Thursday, June 28, 2018

The IVF Chronicles: The Transvaginal Ultrasound

I don't really remember my first "lady" appointment (is that even a thing that any woman remembers on purpose?); you know the one where the doctor gets all up in your business when really it's just been you and possibly tampax for several years.  But doctors, nurses, and techs, I have learned especially going through IVF and pregnancy, are super chill about lady parts that I don't even want to talk about with my mother or sister (I know there are some women who are really cool with their vaginas-not one of them right here).  Like I will never understand and always be in awe of the women of RHS on Rodi Road who were able to make chit chat and casual small talk during my several transvaginal ultrasounds.



The first one caught me by surprise which is not exactly how you really want to go into the procedure.  With our IVF plan, we were to call RHS when I started my period; because honestly, they are the only excited people when Aunt Flo visits you because that means it is time to hijack the hormone system and begin growing eggs.  I could have sworn that day 3 was supposed to be just a blood draw day where they evaluated my estrogen levels and other baby making hormones before putting me on birth control to get the timing just right.  Nope, I was poked first like I had anticipated, a bunch of blood was taken, and then I was sent back to another room and put in a special lady chair where I met my first of several friendly ultrasound techs.

If you are a lady, you know the speculum business from a Pap smear is one of the most uncomfortable experiences ever.  If you are not, I'd recommend comparing it to if a dentist had a crank to open up and keep your mouth from clamping down so they could see down into your esophagus (but in a body area you generally don't allow people to stare or let people poke).  Ladies, the poking, coldness, even the clicking (for me it's the clicking that is bothersome) of that damn machine being inserted and adjusted is a strange hell as a woman.  The transvag ultrasound thankfully doesn't use a speculum, however, there is a wand (that's right, expecto patronum, because making a baby without sex is so freaking magical).



The tech explained that today they were going to be observing the baseline size of my ovaries and making sure they and my uterus were in tiptop shape for egg growing and embryo housing.  Then I was handed the damn wand and told to go ahead and insert it then the tech would take over guiding it to do the procedure.  What in the hell?!  I have new appreciation and hatred for all of those antiabortion laws now that force women who are seeking to end an unwanted pregnancy who are forced to go through this first (like, I hope there is a special place in hell with a male version of this wand for their dicks, but I digress).  Anyways, this was my choice and I gladly obliged in the hopes for my future children.

Perhaps this tech was just down to business, or perhaps she was just not as small-talky as others would be, but this first go-around with the transvaginal ultrasound was super awkward because she didn't talk the whole time after getting started until about 30 minutes later.  Seriously, I stared up at the dark ceiling (why are these done in dark rooms?!) and observed the beautiful leaf patterns on the room curtain while listening to the camera clicking what I assume were pictures of my ovaries and uterus.  Later, techs would share the images with me of growing eggs and the two coffee stains that would become my babies, but for now there was really nothing to see but two quiet, broccoli shaped ovaries and a vacant yet healthy and welcoming uterus.

Gentlemen, if you are a loving member of your relationship and you know a woman who is going to have your baby, please respect the amount of embarrassing positions and moments they will endure on behalf of your progeny.  Get that lady some flowers to thank her for allowing so many to peek and poke and her being mostly good hearted because that is what is necessary to bring a healthy child/children into this world.  And ladies, hang in there, the transvag ultrasound is but an awkward stepping stone to some amazing and unbelievable moments.

Wednesday, June 27, 2018

Dear Airport Stranger

Dear Stranger Who Left a Note on My Car:

You know, it was the one that said "Learn to park" and then had a colorful word I'm hoping my boys never unleash on a woman (or any person for that matter) especially in anger or frustration.  We had been at the Pittsburgh Airport dropping off my boys' sister and their nephew before dawn for their early flight back to Seattle.  It was an earlier than normal wake up; the bubs were actually sleeping when the alarm had gone off at 1:45am (the husband and I were discussing whether we thought we would have alarm-alarm or baby alarm that night, fooled us babies!).  The boys were generally jollier than any person should be dragging themselves out of bed at that time and clamoring into the car for a jaunt down I79.

We drove separate cars so PAG could take the Seattle family in one vehicle and I could come down in familial solidarity.  It was an uneventful drive in the darkness; no deer, no construction, although it seemed there would be activity and slowness later in the regular part of the day.

We arrived at PIT with time to be comfortable going through the airport with tiny people and there was less of the craziness that PAG had told me about from the pickup earlier this week.  Our only snag was parking; I misjudged the line in the dark and parked like a crazy person in two spots instead of one. I got out questioning my choices and the look on my husband's face was so embarrassed yet loving.  Not wanting to hold things up and knowing we'd be in and out with some quickness, I chose not to readjust the placement of my car.

Perhaps you saw this as I was unloading my one-year old bubs into the double-stroller and having a jolly laugh at my own ridiculousness.  Maybe you really needed that spot next to me because it was your lucky airport spot.  I like to think you didn't see me at all and just came up to a Chevy Cruze abandoned and looking like a shitshow in two parking spots.  Anyways, no matter the lead up, it obviously filled you with rage to see someone being so dick-ish about parking spaces when that business is valuable real estate at the airport.  I get it-so, you put a note on my car to teach me a lesson.

I did learn a lesson that day and have had it in my heart ever since. I wanted the chance to respond to  being called a b-word for the error of offending you at the wrong time.  Here it is; I get it-I judge people too.  It is a personality habit that I am frankly ashamed of.  It is unChristian and unkind and unhelpful.  I judge people for the same mostly harmless bullshit that caused you frustration that morning.  Maybe you were on the edge of anger or frustration already for factors I don't even know about, but isn't that how all of our anger comes about?  Don't we allow things to build and build inside of us until we snap over something minor?  Aren't we all guilty of this and we need some crazy lady parking her car badly to pin our frustrations on?  I get it!  I have spent the better part of a year feeling angry, scared, and frustrated for reasons I often cannot really articulate or control.  I am trying to be the daughter, mother, wife, teacher, friend I can be while surfing hormone and life changes that I don't fully comprehend.  So I too find it easy to look at nuisances and pet peeves and exact some mental vengeance through judgement.

This judgement I generally keep to myself and just chuckle at how much better it makes me feel to be better than someone because of stupid things.  Car stickers really bother me because they are inviting me to judge them as I sit in the passenger seat or walk uptown.  I get really frustrated with folks at restaurants who (in my mind) have no business being in a restaurant because they treat the service and workers poorly or cannot possibly seem to restaurant (like honestly, please read).  But anyone who experiences similar feelings may appreciate the downside of allowing all of that to build up and ferment.  I get angry and sarcastic and turn inward with dark and angry thoughts that just swirl and spiral, never really accomplish anything or making anything better.

This is how your note felt; I wasn't bothered by it (I know I parked like an asshole) and I don't think you really felt better because you left it.  Generally if I am feeling particularly prickly, I try to mentally remind myself that we all do this and it is mostly unhelpful.  We are all carrying around baggage with us (as in the case of the airport, sometimes literal baggage) and we can either help out each other by taking a breath and holding out a hand to help each other, or we can tear each other down with judgement and harsh words.  I didn't help you out because I parked like an asshole, and yes, I probably should have realized my dick-move and adjusted my car to be a better parking lot citizen for those twenty minutes.  I don't think you helped yourself by calling me out for it.  I don't think raining judgement on each other is our spot to occupy while we are here, and I hope to impart that to my boys.  We are all here together trying to share our space and time in the world.  Hopefully we can do it in ways that are kind and caring and thoughtful.  I wasn't thoughtful that morning, but you weren't either and I don't think the two wrongs made right.  Let's do better next time!

