My little Charlie is amazing. He plays and runs and acts just like a normal little boy. Because he is just a normal little boy. Most of the time I actually forget that he has Albinism. It catches me off-guard when we go out and people stare at him, or comment on his hair. To me, he is just Charlie. My sweet little rhinoceros.
Sometimes, though, it becomes painfully apparent that he has a vision impairment. Especially when he is in an unfamiliar environment. The biggest problem with his vision is his lack of depth perception. The first time he came to our new home, for example, he would get on his hands and knees when transitioning from the carpet to the tile, because he couldn't tell if there was a drop or not. All he could see was that there was a change. Another problem is when we are outside. He loves being outside and he runs and plays right alongside Caroline. He has, however, fallen off of the curb a few times. He has difficulty seeing the differentiation between the raised sidewalk and the lower part of the cement.
Last week we were playing outdoors and as Caroline and I walked on ahead, I turned and watched him on the sidewalk. He slowly approached the curb, got down on his hands and knees, and crawled down onto the cement beneath. Then he faced the change from the cement to the pavement. My heart burst into pieces as I watched him put his hands back down on the cement and hesitantly felt around with his foot of the pavement. He finally got to the point where he was confident that he could step there, and then he stood up and walked to join his sister and me.
A few days later we were outside building a snowman. I set both the kids out in the snow and then I joined them. Caroline soon started moving around and helping me pack the snow. But Charlie didn't budge. He just stood there quietly, both feet deep in the snow, and watched. After about 10 minutes he started to cry, so I picked him up and walked around a little bit, wondering why he wasn't joining us in building the snowman. And then I realized that he couldn't tell where the ground was. So I set him back down and I held both of his hands and I walked alongside him as he took his first few unsure steps. He was very hesitant at first, but soon he started enjoying himself and I was eventually able to hold only one of his hands while he walked circles in the snow.
It hurts to think that he has to do that. I tear up just thinking of the challenges he faces now and will continue to face throughout his life. But I am equally amazed by him. That he does it. That he doesn't just stay inside because it's easier. That he doesn't just stay where he knows he is safe. He is a fighter and a champion and I couldn't be more proud. I know he will do great things, regardless of his condition.
Next month Charlie is going to be meeting with a new specialist. Her official title is "Orientation and Mobility Specialist," but people refer to her as the "white cane lady." She is going to teach Charlie how to use a white cane when he is outside, so he can feel when the ground changes from up to down. I have mixed emotions about him using a white cane. For the most part, I am anxious for him to learn anything that will help him maneuver and that will help prevent falls. Partly, though, I am hesitant for him to have something that will make him even more different. We will see, when he gets older, whether he chooses to use the cane or not; but for now I am trying to focus on all of the good that can come from it.
Wish us luck!
Friday, April 17, 2015
To Be Like Her
If I can be half the mother that my mom is, I will count my life a huge success. I learn so much about how to raise my children from her. So often I find myself frustrated with not knowing how to teach one of my children something, and then I watch my mom and she answers my frustrations with perfect teaching and discipline. She is beautiful, elegant and graceful. Intelligent, loving and kind. And, like I said before, she is absolutely hilarious. I mean I have found myself rolling on the ground in fits of laughter from the things she says and does more times than I can remember.
One of my favorite memories of my mom is from when I was an early teen. My parents always made an effort to gather our family together in the evenings for family prayer. We had a routine that the person who had prayed the night before would get to pick a number, and whoever guessed closest to that number would say the prayer that night. My dad, who without fail picked the number 17 every single time, was notorious for saying exceptionally long prayers. So long that our knees would ache from kneeling by the time he finished. On this particular night, my mom had been the one who got to pick the number since she had prayed the previous night. She started with a "pick a number between 1 and 50." We all stated our chosen numbers out loud, and my dad predictably stated that his number was 17. Apparently my mom had momentarily forgotten his tendency, and she reluctantly admitted that he was closest to her chosen number, so he would get to pray that night. We all groaned and gave my dad a hard time, begging for a short prayer so we could all go to bed. Of course that only made it worse. The prayer went on, and on, and on. After what felt like a solid 15 minutes, my mom couldn't take it anymore. She suddenly interrupted my dad in the middle of his prayer with a muttered "I should have lied." We were all so taken off guard, including my dad, that we burst into laughter that lasted a long, long time. In fact, I don't think the prayer was ever finished.
