Lies Pregnant Women Tell Themselves About Motherhood

Lie:  "I'll exercise before the kids get up and lose that baby weight in no time!"

Reality:  No you won't.  You'll wake up only when your child has been crying long enough that it's clear he won't be going back to bed.  And if you're really not a morning person, you might even train your children to go back to bed for an hour or two after their first bottle, for the sole purpose of getting more shut-eye yourself.  (Not that I speak from experience.  Ahem.)

Lie:  "I will totally stay on top of the laundry and dirty bottles and I'll even cook real meals every night!"

Reality:  You will eat ramen noodles and dry toast standing up in your kitchen while staring at the mountain of dishes piled in your sink.

Lie:  "I'll have so much time on maternity leave, I'll finally be able to stain the cabinets/reupholster the chair/insert household project here that I've been meaning to do for ages!"

Reality:  Before your child is born, maternity leave will seem like a wonderful, extra-long vacation.  But then you'll give birth and your child will refuse to nap for longer than twenty minutes, and all you will want to spend those twenty minutes doing is zoning out in front of the TV (or showering, if you're feeling ambitious).

Lie:  "I will feed my child only homemade, organic purees!"

Reality:  You will spend many an afternoon steaming sweet potatoes and carrots and mashing avocados, only to realize how much freaking easier it is to buy the damn jars for 62 cents a piece.

Lie:  "I'll still put effort into my appearance after the baby arrives!"

Reality:  Some days, you won't even change out of your pajamas.

Lie:  "I'll still be the same person, just with a baby!"

Reality:  You will change completely, in ways you never thought possible.  And it will be better than you ever dreamed it would be.

"Dinner on the table every night!  Good one, Mama!"

What I Know Now

Tomorrow, November 17th, is World Prematurity Day, a day focused on raising awareness about premature birth around the world.  Before I got pregnant, I never imagined I'd end up giving birth at twenty-five weeks, but it happens far more often than anyone realizes.  To learn more about World Prematurity Day, visit the World Prematurity Day Facebook Page, or follow along on Twitter with the hashtag #worldprematurityday.

One of the things I love most about writing this blog is hearing from other preemie mothers who hear their own stories in my words.  To everyone who has ever written me since I started writing about my twins, please know that I so very much appreciate you taking the time to share a bit about your own journey.  The more mothers I hear from, the clearer it becomes - preemie stories matter.  All of them.    No matter how easy or hard a course we had in the NICU, no matter how long we were there, these stories have become part of who we are as mothers, and they deserve to be honoured.  And, of course, our amazing, tiny, warrior babies deserve to be honoured too, whether or not they are still living, whether or not they are meeting their milestones, whatever their situations look like.  And no one will understand that like another preemie parent.

Sharing Our Stories: Maja & Alexis

The more I hear from other preemie moms, both in person and through this blog, the more I am struck by the similarity of our experiences.  Each path is different, every journey is significant, but the moment you hear yourself in another mom's story - your thoughts, your fears, your feelings - is the moment you realize that you are not alone.  NICUs are filled with families fighting the same kind of fight, and yet it can feel so isolating so much of the time .  Not only do we need to hear these stories, the stories that sound just like ours, we need to tell them, too. We need to speak of our own pain, of the close calls and the sleepless nights and the magical moments our endless prayers were answered (and the moments when they weren't).  And we need to hear them, to know that, no matter how lonely it can seem, there actually are others out there who understand.

Trick or Treat

From a cow and a ladybug!

The Problem With Early Intervention

As with most preemie parents, we take Madeleine and Reid to a lot of appointments.  They currently see a paediatrician, physiotherapist, occupational therapist, neurosurgeon, and ophthalmologist, and probably will continue to for a while.  The list may grow longer as we discover other issues and needs.  When babies are born very small and very early, things tend to go wrong, they tend to need extra help, so these appointments are put in place at discharge (sometimes they even begin during their NICU stay), with the intention of providing as much help and assistance to these little ones as early as possible.  You get a team of people on your side, a reassurance that you won't be alone in advocating for your children.  It's a good thing.

Your Children Are Not Your Children

Today, the babies turned seven months corrected.  As many mamas before me can attest to, time is speeding by faster and faster.  It seems like every week brings with it a new skill, a new favourite food, a new aspect of their ever-evolving personalities that I get to discover.  Of course, some of those new aspects are less than wonderful - the newly-developed whining, the constant teething pain, the screaming for fun, the throwing of food during meal times, the all-out nap strikes - but every day I look at Madeleine and Reid, these amazing little people who have come so, so far in seven months, and think how lucky I am to get to be the one who sees it all.

Kicked

I was folding the babies' laundry when I felt it, a quick little thump in my tummy, likely an indigestion side effect from the copious amounts of Thanksgiving turkey I'd consumed the day before.  But there was a brief moment between feeling it and identifying its cause that my mind strayed and I thought, a kick.  It hadn't yet clicked in that, no, that certainly wasn't what it was.  Instead, I thought of Reid, the baby that used to kick me the same way in that same spot.  I instinctively put my hand over it, trying to "catch" it the way I always used to when I was pregnant, in that brief window of time when I got to feel my babies move.  And then, of course, I remembered that, nope, that's over now, and my heart sank a little.

Thankful

This time a year ago, I was four months pregnant.  I was sick - really, constantly, all-the-time sick - so Matt and I opted to stay home and cook our own mini Thanksgiving dinner, just the two of us.  We had no idea what lied ahead, that I'd be giving birth in a scary blur only two months later.  We cooked and laughed and set off smoke alarms and talked about baby names and where in the world we'd move if we didn't have to worry about finding paying work.  It was one of my most favourite days.

Today, we're also cooking Thanksgiving dinner together at home, although there will be two more people at the table.  Getting to this point has meant a lot of stress and tears and sadness, a lot of sleepless nights.  But it's also been about love, a new kind of love I didn't even realize existed, for these new little humans I get to call my children.  And a new kind of love for Matt too, for both the incredible father he's become as well as for the person who shared that terrifying journey with me, whose heart broke along with mine, who never left my side.

I had no idea a year ago what lied ahead for us, couldn't have possibly imagined it even if I'd tried.  But I also had no idea either just how wonderful it would be, and just how much I would have to be thankful for.

Happy Thanksgiving to you and yours xx

What NOT To Say To A Twin Mom

One thing I've learned as a mom of twins is that, well, people LOVE twins.  Any time we're out in public, we will inevitably be stopped by someone who wants to sneak a peak at my children, and I'm usually happy to oblige.  I understand the fascination — two babies!  Two babies at once! — and I always appreciate hearing from other twin moms or from people who were twins themselves.  But I also hear a lot of other stuff.  And that other stuff tends to get repeated.  A LOT.  I've been lucky that all the questions and comments I get have all been well-intentioned, but there are a few things I wish people knew about what it's like to have twins.

WHAT NOT TO SAY:  "A boy and a girl?  Are they identical?"

This is by far the question I am asked the most, and it always baffles me!  Identical twins are two babies formed from an egg that split into two - actual clones of one another.  Not only do my babies hardly look alike, they are DIFFERENT GENDERS.  They are about as identical as any brother and sister can be - which is not at all!  Two eggs, two sacs, two placentas.  Having fraternal twins is pretty much just having two normally-related siblings that happened to be born at the same time.

WHAT TO SAY INSTEAD:  Next time you see boy/girl twins out and about and want to say something about it, try, "fraternal twins!  How lovely!"  Not only will mom appreciate the sentiment, but you'll get bonus points for knowing the difference.

WHAT NOT TO SAY:  "I always wanted twins!"

When I first got pregnant, it didn't even factor into my brain that there could be more than one baby in there.  So needless to say, when I found out, it was a pretty big shock.  One big, terrifying shock.  Two babies at once!  Twice the crying and feeding and dirty diapers.  I would already be outnumbered!  Will I ever sleep again?!

I love my babies more than I ever thought I could love anything, but taking care of two at once is not easy, and sometimes (especially when the babies first came home) I thought it would have been better to only have one.  Even though I know that it is meant to be a compliment, when someone says this to me, what I hear is, "If I had twins, I'd think it was so lovely and wonderful all of the time!"  Which is to say that I should think so too.

WHAT TO SAY INSTEAD:  "Fraternal twins!  How lovely!"  Expressing your love of twins without implying any judgment.  Win.

WHAT NOT TO SAY:  "Oh my goodness, I can't even imagine having two babies at once!"

Ok, I totally get it.  In fact, if I didn't have twins myself, I'd probably say it too!  Two babies is a lot of babies.  Even one baby is hard, so I understand your shock and horror when you consider that you could have had more than that.  But you're also basically telling me that I got stuck with something you'd never want (even if you don't mean to).  That kind of makes me feel bad - like no other mother in the world would want to be me!  I understand that it's not personal, but hey, I'm a sensitive new mama here, I can't help it.

WHAT TO SAY INSTEAD:  "Fraternal twins!  How lovely!"  (Are we sensing a theme?)

WHAT NOT TO SAY:  "You're a saint/super mom/warrior/etc."

Thanks.  Except, I'm not any of those things!  I didn't choose to have two babies, it could happen to anyone.  And when it does, you just figure it out the same way any mom figures it out.  You could do it too!  (Besides, some moms have triplets!  Or quads!  Some even have six or (gulp!) eight babies at once!  Two babies is nothing.)

WHAT TO SAY INSTEAD:  "Fraternal twins!  How lovely!"  Works every time, I swear.