Sincerely,
The B*** Who Will Park Better Next Time  

Friday, June 8, 2018

Art and Kindness

I have a good life, no, let me rephrase that, I have an amazing life!  I woke up this morning with two bubbly babies and a kind, caring, smart, and funny husband.  I walked up to town with them to take them to day care for their last day.  At day care, there are no tears upon drop off, we crawl on the floor, joke with Miss Julie or Miss Neisha or Miss Tammy and I slide out the door as they boys are zooming around the room with toys in hand.  I come back to a great house on the river and am able to sit on my back porch enjoying a cup of coffee.  I am financially secure thanks to a great job with a great staff in a great community.  I went last night to a paint 'n sip with my mother who lives two blocks from me and enjoyed laughs, drinks, and creativity with her.  I truly have a great life, however, there are times of stress and anxiety that have swelled up and are in their own way debilitating or hampering on my enjoyment of the privilege I enjoy.  So when two major celebrity suicides (among countless others that will go unreported) occur in such a small window, it makes me reflect on how mental health and taking care of oneself as well as reaching out to others who are hurting is so important and critical for all of us.



While my life is great, I have had my own battles to navigate.  As my mom lovingly puts it, I am generally a high-strung, anal-retentive perfectionist.  I have very clear and high expectations of how I believe things ought to be both small picture and large.  I have learned flexibility, but it is not always easy for me to adapt and modify how I think things should be (so I had children-the definition of change!).

Often I will put failures (perceived or real) on my own shoulders as some function of me not trying hard enough, or working long enough, or not being smart enough.  I sat in my end of year meeting just days ago with my principal trying to workshop where I went wrong with my instruction or classroom management as I had one of the most stressful years of teaching in my career.  There is a lot of Kool-aid out there that says that teachers are the variable that make all the difference in the successes or failures of students and this year I was drinking it hard-core.  She didn't want me to see my work this year as a failure or moral deficit which I appreciated her saying as I have been beating myself up over shortcomings as a mother, spouse, teacher, daughter, person for nearly a year.

I'm not well versed in the causes of depression or anxiety so I will not pretend to be any kind of expert on anyone besides myself.  Saying that, I know as a meticulous planner, I feel most vulnerable when big things or small things don't go according to plan.  When my first marriage blew up after just over a year, I let myself sink into some unhealthy choices as a way of 'having control' over a very unstable time.  Thankfully family, friends, and therapy helped me pull it back together and get back on even footing.  Going into my pregnancy and early motherhood, I had a vision of how things would look and turn out.  However, no amount of reading or preparation could get me ready for lady hormones, two babies, or how sleep deprivation affected my mood or feelings of control.  And then I  transitioned to being a working mother with a classroom of students who possessed enough personal baggage to fill a 747 kept the ground from settling.  Again, a support system (doctor, therapist, coworkers, friends, spouse, family) was what kept me pulled together and functioning on days when I didn't want to or didn't think I could.

I know it seems easy to look at the lives of others and think to ourselves they ought to have nothing to complain about or wonder how could they possible suffer mentally when it appears they have so many good things in their lives.  I have great things in my life and yet the anxiety is still there and I work to cope with and manage the stress in my life.  We are all going through a journey that fluctuates between joyous and terrible, with on-days and off ones.  It can be difficult, painful, and lonely, even when there are many folks around commenting on how wonderful they think you have it.  Take a moment to read the signs or look for the clues that someone may be hurting just a little more today than yesterday.  Maybe they need you to hear them, or maybe they need a distraction during a tough time.  Ask before assuming (remember the two ears, one mouth rule and listen twice as much as you speak) and respect what they need before offering what you think they need.  Let's take care of ourselves, each other and spread some kindness in a world that could always benefit from a little (or a lot) more.  Let's also make it clear that it is okay to not be okay and to ask for help or extend some help when and where it is needed.            

Thursday, June 7, 2018

Reflection List #2 part one: Work Life Routines

So for List #2 I am supposed to outline all of my daily routines and then determine where to trim the fat of things that add stress and anxiety to my life.  As a teacher, it feels like I have two lives and sets of routines, one that occurs during the school year/school day, and one that is my out of school (afternoon or summer) routine.  Here are the breakdowns for both.

School Day Routine: So you want to know the crazy circus ride that is being a fourth grade public school teacher? Well buckle up because by the end of this ride you will either want a nap or an adult beverage or both.  PAG and I divided up drop off and pick up duties of the bubs to match our contractual time.  I drop off because I start later, and he picks up because he ends earlier.  I arrive at school around 7am-ish give or take the time it takes to stop and grab a breakfast sandwich and coffee at Sheetz (thank you Sheetz for keeping me un-hangry this year, I would have been much more of a monster without you).  I sit in my classroom and make a mental to-do list of things to take care of immediately and tasks that can be accomplished at a more relaxed pace as I read through emails, respond to emails, and eat my breakfast.

And here is some of the chaos I walk into (however this is mighty clean because we were getting ready for open house here!).
Until this year I would have stayed after school beyond my contractual time to clean up the holy-disaster that is a classroom after fourth graders have been learning all day.  Books, papers, pencils are tossed around willy-nilly and try asking them to maintain one square foot of space.  Seriously, try it and then tell me to get 25 of them to have the same standard of cleanliness that I expect.  Nope, it was just easier to stay after they were being bussed home and get all of the items back into their "should be" places (this is not just a school thing, I have "should be" places for lots of things in my car and in my home-it may drive my wonderful husband crazy that I want shoes on the shoe rack and keys in the key bowl).  This year, however, with two bouncing bubs at home to play with and feed and cuddle, I wasn't staying to do all of that, so I generally tackle it in the morning so my day ran smoother and I could find the materials we would need throughout the day.  This was not my favorite way to start the day, but I can't really get work done without a clean starting point.

The cleanest it ever is but that is because everything is packed away for the summer.  I love and hate this picture because it doesn't really show how vibrant and crazy our learning and activity is during the year.
I prepped the room with a new quote of the day, writing down homework assignments, and making sure I had all of the necessary paperwork organized and printed.  If we were using the smart board, I would look over programs and make sure I wouldn't be caught off guard with a strange math problem, or a smart slide that I didn't fully understand.  Sometimes if that was all I had in the morning and there were no meetings planned or papers to be graded, I would get some future planning done and make some materials for days or weeks ahead.  Day by day planning is the worst and I would rather have things ready in the case of an emergency than put the burden on my co-teacher or one of the other fourth grade teachers to figure out.

So that was three paragraphs and kids haven't even arrived yet? Yes, every minute of my day requires my time and often I could fill five times those minutes if I had the opportunity.

Kids arrive at our school at 9am.  The two hour working period is nice, because once the kids are there, I have had my introvert time to charge up for the day and am ready to expend that energy into working with them.  And I won't get crazy into detail about how each minute I can tell you what our class would be doing, but honestly, it is 9:19am now and I would be asking the student with the job of sending our lunch order to the kitchen to use the smart board and print the order to the cafeteria while interpreting silent body language from another student who was asking to go get a drink or fetch a pencil from their locker.  Any day off for appointment or sick day I could look at the clock and tell you where the kids should be and what they should be doing down to the minute.  I run on teacher time and this is how it works.  The first couple of days of the summer are sometimes rough getting out of that rigid routine and finding a more natural flow of doing things not at a bat-out-of-hell pace.

