The screaming is starting to get to me. Well, not just the screaming, the crying too, and the whining I guess. But I’ll be honest, the sound all kind of blurs together at some point. At least once a week Roger and I look at each other during the pre-dinnertime chaos and one of us (usually me) wonders aloud whether other toddlers scream as much as ours do. Because they scream quite a lot, I think. Not that I have much to compare it to. Maybe this is a completely normal amount of screaming for two 20 month olds to produce. How would I know?
I mentioned the screaming to a group of moms the other day, and while they were dutifully sympathetic, I sensed that they weren’t quite there with me, confirming my fear that this is not a normal amount of screaming. Or maybe it's the fact that even when they're not screaming, the echoes of their screams in my head just make it seem like it's worse than it really is.
But then I started thinking, it would obviously make sense for mine to collectively scream twice as much as your average toddler. But really, the average toddler doesn’t constantly have another toddler taking her stuffed animal or swatting at his arm or mashing his fingers with her foot. But mine do. So now, the extra screaming starts to make sense, right?
“Double Trouble” is true for most things related to twins, but when it comes to the noise level, well, I’m pretty sure it’s quadrupled.
Friday, April 27, 2012
Thursday, March 22, 2012
Rough Week
This mothering stuff is not for the fainthearted. Every day seems to bring a new challenge. Some of them logistical (How can I safely transport two toddlers from car to classroom without resorting to leashes?); some of them humorous (How can I get Julie to stop taking off her diaper?); some of them impossibly frustrating (How can I force them to stop feeding their vegetables to the dogs?), and others are more manageable (How can I organize their clothes so it doesn’t take me half an hour to get them dressed each morning?). But no challenge has been quite as terrifying as the one that we came up against last week, when I answered a call from the day care to hear: “We’ve called an ambulance for Anna.”
It took 1 ambulance ride, 1 ER visit, another 911 call, a 6 a.m. visit from the paramedics, 3 trips to the pediatrician, and one more trip down to Children’s, but I’m relieved to say that Anna is fine. Really, she’s okay. It was a mean, mysterious virus that kept causing her fever to spike, and unfortunately, she has inherited her father’s childhood tendency to have a seizure when her temperature rises too quickly. But now that the virus has passed, she seems to be fine. Of course, I’m terrified of the next time she picks up a virus that causes her temperature to rise without warning, but at least I’ll be a little more prepared. In theory anyway. I’m still not sure I’ll be able to sit and watch her seize for the five minutes my doctor advised before I call 911, but in theory, I’m ready.
It was a rough week; I won’t lie. Scary as hell. But now that it’s over, it makes me realize how lucky I am. Lucky that this is the biggest scare we’ve had up to this point. That by some miracle Roger and I brought two tiny creatures into this world that, other than the odd seizure (!), are perfectly healthy. Despite a really scary week, I realize now more than ever how blessed I am that the hospital is so unfamiliar to us. We have no idea what our insurance will bill us for an ER visit or an ambulance ride – and that’s a good thing! (I’ll have to remind myself of that when the bill arrives.) In the past I’ve complained that I’m at the pediatrician’s office every other week, but if it’s only for an ear infection or an extended cold, well, I should consider myself lucky.
And I am lucky. So lucky. But damn, this mothering stuff is hard.
It took 1 ambulance ride, 1 ER visit, another 911 call, a 6 a.m. visit from the paramedics, 3 trips to the pediatrician, and one more trip down to Children’s, but I’m relieved to say that Anna is fine. Really, she’s okay. It was a mean, mysterious virus that kept causing her fever to spike, and unfortunately, she has inherited her father’s childhood tendency to have a seizure when her temperature rises too quickly. But now that the virus has passed, she seems to be fine. Of course, I’m terrified of the next time she picks up a virus that causes her temperature to rise without warning, but at least I’ll be a little more prepared. In theory anyway. I’m still not sure I’ll be able to sit and watch her seize for the five minutes my doctor advised before I call 911, but in theory, I’m ready.
It was a rough week; I won’t lie. Scary as hell. But now that it’s over, it makes me realize how lucky I am. Lucky that this is the biggest scare we’ve had up to this point. That by some miracle Roger and I brought two tiny creatures into this world that, other than the odd seizure (!), are perfectly healthy. Despite a really scary week, I realize now more than ever how blessed I am that the hospital is so unfamiliar to us. We have no idea what our insurance will bill us for an ER visit or an ambulance ride – and that’s a good thing! (I’ll have to remind myself of that when the bill arrives.) In the past I’ve complained that I’m at the pediatrician’s office every other week, but if it’s only for an ear infection or an extended cold, well, I should consider myself lucky.