My mom taught me how to be silly. How to laugh at myself. She taught me how to clean. She taught me how to work. She taught me to love the Lord. How to serve. How to be good and how to do good. When I think of goodness and righteousness, I think of my mom. And I also think of how blessed I am to have been raised by her.
I love that we have Mother's Day to honor all of the amazing women in our lives. I love my mom and I want her to know that. Somehow, though, I find that I am never able to adequately express my love and gratitude for her. Flowers, gifts, and cards are never enough to do the job. Maybe that's why Mother's Day comes around every year, though. As a reminder. So incredible women every where, including my mom, will never forget the powerful influence for good that they've had on all of those around them.
I feel so blessed to have an amazing mother, a wonderful mother-in-law, two incredible grandmothers (both of whom are watching over me from above), all of my awesome sisters and sister-in-law, and so many other sweet friends as women and mothers who have taught me so much. I learn from you all each and every day. Sometimes when I feel down, discouraged and overwhelmed, I look to your examples and it gives me strength to keep on keepin' on. So please know that you are loved and appreciated beyond measure. Especially you, mom. I love you.
This Mother's Day I'm also overwhelmed with gratitude that I am so blessed with my 3 beautiful angels. Let's be honest, sometimes I want to rip my hair out and throw a little tantrum myself. Having 3 kids under 2 is no joke. But 3 years ago when we were on the middle of our battle with infertility, I could never have imagined how full of love, laughter and craziness my life would be. Being a mother is the hardest fun I've ever had. And for that I am grateful.
And so once again, to women everywhere, Happy Mother's Day.
Monday, March 23, 2015
Outnumbered
I grew up in a family of 7. It was my mom, my dad, and 5 super awesome daughters. My poor dad - he is a very patient man. He handled it pretty well. He does blame us (the girls) for every single gray hair and every last inch of balding on his head, and I think he's probably right in doing that. We didn't exactly give him an easy time. I think I remember one of my sisters getting caught using my mom's razor to shave my dad's head while he was napping in the bathtub. I personally recall drawing pictures all over any part of exposed skin with my mom's lipstick while he napped on the couch (maybe he should have learned not to ever nap while we were around). My mom even has some blackmail pictures of him wearing one of her dresses, some heels, makeup and jewelry. He would occasionally let us paint his toenails and put clips in his hair. He was a good sport. And he was always our biggest supporter. Whatever we were doing - whether it was a sporting event, a play, cheerleading or a spelling bee - he made an effort to be there. In short, my dad is a rockstar.
When I was little, we bought a boat. Most of us called it the banana boat because it was as yellow as a perfectly ripe banana, but my dad officially named it "Outnumbered." It was quite fitting. The guy was surrounded by 6 females constantly. Even when we all started having kids of our own, it was years before a boy finally made an appearance.
I think I'm starting to have some sympathy pains for my dad's experiences. Not being outnumbered in terms of gender, but simply being outnumbered by my children. When it was just me and Charlie and Caroline at home, it was manageable. Crazy, yes, but doable. And then when Forrest was home from work we could move to a man-on-man defense. It worked well for us. Enter Juliet. Now life is a whole different story!
Life is now a whole new level of crazy. Still wonderful, of course. But so crazy. Juliet and I have had to learn to breastfeed "on the go." Meaning that I often have to jump up with her in the middle of a feeding to pry Charlie away from Caroline before he rips a chunk of hair out of her head. Or I have to intervene when Caroline is about to slam the door on Charlie's little fingers. Or when one of them has climbed onto the kitchen counter and is headed straight for something dangerous.
As an added bonus, I now have 3 children in 3 different sizes of diapers. Not at all confusing! My plan is to potty train ASAP, though I don't know how in the world I can give the twins enough attention to successfully potty train while I'm feeding a baby around the clock. Wish me luck with that one!