As I mentioned, kiddos are bussed home at 3:40, and I try to be out the door on my way home between 3:45 and 4:00.  As a twin parent, there is a lot of patience and work that goes into managing two nearly toddlers on your own.  So I try to be a good partner and parent and get my bottom home to help out with playing, feeding, and entertaining them.  Sometimes I am able to catch a nap as one of the bubs is sleeping, but more recently, the kiddos don't need that later afternoon nap and want to walk outside or play in the upstairs room or explore the other areas of the house.  This is great, but it is exhausting and leaves me looking forward to our evening bedtime routine with the boys.  Dinner is flexible and we take turns spooning out baby classics such as apple chicken or ban-blab-blub as the other has some food or takes care of chores.  More playing is done, sometimes we pull all of the books off of a shelf and read some of them.  When the kids are flinging themselves at us frequently, wanting to be held, but not too much because they might accidentally fall asleep, we move our parenting operation upstairs and often to baths, teeth brushing, jammies, Harry Potter, bottles and bed.  For most of this year, it took every ounce of energy to get to bedtime and I couldn't talk myself into writing or reading or even watching TV after we had gotten the fellas into their cribs.  I collapsed into my own bed and was trying to catch some minutes of sleep before someone woke up and came back into bed with us.  Again, every minute counted when there was the high likelihood that I'd be rocking, feeding, or soothing a restless baby.

So that was half of this reflection post without really looking at how to smooth out and de-stress-ify the routine.  But it is summer vacation, and I can come back to this and make this a part one of some series.
  
Bonus: Take action, circle all of the routines that bring you joy, and cross out all the routines you dislike.  What is it about the circled routines that bring you joy? 

Wednesday, June 6, 2018

My Boys are One!


I have a whole post in my head that I am processing about the birth experience and first year of life for my bubs and will get up here in the near future (I'm on summer vacation-yay!).  However, I want to make it known that today is one of my favorite days.  I am a mama because of this day.  My pregnancy and birth experiences plus the events of this past year have changed who I am and how I interact with the world around me.  My boys fill me with hope and love and I want to be better because of how amazing these men are (and there are the tears, because squishy feelings).  Today is a day for thankfulness for all who have shown kindness and provided help to PAG and I through our first year of twin parenthood.  No man is an island and no more is that so than when you are parenting, especially parenting two exciting balls of energy at once.  So today is for all of the folks who share in our joy and share in the ever changing experiences of Bilbo and Wall-E.  As these fellas cannot yet say "thank-you" let us do it for them and if I do not tell you so in person, please know we love you and keep you in our hearts everyday and are thankful for all of your kindness and love.  Happy birthday boys!    



Tuesday, May 29, 2018

The IVF Chronicles: WTF is IVF

There was a cute, fun conversation I had with my boss when we were just about to start hormone injections and the shit just got real business of IVF.  PAG and I had confided in our family members of our intentions on pursuing preggo-hood and we wanted to allow our employers the opportunity to know what emotional roller coaster we were embarking on so we didn't show up to work basket cases with no context as to why.  So I emailed my principal about two weeks before our beginning of school in-services to let him know what would be happening and how that may affect me at the beginning of the school year.

I remember going in and doing some basic small talk about summer and preparing for the school year before saying that I was there to tell him that we were doing IVF.  He gave me a curious look that told me the information didn't land quite right so the teacher in me went about delivering the message a different way.  I told him we were trying to get pregnant which has no shades of other possible meanings so the wait time on that understanding was much shorter.  He laughed and said he was worried that what I had said before was some kind of relationship counseling and that our marriage was in some kind of trouble.

How can there be marital discord; we have a SPAM selfie together.

IVF and infertility in general is not a subject of much conversation.  We just passed not too long ago National Infertility Awareness week where there were several articles and pieces out in the inter webs  explaining that some kind of barrier to having a child is experienced.  I will not pretend to be an expert in infertility stats or the various options and procedures available to couples and individuals trying to conceive (or TTC in the web lingo) as we were fast tracked to IVF because of some insurmountable odds PAG and I would experience without.

We were walked through the routines and the procedures formally twice, once with one doctor who ended up not working with us (I think she was focusing on some other area of doctoring or research, maybe) and then again with Dr. A, who oversaw our case until we were discharged as successfully preggo parents to be.  I remember there was a handout/booklet on the center of the table that outlined, with illustrations and diagrams, the egg retrieval.  The needle was magnified to encourage nervousness that a bubble tea straw would be needed to suck up our grape sized eggs.  This is not the case---please read those pursuing infertility treatments---I am not a doctor and will not describe things accurately at all or without hyperbole; your eggs will be normal sized and I don't even remember the ins and outs of the procedure.

We knew we were doing this so no matter how scary the pokey needles or big the bucket of money we would need, we were ready to sign on the dotted line.  And here's what we knew going into it what IVF was:  I would be on a variety of drugs and hormones throughout my monthly cycle first to chill out my ovaries from producing anything, than kicking them into overdrive to make as many eggs as possible without putting me into estrogen shock (again, not really, but there is OHSS which sounded super painful and highly likely).  Then when the eggs had reached peak ripeness (this thing with being ripe will come up again and again in this process and it is never, not gross) the doctor would retrieve them.  Meanwhile, my partner would supply his end of the reproductive ingredients in a manner not fun or convenient and also involving needles in places most people just don't want them.  The doctors of the laboratory would arrange fixed marriages of sorts via a process called ICSI (it's the one everyone shows with the needle putting the sperm into the egg) with as many eggs and sperms as possible.  Then they would be set to hang out while we fret and hope and begin using progesterone with the needles much bigger than the previous ones.  There would then be a transfer day where I had to have the most water in my bladder as possible and they took the best embryo and introduced it back into my uterus ready and welcoming for the embryo to look around and say "gee, this is a swell place; I'd like to make my home here for nine months." At that point we hope that the odds are ever in our favor and in about two weeks there would be a blood test to check for pregnancy.  Oh did I forget to mention the fifty million blood tests and the 1,000 ultrasounds I would go through for not just an IVF pregnancy, but an IVF twin pregnancy?!  I guess we can talk about all of those adventures another day.

While that is all easy to understand and fairly straight forward, I needed it explained to me in language I most understood, and by that I mean book language.  I absolutely lived with "Get A Life" : A His and Hers Survival Guide to IVF" by Richard Mackney and Rosie Bray.  The couple reference a UK experience of IVF which had some key differences especially when it came to insurance and the payment end of things, but each chapter was designed to give a thorough layperson's experience of both the pitfalls of failure and the joys of success.  Web articles are meh for information about reproductive services, and each individual clinic is going to be different slightly in their procedures and how they arrange things.  We loved RHS in Monroeville, seriously loved them.  Dr. A was the stern, serious straight talking woman I needed getting started and answering my initial questions.  Dr. S did my retrieval and my transfer and I am sure she is an angel sent to earth to help families conceive children.  Even the receptionists and the blood draw technicians made the whole experience as fun and calm and comforting it can be.  I didn't go through the hardships I am sure many families endure, not by anything I did but through sheer luck, but I can imagine they are the perfect staff to console and encourage others in their trials and IVF missteps.