WHAT NOT TO SAY:  "Two at once! Now you never have to do it again!"

This one is personally hard for me, because my pregnancy and delivery were such a colossal disaster.  I couldn't carry even close to term, and a still feel a profound sense of loss about it.  I didn't even reach the third trimester!  I didn't get a big belly, I didn't get to feel them moving around a lot, I didn't get to wait until my water broke to rush to the hospital in an excited frenzy.  I didn't even get to hear my babies cry when they were born - because they couldn't.

Nobody would ever know this from looking at me, and I definitely wouldn't hold it against you if you said this (I usually just smile and agree), but the truth is that there is a part of me that dreams of doing it again, dreams of being able to do the thing my body was meant to do, dreams of having it go like it was supposed to.  And I don't know if I'll ever be able to.  I don't even know if I want more children.  But I do know that I'd love a do-over with Madeleine and Reid.  I would love to do it again if I knew nothing would go wrong.

(Besides, how do you know I don't really have my heart set on three or five or seventeen children?!  And one baby is plenty for some parents!  Two is not a magic number.)

WHAT TO SAY INSTEAD:  Say it with me now...."Fraternal twins!  How lovely!"

WHAT NOT TO SAY:  "Are they natural twins?"

No.  Just, no.  Don't say this!  As opposed to what?  Artificial?  Yes, fertility treatments can often result in multiples, but asking about anyone's reproductive history is never a good idea.  It's a sensitive topic, and also, nobody else's business.  It's also implying that natural twins (or ‘spontaneous twins’ to use the more accurate term) are somehow better, which is unfair.  Unless I personally volunteer information about my children's conception (which, uh, I won't ever do), please don't ask.  Like, anyone.  Don't ask anyone ever.

WHAT TO SAY INSTEAD.  Nothing.  Walk away.  (Okay, "Fraternal twins!  How lovely!" works here too.)

Next time we run into each other at the supermarket, please come say hello!  Just please, please, don't ask me if my kids are identical.

That Baby Smell

When Madeleine and Reid were first born, we weren't really sure how to interact with them.  We couldn't hold them right away, and even when we could, it was a specific type of holding, a pre-planned activity you had to coordinate with the nurse, involving tubes and wires and undressing and sitting for as long as you possibly could so that your baby could benefit from skin-to-skin time.  Even touching them in their incubators had a protocol - no stroking or touching that could be stressful or overstimulating.  Instead, we could firmly hold their head and feet, trying to recreate what it probably felt like when they were confined inside my body.  When your baby is born very premature, nothing is spontaneous, all interactions must happen carefully.  You don't hold them the same way as normal parents, you don't have the same kinds of early experiences.  But what we did have was their smell.

I think all parents love the smell of their infants, the sweet, warm, delicious scent that emanates from their otherwise poopy, pukey humans.  I love it too, the way they smell when I nuzzle into them during a cuddle or after a bath, but in truth, I almost don't even notice it these days.  What I remember most vividly, a sharp, precise memory in what is otherwise a giant blur, is the scent of Madeleine and Reid in those first few weeks of life.  The way it made our hearts swell and helped us fall in love with them.  The way it made us parents.

When Madeleine and Reid were first born, and for a fair while afterward, they were kept in small, enclosed incubators to regulate their temperatures.  Very early preemies cannot do this very well on their own, especially at the beginning, so the temperature had to be kept pretty high.  I remember so clearly the warmth of their rooms, the way I'd be sweating sitting there in a t-shirt while a bitterly cold winter waited outside.  But those were the days when even the act of opening an incubator porthole would cause the alarm to sound - even a slight change in temperature made a big difference.

Back them, all we could do was sit by their incubators while they slept, head in one hand, and feet in the other.  A baby still has a long way to go at twenty-five weeks gestation, a lot more time left that should have been spent in the warmth and darkness of utero.  So that's what we did for hours at a time, sitting there, sweating, with our hands on their little bodies, trying not to move much, if at all.  And when it was time to stop, when we had to close the portholes and leave our little ones, the one thing we had left was the scent left by our babies on our hands.

"Here!", Matt would say, holding out his hand, and I would close my eyes and it would smell so strongly of Madeleine, whatever that meant, the incredible, unique, delicious smell of my baby girl.  I would do the same and offer my hand, the one that smelled like Reid, and we would smile at each other during this strange little ritual, understanding that the incubators and the tubes and the monitors were not who our babies were, but that those smells were our children.

We knew them so well that at night, when we came home, if we tried hard enough we could conjure them in our minds.  When the hospital gave us hug blankets - little squares of flannel that the babies heads would lie on - I would wear them eagerly inside my shirt all night long before bringing them in the next morning.  The babies couldn't really see me, couldn't really understand what was going on, but I hoped that when the nurse laid them down onto their hug blankets they would smell me, and that it might comfort them the same way their smells comforted me.

Later on, once the babies we wearing clothes, Matt and I would bring bags of the babies' laundry home with us to wash.  Once we'd get in the door we'd go through it piece by piece - "Mmm, this one smells like Madeleine!", "Oh, this one smells just like Reid!" - and envision the days when they'd be home and we wouldn't have to rely on smelling their clothes to feel closer to them.

Now that those days have arrived, it's even better than I could have hoped.  Seeing them everyday, hearing them laugh or cry, watching them eat and roll around, feeling them snuggle in when I pick them up after a nap.  But, I really don't notice their smells anymore.  I guess I don't have to.

In Good Time

At first, we were most worried about Reid.  Before we knew about Madeleine's hemorrhage, before the hydrocephalus, and the surgeries and the shunts, all we knew was that Reid wasn't doing so great.  He needed a lot of help to breathe.  He had a heart murmur and a PDA, and it might need surgery.  From the get go, we saw Madeleine pushing back against the ventilator, getting frustrated at the technology needed to keep her alive.  We saw a spark in Madeleine since the moment she came into the world much too soon - impatient from the very start.  But with Reid, we didn't really see that.  And that concerned me.

I often think that the best part of having twins is realizing how little I actually have to do with who they are.  With one baby, I would imagine you would feel a lot of pressure to do everything perfectly, to not mess up your influence on your blank slate of a child.  That's what I expected, anyway.  But when Madeleine and Reid were born, it became clear from day one that they were very different people.  They had their own personalities, their own needs and sensitivities, their own way of experiencing the world, even though I was doing everything the same.  I realized pretty quickly that my job as a mother wouldn't be to mould or influence them at all, but just to try to stand by them and try not to get too in the way of who they were naturally going to become.

This has been easier to do with Madeleine.  She's naturally curious and talkative and pushy and determined - things that, as a mother of a child who endured fairly significant neurological trauma, make me think, thank goodness.  We need her to be all of those things.  Those things will help her try to overcome the obstacles in her way.  But with Reid, it's always been a struggle.  He's so relaxed, happy to just be held and fed and snuggled.  Happy to just lie there and watch his sister squirming and scooting and reaching for things.  This is who he is - it has always been who he is - but sometimes I think, "c'mon little guy.  Try a little harder."

Madeleine is talkative.  Reid, not so much.  Madeleine grabs her toes and sticks them in her mouth and rolls and grabs her toys.  Reid, not so much.  At our most recent follow-up appointment, we were told this was probably a bad thing.  His muscles are tight, his core is weak, he needs physiotherapy.  He's getting stuck in his patterns, it'll make it harder for him to sit and stand and progress.  He's not making clear sounds, maybe he's having trouble hearing.  It was exactly the thing the anxious mother inside of me wanted to hear.  I was right!  There's something wrong!  But I was forgetting something else very important about Reid, which is that he has his own schedule.  Reid takes his time.  Reid does things when he is ready to do them, and pushing and prodding him to go any faster makes no difference whatsoever.

Eventually, Reid did come off the ventilator.  Eventually, he began breathing room air.  Eventually, his PDA closed without surgery, and his murmur became faint.  Eventually he passed his car seat test, on his third attempt (compared to Madeleine's 'one and done').  And now, eventually, he is making sounds and grabbing his toes and laughing and screaming, and not showing any signs of caring that his sister did it first.

https://vimeo.com/76074675

 

NICU Central

When the twins entered the NICU, and the words 'apneic spells', 'bradycardia', 'PDA' and 'intraventricular hemorrhage' were starting to become part of our daily conversations, I began scouring the Internet looking for stories from other preemie moms.  I wanted to hear from people who had made it, and I desperately wanted to know what their lives looked like "on the other side".  Of particular interest to me were the few blogs I found whose children were also micro preemies, or who also had twins, or (most helpful of all) who also had brain bleeds and shunts.  I would stay up reading them late into the night huddled in my bed over my laptop screen, taking in as much as I could.  When we knew that Madeleine had a bleed in her brain, I needed to read about what could come next, the subgaleal shunt and the head ultrasounds, and the second shunt surgery later on.  I needed to read about babies coming home, I needed to read about them growing up, I needed to read about what life was like when your child was developmentally delayed, or needing a shunt revision, or living with cerebral palsy.  I just needed to read as much as I could about what my future may or may not realistically look like.  I really needed preemie blogs.

Once the babies came home and life became "normal", I started writing less for day-to-day updating purposes, and more to share my story - both for myself and for other moms.  I wanted to give something back to the small community of blogging preemie moms who didn't even know how much they had helped me, how much it made a difference in those early hours of the morning when I felt like I was the only mother in the world whose babies were struggling.  Because of this, I was so happy when Trish at the wonderful NICU Central asked to share some of my posts on her blog for other NICU families.  The further away we get from our time in the NICU, the more I realize how incredibly important it is for preemie moms and dads to share their stories, to hear the stories of others, and to be part of some kind of community - big or small, online or in real life - where they can connect with people who understand what they're going through.  And if you happen to be a mom or dad visiting from NICU Central, my sincere hope is that one of my posts might do that for you.