And I am lucky. So lucky. But damn, this mothering stuff is hard.
Monday, March 5, 2012
Magic
The girls are finally feeling better. Knock on wood. But just when I thought we might go a full week without visiting the pediatrician, I realized I had scheduled their 18-month well visit for last Friday. Great.
After their 12-month visit, I swore I would never again go by myself to an appointment involving immunizations. Taking two toddlers to the doctor (or anywhere, really) is hard enough as it is, but when the visit ends with both of those toddlers screaming bloody murder (for a pretty legitimate reason, mind you – have you seen the size of those needles?) – well, I’m sorry, but I need back up for that. The M-I-L came to the 15-month visit with me, and Roger took the afternoon off to attend last Friday’s affair.
Now, as I’ve mentioned, we’ve been to the doctor a lot as of late, and thankfully none of those appointments have ended with shots. The girls aren’t big fans of the stethoscope, the tongue depressor, or the ear thinga-ma-jig either, but with each visit, they seem to be coping a little bit better. Still, as we stood in the exam room answering Dr. Libby’s questions about the girls’ development, Julie was growing antsy in Roger’s arms so we foolishly decided to trade toddlers. This of course resulted in Anna bursting into tears, and when I tried to then give Julie back to Roger, Julie burst into tears. Frustrated, I just told Roger I’d hold them both, but lately, having to share mommy only seems to make them angrier than if they didn’t have mommy at all! So I’m sitting in the chair with both of them climbing all over me, poking each other at every opportunity when Dr. Libby asks, “And how’s everything else going? Any, uh, discipline problems?”
I look up at her and laugh. “What do you think?”
She gave me the name of a book or two and talked a little about how she used “time outs” with her daughter. I nodded along, genuinely happy to get her advice but not really learning anything new. I do plan on getting the book she mentioned, 1-2-3 Magic (mostly because another friend recommended it too), but it’s not really the “time out” type issues that are driving me insane. It’s the constant battle for “Mama” that’s going to be the end of me. It’s nice to be loved of course, but I feel like I’m constantly letting one of them down.
Now I know that whether you have 1 baby, 2 babies, or 10 babies, there are going to be times when they want to be held and you just can’t hold them. More importantly, there are times when you really shouldn’t hold them. They have to learn to cope right? But there are also times when avoiding a meltdown is more important than teaching a lesson. Sometimes it’s more important because you’re in a public place that you’d like to return to one day. Other times it’s more important because you know that if you hear your children screaming/whining for one more second your head might explode into a million tiny little pieces that scatter all over the room, swirling around your darling children as the shattered piece of your lips come together to say, “See, now there’s a bit of mommy for everyone!”
But sure, teaching a lesson is important too.
So, if you hear of a book called 1-2-3 Magical Ways to Keep Your Head from Exploding, well, do let me know.
After their 12-month visit, I swore I would never again go by myself to an appointment involving immunizations. Taking two toddlers to the doctor (or anywhere, really) is hard enough as it is, but when the visit ends with both of those toddlers screaming bloody murder (for a pretty legitimate reason, mind you – have you seen the size of those needles?) – well, I’m sorry, but I need back up for that. The M-I-L came to the 15-month visit with me, and Roger took the afternoon off to attend last Friday’s affair.
Now, as I’ve mentioned, we’ve been to the doctor a lot as of late, and thankfully none of those appointments have ended with shots. The girls aren’t big fans of the stethoscope, the tongue depressor, or the ear thinga-ma-jig either, but with each visit, they seem to be coping a little bit better. Still, as we stood in the exam room answering Dr. Libby’s questions about the girls’ development, Julie was growing antsy in Roger’s arms so we foolishly decided to trade toddlers. This of course resulted in Anna bursting into tears, and when I tried to then give Julie back to Roger, Julie burst into tears. Frustrated, I just told Roger I’d hold them both, but lately, having to share mommy only seems to make them angrier than if they didn’t have mommy at all! So I’m sitting in the chair with both of them climbing all over me, poking each other at every opportunity when Dr. Libby asks, “And how’s everything else going? Any, uh, discipline problems?”