IVF is mysterious and intimidating to the medical novice.  Knowing that babies are made of female eggs and male sperm is just the tip of a big complicated iceberg.  It is seriously impressive that so many folks get preggo so often or with so little effort as the odds of the sequence happening just perfectly so is daunting.  I am glad we went against the odds with our IVF adventure.  We are nearly at a year, even though that conversation with my boss seems like just yesterday.  PAG and I are lucky, blessed, fortunate, and thankful that we now are experts with our own IVF adventure.

Reflection List #1: What Makes Me Happy Right Now

This year has been hard.  The most hard I could never have really prepared myself for.  I wouldn't change it for anything, but I know that when I went in to have my babies in the wee hours on June 6th, I had no idea how different my life would be in the subsequent weeks and months and how what I expected it to look like was nowhere close to the reality of what this year became.  We crossed into the final month of our babies' first year of life yesterday with a trip to the zoo for a reunion with our RHS doctors.  I almost didn't want to go because it has been a hard year and sometimes when I am feeling blue, I tend to want to squirrel myself away and be a hermit to regain some kind of control of what I am feeling is nonstop chaos.  I am glad we went as the experience reminds me I have so much to be thankful for and so many blessings to be counting.



A few months ago, I picked up this journaling book for this blog, determined to put myself at least on a weekly blog schedule to do some personal writing and reflection.  And then more life happened and I pushed my writing aside for babies, school, this meeting, and that event.  I seriously looked at my May calendar this past Friday and cried looking at all of the ink on the page and not knowing when I will catch a break between now and July.  The writing is supposed to be one of my ways of making breaks happen.  Does anyone else have a successful strategy for making the best of their me-time or generating more of it?  I'd love some advice on how to make loaves and fishes out of the spare seconds (read none-I might actually owe someone my time right now) for things like writing and not folding laundry.

So in the spirit of getting somewhat on track, but not being to harsh with myself if I slip into the blog void for a few weeks, here it goes!

Things that make me happy right now:
Snuggles-I am not a warm and fuzzy person.  I am generally not comfortable with small talk and I find it draining to socialize outside my immediate family unit for long stretches of time.  However, I love to hold my boys and give them nose kisses and tickle their tummies and hold them at 3am even though I haven't slept a full night of sleep since Obama was President.  Today the day care called to tell me that Wall-E had a fever and was extra sleepy and wanted held more than normal.  As they get more and more kid like, I realize that my baby holding days are decreasing and that I need to get while the getting is good.  So bring on the snuggles no matter what time.

My coteacher-Em and I have been working together for three years, but the way we understand each other, you might assume it were longer.  She is a great balance to me in knowledge and teaching approach, and we have a shared philosophy that meshes well for our students.  We have had a challenging year, however, I can show up every day knowing I can rely on her completely.  She is also a mum to a toddler and a newborn so we get to share mommy-battle stories of sleepless nights and the joys of new baby accomplishments.

My husband-PAG watched the boys tonight so I could be a figurehead at our town band rehearsal and practice as he has already out practiced me so far this year.  I can count on this man to share the workload and hear what is burdening me and be my shoulder to cry on. Every momma deserves that kind of man, and I am blessed to have it.

A healthy mom and healthy(ish) dad-it is my parents' birthday this week and as a new parent, I realize I owe them all of the things.  I can't imagine life without them and don't tell them enough how much I appreciate what they have done and sacrificed for me and my siblings.  We had the best life because of them and we are functioning human beings because they taught us how to be productive and caring people.

Tuesday, May 22, 2018

2002

There was a teacher strike my senior year of high school.  I was a senior, my brother, a year behind me however we commiserated in history and science classes together, and my sister in eighth grade doing things that middle schoolers do and that the rest of us trying to survive them.  I don’t really talk much about this experience, not because it fills me with rage or sadness that my year was ruined.  It wasn’t.  I’m not filled with bitter feelings towards my teachers because I didn’t graduate until June 22nd.  Those people are the reason I have any capabilities that I have today and I am wholeheartedly grateful for them.  Mostly I don’t talk about the strike of my senior year because I don’t honestly remember much about it which speaks volumes about the long term impact it had on me.

Our strike happened near the end of September in 2002.  I believe it would have happened earlier in the year, but appearances would not have looked good striking over the one year anniversary of September 11th.  As I said, I don’t remember many details of what led up to the walk out, but even if I had heard the specifics of the ongoing talks or the breakdown of talks, I would not have understood what was going on (yes, even at 18).  I may have been what one would call a self-absorbed teenager.  I’ll admit that while I walked and talked as a newly minted adult, I was certainly too wrapped up in my world to really be bothered with such silly things as other people’s struggles.  No, unfortunately, I was mostly concerned with how what was happening around me affected me.  I’m not exactly proud of that, but I do not really think that is much different than the life trajectory of most kids, adolescents, or young adults.

I did not really ‘get it’ because I wasn’t trying to ‘get it’.  I was busy having a self-centered life with my new drivers license, a job, my friends, and planning on what I wanted to do next.  I don’t think I would have understood what was going on and I don’t think my parents could have helped me at the time because while they are the smartest people I know, they are not teachers.  I don’t think they really began seeing this profession more clearly until I went into it and I was the first teacher on both sides of my family.  Even if teachers had explained it to me, I would have filtered it through my own filter that would have altered the message.  Now I know that the only folks who know what is really going on are the adults on either side of the bargaining table.

I did feel mad and frustrated at the time.  I wish I had been more mature to understand and be understanding of what my teachers were trying to say with their actions.  But the truth is I thought they were being selfish because I was being selfish.  I wanted a “normal” year.  I wanted to have a “normal” summer before college.  I told myself that I deserved those things.  Now I know I deserve a great education, and I got that even if the last year did not look as I had pictured it.  Now I know that every teacher is putting in more than they are getting, and I’m mad at myself for not thanking them enough when I had the chance.  Now I know that I had everything I could have wanted and needed that year including a band trip to Washington D.C. thanks to the tireless work of Mr. J, a once in a lifetime musical tour to Hawaii with G., dances, proms, senior sports nights and awards ceremonies with my classmates and friends.

Yes, I may have had school on Christmas Eve, but it was one day.  Yes, I may have had no break from January 1 until June 22, but honestly I am a better, more disciplined worker and human thanks to that experience.  I had the chance during the strike in October to work with students who needed a place to go during their parents’ workdays at the YMCA, and I learned that year that being with kids, teaching them, having fun and silly times with them was what I wanted to spend my life doing.

There are things that happen during our lives that we maybe don’t understand when they are happening.  Maybe we don’t ‘get it’ after they have happened until we’ve done our homework and really contemplated what happened.  Maybe we never really get it at all.  I am now a teacher, but I still don’t have a full picture of what happened in 2002, but I know now what life is like as a teacher.  I can tell you about the teacher I know that knitted hats and gloves for over a hundred kindergarten students every year.  I can tell you about the teacher that visits parents houses just to ask them if everything is okay and if there is anything she can do to help.  I can tell you about the hours and hours that my coworkers spend arduously designing and delivering great lessons and inspiring future leaders and great humans.  I can say that the last thing they want to do is leave their post and their charges in the hopes to get other adults to show up at the negotiating table.

Unfortunately, you won’t really get it unless/until you are in the shoes of a teacher.  And that may not change your feelings of what happens if a strike occurs in your school, for your child, your friend, your neighbor.  Your feelings are valid and appropriate, and it’s okay to talk about them.  It’s okay to talk with your parents, your friends, your neighbors about what is going on.  It’s important to ask questions and understand the many sides to the events that are happening.  Knowing more is always better than knowing less.  It’s okay to feel hurt, sad, mad, or confused.  Be open, however to what someone else is feeling.   We can a shoulder for someone who may be having a harder journey.  At some point, however, this will be a memory, the feelings will fade away and hopefully some new understanding will come out of the chaos.  I graduated on June 22nd, 2003 because of a strike between teachers who deserved better than they were being offered.  Teachers who were told they didn’t deserve what the district could provide.  I am glad they stood up for themselves then, it makes me feel strong enough to do so for myself and my colleagues today.