Even when Forrest is home to help, leaving the house takes us about 5,692 times longer than it used to. And once we do finally get out the door, inevitably someone is hungry, or a diaper needs changed, or I forgot to stock the diaper bag with diapers, wipes, or an extra change of clothes. Or I forgot to brush my teeth. Gross, I know, but when you are so focused on getting 3 little bodies ready to leave, it's easy to forget the basic things like that!
In all honesty though, having Juliet at home has still been 100 times easier than the first couple of months with the twins. Having two newborns was just so demanding! With only one baby to wake up with in the night, I feel so well rested. Seriously. So much easier with one, even though I am woefully outnumbered.
When I was little, we bought a boat. Most of us called it the banana boat because it was as yellow as a perfectly ripe banana, but my dad officially named it "Outnumbered." It was quite fitting. The guy was surrounded by 6 females constantly. Even when we all started having kids of our own, it was years before a boy finally made an appearance.
I think I'm starting to have some sympathy pains for my dad's experiences. Not being outnumbered in terms of gender, but simply being outnumbered by my children. When it was just me and Charlie and Caroline at home, it was manageable. Crazy, yes, but doable. And then when Forrest was home from work we could move to a man-on-man defense. It worked well for us. Enter Juliet. Now life is a whole different story!
Life is now a whole new level of crazy. Still wonderful, of course. But so crazy. Juliet and I have had to learn to breastfeed "on the go." Meaning that I often have to jump up with her in the middle of a feeding to pry Charlie away from Caroline before he rips a chunk of hair out of her head. Or I have to intervene when Caroline is about to slam the door on Charlie's little fingers. Or when one of them has climbed onto the kitchen counter and is headed straight for something dangerous.
As an added bonus, I now have 3 children in 3 different sizes of diapers. Not at all confusing! My plan is to potty train ASAP, though I don't know how in the world I can give the twins enough attention to successfully potty train while I'm feeding a baby around the clock. Wish me luck with that one!
Even when Forrest is home to help, leaving the house takes us about 5,692 times longer than it used to. And once we do finally get out the door, inevitably someone is hungry, or a diaper needs changed, or I forgot to stock the diaper bag with diapers, wipes, or an extra change of clothes. Or I forgot to brush my teeth. Gross, I know, but when you are so focused on getting 3 little bodies ready to leave, it's easy to forget the basic things like that!
In all honesty though, having Juliet at home has still been 100 times easier than the first couple of months with the twins. Having two newborns was just so demanding! With only one baby to wake up with in the night, I feel so well rested. Seriously. So much easier with one, even though I am woefully outnumbered.
Tuesday, March 10, 2015
Juliet
Last Tuesday, I was 39 weeks and 1 day pregnant. Once again I felt like a whale, but in comparing pictures of me then vs. when I was 38 weeks with the twins, I literally think I was about half the size this time around. That morning I woke up, disappointed that I was still pregnant. Like so many of the nights before, I'd woken up in the middle of the night with a few strong and steady contractions, only to fall back asleep and wake up contraction-free. I had an appointment with my midwife that day, where the plan was to sweep my membranes and hopefully bring on labor.
I didn't think I'd be in any hurry. When I first found out I was pregnant, I was ready to have the baby stay inside of me as long as possible. Because every day the baby was inside of me meant that Charlie and Caroline would be one day older. And hopefully one day easier to care for. But then 38 and 39 weeks rolled along and I was beyond ready to not be a whale anymore. I longed to be able to roll around on the floor and rough house with my kids like I used to. And I desperately wanted to meet my baby. To know if the little tenant in my tummy was a boy or a girl, and to know whether he or she would be another white haired beauty or not.
And then there was this military training. A few days before, Forrest and I found out that he had a required military training at Camp Williams on March 6, 7 and 8. He would be gone day and night for those three days. And I was due March 9. I was absolutely terrified that I would go into labor while he was away and out of reach. So Forrest and I talked about it and decided that we would talk to my midwife about breaking my water early in the week, before his training so that there would be no chance of him missing the birth of our sweet little one.
So back to Tuesday. I woke up that morning and got myself and the twins ready for the day. Forrest went off to work. I drove to Salt Lake and dropped the kids off at a friend's house, then went in to my appointment. The midwife came in and swept my membranes (it hurt - I didn't expect it to hurt), then we began discussing my concerns and our options. She called over to the hospital and found an opening for me to go in for an induction the next day, Wednesday, March 4.
