Some Firsts Are Harder Than Others

There is something particularly special, and difficult, about this Fall.

Special in that it marks five years that my heart has beat for my sweet little Peyton, loving her as I do even though she is not here. Difficult in that this year should have held such a magical milestone.

Grief is so strange. There are so many firsts we never had with Peyton. No first steps. No first words, or even first tantrums. No first rides on a bike, or first "I love you Mommy," moments, though her heart beating against my chest when I held her told me she did. 

There were so many firsts that should have been with Peyton that at some point in my grief I almost, *almost, became numb to them. I think that's what so-called healing is, your mind and body deciding to either numb-up, or give up.

I posted this photo on Facebook today, with the following message:

In another life on the other side of the loss universe, I gave you a hug and sent you off to Kindergarten this week.

I imagine that had she been born healthy, I would have had so much trepedation and so many nerves about leaving my child in the care of someone else for the first time. The reality is that from the moment of her birth, to the moment of her death, Peyton was always in the care of someone else, down to my inability to even make decisions over when to feed or bathe her. 

If Peyton were here, and healthy, this would be the moment in time for me to watch as my little girl became a big girl, and root her on as she walked off independent of me, into a new experience. Because of the cards we were dealt, that moment came in the pediatric intensive care unit as I urged her to please let go and be free of the pain of this broken world, when she took her last breath in my arms and was finally, finally, pain-free and at peace.

Even five years later, you never get over a moment like that. I imagine that in fifty years, I still won't.

I received so many beautiful messages from friends, but one response to my facebook post by a dear babyloss momma friend especially resonated with me: 

Perhaps in that other life somewhere our little ones enter kindergarten together, holding hands and filling the room with joy.

So tonight I am holding tight to the beauty of that image, to the thought of all of the precious and much loved little ones from this community holding hands as they walk into their first day in kindergarten, and all the while I am hoping that wherever Peyton is, she knows how very, very loved she is by those of us left behind.

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

To Peyton, On Your Fourth Birthday

Peyton,

Today should be your fourth birthday. I imagine you here, brown curls, blue eyes. This year feels so different, or maybe the wave just hasn't come for me yet. I am sitting here, next to the light that you have been turning on for me all week, thinking about how amazing and strong in spirit you are to continuously find ways to remind us of how connected we are. How can I feel anything but joy, love, and appreciation for that? You make me so proud.

It feels like Daddy and I have every ball up in the air right now, juggling a million decisions at once, but I know in my heart that no matter where they land, no matter where we land, you will be right there guiding us.

Some days I miss you so much I can taste the mint of your hospital room in my mouth. I can feel your head on that heavy place in my chest. I nearly believe that if I reach out just far enough, you will be there reaching back. I am learning to live with the fact that you won't. I am learning to accept a life of never again getting to cuddle and hug you. It's hard. It's always hard. It always will be hard.

Some mornings I hear your brother and sister laughing in their room, and like to imagine you in there whispering little jokes in their ears, or singing them songs. Maybe you are.

Squeaks reached out for your picture the other day. I explained to her that you are her "big, little sister." She just laughed. I promise you that I will raise your siblings knowing how amazing you are.

Peyton, there are so many things I wish could have been different. So many things I wish I had done differently. So many scenarios that I play, and replay in my mind, just searching for the one that would have saved you. I wish I could have, baby.

Daddy, Bubba, Squeaks and I are going to be sending lanterns up to you tonight. Will you look for them, baby girl? Will you feel the heat of my hugs in their flame? I hope so.

I love you my sweet forever-baby girl.

I will never stop wondering why you had to go.
I will never stop feeling grateful to have had you to love.

Happy Birthday.

Love,
Momma

Peyton Elizabeth 

9/4/08-10/2/08

First. Loved. Always.

****

September 4th is here already. 

To honor what would have been Peyton's 4th birthday, we are doing a Gift Card Drive to benefit families with critically ill infants at Connecticut Children's Medical Center. From Sept. 4th (the day she was born) through Oct. 2nd (the day she passed) we will be collecting gift cards to the following establishments:

*Dunkin Donuts 

*Friendly's

*Shop Rite, Stop and Shop, Walmart, Target, Price Chopper, etc.

*Gift Cards to Area Gas Stations (Sunoco, Shell, Valero, Getty, Gulf, Mobil, BP) 

These gift card donations are tax deductible. Please provide us with your address and keep your receipt.

Gift cards of any amount would be greatly appreciated and can be mailed to:

Doing Good In Her Name

P.O. Box 1281

Burlington, CT 06013.

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!

Under the Weather

Sad to report that we are all under the weather here.
That's why no blogging as of late.
Spent the end of last year and the beginning of this year wiping boogies, and dealing with some nasty coughs.

We got hit with the stomach bug - nasty cold, one-two punch.

Fun. Fun. Fun.

HAPPY NEW YEAR! :)

Under Attack!

There is a mouse.
A mouse.
A MOUSE in my HOUSE!

And I am F-R-E-A-K-I-N-G out!