I look up at her and laugh. “What do you think?”
She gave me the name of a book or two and talked a little about how she used “time outs” with her daughter. I nodded along, genuinely happy to get her advice but not really learning anything new. I do plan on getting the book she mentioned, 1-2-3 Magic (mostly because another friend recommended it too), but it’s not really the “time out” type issues that are driving me insane. It’s the constant battle for “Mama” that’s going to be the end of me. It’s nice to be loved of course, but I feel like I’m constantly letting one of them down.
Now I know that whether you have 1 baby, 2 babies, or 10 babies, there are going to be times when they want to be held and you just can’t hold them. More importantly, there are times when you really shouldn’t hold them. They have to learn to cope right? But there are also times when avoiding a meltdown is more important than teaching a lesson. Sometimes it’s more important because you’re in a public place that you’d like to return to one day. Other times it’s more important because you know that if you hear your children screaming/whining for one more second your head might explode into a million tiny little pieces that scatter all over the room, swirling around your darling children as the shattered piece of your lips come together to say, “See, now there’s a bit of mommy for everyone!”
But sure, teaching a lesson is important too.
So, if you hear of a book called 1-2-3 Magical Ways to Keep Your Head from Exploding, well, do let me know.
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
Mama's Girl
I’m a mama’s girl. I know that doesn’t make me particularly cool, but it’s 100% true. We could speculate about why I'm such a mama's girl, but that’s what the psychiatrist’s couch is for, right? Regardless of the many reasons, I’m extremely close to my mom. I’d do anything for her, and she for me. So what’s the problem? Well, I wouldn’t say there’s a problem exactly; it’s just a weakness or a dependency that I feel the need to acknowledge.
Long past my 18th birthday, I’ve depended on my mom for love and support, but since becoming a mother myself, I’ve taken this dependency to a whole new level. In fact, I don’t think I’ve been this dependent on her since I was a child, unable to cook or drive or earn money for myself! And this goes against the natural order of things, right? Parents give unconditionally to their children as they grow, but then as adults, the children are supposed to give back. Only I don’t think I’m giving back. Before I had babies, maybe I was, a little bit anyway, but now I just take and take and take. It’s a little embarrassing, shameful even, but there it is.
Now I’m sure my mom would say the two little blonde “angels” that I have brought into her life are more than enough “repayment” for her, but that hardly seems fair. I mean, I know she loves my girls and enjoys taking care of them, but I also know that the time spent on her own with them is not exactly easy on her. But despite the physical challenges my wee ones present, my mom eagerly comes over almost every weekend to serve as babysitter and provide an extra pair of hands. And those hands never come empty. Whether it’s clothes for the girls (or me!), soup or meatloaf for weeknight dinners, filters for my air purifier, or some gadget she’s found to help us with the tasks of daily living - there are no limits to her generosity.
And I apparently have no limits to how much I can accept. In other circumstances, I think of myself as pretty self-reliant, but when it comes to being a mom – well, I’d be completely lost without mine.
But I think I’m okay with that. I mean, as long as she is of course. And I can only pray that one day my girls feel about me the way I feel about my mom. Of course, I’m terrified of the road we’ll have to travel to get there, but I hope we do. I’d love a couple of mama’s girls of my own.
Long past my 18th birthday, I’ve depended on my mom for love and support, but since becoming a mother myself, I’ve taken this dependency to a whole new level. In fact, I don’t think I’ve been this dependent on her since I was a child, unable to cook or drive or earn money for myself! And this goes against the natural order of things, right? Parents give unconditionally to their children as they grow, but then as adults, the children are supposed to give back. Only I don’t think I’m giving back. Before I had babies, maybe I was, a little bit anyway, but now I just take and take and take. It’s a little embarrassing, shameful even, but there it is.
Now I’m sure my mom would say the two little blonde “angels” that I have brought into her life are more than enough “repayment” for her, but that hardly seems fair. I mean, I know she loves my girls and enjoys taking care of them, but I also know that the time spent on her own with them is not exactly easy on her. But despite the physical challenges my wee ones present, my mom eagerly comes over almost every weekend to serve as babysitter and provide an extra pair of hands. And those hands never come empty. Whether it’s clothes for the girls (or me!), soup or meatloaf for weeknight dinners, filters for my air purifier, or some gadget she’s found to help us with the tasks of daily living - there are no limits to her generosity.