Six Months

Yesterday, Madeleine and Reid turned six months old based on their corrected age.  This felt like a pretty big deal, as it means that we have now officially entered the realm of solid food, (almost) independent sitting, and teeth (two on the bottom for each of them!).  Even though these things are totally natural and had nothing whatsoever to do with me at all, I still feel so very proud ("My kids have teeth!  They are obviously super genius miracles!!!").

As with the eight month (chronological) milestone, the closer we get to their first birthday (again chronological...they won't "really" be one until March), the more I start to feel amazed - and slightly overwhelmed - by just how far we've come.  It is really quite mind boggling, something I struggle constantly to wrap my head around.  With two little ones, you spend so much time just thinking day-to-day, which I think is a wonderful, healthy thing (nothing like a baby to teach you how to live in the moment!).  But every now and then, I see or hear something and think, "wow, this really has been a long, rough road".

Truth be told, I still struggle with it quite a bit.  I struggle with my memories, the lingering sadness for myself and the babies that I wasn't even sort of able to process while it was happening.  I struggle with the flashbacks that I always feel unprepared for, the forgotten details that always seem to catch me off guard.  I struggle with the stories that I hear of other families that weren't as lucky as ours, and with learning previously-unknown information about the babies' hospital stay that reminds us how close we came to being one of those less-fortunate families ourselves.  And, of course, I struggle with the unknowns ahead of us, the appointments and the therapies that remind us that maybe we aren't doing as well as I like to think we are.

All of these things are still here, still as pressing as ever, six months from their due date and nine months from their birth.  They'll probably be here for a while.  But even so, here we are, with two amazing solid-food-eating, giggling, rolling, babbling, squirming babies, who bring us more joy than I ever thought possible.  And THAT is definitely worth celebrating.

[caption id="attachment_1216" align="aligncenter" width="590"] Reid at two days old, finally home at one month corrected, and showing off his teeth at six months corrected.[/caption]

[caption id="attachment_1218" align="aligncenter" width="590"] Madeleine at two days old, going home at two weeks corrected, and having a snack at six months corrected.[/caption]

Getting Out, Moving On

This past July, Matt and I celebrated our fourth wedding anniversary.  Our lovely friend Heather had very generously given us a gift card to a swanky restaurant when the twins were born, and we decided our anniversary would be the perfect time to use it.  Add in a night in an also-swanky hotel, and it was pretty much a new-parents'-first-night-out dream.

We left the twins with my mom for the night, which marked the first time we'd been away from the babies overnight since they came home in April.  I'd heard a few mom friends say that they were so worried to leave their babies for a night out, that they called home multiple times, that the dinner conversation always came back to the baby.  And I'd probably have been that way too if I'd been with Madeleine and Reid since the moment they were born.  But the strange and sad reality is that when your children spend the first three months of their lives in the hospital, you get used to not having them around all the time.  You get used to leaving them behind.

I often think that having an early preemie means that you start out learning to be a mother in the most artificial, unnatural way possible.  It's nobody's fault, of course - it's what needs to happen for your child to survive - but it's a tough adjustment.  You don't hold your baby right away.  You may not even hold your baby for days or weeks after her or she is born (we didn't get to hold Reid for almost two weeks after his birth).  Instead of breastfeeding immediately, you attach yourself to an awkward, gurgling machine for months on end.  You don't dress up your newborn in her going-home outfit and drive off.  She doesn't even wear clothes.  And when she finally does, all those weeks later, you stand in her room and cry at the strangeness of it all.

But the hardest, most abnormal part is the leaving.  The routine you have to follow, where your days consist of visiting your children and then going home at night.  Dropping off frozen breast milk.  Putting on a hospital gown and sitting with your baby against your naked chest for hours until your arms and legs have gone numb.  Falling asleep from the whirring sound of the CPAP machine and the warmth of your little one, and being woken up again by the monitor alarming when his oxygen saturation drops.  Watching the nurses updating each other as the shifts change, and hoping the night nurse will be someone you like, someone who is kind and calm and who you hope will be a good motherly stand-in once you've left for the day.  And then packing up your things and saying goodbye, blocking it out of your mind as you leave that your babies are there alone when they should be going with you.

I found that when it came time to leave the babies for our anniversary - this time on our own terms - I was just as able to block it out as I'd been in the hospital.  It had, for better or worse, become a familiar habit, a well-worn path in my brain.  In fact, our night out, a night that resembled so many wonderful nights out during our pre-baby days, mostly saw us stopping to remind ourselves that yes, we are parents, and yes, all of that really did happen to us.  "Can you believe we have kids?"  "No seriously, we have two kids."  "Our kids are at home right now.  The kids that are ours that we had."

It always astounds me how well our minds can compartmentalize when they need to.  I look back on our experience and think, how on earth did we manage that?  How did we go through that every day for so long?  But the answer is just that we had to.  And seeing how easy we found it to adjust to leaving the babies again, all these months later when our lives look so normal, I realize that no matter how much time passes from those days, no matter how well the babies develop, those early experiences will always be a part of us.  Maybe all we can hope for is that we think about it a little less.

Progress

On Tuesday, the babies and I woke up far too early and headed out to Sick Kids Hospital for Madeleine's usual three-month checkup with her neurosurgeon.  He's seen her four times now since February, and thankfully, we haven't yet had any issues to worry about as far as her shunt function goes.  He asked a few questions about Madeleine's motor development and about potential issues, like having a preference for one side of her body over the other.  No, I told him, no problems yet that we can see.

I was hesitant to ask the question I really wanted to ask, the only question that really matters.  "Do we know anything for sure yet?  Do we know if she's going to be okay?"

He answered in that way that doctors do sometimes, when they don't want to commit to something they can't guarantee.  "It's too early to say," he said.  "But I will say that given the severity of her bleed, I certainly didn't expect her to be doing this well."

It was just what I was hoping for, what we had been dreaming of all of these months.  But at the same time, there was still something nagging at me, still a whirl of anxiety making it's way through my chest.  Of course I'm grateful to hear that Madeleine is doing better than expected - of course!  But even though we've been watching her blow us all always this whole time, even though we had a feeling that she was doing better than she could have been, even though every little new thing she does is a big step in the right direction, I had been trying very hard to not consider the outcome I've always really been hoping for - that maybe nothing will be wrong with her.  I'm hesitant and slightly ashamed to even write those words, to let them slip out of the secret place in the back of my mind I've reserved for the best case scenario.  Best to prepare myself, I figured.  Best not to get my hopes up in case something still goes wrong.  Best to take it a day at a time and not get ahead of myself.

I'm ahead of myself.  I can't help it.  Each time Madeleine impresses her doctors, the part of me that dreams of my girl running and playing and having chatty, articulate conversations gets a little more excited.  The part of me that hopes that she'll grow up and we'll look back and say, "you had hydrocephalus, and look at you know!".  The part of me that hopes that one day we will be the people telling the scared, new preemie mom that their daughter had a grade III intraventricular hemorrhage and you'd never even know it.  And each time nothing goes wrong, that hope gets a little bit stronger.

Of course, I know that if that doesn't happen, if she has developmental impairments that are mild or moderate or crazy severe, if she ends up not being able to walk without help or talk or write or if she needs special help at school, if she has trouble seeing or hearing or whatever it is, it will be more than fine.  She has already shown us that she is perfect and incredible.  I know that even the progress we have made so far is an achievement, that many babies like Madeleine haven't done so well, that we should be counting our blessings for what we have.  I know that no matter what, our lives won't really change that much at all, and motherhood will still by far be the best thing that will ever happen to me, the most incredible, life-changing gift I've ever been given.  I know that health issues and disabilities do not at all change the heart of who a child is.  That they will not change who Madeleine is.

But then there is the part of me who dreams of Madeleine's future and wants her to have only the best, most incredible, easy, beautiful life.  The part of me who doesn't always count her blessings.  The part of me that hopes that we'll beat the odds despite everything we've been through.  That part just might end up pretty disappointed.

Eight Months Old

Today, the babies turn eight months old!  They aren't really eight months, of course - more like almost five based on their due date - but this milestone had me thinking a bit:  at what point will we stop thinking of them based on their "corrected" age?  Up until this point, I've been almost completely oblivious to the concept of their actual age, I really only ever think in corrected age.  But today, at eight months, I stopped to think.  Madeleine and Reid were born eight months ago.  Eight months ago!  We've been together for eight months now.  And what a ride it's been.

Madeleine at eight months...

... weighs 12 lbs 4 oz, which makes her a bit of a petite little lady!

... is rolling over like a champ, all day long.  Her sheer determination kind of surpasses her actual strength though, so she often thrusts herself onto her belly without quite being able to roll back before getting tired.  Frustration ensues.  (She'll get there!)

... is starting to really notice the world around her.  She loves watching everything, loves staring at her brother and reaching out to touch him and hold his hand (and sometimes to clock him in the face!).  She's even begun trying to reach out to Rosie, and is starting to really get interested in this little furry friend of hers!  So fascinating to see her become interested in things that weren't really on her radar before.