I didn't want to be induced. I had been having a fair amount of contractions and was reasonably dilated already, so breaking my water wasn't a big deal, but I still didn't want to have to be induced. I had decided I wanted a natural, un-medicated birth, and I hear inductions usually make that a little more difficult. But given the time constraints and my overwhelming desire to have Forrest present at the birth, I nervously agreed to be scheduled for Wednesday morning.
It's a strange thing, knowing what day your baby will arrive. Knowing that that day was our last as a little family of four. Knowing that my next few hours with the twins before I put them down to sleep would be my last with them as my only children. After I picked them up from my friend's house, I didn't just want to go home. I wanted to make some memories and have fun with my sweet Charlie and Caroline. So we went to a mall and walked around for a while and got a Jamba Juice.
Forrest met us at home where we bundled the kids up in their snowsuits for the first (and probably only) time this winter and went outside to play in the snow. They thought it was wonderful and so did I. Then we went and picked up some dinner, ate at home together, gave the twins a bath and kissed them goodnight. With my pregnancy hormones at their peak I cried and cried, knowing that the next day they wouldn't be my little babies anymore. Of course they will always be my babies, but I hate knowing how fast they will have to grow up now.
You know when you have something important the next day and you know you need to sleep, but you just can't? That was one of those nights. Forrest and I talked, watched TV, added some last minute things to our hospital bags, and went to bed well after midnight. And we were to check-in at the hospital at 9 AM. The next morning my mother-in-law came over to take care of the twins and we drove to the hospital.
Checked in at 9:30. Water broken at noon. Contractions started almost immediately. Then slowed. We walked, and walked, and walked. My mom came. Then my dad came. And my mother-in-law came. Forrest was there, and my nurse was there, and my midwife was there. I spent hours walking the halls with Forrest, pausing every 2-3 minutes to breathe through a contraction. I spent hours on a birthing ball, rolling my hips in a figure 8. All the while I was feeling pretty strong. I was hungry, yes, and tired, yes, but I was able to talk and laugh and join in conversations. And at every check, it was apparent that I was progressing pretty slowly. Finally around 8 PM, we decided to start some Pitocin to help increase the frequency of the contractions. After that, I wasn't much for conversation. I vaguely remember what was going on around me, but all I could do was breath and groan from the pain of the contractions and try to remember the end product.
My midwife was amazing. She was perfect and even though I hated it at the time, she knew exactly what to do to help me get closer to delivering. Sometime around 10 PM, she had me kneel up on the bed. It was completely agonizing and after only a few contractions of that, I remember yelling out that I needed to push. After some changing of position and a little confusion (at least it was confusing to me - the pain made everything so hazy), she checked me and told me I could start pushing. The time was finally here. It was nearly 10:30 PM and I had been in labor for over 10 hours.
And I thought the pain of the contractions was bad. Pushing was completely unbearable. I can't even describe the pain. It was like every fiber of my body was on fire. And I honestly and truly felt like I wanted to die. I remember telling Forrest that and he just smiled and said "no, you don't." And then suddenly, after 6 minutes, the pain was completely gone and there was a perfect little dark haired miracle laying on my chest. Forrest took a look and called out "It's a girl!" and we were all thrilled. We knew right away we would call her Juliet. Juliet Rose. She is the most perfect thing I've ever seen, just like her brother and sister.
Her birth was without a doubt the most difficult thing I've ever done. I have gained a whole new level of respect for anyone who has ever gone through that. I don't know if I will do it again, but it was a beautiful experience and I'm so glad to have gone through it.
Now that she's here, life is a whole new level of crazy. Today I sat in a chair nursing baby J. I was holding her with one arm, using that elbow to shield her head from the toys Charlie kept bring to put in my lap, and holding Caroline on my lap to read her a story with my other arm. The twins love her so much, but they are still learning how to control their impulses. They constantly want to touch her nose and poke her eyes and kiss her head. Caroline is obsessed with sharing things with Juliet - particularly her food. I can't put her anywhere close to the ground when the twinados are awake, but it is a wonderful kind of crazy and I wouldn't trade it for anything.