And I apparently have no limits to how much I can accept. In other circumstances, I think of myself as pretty self-reliant, but when it comes to being a mom – well, I’d be completely lost without mine.
But I think I’m okay with that. I mean, as long as she is of course. And I can only pray that one day my girls feel about me the way I feel about my mom. Of course, I’m terrified of the road we’ll have to travel to get there, but I hope we do. I’d love a couple of mama’s girls of my own.
Saturday, February 18, 2012
What's the Plan?!?!?
I thought I had a little more time. The girls don’t turn two for another six months, and yet I fear the so-called “terrible twos” have already arrived. Times two. I’m not gonna lie. I’m terrified. And I have no idea what I’m doing.
Before the girls were born, I probably read ten books about having a baby (or two). And while, yes, I was overwhelmed by the reality of having two newborns, those books had given me a plan and I worked that plan. I clung to the plan! The plan kept me sane during some pretty intense times. (It might have driven everyone else crazy but I wasn’t worried about them!) I think I mellowed out a little during the second half of the first year, but I still stuck to the plan for the most part. And I felt good about that. I was pretty confident that I was doing a good job, that I was doing what was best for my kids – as long as I stuck to the plan.
Now, there is no plan. Spankings? Time outs? Naughty chairs? I don't know! Should I let my child scream and cry on the kitchen floor while I go about my business? What about in public? Is it bad to give in and hold the screaming child in the grocery store if that’s the only way to quiet her?
I’m sure every mother faces these challenges, but (forgive me for pulling the twin card) I really think the second one complicates matters further (and I'm sure any second child makes it harder, not just a twin). Yesterday at the park, Julie was being obnoxious but Anna was having so much fun. If it had just been Julie I would have taken her home as soon as the first tantrum began, but I didn’t want to punish Anna too. So there I was with a screaming toddler tucked under one arm as I pushed a smiling toddler in the swing.
I need a plan and fast. If anybody’s out there, I beg you to share your wisdom below.
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
My Valentines
Valentine’s Day, 2002. A boy I’d known for a little over a year took me to a Thai restaurant in Kensington where we ordered food so spicy we could barely eat it. We drank too many pints and talked excitedly about our move back to the US along with our secret marriage. I was ready to throw caution to the wind and trust my instincts 100%.
Good thing too…
Good thing too…
Monday, February 13, 2012
Mess
Lately, I’m kind of a mess. Sure, I have a pretty good reason (two of them in fact) for the ponytail in my hair and the boogers on my sweater. But my, well, let's be nice and say "disheveled" appearance, is not exactly something I’m proud of. Now honestly, even in my pre-baby life, no one would have dared call me a fashionista, but still, showing up at work in a stained purple sweatshirt and a ponytail is a new low even for me (in my small defense, it was a casual Friday).
I fear I’ve become a cliché, the woman that “let herself go” now that she has kids. Except it would be one thing if I wore sweatshirts and ponytails because I only left the house to go to the grocery store, but no, I still go to an office most days. An office where a hundred other women prance around in their high heels and scandalously short but super cute dresses. Even if I did have the cash (and the fashion sense) to buy those clothes, it just looks like it takes so much effort. And all of the energy I have to spend on getting dressed has to be distributed between three people now.
I'm never gonna be one of those super-polished women. I envied them in college, and I envy them now but it's just not who I am. That being said, I’m pretty sure this isn't who I am either.
I'm not exactly sure what to do about this. And I'm a little scared to confess my insecurity so publicly. But there it is. I'm a mess. And just as soon as this pink eye clears up, I plan to do something about it.
I fear I’ve become a cliché, the woman that “let herself go” now that she has kids. Except it would be one thing if I wore sweatshirts and ponytails because I only left the house to go to the grocery store, but no, I still go to an office most days. An office where a hundred other women prance around in their high heels and scandalously short but super cute dresses. Even if I did have the cash (and the fashion sense) to buy those clothes, it just looks like it takes so much effort. And all of the energy I have to spend on getting dressed has to be distributed between three people now.
I'm never gonna be one of those super-polished women. I envied them in college, and I envy them now but it's just not who I am. That being said, I’m pretty sure this isn't who I am either.
I'm not exactly sure what to do about this. And I'm a little scared to confess my insecurity so publicly. But there it is. I'm a mess. And just as soon as this pink eye clears up, I plan to do something about it.
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