I know everyone thinks their children are the most beautiful children to ever exist, but sometimes I look at Maddie and think, "wow, I can't believe how beautiful she is." Not even just in terms of physical beauty, but everything about her, her whole being...I think she is incredible.  The way she smiles wide when she first sees you in the morning, the way she loves it when you give her kisses, her fiery determination, that spark she has that makes her so "Madeleine-y".  I think about everything she's been through, and then I think about this remarkable, beautiful little soul I get to spend my days with, and it's almost too much for my brain to handle.  It is an incredible privilege of the highest possible level to get to be her mother.

Reid at eight months...

... weighs 15 lbs!  Reid has been eating, eating, eating, and growing like a weed over the last little while.  I only just pulled out his 3-6 months clothes, and already I've had to start putting some of them away because he's outgrown them!

... has finally grown in a full head of hair after his previous balding stage.  It's gorgeous, and it's STILL BROWN, which makes Mama really happy!!!

... thinks EVERYTHING is funny, and laughs all the time!  It is wonderful.  His personal favourites are diaper changes (he thinks they're hilarious!!!), and when we ask him whether he's a funny guy ("yes I am Mama!  Look at me laugh!!!").  I don't think I will ever get tired of hearing his little giggles.

... is struggling with tummy stuff still, and more awful diaper rashes!  It's interesting having twins, because we do the same things for both babies, and yet, Reid is constantly getting rashes while Maddie has never had one!  Just goes to show how every baby is different, I think.

... continues to be his sweet, snuggly little self who just loves to be loved and held, which is great for me, as I love to love and hold him!

These days, we are getting out a lot more as a trio, which is great.  It is still a challenge, and some days we probably would have been a LOT better off if we'd stayed home, but it's still exciting to see us progressing.  Motherhood is tough at the best of times, but the payoff is so fantastic and so surprisingly beautiful that it helps keep the momentum going on days where I feel like I'm starting to sink.  Eight months in, and we are so doing this!  Go team!!!

Being a Preemie Mom

I don't leave the house much these days.  It takes so much coordination just to get out the door, and then, if I finally make it to my destination, I actually have to...be there.  Do things.  Feed the babies and change their diapers and pray that they don't cry, and oh, it's just so much harder when I'm not at home with all the STUFF.  Home has such a nice, familiar routine to it, and taking two babies out just feels like asking for trouble.

Thankfully though (and like most things with parenting, I think), when we do leave, it's usually never as bad as I think it's going to be.  I am getting fairly skilled at getting the twins in and out of the stroller, I've made it through one massive, in-public poo blowout, and I've managed to feed both screaming babies in a random school parking lot without having an anxiety attack.  WIN.

Finally beginning to do these things - going out in public like a regular mom - was a big deal, and something I'm pretty proud of.  But it's about so much more than just having it together enough to leave the house.  Even though we knew when the twins were born that the goal was to leave the hospital eventually and live a normal life, the fact that we did that, that we are doing that, still feels jarring to me.  I know how to exist with my babies at home, but taking them out into the world feels so foreign.  We are doing something totally normal and completely abnormal at the same time.  Nobody looks at us and sees it, nobody senses how much of an accomplishment it is to do this normal stuff.  Nobody realizes that being out in the world like this is something that was never guaranteed to us when our babies were born fifteen weeks too soon.

Out in the world, at the doctor's office or the deli counter, I feel really, really proud of these little babies.  These little babies, who lived in a hospital for the first three-and-a-half months of their lives.  These little babies who never looked like everyone else's babies, who never seemed like they belonged out in the world where the 'normal' babies lived.  My babies are PREEMIES.  They hang out in the NICU with the nurses, not at the grocery store to be cooed at by the checkout girl.  My daughter has a shunt!  She sees a neurosurgeon!  SHE HAD A GRADE III INTRAVENTRICULAR HEMORRHAGE!  She's not a normal baby.    

People are fascinated by twins, and they love to stop and ask questions when they see a second baby hiding away at the bottom of the stroller.  "Yes, yes, twins," I want to say, "but look at my babies!  Aren't they beautiful?!  They could have died but they didn't and now here we are in the grocery store!  Isn't it amazing?!"

When we were still in the hospital, I remember thinking that I didn't want to become a 'preemie mom'.  I was a mom of preemies, sure, but I didn't want that to be who I was.  I didn't want my experience as a mother to be limited by the abnormal circumstances of my children's entrance into the world.  And while I do still feel like I can find common ground with moms of full-term, typical babies, there is still a very large part of me that feels so very different.  A large part that can't let go of what happened.  A large part that doesn't want to just yet.

I know one day this will matter less.  Madeleine and Reid will grow up and our lives will progress and change, and their prematurity won't be such a defining aspect of who they are.  One day, hopefully, it won't be such a definitely aspect of who I am either.  But, for now at least, it really, really is.

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Having dinner at an actual restaurant.  No big deal.

27

To my very best friend, on (the night before) his birthday.

[vimeo http://www.vimeo.com/70743343 w=500&h=281]

Not Done

Life with twins is pretty hectic most of the time, but every now and then the stars will align perfectly and things will be quiet.  Both babies will be fed, changed, calm and alert, and I can be completely present - not reacting to who is crying or who needs a bottle, but just in the moment, aware, seeing these amazing little beings for who they are.  It is my favourite time, time when I get to study their ever-changing faces, when I get to see them as unique individuals, and when they get to see me relaxed and happy and wholly loving.  And sometimes, if the moment lasts long enough, I will even catch myself thinking, "I don't yet think I'm done having babies."

Since we're still so new to parenthood - seven months out from the babies' actual birth date, and four from their due date - it is, far, far too soon to think about these things with any kind of legitimacy, but it doesn't mean it doesn't cross my mind.  I think it's something you always think about in some way or another when you've decided you want to have a family - what will that look like?  What might the timeline be? - and I know I always hoped to have more than two if it were a realistic possibility.  I remember clearly when it started to feel like it was time to consider getting pregnant as an actual serious option - suddenly, it seemed like our little family of had someone missing (or two someones, as it turned out!).  As unprepared as I felt to have twins, as much as an adjustment it was to become a mother, having Madeleine and Reid here with us now seems more natural than I could have ever expected.  In fact, it's hard to believe they ever weren't here, that a little over a year ago, our family looked so different.  I am so, so glad that we found each other.

When the babies were first born, I was adamant that I was done having children.  My pregnancy was rough, I had serious complications, and my healthy, beautiful babies ended up coming out far too soon because of it.  I never, ever wanted to go through anything like that again.  Matt is very much still in that place - he is so, so, so done, and I can't say that I blame him.  But there is much more to it than that for me.  My dream of what my family would look like, my feelings of immense loss over my difficult pregnancy and the months we spent in the NICU, the incredible fear and sadness that accompanied the twins' birth.  And the feeling that, maybe, there still might be someone missing, another member of our family we still have yet to meet.

Ultimately (and I know this is what really lies at the heart of Matt's resistance), I know I don't want to risk having more preemies.  A second time around, and we'd know exactly what we'd be in for.  We'd already know the sadness, the pain, the stress and heartache.  The knowledge that things could have been so different if only we'd been able to make it an extra month or week or day.  The big question marks surrounding what your baby's life will end up being like.  The feeling that it just wasn't supposed to be like this.

We still have so much time to decide, time to weigh the pros and cons, to talk to doctors and specialists and figure out our options, to get a sense of how we feel, to change our minds or maybe change them back again.  And I know that if we never try again, if I only ever get that one useless shot at pregnancy, if I never get to know what it's like to reach the third trimester or bring home a healthy newborn the day after they are born, if I only ever end up being a mom-of-two, it will be more than enough.

But it sure doesn't mean I don't still think about it.

Mom Bodies

Recently, Reid and I made it out to our very first Kindermusik class.  It's basically a fun little singalong group for mamas and their little ones, and since Reid already finds my lame made-up songs completely hilarious, what could be better than REAL, PROPER SONGS with REAL, PROPER MUSIC??? (Pretty much nothing, is the answer to that question.)

We had a great time overall, he did enjoy it, and we will be going back with Maddie soon. But it was my first real mom and babe outing to a real class with other moms, and as we sat in a circle in that big room with the big, mirrored wall, all I could think was, "I gave birth at the same time as these women and yet, they are all much skinnier than I am!"

When I got pregnant, once the awful misery of morning sickness subsided and before the awful misery of bed rest descended, I had a beautiful little window of pregnancy where I had grown a little bit of a bump, and felt well enough to enjoy it.  I was worried, of course, about the weight gain issue - I think we all worry about gaining too much weight during pregnancy whether or not we admit it - but I was doing my best to eat well and stay active, and I was a small girl pregnant with twins, so I figured I'd end up massive by the end anyway.  Ultimately, I decided I would just take it as it was and try not to judge myself too harshly.

I've always had a bit of a belly, never had a nice flat tummy to be proud of, so the wonderful thing about pregnancy for me was that I no longer had to worry about it - this was how my belly was SUPPOSED to look!  On top of that, I've found that people are awfully generous to pregnant women, telling you your skin is glowing when it definitely isn't, oohing and ahhing over your pregnant-ness too much to notice whether your face is puffy or your butt has gotten jiggly.  I even found it easy to wear a bathing suit when I got pregnant - no one ogles the preggo poolside!

