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.

[gallery type="square" columns="1" link="none" ids="1089,1088"]

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.