Monday, April 2, 2018

State of Our Boobs

In the lunchroom, many conversations happen that tend towards the edge of curious (see the 4th grade team's obsession with the "Dark Web")  to downright weird or alarming (I'm looking at you fear of drowning in a car conversation).  Truthfully it is far better than some teacher lunchrooms where you sit through an endless barrage of bemoaning student choices/personalities, however, I wonder if we may seem off our rockers to the occasional substitute or block student who wanders over to our table.

This past week the table was outnumbered with ladies as two of our fourth grade teammates took early Easter vacations to warmer parts of the globe.  So naturally we talked about our children which led to talking about boobs and sustaining the lives of our children.  I think we ended up in this topic because one of my currently BF coworkers was looking forward to the long break where she didn't have to pump/BF on any given schedule.  She is a badass for many reasons, not the least of which is that she is BF her baby boy and working full time and raising her toddler as well.

Before going to much further down my own personal experiences with breastfeeding, let me say to any woman or man who stumbled onto this page, these thoughts are my own personal experiences and do not at all resemble opinions for any other living person out there.  Some advice, you will read so many things; SO MANY THINGS, telling you what you should or shouldn't be doing.  I read them too, sometimes at 2am when nobody should be reading things, especially sleep deprived, especially with a squalling infant who won't budge in the sleeping direction.  Almost none of those things are written be the people that actually matter in the feeding my child conversation (just a reminder-those people are you).

I found it helpful to confide deeply in my spouse during my boob journey and it would be a much better world if men realized how grateful they should be that (1) some mother possibly sustained their life early on with their boobs, (2) boobs are almost magical in their ability to produce what a baby needs during the phase they need it however that magic doesn't make the process any less work, (3) boobs are sexy and curvy and cool in a fashion sense, but the price for that is they are a nuisance when it comes to having mobility in life, work, fashion, comfort, and independence after having children.  So men, all one of you who is probably my husband, take a moment to say a kind word of praise to the woman in your life who grew your baby and is working (or fighting) with her body to continue to provide sustenance for that child.  If your baby mama would not or could not breast feed, praise her for that too because too often we are not celebrating all the different choices that are available when raising children.  We're all doing it, we ought to celebrate our efforts.

Along with PAG, I was able to easily talk to my mother and my doctor about the issues I faced.  Even before the babes were born, I remember mom showing up with a box that I called the boob box and if I were to pay it forward to any mum planning on breastfeeding, a boob box is a must.  It had things I had never even heard of before the babes, but was well versed in after my breastfeeding journey.

Lactation specialists and other moms are helpful as well, however, there is a problem when adding more voices and choices.  It's kind of like the wedding dress shopping problem when you start to all see the same thing over and over again and it gets too hard to think what is right for you.  A couple key people are great and it is important to remember that your voice and needs are the most important here.  Your baby is going to be great no matter what you choose because you are making that choice out of love.  Your baby deserves to have a happy, healthy mama, so you do you and be proud of the choices you make.

Saying all that, I was not tight with my breastfeeding experience.  To be truthful, as we are nearly four months post the end of my breastfeeding journey, I feel like parental amnesia has set in to erase some of the early weeks of struggle an pain.

I was pumped about the opportunity to feed my children, and overwhelmed with how to do so with twins.  There are tons of resources, and I consulted many to see what advice and necessities for BF my boys.  I had absolutely nothing against bottle-feeding, but knew that I wanted to try BF and had the arbitrary goal in my head of feeding the boys for a year.  Where that number came from, I have no idea, but it made sense and many moms I know were able to do this if not go past to several months after this.  It was kind of the same feeling I had about the vaginal birth thing; I wanted to at least be given the opportunity to try because it felt like I could or at least I should be physically/mentally able to for whatever reason.

During my pregnancy, I was a big reader of any parenting advice book, pamphlet, blog that would lead me to having a plan for post-preggo life.  Let me just say that plans are great and everything, but when they don't pan out as intended, it is just best to be gentle with yourself and go with the flow (I know this but rarely am so easy on myself.  It is part of my anxiety that I am working on everyday).

I attended a breastfeeding class offered at our local hospital and was excited about learning all of the support the Family Birthing Center offered and would continue after babies' births.  The woman teaching the class is an angel who had just come back from her own maternity leave and was so easy going about questions and concerns that I had.  She ended up being one of the evening nurses we had during our stay after my c-section and I was so glad because things did not start as easy as I thought they would, or I should say painless.

I can recite over and over that breastfeeding should not be a painful experience, however, I did not have such an easy time, especially at the beginning.  I don't know if it was the twins thing, I don't know if it has something to do with my boobs or my nipples, but my babies' mouths and my ladies did not click and rarely co-exsisted nicely.  Bilbo and Wall-E latched fine, all of the lactation specialists came to make sure that was going well, and my milk came in not like a cute little milk truck, but more like a milk tractor trailer.  I am sure it is a different feeling for every woman, but it honestly felt like I had rocks coming out from my armpits down across the sides of my boobs to my nipples.

I tried not to be stressed those first few times co-feeding the boys, but I was so sore, so tired, and traumatized from the surgery, that every encounter after that felt like it was life or death.  I was worried my boys were too small, both babies were being monitored and toe-pricked for glucose levels, we went to feeding them every two hours for Bilbo who was on a glucose pump and Wall-E who was being watched for jaundice.  The girls felt raw within the first couple of feedings, and good Lord, there is no pain on earth like nipple pain (or at least I thought until I had mastitis the first of three times).  My nurses were so amazing, they brought me ointment, cooling gels, warm washcloths, and kind words of support and encouragement.  I ordered all of the gels (seriously all of the gels, there are some still in my refrigerator) while I was in the hospital and researched the best nipple balm I could find (yup-some in my bathroom cupboard), and was determined to the point of stubbornness that I would be able to get past the two-week period that everyone said was challenging without giving up.

We went home on track still making it work and feeding the boys every three hours.  I learned to set my alarm clock for 9pm, 12am, 3am, and 6am and hoped we could get the babies both fed, laid back down, and sleep a smidge before having to repeat all of that again in the dark.  During the day there was a lot of laying on the couch with sleeping babies while we watched TV between feeding sessions.  Sometimes babies could be laid down in their pack-in-play for naps while I showered or rotated laundry (but never both, because seriously, we can't have it all).  I felt we were eating alright.

And then we went to the pediatrician for the first time two days after getting home.  He has since grown on us, but those first couple of encounters were not my favorites and the Dr. did not win any supportive points as he expressed concern that the babies were born early (they were exactly 38 weeks), they were small (they were born 5+ and 6+ pounds), and that he was concerned about their size.  I heard "wah, wah, wah, your babies are too small, wah, wah, wah, your babies need to eat more, wah, wah, wah, you need to breastfeed your children better." No, those are not the things he said, however, new mamas are fragile and probably should hire an interpreter to help them communicating with other humans for the first few weeks.