As for me, I feel fantastic. The recovery from a natural child birth has been a breeze compared to recovering after the twins. I am looking forward to being able to run again, hopefully soon. And life is good. So, so good.
I didn't think I'd be in any hurry. When I first found out I was pregnant, I was ready to have the baby stay inside of me as long as possible. Because every day the baby was inside of me meant that Charlie and Caroline would be one day older. And hopefully one day easier to care for. But then 38 and 39 weeks rolled along and I was beyond ready to not be a whale anymore. I longed to be able to roll around on the floor and rough house with my kids like I used to. And I desperately wanted to meet my baby. To know if the little tenant in my tummy was a boy or a girl, and to know whether he or she would be another white haired beauty or not.
And then there was this military training. A few days before, Forrest and I found out that he had a required military training at Camp Williams on March 6, 7 and 8. He would be gone day and night for those three days. And I was due March 9. I was absolutely terrified that I would go into labor while he was away and out of reach. So Forrest and I talked about it and decided that we would talk to my midwife about breaking my water early in the week, before his training so that there would be no chance of him missing the birth of our sweet little one.
So back to Tuesday. I woke up that morning and got myself and the twins ready for the day. Forrest went off to work. I drove to Salt Lake and dropped the kids off at a friend's house, then went in to my appointment. The midwife came in and swept my membranes (it hurt - I didn't expect it to hurt), then we began discussing my concerns and our options. She called over to the hospital and found an opening for me to go in for an induction the next day, Wednesday, March 4.
I didn't want to be induced. I had been having a fair amount of contractions and was reasonably dilated already, so breaking my water wasn't a big deal, but I still didn't want to have to be induced. I had decided I wanted a natural, un-medicated birth, and I hear inductions usually make that a little more difficult. But given the time constraints and my overwhelming desire to have Forrest present at the birth, I nervously agreed to be scheduled for Wednesday morning.
It's a strange thing, knowing what day your baby will arrive. Knowing that that day was our last as a little family of four. Knowing that my next few hours with the twins before I put them down to sleep would be my last with them as my only children. After I picked them up from my friend's house, I didn't just want to go home. I wanted to make some memories and have fun with my sweet Charlie and Caroline. So we went to a mall and walked around for a while and got a Jamba Juice.
Forrest met us at home where we bundled the kids up in their snowsuits for the first (and probably only) time this winter and went outside to play in the snow. They thought it was wonderful and so did I. Then we went and picked up some dinner, ate at home together, gave the twins a bath and kissed them goodnight. With my pregnancy hormones at their peak I cried and cried, knowing that the next day they wouldn't be my little babies anymore. Of course they will always be my babies, but I hate knowing how fast they will have to grow up now.
You know when you have something important the next day and you know you need to sleep, but you just can't? That was one of those nights. Forrest and I talked, watched TV, added some last minute things to our hospital bags, and went to bed well after midnight. And we were to check-in at the hospital at 9 AM. The next morning my mother-in-law came over to take care of the twins and we drove to the hospital.
Checked in at 9:30. Water broken at noon. Contractions started almost immediately. Then slowed. We walked, and walked, and walked. My mom came. Then my dad came. And my mother-in-law came. Forrest was there, and my nurse was there, and my midwife was there. I spent hours walking the halls with Forrest, pausing every 2-3 minutes to breathe through a contraction. I spent hours on a birthing ball, rolling my hips in a figure 8. All the while I was feeling pretty strong. I was hungry, yes, and tired, yes, but I was able to talk and laugh and join in conversations. And at every check, it was apparent that I was progressing pretty slowly. Finally around 8 PM, we decided to start some Pitocin to help increase the frequency of the contractions. After that, I wasn't much for conversation. I vaguely remember what was going on around me, but all I could do was breath and groan from the pain of the contractions and try to remember the end product.
My midwife was amazing. She was perfect and even though I hated it at the time, she knew exactly what to do to help me get closer to delivering. Sometime around 10 PM, she had me kneel up on the bed. It was completely agonizing and after only a few contractions of that, I remember yelling out that I needed to push. After some changing of position and a little confusion (at least it was confusing to me - the pain made everything so hazy), she checked me and told me I could start pushing. The time was finally here. It was nearly 10:30 PM and I had been in labor for over 10 hours.
