday Rainbow Baby Blog Rodeo

Welcome to the Friday Rainbow Baby Blog Rodeo, a place to celebrate the amazing children who have come into our lives after loss, and to strengthen our bond as a community of Rainbow parents.

Every Friday we can gather here to share our little ones' triumphs, brag like the proud parents that we are, and yes ... even own up to our epic fails in parenting (all in good fun of course) via links to our own blogs with posts about any and everything Rainbow from the week.

Feel free to grab the button from the sidebar and help spread the word. Let's bring this Rainbow parenting community together.

I will go first...

Da-A-Da-Da

Bubba's big on the DaDa thing right now. He also scrunches his nose and makes a funny face that appeared out of nowhere yesterday and has been cracking me up. Squeaks has cut her first two teeth. They both sit up well on their own now, though only for a few minutes at a time, and we are still working on the solids and sleeping through the night thing.


Here is a fun little video I captured of them when were driving home from the Ped's yesterday. Hubs was driving, have no fears, I wouldn't be videoing if I was! Don't mind the food on their faces - a failed attempt at feeding them sweet potatoes while in the car so they wouldn't have to wait till we were home. Yeah... didn't go so well. Also learned a valuable lesson on that car ride... sippy cups still do spill! Bubba got more water on his shirt than in his mouth! We still have to do some work on that one.


Enjoy!

So that is what Bubba and Squeaks

have been up to this week...

What have your rainbows been doing?

Want to participate? It's easy! Just write a post on your own blog about whatever your Rainbow(s) has been up to this week, and then add the link to that post in the Linky widget below. 

****
A side note: As a way to honor her third birthday, I have entered the Reader's Digest "Your Life" Contest with an entry about my experience mothering Peyton. The voting is open until November 15th, and you can vote once a day. It would mean a great deal to me to get Peyton's story in Reader's Digest. I am currently ranked in second place. Can you please help me out by visiting this link and casting your vote for my entry. Thank you so much!

Reality Check

So staying home alone to take care of the twins. Yeah...

Don't get me wrong, I mean, I LOVE being home with them. Playing with them. Hearing them giggle. Watching them grow. I love all of that, I do, but sometimes the lack of sleep, the constant wrestling to get them into their diapers when all they want to do is flip and flip and flip right out of them, their new affinity for pinching me, the nipple biting while teething, and the on-the-boob-off-the-boob-on-the-boob during feedings, it gets to be a bit much.

And then of course we have the separation anxiety because we are now in THAT stage where any time I leave the room, or their corner of the room, or the immediate area, they cry like they will never see me again. It's endearing actually, to be THAT needed, THAT wanted, but it can also be draining.

And let's not forget the screaming at ten-thousand-decibels to each other, because when you are 7 months old, that is just HILARIOUS, or the whining for something that they want, and me trying, trying, TRYING to understand what that something is, because they don't yet have the words to tell me.

Sometimes at the end of a long day it's hard not to sink into how absolutely tiring the whole stay-at-home-mommy-of-twins thing can be. But then I take a step back and bitch-slap myself, because you know what? This exhaustion. This hard work. This is everything I ever hoped for and more. I have been truly, and DUAL-Y, blessed, and even I need a reality check from time to time.

After two plus long, silent, heart-breaking years I have been graced with two HEALTHY, beautiful children.

Are they a lot of work on my own? Heck yeah they are! A lot of work. No, really... A-lot-of-work, and my life would be infinitely easier if I had an extra set of hands here from time to time, but then I remind myself, when the days feel long, and my back hurts, and I haven't peed in 12 hours or eaten more than a bite of whatever just happened to be there, that every moment, every-single-stage with them is fleeting. My babies are growing, and they are growing fast. Last night Bubba laid across my chest and I found it hard to breath. Really. He is THAT big already. And they are laughing, and sitting up, and playing with each other. They have started conversing in their own special twin way, and to watch them take in the world around them with such bright eyed wonder is a dream come true. Every day that they do something new, is another step away from the last stage they were in, and I don't want to miss any of it.