So I panicked with his words in my head, and PAG and I rearranged the feeding schedule to get some nutrition in the babies every two hours.  We were told to use an SNS to supplement Bilbo's nutrition because of the extra help he had needed in the hospital and his smaller stature.  I don't know about you, but my experiences with the SNS suggest that the device is created by the devil.  It is a tiny tube that you dangle from your shoulder and slide into the baby's mouth as they are nursing.  They get extra food that slips in from a bottle attached and hanging on your shoulder.  Sounds simple, right?! Well you try tandem nursing two babies and getting the device all set up and in place without falling and then get the babies latched but with enough room in their mouth to slip in a noodle sized tube that bends and wiggles out and drips all over just to piss you off.  No lie, I threw the thing more times than it actually worked, but I would cry every time because I was sure my baby would starve without the SNS.

This is about when I started pumping regularly in between feedings.  Yes, feed, pump, enjoy ten or so minutes of nothing being attached to my boobs, then repeat.  I don't know what I expected with pumping, but I knew my coworkers had pumped at work, so how exciting could it really be.  Not exciting, terrible, just terrible.  I had never felt so alone and less human and more like a cow in my whole life.  Like is this why Darth Vader is so angry, because his body is part machine (and that is how Amanda ruined Darth Vader for fan boys everywhere!).  It hurt with or without nipple balm; it felt as though I was producing droplets and not ounces, but after just feeding two infants, and with the stress of the two hour schedule, who is surprised.  And the business with set up and clean up is just shenanigans.  I would later learn to love my hand pump that I had gotten at the hospital but by then I was on the downhill slide of my breastfeeding career.

About a month into breastfeeding, during one late night, I began running a fever.  I could tell because I would go for about a half hour of feeling all of the layers were not enough to make me warm even when it was the beginning of July to kicking off all of the covers and still feeling like I was going to sweat until I died of dehydration.  I was not supposed to be running any fever post surgery so we called my PCP and got in right away.  My Dr. seemed unsure what was the cause until I asked if it could be from breastfeeding my babies.  I told him that I had noticed a little open cut on my left nipple and that morning my boob was feeling heavier and harder.  He asked to see, and there was what looked like the worst sunburn on the underside of Lefty.  It had not been there getting ready to go to the Dr.'s office.  This was the mysterious mastitis I had heard about which is discussed only briefly when being told about the wonders that are breastfeeding joys.  Nobody likes to talk about how you'll hate everyone (malaise), you'll feel like throwing up and not eating ever (nausea), and you'll have seriously flu achy feelings in your boobs.  The cure, rest (HA), more breastfeeding and pumping on the affected side (did you not see how my tiny carnivorous dinosaur babies have murdered Lefty?), and antibiotics (but only certain ones because you are still breastfeeding).

That was the first time of three going through mastitis.  I must have been prone because I had it later on the right side and then again on the left.  I got so used to showing up at the doctors and showing them the girls that honestly if they asked to see them I probably wouldn't think twice (seriously, pregnancy and parenthood do weird things to your sense of bodily privacy).

It was the second time I had done the mastitis that PAG and I decided to alter our expectations for breastfeeding and planned to supplement with formula and take turns feeding babies.  I had struggled through the first eight weeks of my babies' lives beating myself up over breastfeeding.  I felt pain all of the time, I felt guilty I wasn't enjoying this part of motherhood as I thought I was supposed to, and I thought I was failing so many people with my struggles: my children, my husband, my mother, my pediatrician, my lactation specialists.

We made the change to PAG doing a bottle with one baby while I breastfed the other, and I started treatment for PPD/PPA to support me.  It was the best decision.  As I said, having a great man to share the load of parenthood is so critical.  We also let the babies sleep longer at night and they let us know when they needed to eat.  This gave us all longer sleeps so we weren't as sleep deprived and raw.

I still had one more bout with mastitis to go through, but the switch to bottle and boob were what we needed, especially going into the return to work phase.  I had wanted to be a super mom like my coworkers who pumped at work, but I just couldn't.  I have too much on my plate at school and couldn't do either job, pumping or working to the best of my abilities, so I chose school.  We decided to send our kids to daycare with the formula they provided.  It was another best choice because weaning them was not arduous and emotional for them.

I revised my goal of one year to six months.  We were starting to incorporate solid foods at five months and they were so happy eating all of the food.  At five months I researched painless ways to wean and landed on using cabbage leaves during the day to ease the engorgement and pain as my boobs were screaming, "think of your children!" (trust me, you think it's crazy, but my boobs had lots to say all throughout this adventure).  I enjoyed so much my last feeds with my kids, because I knew I had done my job as a mother, and done it the best I could (she typed as she got teary eyed just reflecting).  I was thankful we were done with BF when the RSV Christmas occurred because it was terrible being apart from either baby enough without dealing with my boobs' feelings at the same time.

There are times I miss it and as my babies approach one, I wonder what it would have been like to have made it this far like women I know have been able to do.  But, as I said above, my journey was mine and the choices I made were the ones that were right for me.  I'm thankful for the experience it was even as the memories blur and fade.  I'm thankful for the people who had kind words of support along the way.  And I'm thankful that my boobs have this story and this accomplishment, because, no joke, they are champions.  Get those girls a medal.



Saturday, March 17, 2018

The IVF Chronicles: Prelims to Preggo-hood


Bilbo and Wall-E have now been out longer than they have been in if that can possibly be believed.  That saying of the days being years and the years being days is spot on; it is a cruel yet amazing truth that our babies have grown and become people as rapidly as they have.  Seeing my coworker's new baby boy at a few weeks old and B&T's sweet baby girl at three months reminds me how tiny yet fragile they felt when they were below fifteen pounds.  The new baby smell is so nice and those first sounds are so sweet;  I do get the butterflies in my uterus feeling their tiny fingers and hearing their little coos, but I am reminded that those early days I felt very fragile and vulnerable and affected by their every cry and overwhelmed with all of their possible needs that I could not translate.  I know they are forming bonds and learning to make sense of their "people" and how to make their wishes known in ways other than squalling, but I remember it feeling like slow goings as we went through it.

I think back to those beginnings and am blessed to know how lucky PG and I were going through our preggo journey.  We learned a lot a long the way, and I now understand so much more about my own lady hormones than I ever thought I wanted to know.  Due to life circumstances, we were never going to have children the fun and sexy way, bummer I know (especially for you readers who thought you were going to get the 50 Shades treatment of my love life).  We discussed with our doctors the options, and they were confident IVF was our only option to potentially have our own biological children.  I should have written more down as we went through it, but honestly, then and still now, I feel like I am grasping at the strings of my balloons of responsibilities and constantly have this feeling like some are slipping away.  So here I am beginning to jot some of my thoughts on the development of our preggo adventures, and maybe if you are going through your own infertility struggles or twin preggo journey, there are some anecdotes here to laugh at or at least give you one more person to connect to on your way.

Prelims to Preggo-hood

PG and I were put on the IVF path by our urologist, Dr. J.  As part of the UPMC Magee team, we knew were going to see a quality doctor, and he really was knowledgeable, but he had not really a sparkling personality, but definitely a memorable one.  I have learned throughout this whole business that medical professionals need that ability to banter and bond when dealing with people at their most vulnerable or with sensitive subjects (you know, the ones involving body parts that would make my fourth graders giggle).  I learned that these professionals have a level of comfort with body parts that is admirable, yet to the lay-nonmedical person, alarming.  Dr. J. was no different, but was very matter of fact and supportive in what we were trying to do and how we could reach our parental goals.  He had the coolness of an all-state athlete who did not need to remind you of how talented he was and if he were an instrument player, I have no doubt he would have been a trumpet player with his NBD attitude about overcoming obstacles.