And I thought the pain of the contractions was bad. Pushing was completely unbearable. I can't even describe the pain. It was like every fiber of my body was on fire. And I honestly and truly felt like I wanted to die. I remember telling Forrest that and he just smiled and said "no, you don't." And then suddenly, after 6 minutes, the pain was completely gone and there was a perfect little dark haired miracle laying on my chest. Forrest took a look and called out "It's a girl!" and we were all thrilled. We knew right away we would call her Juliet. Juliet Rose. She is the most perfect thing I've ever seen, just like her brother and sister.
Her birth was without a doubt the most difficult thing I've ever done. I have gained a whole new level of respect for anyone who has ever gone through that. I don't know if I will do it again, but it was a beautiful experience and I'm so glad to have gone through it.
Now that she's here, life is a whole new level of crazy. Today I sat in a chair nursing baby J. I was holding her with one arm, using that elbow to shield her head from the toys Charlie kept bring to put in my lap, and holding Caroline on my lap to read her a story with my other arm. The twins love her so much, but they are still learning how to control their impulses. They constantly want to touch her nose and poke her eyes and kiss her head. Caroline is obsessed with sharing things with Juliet - particularly her food. I can't put her anywhere close to the ground when the twinados are awake, but it is a wonderful kind of crazy and I wouldn't trade it for anything.
As for me, I feel fantastic. The recovery from a natural child birth has been a breeze compared to recovering after the twins. I am looking forward to being able to run again, hopefully soon. And life is good. So, so good.
Tuesday, February 10, 2015
Raising a Rhinoceros (and His Sister)
If I were to start writing this blog today, it would be called something clever like "The Twinados" or "Raising a Rhinoceros x2". Clearly they were still very young and innocent when I started blogging. Oh how things can change in a year!
When they were babies, I would have bet anything that Caroline would be the trouble maker and ring leader. Boy, was I wrong. Charlie's exploits range from climbing out of his crib to climbing onto our dresser. He has recently discovered that by moving the kitchen chairs around the house, he can get to nearly anything his little heart desires. He taught Caroline his little trick, but she is perfectly content with pushing her chair up to the light switch and turning the lights on and off. Not Charlie though. The chair can get him to the microwave, the sink, on top of the kitchen counters.. I could keep going but I won't.
Yesterday he dragged the chair over to the silverware drawer. He opened the drawer and pulled every single utensil out, licked them, and threw them on the ground. Then he climbed down and picked up each utensil and one by one put them back in the drawer. After each one hit the drawer bottom, he congratulated himself with a "good boy!"
I've found him on the kitchen table with the blinds over his head, standing on the trays of the highchairs, standing on the arm of the armchairs in our living room, sitting inside of the dryer while Caroline tries to shut him in, on top of the desk, in the bathroom sink, and inside the entertainment center.
My biggest concern is how I'm going to keep him alive once this baby gets here. I've considered wrapping him completely in bubble wrap, but aside from that I am totally open to suggestions! Poor kid. He's constantly covered in bruises from head to toe.
Apart from climbing, some of his favorite activities include tipping over the trash cans and sorting through garbage, drinking all of the water out of the bathtub, opening the pantry and putting everything he can find inside, opening the drawers to his dresser and pulling out every item from inside, stashing food inside the couch to save for later, and diving into the toy box.
Caroline's mischief is slightly less... mischievous. She loves climbing into her high chair, standing on the table, banging silverware on the counter, playing with the light switches and buttons on the microwave, and stuffing diapers into the diaper genie. Like I said, pretty mild in comparison to her brother.
I don't mean to make it sound all bad. Of course they do crazy things and yes, my hands are full. But never in my entire life have I found so much joy in the little day-to-day moments. Despite the constant biting and hair-pulling, Charlie and Caroline really do love each other. They love giving each other books, toys and food. They LOVE reading, even occasionally together. They are excellent eaters and fantastic sleepers. They make each other laugh constantly.