Okay in all reality, I am sure there is more than just one mouse. There are probably several mice in my house, and my overly-active imagination has me convinced that they are plotting, just waiting around every corner to jump out at me.

Maybe that's an over-reaction.
Let me back up.

Late last month we were out of power for eleven days. I don't know what it was about being out of power, but when we returned home we found that a mouse had left us some little "presents" in my dish towel drawer. We have never, and I mean NEVER, in the five years of living here, had a mouse in our kitchen. There were a few that had made it into the garage when we first moved in, but we replaced the garage doors and that was the end of that problem- until now!

So I did what any manic sane person would do, I threw out every dish towel, cleaned the drawer out, and lied to myself that that was the end of my mouse problem.

Then I found another "present" in the bottom drawer of the stove where I keep the lids to my pots. Then near our furnace. Don't like where this is going? Yeah, me either.

I am totally beside myself as to how this could have happened. Anyone who knows me knows how OCD I am about things being clean. I never EVER go to sleep with dishes in the sink, always wipe counters down before and after use and before bed, mop my floor at least once if not more a week, don't leave food out etc. etc. So where did I go wrong?

I spent the better part of the first week we were back scrubbing every surface, every toy, washing all the blankets and playmats that the babies use just-in-case a mouse had so much as looked at them. It was a lot of work, mainly because in my mind nothing is ever "clean enough," and because I consulted Dr. Google who scared the shiznit out of me when it brought me to pages about the Hanta Virus (we actually don't have this in my state) and some crazy blurb about mice liking babies because they smell like milk! How can you relax at night after reading something like that? I can't!

Then things calmed down, and we had a few beautiful weeks of non-mousey bliss, and all felt right in the world again. I never actually had seen any mice, so I told myself that it was us not being home for that length of time that made them come wander into our home, and that I was sure they had fully vacated the premises before our return-how considerate of them.

I started to feel safe again. To live life the way I had before the mice had come calling. I was once again happy in my home... and then it happened. This morning while cleaning the floor, I found one-lone-"present" waiting for me in the corner. It hadn't been there the night before... it hadn't been there the hour before! That means while the snowflakes and I were playing just a dozen or so feet away, this mouse was helping himself to my - as I later discovered - onions of all things. Blech!

I freaked out. Left hubs a message that was something to the affect of "Oh-my-gosh-there-was-a-mouse-it-pooped-on-the-floor-I'm-outta-here-this-is-NOT-acceptable" then packed the kids in the car and got the hell outta dodge - which really means I drove to Target and walked aimlessly with the babies in the carriage while drinking a tasty treat from Starbucks and waiting for my husband to come home to rescue me.

So yes, it seems. We are under attack.

Eeeek!

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.

The Box On The Porch

There is a box on my porch.
A cardboard box, with a blanket inside.

We had our first snow of the year last night. A flurry of large chunky flakes that left everything entombed in a heavy, transluscent frost. It was the kind of morning where you just want to pull the covers back up to your chin, and catch a little more sleep, which, of course, is impossible when two 7 month olds are having a turf war over who should get to stick their fingers in your belly button. Bubba won.

Each morning in this house starts with me venturing downstairs, babies in tow, to make Hubs a cup of coffee for his ride to work while he walks the dog. Today, upon returning from their walk, he told me that Charlotte the Wonder Pup had been barking like mad at something. Here is my recollection of the conversation that followed...

"I think I heard a kitty mewing," Hubs said.
"Really?"
"Pretty sure, yeah." He reached for his cup of coffee. "In the bushes by the front porch."
"Poor little kitteh." I said, looking out the window. "It's so cold this morning."
Hubs took a sip. "I was thinking we should maybe put out a box with some blankets."
"Yeah...I don't think so."

So before you start judging me, you should know that I love animals - all animals. In fact our sweet Charlotte the Wonder Pup was rescued as she was headed to the slaughter. It's just that I have a bit of a history (a sordid history) when it comes to stray cats.

Let me explain.

About five or six years ago, Hubs (then my fiance) and I came home from a party very late at night. As we approached our stoop, I saw an adorable black and white cat. "Here Kitty, Kitty," I called, with my arm out. "Here, Kitty, Kitty, Kitty." Hubs walked ahead of me up the stoop and flipped on the porch light so I could get a better look. To my horror, the "kitty" I was mere inches away from petting was actually a skunk! We ran inside just as he sprayed.

Then there was the time I saw an adorable little kitten curled up against the curb sleeping. She was white and grey and just beautiful. Unlike the earlier story where I had consumed a few glasses of wine before approaching the animal in question, this time I was completely sober. I walked over to her, hand out, calling, "Here Kitty. Kitty." Only kitty didn't respond... because kitty was dead.

So you take those two stories, and compound them with the fact that a very close friend of mine has been battling a horrendous (and in her case life threatening) bout of cat scratch fever the last year (which she just so happened to pick up while rescuing kittens in her yard) and yeah... you could say I am a just little gun-shy about stray cats.

Gun-shy - but still an animal lover.

So like I said, there is a cardboard box on the front porch with a blanket in it.

Here's to hoping a rabid raccoon doesn't wander in.