We were able to ask questions about alternative options and he gave us the honest odds of the likelihood of conception without the highest level of Assisted Reproductive Therapy (ART).  The numbers were not good (like for some reason below seven percent chance not good sticks in my head), and he told us straight up that we would probably waste a lot of time and money going through those options and not just jumping into the deep end.

I am not a fan of facing odds and numbers.  I don't feel the rush of possibility when the PowerBall comes around with its super mega-millions because I have never felt like a beat the odds kind of person (we'll revisit this later-turns out I was incorrect about my preggo-potential).  I like making confident, calculated decisions.  I like knowing that I have the capability to control variables and therefore outcomes. So naturally, I wanted to have a kid where the possibilities were endless and there would be no control any more!  And we were going to have to do so in the most foreign to us way possible, where the odds were daunting and the cost financial and emotional high.  

As you are embarking on your own tiny-human adventures, a critical component when getting involved in any getting preggo ambitions, you will need people who are convinced that every challenge is conquerable and are willing to cheer you through plan A, B, C and D in your efforts to get to the finish line (or the starting line depending on how you view the successful birth of your child/children).  PG and I needed the team of people we had both medical and non-medical who checked in on us, offered us advice, and gave us emotional support when we most needed it.

Dr. J. was one of those folks who offered us some of our earliest advice when we consulted him about where he recommended we look for IVF services and his combination of professionalism, coolness, and caring stick with me as what we needed at that stage of our journey.  He directed us to Reproductive Health Services out of Monroeville and we fully had faith that he was giving us the best advice.  Trust and faith are big pieces to this reproductive puzzle and we trusted him with this recommendation.  And now we have two couch climbing, belly laughing bubs thanks to his early guidance.

As mentioned, this is the beginning of a series of reflections on our preggo adventures where hopefully I accurately recall and give proper credit to the folks who helped us in our journey and how we managed to handle the transition from married couple to married couple with two bopping boys.  I'll look next time at the "holy crap-what do all of these letters stand for and you really want to take my blood again?!" of IVF.      

Wednesday, February 21, 2018

Keeping Them Safe

I practiced for my own death today.  I scrambled to turn off the lights, but did our obligatory hall sweep to snag any straggling students who needed a safe haven from a hypothetical gunman.  My room is the first classroom inside past the main building doors, so as I am doing my hall sweep, I know in my head that were this not a drill, I would be dead.  I hid behind my desk with my co-teacher trying not to worry about the unthinkable, but after Florida and so many others, how does one not?  



It's the worst to fear going to your place of work and think that if the worst happens, all of the drills are not going to stop the bullets from coming.  Going into college to become a teacher of tiny people, I didn't plan on it being a high risk job.  I figured some bloody noses, days of germiness and puke, and the curmudgeonly family member here and there were as exciting as it gets.  But with every terrible, totally preventable tragedy that hits the headlines, I stop and wonder could it happen here.  And now as a parent, the thought makes me feel that much more helpless not just for my students, but for my children.

There were moments late in my pregnancy that I was afraid to get in my car and drive home.  I live in deer country and despite my love of animals have learned to hate their presense and proclivity for spontaneous road bouncing.  I am not a bad driver, but I worried that every time I got in the car, the worst was going to happen.  I wanted to keep my babies inside me forever near those last weeks because how could I protect them when there were so many chances for danger to manifest?

The arrival of the babies did not help ease this anxiety I felt as it was painful, scary, and traumatizing in ways I wasn't really prepared for.  I remember the tears running down my face as they rushed me to my emergency c-section, worried we were all going to die as they cut me open.  I never want my babies to be that scared or that sad or that worried.  However, one can't really live in a bubble and experience all of the highs of life without the potential of also enduring the lows.  So for a while I felt stuck in how to move forward and live and show my babies that this life is worth living for.

Today's news headlines cause such an ache in my heart.  I listen to the radio news in the morning and mourn when I hear about a young man swallowed up by the opium crisis.  He was someone's son, someone's brother, someone's friend.

There are things that we can be doing.  Phone calls made to representatives to demand action, marches and walk outs participated in to show that hate and pride will not stomp out the rights of children to attend school (and teachers to work) in safe places where they can worry about antonyms and algorithms and not lockdown procedures.  It is easy to feel stuck; I know I was in that place.  But I want a world where I am not agonizing about the dangers and hurt my babies will face.  I want a country that accepts that letting gun fanatics block sensible gun control legislation is why so many peoples' babies have been senselessly murdered.  I want to do my job of creating a caring and nurturing next generation that realizes that mistakes can be learned from and that they can stand up for good, rather than hiding under cabinets and waiting for our deaths.  

 

Sunday, February 4, 2018

How We Got Here-Choosing Parenthood

I once explained to my grandmother that I was not looking to get married or have any children.  This was a teenage pipe dream I had at about 16 when my boyfriends had been lackluster and the prospects were not inspiring.  I told her that instead, I intended to build or buy an enormous house with at least twenty rooms, one of which would house a one lane swimming pool (because I obviously thought that ambition would last forever 🤣).  I could see myself, Richie Rich-style, just chilling my days away playing in all of my rooms solo or with dogs, because that's what introverts dream about; not some lavish wedding reception with people looking at me or planning on babies that would rely on me for their existance.  This was around the time I thought I'd make a good lawyer too because I enjoyed arguing (but honestly what teenager isn't?!) and hadn't figured out that I actually liked some people and enjoyed my hometown so much that I might actually stay there one day and have a family of my own to share it with.  So that was my first life plan.


Fast forward about ten years and the child prospect hadn't improved much.  As far as boyfriends went, I up and married a high school sweetheart who turned out to be more teeth decaying sweet and not long lasting as that marriage crashed and burned a year in thanks to epic and unforgivable infidelity.  I had thought children were a part of that long term plan (I am a big planner as you might have noticed, both short term and long term, and so I said you know what, let's have some kids and see how I enjoy years of not knowing what will happen), but not until we both had #realjobs and a home of some kind nailed down.  Well, Mr. Can't Love Just One Person blew that idea up, and I wandered into my mid twenties experiencing a quarter life crisis that I had not anticipated.

So, heart hurt and feeling professionally stuck after several years of substitute teaching, I was blessed when I met a man who could help me heal my heart and be the partner I didn't realize I needed.  We courted and discussed various marrying challenges that were certain to come our way.  We discussed the obstacles of overcoming first marriage failures, our age difference, whether to have a mattress on the floor or not, and whether or not we saw kids as part of that future.  My mama-hormones were not feeling ready for a while, probably in no small part to still needing to feel settled in this marriage and pursuing some kind of full time job-ness.  That all fell into place not without its bumps as I had the job but then experienced the fun of being furloughed, or laid-off, as the school district closed a building.

I think part of getting ready for parenthood for me was going through these tough changes that would make me more heart-strong, more patient, more understanding and ready for tiny humans who needed that woman and not the one I was at 16 or 26.  I needed to experience other joys and trials before I could do this and do it in any way well or confidently (not that it ever feels well or confident-but as I look back at these first eight months, I realize I'm not doing too bad).  Learning and reflecting is not just a part of my profession, but really a part of my DNA and personality, so I'd like to think that I have taken a good part of my life to learn how to be a good parent, and hopefully, now that the real work is required, I am ready, come what may.