And then there is the knowing. That even though we hope to have more children in the future, there is no guarantee of that. I know my tubes are shot. I know that making them required seven-long-months of bed rest. This was no easy feat, and there is a very good chance that this is the only time I will have babies doing what these babies are doing and I don't want to waste any of it having a pity party over the fact that I got exactly what I wished for.

So yes. Staying home by myself with twins is hard. And yes, I look like a zombie most days, but I am a happy zombie. A blessed zombie. A singing-silly-songs-to-keep-them-smiling zombie. And that is just fine by me.

In the future I will rest. I will sleep. I will go out to eat. At some point in the future I will have a date with my husband, maybe even feel sexy and like a woman again (rather than a spit-up covered mom). In the future I will wear pants that are not of the yoga-pajama-sweat suit variety, I will do my hair in something other than a messy pony-tail knot on the top of my head because time allows for it, and get my eyebrows waxed. I will wear make-up. Have more time for my writing. Maybe even grab a bite to eat with a girlfriend.

In the future I will do all of those things. But not now. Now is their time, and tiring as it may be at times, I embrace it.

The punchline.

There was a dead bird on the back deck.
A sparrow, I think.

I noticed her outside the window Monday morning.
Something about her reminded me of Peyton.

Her stillness.
Her beauty.

Death couldn't steal that from either of them.

We have a large window at the back of our living room.
By the way the sparrow had landed - stomach up, wings folded over her chest - I assumed that she had flown into the glass and broken her neck.

I hope she never saw it coming.
Never felt it.
I would like to think that she flew straight from this world to the next, skipping the painful part of her journey altogether.

The babies and I spend the majority of our time in the living room, and on Monday, every time I passed the window, I stopped to pay homage to that little bird. When Hubs came home I told him about her, and he agreed, upon seeing her, that she was indeed beautiful.

Monday had been a particularly rough day. As you may recall from my post earlier this week, Squeaks decided to keep life interesting by eating the stuffing out of a diaper, which had resulted in a call to Poison Control, so by the time we were finally getting the snowflakes ready for bed, it was nearly 8PM and I was fully exhausted - and starving.

Hubs headed out to grill some steaks while I fed, changed, and put down the babies. It took longer than usual, which was probably due to the fact that we had had a very full day with little napping. When I felt comfortable that the babies were going to nod off, I headed downstairs to help with dinner.

Fifteen minutes later Squeaks let out a terrible shriek from upstairs, and Hubs, having finished his grilling, went up to help her. I could hear him rocking her in their room, because our rocker is long overdue for some WD-40, but Squeaks was still inconsolable, so I put dinner aside and went running upstairs, figuring only the boob would calm her.

That's when it happened.

As I was turning the corner in front of the stair case, I nearly tripped over a dark lump in the center of the hallway. It was my dead bird.

Charlotte, our suddenly very proud looking puppy, padded by, saw my expression, and turned to head for the hills.

There was bird everywhere - little feathery bits in my hallway. My kitchen. The family room.

I called, yelled, screamed at the top of my lungs to Hubs something along the lines of, "Nag! Nag! Nag!... I told you about that bird!... Nag!... What do you mean you forgot?... Nag!... Well of course the dog went after her... she's a dog!"

His reaction to the whole episode was a non-reaction, which, if I am being honest here, made my blood boil.

Let's call upon another earlier post, shall we? The one where I admit to being a bit of a germophobe, and by a bit - I mean a huge, what do you mean you open the bathroom door with your bare hands and don't wash your hands before eating? germophobe.

So here it was, now 9PM, and I had been up since 5AM (when the boy gave me a urine soaked wake up call) had dealt with the dog peeing on the floor, had swept silica infused diaper bits out of my daughter's mouth, placed a call to Poison Control, been vomited all over, dealt with two non-napping cranky snowflakes, had not eaten so much as a bite of food all day, and now, to top it off, had Jackson Pollack style bird bits spread throughout my house.

I was NOT a happy camper.

I did the only thing I could do - mope, fume, fuss - took care of Squeaks and then got to cleaning.
And cleaning...
And cleaning...