But then, of course, you inevitably give birth.  Since I was only pregnant for six months, I didn't even have a chance to get that big, but that didn't mean I was immune to the physical consequences. Stretch marks that had been hiding under my growing belly were suddenly out in full view.  My twin-bearing hips had gotten wider, and my previously-comfortable underwear was starting to feel snug.  I had a big, red, permanent scar right across my belly from my emergency C-section with Reid.  And I won't even get into the ridiculousness of post-partum breasts, except to say that none of my pre-pregnancy bras fit, and all of my non-maternity tops became borderline inappropriate.

Until I attended Kindermusik, I figured, meh, I had two kids, and I look like it.  Who cares?  Again, people tend to lower the bar for new-mom attractiveness (if you have showered and are wearing clean clothes, people tell you you look great!), and the man who is legally bound to me for life still finds me attractive, so why worry about it?  I would much rather my children grow up with a mom who is comfortable with herself, than one who worries about looking great all the time.  I have a mom body now, big deal.

But then there was the girl with the newborn whose hair looked so lovely and who managed to get makeup on AND her baby out the door in time, and the other girl with the five-month-old with the flat tummy that suggested perhaps her child had been adopted (versus mine, which suggests that maybe I could still have a bun in the oven).  I started to feel a little ashamed that I hadn't tried harder, that I hadn't been going for more long walks with the babies, or taking Stroller Fit classes, or counting calories instead of shoving in whatever food I could grab while the babies were asleep.

It is a tough thing to exist in a world where you are supposed to love and accept your body as it is, but only if it looks perfect.  You are meant to enjoy your pregnancy and embrace the changes your body is experiencing - but don't forget to lose the baby weight right away (and, oh, try to make it look easy while you're at it).

This morning, while the babies were sleeping, I eyed my still-in-the-original-packaging post-partum workout DVD, and figured that I should probably start trying a little harder to get rid of my mom belly. Then I glanced over at my delicious sleeping babies, one on each side of my oh-so-comfortable, rumpled bed, and this mom and her mom body opted instead to clock another glorious hour and a half of blissful, uninterrupted sleep.  I'm sure the 'body after baby' guilt will not be going away any time soon, but at least I'll be that much more well-rested as I try to deal with it.

Sunnybrook

One of my recent posts, Milestones, is up on the Sunnybrook NICU blog today.  I can't possibly ever say enough about what the amazing people at Sunnybrook have done for us, how important that place is, and will always be, to Matt and I.  The Sunnybrook NICU was Reid and Madeleine's "home" before we ever got to think about bringing them to ours - where I saw them for the first time, where we had our first cuddle, where they took their first unassisted breaths, where we became a little family. We received such wonderful care and support from everyone there, had such incredible nurses helping us and teaching us and rooting for us, and for that we will be forever grateful.

(Thank you, Kate Robson, for sharing my words on the blog!)

Things You Can Infer From My Appearance Now That I'm A Mother

Have I washed my hair?  A very good sign.  I have probably a) had someone by to help me with the babies, b) had a chance to take a nice, hot shower because Matt came home from work earlier than usual, or c) been able to sneak in the shower because the twins decided to take an extra-long nap.

Have I styled my hair and/or put on makeup?  Another encouraging sign.  This usually means I am feeling optimistic about the likelihood of leaving the house, or entertaining a guest of sorts. Alternatively, I could just be fed up with my hair looking awful, which is still encouraging, as it means I have yet to give up completely.  Hooray.

Have I let my hair air-dry into a big poufy mess?  Chances are you caught me looking like I look 95% of the time since the babies have come home.  Do not be offended - at least it means I showered.

Am I sporting overgrown, bushy brows?  Don't judge, do you know how long it takes to properly shape unruly eyebrows?  FOREVER, and it takes concentration.  At least now I can pretend I'm just channeling Cara Delevigne.

[caption id="" align="aligncenter" width="385"] "What? I obviously did this on purpose!"[/caption]

Am I wearing maternity clothes even though I gave birth six months ago?  Whatever, it's comfy and it fits.  At least I got dressed.

Have I answered the door with dirty hair, braless and in the pajamas I've probably been wearing for three days in a row?  I have officially given up.  It has been a rough day, and I am biding my time until it is over.  Your best option to maintain our relationship (and to keep me from bursting into tears) is to smile, tell me I'm doing a great job and that I look pretty, and maybe make me something to eat, as I have likely been subsisting off of Corn Flakes for a week.  (Note:  this is especially important if you happen to be the man who married and impregnated me.)

Mothering Twins

It's occurring to me now that one of the best and worst things about being a twin mom is that you cannot be there 100% for either child at the same time.  When I am the only person available to care for them, it inevitably means one baby needs to wait to be fed, or wait to be picked up, or wait to be cuddled.  It means one baby will always have to sit in the bottom seat of the stroller, stuck with an obstructed view of the world.  It means I sometimes have to let them cry much longer than I'd want to.

I often think about what it would be like with only one child - how wonderful and relatively easy that would be.  I could direct all of my attention towards that baby, and he or she would know what it is like to have all their needs met.

This morning, while I was preparing to feed Reid, Madeleine started to fuss.  "I know it's hard to wait Madeleine," I tell her, "but I will feed you as soon as I am done with your brother."  She obviously has no idea what I'm saying, and it doesn't help even slightly, as she continues to fuss as soon as I stop talking, but it feels important to tell her I'm not trying to ignore her.  I try to drown it out while I focus on Reid, and silently pray that I'm not traumatizing her too much by letting her think that her needs don't matter.  (Maybe all twin moms should start a savings fund for their babes' future therapy costs?)

When it's Madeleine's turn to eat, Reid inevitably gets put in the chair - which he hates now that he can move his arms and legs and head and wants to stretch out (and I can't say that I blame him!).  Of course, Madeleine is relieved - finally, mama!!! - but then Reid starts to cry, and I tell him the same story:  "I know, Reid sweetie, it's frustrating having to sit and wait.  I'll come pick you up when I'm finished."  He, of course, doesn't find that comforting in the least, and cries even harder.  I have to tune it out in order to focus on Madeleine, the baby who was just being tuned out minutes before, and I wonder what his future therapist will say about his trust issues (just kidding, sort of).  He cries and kicks and cries and kicks....and then, eventually, he finds his thumb and settles down.

It's hard to watch this happen - knowing that he had to do that because I wasn't able to come and comfort him myself.  But then, at the same time, I am so proud when it does.  He doesn't get to have a mom who always comes to love and soothe him right away, but because of that, he has learned that he is just as capable, if not more so, at meeting his own needs than I am.  He is hopefully beginning to realize that, although there will be an infinite number of things in this world that scare him or bother him or make him sad, he does not always have to look elsewhere to have those feelings settled for him.

Once Madeleine has finished her bottle, I am finally able to pick Reid up and give him the cuddle he has been waiting for.  I can see my face in his eyes, and this time I get a big smile from him.  I hope that smile means no hard feelings, I know you're trying your best.  But maybe, probably, it just means I'm happy to see you, which I am more than honoured to accept.

Milestones

One aspect of parenting I had never considered prior to having kids is how preoccupied I would become with their development.  When I was pregnant, I thought (hoped?) that I would have this wonderful relaxed attitude towards the twins' growth, that I would just trust the idea that all babies have their own schedule and that they would eventually get there in their own time.  And then I gave birth at twenty-five weeks.  (Funny how that changes things.)

When you go into labour that early, one of the first things you are told during that scary blur of time before your babies arrive, is that premature babies are often developmentally delayed, even if nothing else happens to them.  It's a consequence of missing all of that extra time in utero, and it's totally reasonable.  Then, your babies come out, and everyone reminds you about the chance of delays, and you say, yes, yes, of course, delays, no big deal.  But in your head, you think....I really, really hope we will be the exception.

Eventually, the other women in your life with due dates around yours give birth to full-term babies, and you are happy for them, but also sad for you.  It's a reminder of what you never had, a reminder of all the awful stuff you had to go through because you never made it that far, and you start to become a little bit obsessed with the milestones.  Her little boy is making lots of cooing noises, why isn't Reid?  Her little girl is rolling over already, why isn't Madeleine?  You ask lots and lots of questions.  How much does your little one weigh now?  How much does she take at her feedings?  Is your baby doing lots of tummy time?  Is he smiling or giggling?  Does she reach for her toys?

It is of course, completely relevant and irrelevant at the exact same time.  Every baby is different, and every baby will approach these tasks in their own way.  Reaching a developmental marker late does not mean your baby has a problem.  Except when it does.  Whenever Madeleine sleeps a lot more than Reid (which is most of the time), or vomits, or is grumpy and cries, I worry that her shunt is malfunctioning (and never that she maybe just likes sleep/ate too much/is just grumpy).  When other babies show more progress with motor development, my brain automatically screams CEREBRAL PALSY.  When Reid fails to coo or make noise when he tries to giggle, I wonder if maybe his vocal cords were damaged by his ventilator.

And then, just like that, Reid will start gooing and gahhing when you are talking to him like he's been doing it all along.  Madeleine will easily roll onto her side on her play mat like it was nothing, even though she never expressed any interest in doing it the day before.  And, just when you least expect it, Reid will let out a big, enthusiastic laugh on the change table before he is put down for bed, and your heart will skip a beat.

It is a reminder that, while I did get premature babies, while they had to come out into the world before they were ready, they are still fully-formed, capable little people who have managed to make it through things that even adults would struggle with.  Even though I'll probably never stop worrying, I owe it to them to be patient and trust their own abilities.  They are really, really good at showing us what they are made of.