Wednesday, January 31, 2018

Choosing to Snuggle

It was a glorious, GLORIOUS night where the boys slept from 8pm to 4am earlier this week.  Seriously, those who have not gone months where the longest sleep stretch is three hours cannot process the amount of crazy that starts to accumulate and how regular brain function begins to deteriorate with the deprivation.  I felt so human and jazzed for the day, and thankful that baby-sleep gods had looked down on the husband and me and threw us a one night bone.

Bilbo, boppy, and baby snuggles.

So, it was a bit of a bummer that last night we were back to the 11pm, 1am, 3am, 4am bottle relay that we have pushed ourselves through for 800 months.  The only difference between last night and the previous many was that I had banked some sleep the night before and struggled with falling and staying asleep rather than waking up to tend to my children.  When you know you are probably going to be needed and on call for baby fetching and feeding at 11pm, the needing to fall asleep in an efficient, expedient manner is a matter of maintaining sanity.  So I was unhappy with my wakefulness when all I needed was a bit of unconsciousness to get me through the regular nightly routine.

Wall-E and Bilbo, one and a half months.
By the time we got to the 4:15 wake up and bottle feed of the early morning, I had been thinking to myself that maybe I should just haul my ass out of bed and get my day going early.  Perhaps I could get the dog's morning needs addressed and put away dishes or get a load of laundry started.  However, as I was laying in my bed feeding Bilbo and feeling his body tucked into my side and armpit, I realized that by pushing myself to clean, organize, and clean, I am forgoing time that is fleeting with my babies.  I was reminiscing earlier this week about last January when the husband and I were starting to feel the flutters and bubbles that were baby movements in my belly.  It's sad to think that what seemed like such a long time going through it is over and how the same issue of time slipping too quickly will happen as my boys grow.


Wall-E and Bilbo, party animals.
As much as I feel the impulse to declutter, clean, and straighten the things as a way of managing my anxiety and wanting to make my house feel cozy, functional, and a place I can relax in rather than feel fret-y about, I want to be with my husband, and I want to be with my children because this time will be gone before I know it.  I want my babies to grow and be happy and become amazing kids who later grow into amazing people, so I need to realize what/who is the most important even in the times where I could be working on my never ending to-do list.  At the end of the day, there will always be something I could be working on, but at this point, I am learning that I'd rather snuggle with my husband and babies while I have the time to enjoy it.

Saturday, January 27, 2018

Be Gentle

Some days are just rough ones.  This day was one of them.  I have never known exhaustion to the level that I do now as a parent.  There must be a word for what happens when you have only had like five complete REM cycles in the past seven (plus the end of my pregnancy where I was up and uncomfortable all of the time) months.

The look of our bed throughout the night; often one or more babies , post-bottle catching the sweet sleep we so so are longing for.
For the most part we have had luck with babies who are willing to fall asleep without too much pomp and circumstance.  We bathe, read, eat and then they are generally conked by 8/8:30pm, with us following quickly behind.  We have been testing this with staying up little bits later here and there, sometimes reading, sometimes playing a stupid phone game, sometimes even watching an episode or maybe just half, of television.  I know this daring of time to bite us in the face would come back to get us one of these nights, and last night it did.

We had a highly stimulating day yesterday, traveling to Pittsburgh to participate in the Women's March.  I was thrilled to see my godmother, who is a badass queen of a lady who had not yet met the boys, so it was like a combination of all of my favorite things and people.  There were quite a crew of marchers for the walk downtown from the Courthouse to Market Square.  Lots of noise, speeches, cheering and booing to keep the fellas up when they might otherwise be napping.  That paired with being off our normal eating routine, I think built up a perfect storm of sleeplessness that they later rained down on all of us.

We saw them by chance crossing the street amongst hundreds of people, because the world is awesome sometimes.
It started with Baby B at 11pm, quickly followed by Baby A.  Normally when both boys are fed, we are able to slip them back into cribs for at least some chunk of the evening-not last night.  The guys were not having anything to do with sleeping by themselves, however, they were not pleased with their positioning in our bed and felt quite comfortable to vocalize their frustration through screams.

Had this been a Friday or Saturday night, I might have not been as brittle and frustrated as I was on a Sunday night going into a long stressful work week.  The PPD/PPA rears its ugly, scary-images head when I feel weak and tired and worn thin.  I made a hurtful comment to my wonderful husband that I deeply regret, causing him frustration and sadness which I never want, because he is in this 100%.  We are both slogging through the ups and downs of double-baby parenting together and he is there for me over and beyond anything I could have imagined.

I followed up my rough outlook on humanity at school having little to no patients with me kiddos.  Granted they bring their own baggage to the table that is exhausting emotionally and mentally, but if parenthood, especially the unglamorous, not-so fun side of parenting and working on the least amount of rest as possible branch of parenthood has taught me anything it is to take care of each other.  Be kind and gentle because we are each fragile and raw and working through this unpredictable stage working with the tools we have and are capable of summoning.  We don't always have the right words or the strength to make the best choices, but we can at least acknowledge that we are doing the best we can with what we are given to manage at any given moment.  So be gentle, show more grace and understanding and patience, and give hugs and listen because there are so many feelings in this business and Swiss cheese, non sleep brain just jumbles them up and makes everyone feel worse than they already do.  And when someone offers to watch one or both or all of your children for the evening or afternoon so you can catch some zzzz's, take it; you never know when you will get your next eight hours.  Happy resting.

Sunday, January 21, 2018

Hello to a New Blog

Hello!  I am excited you stumbled onto this page.  This is the third blog I have kept in my lifetime, and like the previous two, I don't yet have a vision for where it will go or what it will be about.  That seems to be a resounding theme to my life at the moment, being the new mother to twin boys.  They are seven and a half months old, and from the moment they entered my life, they changed me and keep changing me everyday.  At first I found this jarring and a bit unnerving; mostly I enjoy stable, some might say boring, and predictable.  I had it-the job, the perfect marriage, the house by the river, the dog, the close friends and family, Friday night clam chowder at our restaurant.  So I traded the stability in for twins.  Now my life is messier, cuter, and much louder.  There is much less sleep, but so many more snuggles and giggles.  

I don't pretend to be an expert at motherhood or at teaching or at being adult, but I hope to use writing to reflect on the good that is happening and how thankful I am for the experiences, even the heart wrenching and challenging ones.  My blog goals are to write about what makes me happy and what helps me to learn more.  I want to reflect on what I am reading and in turn, read more as a way to generate more things to write about.  Currently, I am in search of something that I can read in my spare (read: none) time.  I have learned why people keep books in their bathrooms (is that too much! You chose to read this; you can always stumble your way to someone else's blog).  I'd like to get back to working my brain that I find personally rewarding and that will help me in my motherhood, teaching, or adulating endeavors.  

In addition to writing about life experiences and reflections, I want a place that isn't Facebook or Instagram to linger and share thoughts, frustrations, and musings on happenings.  I am weary of current events (please don't read that as I'm checking out-I just need a new space to occupy my thoughts) and how I feel trapped in a Facebook, social media bubble that echoes the same noise without moving the plot forward.  So I'm hoping this is a place to clear my head and refocus energies onto something I can do, progress that can be made, hope that can be magnified (whoa, that sounds like a lot to ask from a mum-blog 😂).  

So if you came here because you are family or a friend, thanks for your support.  I hope you don't find this too trivial or nonsensical, and that maybe you'll come back.  If you are a stranger, hopefully you found something interesting or fun and hopefully you have some hope for your own journey.