It took me 2+ hours to mop all of the floors (three passes of course because of that whole dead bird thing) - 1st- soap and water, 2nd - vinegar and water, 3rd - a thin layer of rubbing alcohol where I had seen bits of birdie "just in case." Of course the entire time I was doing this, I was thinking about the previews for that movie Contagion. Come on, you've seen them - where the bird flu wipes out all of humanity. Anyhow, I guess I was focused more on that, than the fumes, because when the floor was finally cleaned to my liking, I felt sick - light-headed, nauseated, dizzy. Being sick got me to thinking about why I felt sick, and when I realized it was probably not early onset bird flu, but instead the result of not opening the window while using rubbing alcohol, I couldn't help but wonder if having breathed so much of it in could have any affect on my breastmilk.

So I did what any ridiculous sane person in my position would do. I called Poison Control ... again.

I explained my situation and they told me that they had "no data on the effects of rubbing alcohol and breastmilk."

Huh?

I mean it's rubbing alcohol! A staple. Most households have at least a bottle of the stuff lying around. You would think they would have some data. Anyway the woman referred me to the Pregnancy Risk Line and told me I would have to wait till the morning to call because they were closed. Uh... yeah. Not helpful since the babies eat a hundred times a night, so she told me to call my Ped, who told me to call the Children's Hospital nurse on call, who told me to call Poison Control!

Long story short - the nurse finally told me I should pump and dump, so I did, and wouldn't you know it, the second, the VERY second I finally got done pumping and dumping and was ready to sit down, the babies woke up to be fed.

I have come to realize that sometimes in life you are the one telling the joke, and sometimes you are the punchline.

There is no doubt in my mind.
Monday - I was the punchline.

#ParentingFail

My morning went something like this...

The boy peed on the bed.

The dog peed on the floor.

The girl ate a diaper.

I called Poison Control.

Wait, what!?

So here is an interesting little factoid to tuck into your back pocket. The most common call that Poison Control receives from parents of infants is in regards to diaper eating, or more specifically, diaper stuffing eating. Not wanting to feel left out - Squeaks ate a diaper. 

Well not a whole diaper, of course, though she may have if given the chance, just a bite.

Sweet Potatoes? - No!
Carrots? - No!
Silica gel infused cotton blend? - Yes Please!

This is all pretty ironic because as you may recall (note the pic in the upper right) we use cloth diapers. Well 99% of the time at least. There is that 1% where we use disposables on day trips, or if the babies need rash cream and we don't want to ruin the inserts, and it is because of that 1% that today's events were made possible.

Great...

So back to the diaper eating...

Bubba and Squeaks have been doing this thing where they roll when being changed. They are strong, and squirmy, and I feel like I have been through the toughest Zumba class of my life each time I have to change a diaper, which with two, is roughly 15,000 times a day. I asked around for advice on this one and someone told me to: "put something in their hands, even just another diaper will work, and they will be so distracted that they will stay still."

Sounded simple enough.

So this morning, when Squeaks started rolling and rolling and sweat was breaking on my brow, I remembered the sage advice offered above, and seeing a disposable diaper on the changing table, I reached for it and handed it to her (why I didn't grab another cloth diaper, we will never know) so that I could proceed to wipe her bottom. That's all I did. Wipe her off and close her up. It took ten seconds, tops, and when I smiled at her and said, "all done!" she smiled back - with a mouth full of cotton!

Oh holy crap!

Kicking into high baby first aid gear I sat her up, swept her mouth with my finger, rushed her to the sink, did a few splashes of water, finger swept again, and called Poison Control. The woman on the other end of the line gave me that fact about this happening all the time, and assured me that there was nothing to worry about. While the silica in the diapers (as well as that in those little DO NOT EAT packets for what it's worth) can be a choking hazard, it is not actually toxic. 

Phew!