Three Months Corrected

Today, the babies hit the three month corrected mark.  More so than ever before, things are starting to get really fun - each week they seem like completely new babies who can do all sorts of new things, and their little personalities are really starting to develop.  It has also been interesting to see just how different they are.  Watching them grow at this stage of their babyhood is so fascinating and lovely and wonderful, and makes us so excited for all the milestones that lie ahead.

Madeleine at three months...

...weighs 4.95 kg, or just shy of 11 lbs

...is sleeping through the night like an absolute champ.  She will easily go 8-10 hours of solid sleep per night, and sometimes will go for 12 if she is feeling generous.  She clearly gets this ability from me, and I am very, very happy about it.

...is starting to develop a real sense of humour!  She loves it when we play little games, or tell funny stories, and sometimes she will even mimic Matt's funny faces.  She keeps us laughing all day long and we love it so much.

...is also turning into a bit of a wannabe chatterbox (a girl after my own heart!).  She has figured out how to make the sounds 'goo' and 'gah', and uses them frequently, while waving her hands around like she is making a VERY IMPORTANT POINT.  My favourite part is her attempts at conversations - I like to repeat her 'goos' and 'gahs' in the same voice she gave them to me, and when I do, she will happily continue rambling, pleased that I was able to pick up on what she was saying.  I cannot wait to see how this side of her continues to develop (both for my own in-awe excitement, and also for the back-of-my-mind anxiety I have over how her brain will be able to handle language and speech acquisition).

...is starting to gain some noticeable strength in her arms and legs, and is able to scooch herself into different positions (especially at night - we never know which direction she'll be facing when she wakes up!).  She is also starting to like toys, and is realizing that she can reach out to them, which is fun to see.

...has found her thumb and fingers and is quite certain that they are delicious.  She is able to suck on her thumb to self-soothe when she is tired or hungry, which is fascinating to watch.

...is actually pretty laid back in general, and not much bothers her.  In fact, in the morning when she wakes up, she will happily hang out in her bassinet sucking her thumb until you decide to come get her ("no big deal mama, I'll just hang out here until you're ready!").

...thinks now, more than ever, that her brother is totally awesome.  She has always had an affinity for Reid even back in the NICU (though it was incredibly unrequited!) and that has only grown.  She loves lying next to him, watching him, holding on to him.  I cannot wait to watch their relationship evolve as they grow.

...is doing well health-wise.  Day-to-day she is quite an easy, patient baby, and few things bother her.  She has a pretty strong stomach, hasn't had any diaper rashes, and rarely cries unless she is very hungry (which is our fault anyway!).  At our last neurosurgery checkup, her shunt looked great, so we will just continue going back every few months to monitor it.  Other than being a bit on the small side, our little warrior is pretty healthy and fantastic!

Reid at three months...

...weighs 5.75 kg (approximately 12 lbs 11oz) and getting bigger and bigger by the day!

...has moved into size two diapers and 3-6 month clothing

...is also sleeping through the night, but draws the line at about 7-8 hours.  At around 6 or 7am, Reid gets up and he is ready for a bottle IMMEDIATELY, YOU BETTER GET UP RIGHT NOW MOM AND DAD!  It's a bit of a shame, since Maddie sleeps for so much longer, but once Reid does get his morning bottle, he'll often go back to sleep for an hour or two (which means we get to go back to sleep as well)

...has the most amazing smile I have ever seen.  It is a big ol' grin, and he smiles at all sorts of things (including mama, which is the best part).  He can also be quite serious and pensive, and usually has a furrowed brow and little clasped hands, which is super cute, even if I'm sure he doesn't see it that way!

...is a pretty sensitive child, and has a stronger emotional need than his sister (which is just fine by me).  Reid will tend to get upset more often by a variety of things (and sometimes by nothing at all), and also likes to be held and cuddled a lot more, at times just for the sake of being cuddled.  He has a fair bit of tummy trouble and still suffers from acid reflux, which certainly doesn't help his intermittent misery, and is a big source of frustration for all of us, as there isn't a whole lot that we can do to help him.

...is also realizing that toys are awesome, and loves to lie in his crib watching his mobile.  He squeals with excitement when you turn it on, which is basically the sweetest thing ever.  Speaking of squealing, he is trying SO HARD to laugh, although right now all he can manage to get out is a little gurgling sound.  Soon enough, buddy, soon enough.

Now that we've been at home together for (almost) three months, I do feel as though we are starting to really get the swing of things as a little family.  And I have to say, it is pretty amazing!  We are headed for a new curveball starting next week, when Matt returns to work after his parental leave, but I am so glad we've been able to get as much time together as we have.  These three months have been even more incredible than I ever could have hoped.

Lucky

A couple years back, I met an elderly woman waiting for the bus at a hospital.  She was a sweet, widowed Irish lady, and we spoke a bit about her life, and her adult daughter, who was pretty significantly mentally disabled, and who was now hospitalized.  It turned out that the woman actually had eleven children (eleven!), and it sounded like she and her husband had had a long, hard life - lots of mouths to feed, next to no money, always working hard, and a severely handicapped child to boot.  I couldn't possibly imagine how tiring it must have all been, how stressed out she must have felt all the time.

And then she said, "you know, my husband and I used to get in bed at night, turn to each other and say, if only everyone were as lucky as us."

I remember at the time thinking how sweet that was, and how nice it was to think that she still found a way to enjoy her life despite all of the many challenges.  I figured that if I were broke and stressed and had all those kids, I probably wouldn't be able to put such a positive spin on it.  I didn't get it.

Now, I have two kids (at once!).  We're broke, we're tired, we're stressed.  There are probably a million things my pre-baby self wanted that I will never get to do.  There are so many ways our lives could be better.  And yet, today, on Father's Day, I turned to Matt and said, "I really think we might be the luckiest people alive."

I get it now.

Good Morning!

Even though the babies have become great sleepers, they still unfortunately insist on waking up before my old, preferred, pre-children wake-up time of, oh, as close to noon as possible.  They must sense my misery though, because they are often extra cute and sweet during these early morning hours.

This morning, that cute and sweet moment was a little happy dance while their mobile played.  (The mobile, I am realizing, is just about the BEST THING EVER when you are almost three months corrected.)

[vimeo http://www.vimeo.com/68460239 w=500&h=281]

Matty & Maddie

I usually don't get to watch an entire TV show from start to finish these days, but I do get to catch bits and pieces here and there (usually online).  This morning I saw a clip of an interview with Kristen Bell on Ellen, the first since she'd given birth to her first baby a few months back, and in it, she spoke about how her partner, Dax Shepard, had taken to fatherhood.  Her verdict?  "It's like he's made a new best friend."

When I heard that, I knew that it was exactly the perfect way to describe what I had been feeling about the relationship between Matt and Madeleine since she's come home.  It's like he's made a new best friend.

I had a feeling, well before I ever got pregnant, that Matt would be an incredible father.  I figured that all of the traits that make him a good husband - and a good human being in general - would easily transfer over when he became a dad.  He has a truly kind heart.  He is incredibly empathic, very patient and understanding.  He is reliable, loyal and trustworthy.  He is hilarious.  And he also just really happens to like children, which I assume is always a plus.  But, even still, even though I knew all of these things about him in advance, I did worry a little bit.  How are you really supposed to know how someone is going to react to such a big, permanent life change?  What if he didn't take to parenthood as well as I wanted him to?

Turns out I needn't have worried - Matt is a natural, involved parent, and I learn from his example on a daily basis.  But although I did have a suspicion that this would be the case, I did not expect just how strong his bond with Madeleine would become.

He loves Reid to pieces of course (though there is pretty much nothing not to love about Reid!).  He takes care of Reid so well, and will be such a wonderful role model for him as he grows.  But seeing him with Madeleine is something else.  He knows all her little quirks, such as the specific way she needs to be burped so she doesn't puke, or how she likes to be put down for bed.  He loves choosing her outfits, loves getting her to smile (and NO ONE can make Maddie smile like Matt can), loves giving her cuddles and kisses.  He gives her endearing nicknames.  They have inside jokes.  He pretty much completely adores her, and the feeling is certainly mutual.

As Maddie's mother, it excites me to no end to think about what a gift this relationship will be in her life as she grows.  I hope, of course, that she always feels bonded to me as well, that she knows I love her unconditionally and believe in her and think she is absolute full-on perfection.  But I feel incredibly blessed to know that her dad thinks the world of her, that her favourite person on the planet thinks she is his favourite too.

His new best friend.

Nursery Progress

When the babies were born back in December, the nursery was...an empty room.  And it stayed that way pretty much until a week or so before Madeleine was discharged, when it finally hit us that the babies would be home soon and we had nowhere to put them.  We bought their cribs the night before she came home (!!), and threw together as much as we could.  We weren't totally unprepared - we did manage to procure bassinets for our bedroom far in advance, and we already had bottles and clothes and all the fundamental necessities - but having some semblance of a nursery prior to the babies' homecoming (even though we knew they wouldn't be sleeping there right away) was so incredibly important to me.  Having missed out on roughly four more months of pregnancy, time I was expecting to spend nesting and preparing for the babies' arrival, I really, really wanted to have something done the way it might have been if I had carried to term.

Of course, we did only have a week in the end to throw it all together, and so while we set up the cribs and a change table, the little details were pushed by the wayside.  But since we had a long weekend coming up this week, and I knew that Matt's mom would be coming up to help us for a day, I figured it was the perfect time to finally attempt to finish things up.

[gallery type="rectangular" ids="648,649,653,650,651,652,654,655,656,657,659,658"]

Trying to build a room for two babies in a teeny, tiny house is a challenge to say the least (in fact, when we bought the house a year ago, we figured there was "just enough room for one baby", which I'm pretty certain was the moment we tempted fate into giving us twins), and having a boy/girl combination also made things a bit tricky, but I'm really happy with the outcome.  It may have been thrown together in record timing, but I think Reid and Maddie finally have a nice little space in which to spend the next few years.

(Before we move.  Because, seriously.)

Follow-Up

When you give birth at twenty-five weeks, you receive a lot of frightening warnings about what might lie ahead.  Developmental delays, complications, surgeries, infections - it all gets thrown out there at one point or another, because the likelihood of something bad happening is uncomfortably high.  But then, probably in an attempt to temper those scary possibilities, they always mention the follow-up clinic.  When babies are born early and small, they are followed long after discharge - until age six - by a great team of people who help those babies meet the developmental milestones that are so important to their growth.  For us as parents, it felt like a bit of a silver lining - yes, all these bad things might be happening, but there are people who will try and help you minimize their effects.  We wouldn't just be waiting to see what the outcome would be, we would be taught how to be proactive about helping our babies.  But at the same time, in many ways, it would be a six-year-long reminder that, while we may be out of the NICU, we are certainly not out of the woods.

Madeleine and Reid had their first follow-up appointment today, with the physiotherapist and neonatologist who followed them (particularly Madeleine) so closely during their hospital stay.  We had heard many times already to expect that there will always be lots to work on - that even if they were doing phenomenally, you would never leave follow-up without homework.  And yet, even though I knew they would find stuff, even though I knew myself what some of those things would be, I couldn't help but feel a little sad when our appointment had finished.

Just before the babies were discharged, I worried about what it would be like to have preemies at home instead of the hospital, where it had started to feel almost like they belonged.  I didn't know how to be a "normal" mother, and in any case, I didn't exactly have "normal" babies to take home.  And then, the twins were discharged.  After a day or two passed, it started to seem so strange to think of them as the same hospitalized prems we had spent months visiting every day.  Everyday they appeared in our eyes to be more and more like every other full-term newborn out there.  I started to forget their actual chronological age (if you ask, I will reflexively tell you that my babies are seven weeks old), started not to notice their misshapen preemie heads, or their general sprawled out floppiness.  They seemed just enough like normal babies - normal, perfect little babies - to forget, just a little, what we had been through for a couple of months before.

Today, I remembered.  Nothing bad was said at follow-up, there were no major issues (in fact, I do think we were told that the babies were doing great), but it was a reminder that there is still a lot to work on.  The past few weeks, we have been such typical new parents - dealing with crying jags and projectile pukes and explosive poops and diaper rashes non-stop eating - that we forgot we also had to deal with atypical parent stuff, like physiotherapy exercises and rounding out heads and shunts and eye contact and lots and lots (and lots!) of tummy time to build up those weak preemie muscles.  We were too busy trying to get Madeleine to smile to notice that she only likes to sleep on the side opposite to her shunt, too preoccupied admiring Reid's head control to realize that it was stemming from his overcompensating back muscles.  Again, not entirely a big deal - they are still completely amazing, thriving babies - but a reminder that they are still a little bit different, that some of the things we will have to think about aren't things that most parents do.

We will go back in two months and hopefully will have incorporated enough of the suggestions we got today to see a bit of a difference.  And then, we will inevitably have a new set of things to work on.  It is difficult to consider that we might never get to a point where being a premature isn't at least a small part of who they are (at least, not while they are still children).  But I also hope that we will be able to maintain our unique parent perspective that, even with their special preemie differences, they are still whole and perfect, with no missing pieces, just as they are.

[caption id="attachment_640" align="aligncenter" width="576"] Don't be silly Mom, you know we're awesome.[/caption]

Quiet Time

Now that we have settled a bit more into daily parenting life, the hours between 11pm and 1am have become invaluable to me.  More often than not during this time, the babies have fallen properly asleep, Matt has gone to bed (as he wakes up early for morning baby duty), and I get my first proper chance all day to have some time alone to myself.  Even the dogs are usually asleep at this point, which means the house is almost completely quiet.

With twins, there are very few free moments - everything must happen in between cries and diaper changes and feeds and cuddles.  Overall, this is fine with me - it is what we signed up for when we got pregnant, and what we couldn't wait for when we were in the NICU - but it does get a little bit stressful to feel like you are never quite on top of all of the things that need to be done on a daily basis.  One thing many seasoned parents like to tell you when you have newborns is that you need to let go of the housework and all the other things extraneous to infant care.  This is most definitely a helpful suggestion when you are first home, but eventually you will run out of clean underwear and THAT is a situation that nobody wants to be in.  Even though I now spend the majority of my days completely behind the eight ball in regards to chores and general adult daily life responsibilities (especially given the fact that Matt so generously allows me to sleep in late every morning), this little nighttime window gives me a chance to finally feel in control of something now that my life is mostly ruled by the two tiny humans who will one day call me Mom .

I can tidy up, wash laundry (and actually see it through to the 'putting it away' stage), pre-make bottles to warm up later, draw out meds for the babies in preparation for their next feed, sterilize bottle parts, wipe down the kitchen counters.  I get a chance to restock the supplies in the nursery like diapers and Q-tips and syringes and linens (you can take the girl out of the NICU, but alas, you cannot take the NICU out of the girl).  Sometimes I get to watch a TV show.  Yesterday I read a magazine.  I can catch up on the text messages and Facebook posts that go largely unanswered during the day.  I can make something to eat, and actually eat it while it's still hot.

When my lovely evening window kicks off every night, it is always met with a mixture of relief and excitement.  Finally, things are calm again.  And then I think all of the things that while you are pregnant you hope that you won't think - I hope they don't wake up with poopy diapers, I wish they didn't need to eat so much, oh how I miss the days when I could sleep straight through the night without anyone crying.  In other words, I almost start to miss my old, baby-free life.

But then 1am rolls around, and I know that the babies will each need clean diaper and a bottle if they are to sleep until Matt wakes up at 5 or 6.  I scoop up Madeleine (it is usually always Madeleine), and she is warm and sweet and snuggly, and we have our usual 1am hug in the dark before I grab her bottle.  Sometimes in the buzz of daily chaos, the babies constant cries and demands can seem so overwhelming.  But having that time in the middle of the night gives me a chance to remember that these babies are trusting Matt and I to be there for them, to keep them fed and warm and safe and loved, and that it is a privilege that not everybody who hopes for children is guaranteed.  It is the part that gets you through the crying spells and the exhaustion.  It is my favourite time.

Exhaustion

Stupid things I've done since the babies came home:

• Microwaved a metal can opener in an attempt to sterilize it


• Used a rubber dishwashing glove as an oven mitt


• Left the same rerun of the Big Bang Theory running in a loop on the PVR all day because I couldn't find the remote


• Walked into things so many times that my legs are covered in suspicious looking bruises


• Actually had to stop to think about how many scoops of formula I'd need to make a '12 scoop' and '6 scoop' recipe


• Called my children by the dogs' names


• Called each of my children by the other's gender

Sleep deprivation is serious business, people.  Good thing these babies are cute.

For Reid

When I finally arrived at the hospital to visit you today after a few days of staying home with your sister, I felt pretty bad.  I don't necessarily think anyone would have faulted me for not having it together enough to be spending time at the hospital with you while also figuring out how to have Madeleine at home, but at the same time, there was no question that you were getting the short end of the stick.  It wouldn't be the first time either, since I'd had to leave you before while Maddie was at Sick Kids.  But when I got there, feeling all mom-guilty about it, the nurse handed you over to me and you burrowed in immediately like usual, ready to eat like nothing happened, as if to say, meh, no hard feelings.  It was, for lack of a better term, so very Reid of you.

I'm not sure if I'm supposed to admit this, but when I found out I was pregnant, I really wanted a girl.  Then, when we learned it was twins, I thought, "I really hope at least one of them is a girl".  In fact, I was completely terrified I would end up with two boys.  What would I do with two boys??!  But then, of course, you were born.  And ever since that day, I have been so, so incredibly grateful that nobody listened to my original request.

You are just one big love ball.  You weren't able to be cuddled for a while in the beginning because you needed so much help to breathe, and then when we finally did it, you soaked it all up and never looked back.  When we snuggle now you get right into every possible nook, and open your arms out wide as though you are trying to hug me back.  Even though I am more than happy to give all the love in one direction (yours), there's something that always somehow feels reciprocal.  I like to nuzzle against your face just to get you to nuzzle back, and when my hands are close by, you grab onto them.  Now that you have developed super pro star neck and head strength, you use it to pull away and stare right at me.

At the same time, you are so very impatient.  You want everything yesterday, and there is no reasoning with you if it doesn't happen.  Not only do you cry about it, but you cry about it in such a heartwrenching way - your lip quivers and your face scrunches right up - that it becomes so hard for me to remember that it's entirely okay for me to let you be upset sometimes.

Probably my favourite example of these two traits - your loveliness and impatience - is seen when you feed.  Breastfeeding is hard when your babies are born far too small to eat, but even if that hadn't happened, it wasn't something I ever envisioned enjoying.  But you are so enthusiastic - you want to eat all the time and you want it nownownowgo! - that I cannot imagine trying to take that away from you.  You get grunty and wide-eyed, and you hold on like your life depended on it.  It is pretty much the best thing ever.