I hung up the phone and Squeaks smiled at me, or maybe she rolled her eyes, because she had that look a teenager gets when she thinks her mom worries about the silliest things, and then proceeded to throw up (probably more from being jostled around so shortly after a feeding than anything) all over me. To be honest, even though the diaper chunks down the front of my shirt just added insult to injury, I was actually pretty happy that she had thrown up, so as to allow any left over bits of cotton and silica to come out. 

So there you have it. The events of my morning, because all of this happened before 9AM, which makes me wonder what the hell the rest of the week has in store for us. The good news to report is that here we are, several hours later, and Squeaks is playing and smiling and doing just fine.

Just another day in the life...

A Day In The Life

I have been up since roughly 1:30 this morning.
Yup. 1:30.
The boy is teething.
The girl is teething.
The boy is growing.
The girl is growing.
Teething.
Growing.
Teething.
Growing.
Up to cuddle and comfort one.
Down to feed the other
At some time in between, I think Bubba attempted to pierce my nipple with his tooth.
He has two now.
Yup - two.
One broke through last week. The second yesterday.
It's raining here.
It rained all day yesterday as well.
That adds to my desire to crawl under the sheets, pull the covers to my chin, and sleep-sleep-sleep.
Or even just sleep, without the extra sleep-sleep.
A nap.
A catnap.
I am pooped.
Or tuckered.
Knocked Down.
Dragged Out.
EXHAUSTED.
Yesterday Squeaks was in a funk.
She cried.
And fussed.
And screamed.
It was very un-Squeaks like, since she is usually the happiest baby on the block.
Her attitude today makes yesterday look like a walk in the park.
Did I mention we also have six month shots this afternoon?
Yeah, that should be fun.
So...who wants to babysit?

Some Days...

Some days are hard.
Really hard.
Embarrassingly hard.

Some days make you feel like a complete fool for having thought that nothing could ever exhaust you after all you had been through.
After all you had seen.
After loss.

Some days it feels like you are giving it everything you have and then some.
100%.
And you just need a minute.

And then that, just that mere thought that you need a minute to yourself, makes you feel like an ingrate.

Like, how dare you?

You have this chance.
This opportunity.

You have been blessed!

How dare you complain about anything trivial?
You've lost that right.

Some days are a wrestling match from beginning to end.
Because there are two of them.
And one of you.
And even though they are happy, and healthy, and smiley... sometimes they can also be a handful.

Some days are like today, and you don't know how you made it to bedtime because you are just spent.
And you think, My gosh. Will tomorrow be like this too?

But then there is that moment.
When they look up at you with those big blue eyes.
And they smile.

And in that moment you know...

That tomorrow is another day.
A new day.

Tomorrow you can start fresh.

At being the best mom that you can be.
At being the best you that you can be.

Some days take a toll on you,
but in their smiles you can see the truth -

that tomorrow you will find your way.

I am not a perfect mother

"All you have to do is write one true sentence. Write the truest sentence that you know." 

-Ernest Hemingway     

Okay... here we go.

I am not a perfect mother.

There. 

I said it.

That is my one true sentence.

I was not a perfect mother to Peyton.

Another true sentence.

I loved her - yes.

I wanted her to live - yes.

I miss her every day - yes.

But I wasn't perfect. 

I was scared - a lot.

I cried in front of her - a lot.

I felt robbed, even when she was with us, by the machines, and the procedures, and the cancer, and the projected outcome.

I was weak in my Faith during Peyton's life.

I still am.

I spent more time in the chapel yelling at Him for afflicting her, than I did believing He would cure her, and I will never know if that affected her outcome.

There were times I should have spoken up about flaws in her care.

I know that now.

At the time I didn't feel qualified to say anything.

Motherly enough to say anything.

What could I possibly have known more than the nurses?

I wasn't even allowed to give her a bath.

Peyton was never surrounded by pure joy.

Forced smiles - yes.

Feigned laughter - yes.

Intense love - yes. yes. yes.

But the true, pure, out and out joy that all children deserve - no.

I wasn't strong enough to overlook what was happening and simply rejoice in her life, and that is something I will always regret.

For these reasons, and more, I know I was not a perfect mother to Peyton.