I learned early on in your life, when you were taking longer than expected to come off the ventilator, that you have your own schedule.  As much as it worries and frustrates me when you have setbacks, I try to remember that it doesn't mean you are incapable - you always, always get there - but that you just need a chance to do it in your own time.  I am glad I have already been able to learn that about you, and hope that I will be able to keep it in mind as you grow (I apologize already though for the times I will forget - I think you might just get your impatience from your mother).

I am pretty sad right now that we are experiencing Madeleine's homecoming without you, because you are such an important member of our new little family.  You bring me so much joy I can hardly stand it, and there is so much love and sweetness inside of you.  I'm not quite sure how I got so lucky, but I am so glad that I did.

Come home already, would you?

Home, Part One

Since I last posted an update, an awful lot has happened.  We hit the 100 day mark in the NICU.  My due date came and went.  I turned 27.  We had meltdowns and felt like the babies would never come home.  And then, one day, just like that, we packed Madeleine into her car seat and drove home.

Truth be told, I am still adjusting to the idea that we are full-time, full-on parents.  Madeleine is home to stay, she lives here now and always will.  At the same time, Reid is still in the hospital.

Only a little while ago it looked like Reid would actually be the one to come home first.  Madeleine had always been one step ahead of Reid in terms of development, but then her surgery levelled the playing field a bit and allowed him to not only catch up, but surpass his sister.  He took off like a bolt when it came to oral feeds, but then he failed his car seat test (three times!)  Add to that a mysterious rash and a suspected tummy bug, and his discharge date got pushed back at least a week or two.  Since Madeleine was no longer in need of hospital care, she came home on her own.

Having Madeleine home has been, like everything thus far, the best and worst thing simultaneously.  But this time at least, it is the best and worst thing the way it normally is for new parents and not the way it has been under our unique NICU circumstances.  We are tired in a way that we never thought possible, anxious, snappy, and, no really, seriously, mega tired, but at the same time, it is incredible.  It is everything we'd hoped it would be, but never really thought we could have after what felt like a never-ending NICU stay.  There have been rocky moments, but in such a normal, 'all parents experience this' kind of way that even the bad parts don't seem so bad.  It is what we envisioned when we first got pregnant many moons ago.  (Although…did I mention we are really, really tired?)

When we first brought Maddie home, I started to wonder if maybe it was actually better to only have one baby home at first until we figure out what we're doing (it turns out one baby on its own is a lot of work too!).  Now though, I'm thinking that it is actually much, much worse to have one baby left in the NICU than it was to have two.  Not only is it a logistical nightmare - all the back and forth of before without actually having any free time or energy - but you also know exactly what you're missing.  I cannot wait to have Reid at home with us where he belongs.

Even though I am struggling having my son in the hospital while we get to enjoy Madeleine at home all day, it is worth remembering that the fact that she is home in the first place means that we are almost completely over the incredible hurdle that is a long-term NICU stay.  Until Madeleine came home, it still felt like we would be there forever.  Now, we know that we won't, and furthermore that this is really just the beginning of what it was always supposed to be like.  A big milestone, to say the least.

Thirty-Nine Weeks

Well, it is clear at this point that I've become a little bit useless at keeping this blog updated!  But since so much has happened in the past month (and since I currently have more than five minutes at home to sit down and actually write about it), I definitely wanted to get it all up here.

Big Things That Have Happened Since A Month Ago:

- Madeleine had a second surgery, to remove the temporary shunt and insert a permanent shunt that drains into her belly

- Reid has joined his sister off of breathing support, and they are now breathing normal room air with their lungs like proper full term babies

- Reid and Madeleine have begun to work on oral feeds, which is one of the last big steps before coming home

- We have been moved into one big twin room, which means we no longer have to go back and forth between two separate rooms

- The twins are now one day short of 39 weeks gestation, and are practically gigantic given their birth weights as their official due date (March 24) nears.

The real major difference however is just how 'normal' the babies have become.  When we started on our NICU journey at 25 weeks, it felt impossible that Reid and Madeleine would ever not be teeny, tiny, odd-looking prems lying in incubators and hooked up to ventilators.  Now we are at the point in the babies' development where they are big, alert, breathing, and not really requiring much direct medical care at all.  They cry loudly, are hungry all the time, make funny faces, have big poops in their diapers, wear cute outfits, and snuggle in for cuddles.  In other words, they're basically just...babies.

As we transition into to last stage of their NICU journey, the demands being placed on us are also starting to increase.  Since the babies need to learn to take their feeds orally in order to come home (as opposed to getting their feeds from their feeding tubes like they've been doing), and since I am hoping to breastfeed the twins as much as possible once they come home, I need to be at the hospital pretty much all the time.  Right now, I aim to arrive around 10:30am to prepare for Reid's 11am feed, and try to leave after Madeleine's 9pm feed at night.  It is a long day to say the least, and I am chomping at the bit to be able to do all of this from the comfort of our own home instead of the hospital!  But while we are starting to slowly see the light at the end of the tunnel, it will still probably be at least another month before coming home becomes a reality.

The other big change is the difference in the way we are thinking about the babies' progress.  We are so glad to be coming out of the stage where everything was so much more precarious - when we were more worried about their breathing or when we contemplating what would happen if Madeleine needed surgery.  Day-to-day the updates are pretty much happy and uneventful now, but what lies ahead for us is still a giant question mark.  The answer to the often-asked, "How are the babies?" is "Ok...ish".  They're well right now, but they might not be in the future.  Good and bad.  Who knows?

Ultimately though, even with all the stressful bad stuff, and the infinite what-ifs (especially for Madeleine), I can't help but feel that I must be the luckiest mom that ever existed.  I don't know what it's going to be like to take them home, I don't know if I'll ever not be exhausted again for the rest of my life, I don't know if I'll end up with one (or two?) mildly/moderately/severely disabled child/children, if everything might end up being one big forever-long struggle.  But what I do know for sure is that no one else in the world gets to be Madeleine and Reid's mom.  And being their mom is pretty much the best thing ever.

Two Months Old

The babies are now two months old, and boy have they grown.  So much has happened in the past little while - good and bad - that I think our heads are spinning a little bit.

Some updates (in point form, because my brain is too mushy for fully formed paragraphs):

- Reid is back on high flow and doing pretty well (when he stops trying to pull the prongs out of his nose at least).  He's giving cycling a little go, which is when he takes a break from breathing assistance for a few hours at a time.  In Reid's usual style, he's taking his own sweet time adjusting to this, which as far as I'm concerned is completely fine.  Slowly, but surely...

- Madeleine and Reid are both done with their incubators and have moved into cribs!  This is a very exciting update, as it means they are capable of regulating their own temperatures without the help of the incubator.  It also means they are wearing clothes, which is super adorable.  Seeing the twins in clothes and cribs makes them look more like 'normal' babies than they ever have before.  So great.

- Madeleine is back to her old room next to Reid's, which is great news for Matt and I!  It was absolutely awful having the babies in separate hospitals, but still a bit frustrating when Madeleine came back to Sunnybrook and had to stay in a different pod than her brother.  It is so, so, so much easier to have them back in adjoining rooms with a door between them that we can leave open.  Makes it much easier to feel like we are spending a fair amount of time with both babies when we visit.

- Things are still up and down with Madeleine's head.  Her MRI didn't look great, but thankfully Sick Kids decided that it wasn't bad enough to send her back just yet.  Her ultrasounds have been increased to bi-weekly (which means bi-weekly anxiety attacks for mom and dad).  She has had two ultrasounds since the MRI, and the results have suggested that maybe things aren't super bad just yet, but also not super great.  Still holding our breath for some good news.

- Matt's car accident has meant that we are (hopefully temporarily) a one-car family.  It has made things even crazier for us, but the one good thing has been that Matt had the chance to spend last week with the babies since he was unable to work.  It was kangaroo cuddle galore!  We've seen in the past how much those cuddles can help (Reid especially seemed to respond to them), so I can only hope that somehow it will work some magic on Madeleine's ventricles as well.

- Now that Madeleine is breathing on her own and doing great, we were able to try breastfeeding!  I wasn't at all sure how that was going to go, but she did really well.  I have heard that teaching a prem to breastfeed is a long and arduous process, but I am still looking forward to it (at the very least, I'll be happy to spend a little bit less time with that pump!).  Since Reid is still on high-flow, he can't clock any boob time just yet, which is a little bit sad as he roots like crazy when you hold him.  He's even tried to suction himself onto Matt's chest while they cuddle, which must have been rather disappointing...

- Not exactly baby-related, but Penny and Rosie will be coming home mid-March.  They've been living up in Orillia having what I'm sure has been the time of their lives while we deal with all the stuff happening with the twins, but it's time to think about getting them back and adjusted to our new family life.  I am a little nervous about how this will go, since there's still so much that has to happen before the babies can come home and our life will settle down in that way, but then of course we will also have to figure out how to have two babies and two dogs at home full time.  Madness!  (But we still can't wait for it to happen and have our whole family under one roof)

- The babies are growing like weeds!  Madeleine now weighs 4lbs 11oz, and Reid weighs just over 5lbs.

[caption id="attachment_504" align="aligncenter" width="478"] Five pounds![/caption]

[caption id="attachment_506" align="aligncenter" width="482"] This is her sweet face.[/caption]

[caption id="attachment_507" align="aligncenter" width="480"] Wearing clothes. Like a boss.[/caption]

[caption id="attachment_508" align="aligncenter" width="482"] Yeah, strawberry hat![/caption]

[caption id="attachment_510" align="aligncenter" width="480"] Hanging out, having a bath...[/caption]