But that doesn't tell the whole story.

There were things I did right.

Things I know that I even did well.

Like comfort her.

And make her feel safe.

Peyton knew I loved her.

I held her a lot,

and told her so at every opportunity.

I sang to her the songs from my childhood.

And did skin to skin time in the hopes that it would improve her blood counts.

I traced every inch of her. 

Relished in each feature.

Breathed her in.

I talked to her about life outside the walls of the hospital. 

And did my best to make the right decisions.

But some of them were wrong. 

They must have been.

Had all the right decisions been made, Peyton would have survived. 

Wouldn't she?

When I think of all the papers I signed and the procedures I put her through hoping to save her life, and now knowing that it was for nothing, I feel the heavy boot of regret settle on my throat.

I still love Peyton today with the same intensity that I did when she was here.

I miss her like mad and imagine what our life could have been, what it should have been, with her in it.

I was not a perfect mother to Peyton.

I know this much is true.

But I tried my best.

So, are you ready for one more true sentence?

I am not a perfect mother to my snowflakes.

There are things that I do well -I know that. 

There are lessons I learned from loving and mothering Peyton that make me a better mother today than I probably would have been on my own.

Everything I do, and every decision I make, has been colored by my experiences with her.

Because of Peyton's life, I know to love better.
More fully.
More honestly.

I know to never let an opportunity to tell my children that I love them pass me by.

I know not to waste time, or take moments for granted.

I know how blessed, how truly, truly blessed I am to have them.

I know how important family is.

I know that they are the most important thing in my world.
That their happiness and safety are my top priorities.

That if I never succeed in anything else, this is something that I have to get right.

But...
I am not a perfect mother.

I get frustrated, really frustrated, at times.
And don't always have the answers.

I tend to overthink the small things, and I definitely worry too much.

I allow the hard lessons learned through child loss to cloud my judgement,or scare me away from certain people, places or experiences, because of some perceived risk that I see in them.

When I make the same rookie mistakes that any sleep deprived mother could make, I don't know how to give myself a break or how to let go of the "what ifs."

I made one such rookie mistake last week.

I was exhausted.
And distracted.
And I goofed.

I got home after running errands, and opened the car door to find my son looking up at me with trusting eyes in a car seat that had not been properly buckled.

I couldn't believe I could do something so stupid!

He could have been hurt.
Really hurt.
He wasn't.
But he could have been.

Noticing my mistake, I scooped my little Bubba up into my arms and started to cry.

I have already lost a child due to something outside of my control.
The thought of not doing everything within my control to keep my twins safe was just too much.

I am not allowed to make these kinds of mistakes.
I should know better.

Bubba, who has never seen me cry, just smiled and cooed and smacked at the wetness on my cheeks with his teething-soaked hands, no worse for the wear, despite my error.

He had forgiven me, but I couldn't forgive myself.

What if?
What if?
What if?!

In that moment, I felt undeserving because I am not a perfect mother.

Not that anyone has accused me of being one, of course.
I am just being honest.

I am not a perfect mother.

But I am a mother who sings silly songs to make her little ones smile.

I am a mother who tells her children how happy they make me.

I am a mother who gets down to their level to play with them.

I cuddle them to help them feel secure in this new world,

and smother them with kisses and hugs.

I am a mother who celebrates each new milestone,

and is constantly rooting them on.

I am their biggest fan and my world revolves around them, as it should.

I am not a perfect mother, this is true, but I always try to do what is best for them, even if what's best for them feels like a struggle every-single-step-of-the-way, like exclusively breastfeeding them has been.

I am not a perfect mother, and that's okay.

I love my children.
ALL of my children.
Fully and unconditionally.

I am not a perfect mother, and yet, somehow, despite any missteps and mix ups along the way, I know that they don't need me to be.

My love will be enough.

What Quiet Looks Like In My House

This morning, K was no match for the jump n go.

All those lights left him tuckered out...

And because she is not one to be left out, here is H napping in her swing.

Happy Thursday!

Wordless Wednesday - Well Fed Babies

K 

H