Charlie loves music. His very favorite song is the ABC's and when he's upset, he'll calm down the instant he hears it. He can even sing most of it himself up to the letter "H". He loves stacking blocks and when he builds a tall tower he looks at it and then says "I did it!" Caroline is fascinated by chickens and bursts out in "bock, bock" at random times. She loves to pretend to eat pictures of food out of books, and "pops" every picture of bubbles she sees.
So if you've ever wondered what it's like to raise a rhinoceros and his sister, it is really hard work. Especially when you're 9 months pregnant. But it's so worth it.
When they were babies, I would have bet anything that Caroline would be the trouble maker and ring leader. Boy, was I wrong. Charlie's exploits range from climbing out of his crib to climbing onto our dresser. He has recently discovered that by moving the kitchen chairs around the house, he can get to nearly anything his little heart desires. He taught Caroline his little trick, but she is perfectly content with pushing her chair up to the light switch and turning the lights on and off. Not Charlie though. The chair can get him to the microwave, the sink, on top of the kitchen counters.. I could keep going but I won't.
Yesterday he dragged the chair over to the silverware drawer. He opened the drawer and pulled every single utensil out, licked them, and threw them on the ground. Then he climbed down and picked up each utensil and one by one put them back in the drawer. After each one hit the drawer bottom, he congratulated himself with a "good boy!"
I've found him on the kitchen table with the blinds over his head, standing on the trays of the highchairs, standing on the arm of the armchairs in our living room, sitting inside of the dryer while Caroline tries to shut him in, on top of the desk, in the bathroom sink, and inside the entertainment center.
My biggest concern is how I'm going to keep him alive once this baby gets here. I've considered wrapping him completely in bubble wrap, but aside from that I am totally open to suggestions! Poor kid. He's constantly covered in bruises from head to toe.
Apart from climbing, some of his favorite activities include tipping over the trash cans and sorting through garbage, drinking all of the water out of the bathtub, opening the pantry and putting everything he can find inside, opening the drawers to his dresser and pulling out every item from inside, stashing food inside the couch to save for later, and diving into the toy box.
Caroline's mischief is slightly less... mischievous. She loves climbing into her high chair, standing on the table, banging silverware on the counter, playing with the light switches and buttons on the microwave, and stuffing diapers into the diaper genie. Like I said, pretty mild in comparison to her brother.
I don't mean to make it sound all bad. Of course they do crazy things and yes, my hands are full. But never in my entire life have I found so much joy in the little day-to-day moments. Despite the constant biting and hair-pulling, Charlie and Caroline really do love each other. They love giving each other books, toys and food. They LOVE reading, even occasionally together. They are excellent eaters and fantastic sleepers. They make each other laugh constantly.
Charlie loves music. His very favorite song is the ABC's and when he's upset, he'll calm down the instant he hears it. He can even sing most of it himself up to the letter "H". He loves stacking blocks and when he builds a tall tower he looks at it and then says "I did it!" Caroline is fascinated by chickens and bursts out in "bock, bock" at random times. She loves to pretend to eat pictures of food out of books, and "pops" every picture of bubbles she sees.
So if you've ever wondered what it's like to raise a rhinoceros and his sister, it is really hard work. Especially when you're 9 months pregnant. But it's so worth it.
Saturday, February 7, 2015
The Unpleasants
When I was 32 weeks pregnant with the twins, I felt like a small whale. Or a large whale. Something gigantic. I had over 10 lbs of baby inside of me, in addition to two placentas, lots and lots of fluid, and all my usual organs, which felt like they were being reduced to the size of peas. I was uncomfortable, to say the least. Caroline was up so high that I had to constantly push her legs and elbows out from under my rib cage. Charlie was so low that anytime he hiccupped, kicked, or wiggled at all, I peed my pants just a little bit. I generally prefer not to ponder on these "unpleasants" of pregnancy, but now that I am feeling as giant as a whale again, the memories are flooding back in.
While I was in the height of my discomfort with two babies inside of me, Forrest's work held an end -of-busy-season party. It had been a particularly awful busy season, where they were working 80-90 hour weeks for nearly 5 months. So to celebrate surviving the madness, we were invited to a lovely weekend resort stay, complete with meals, spa treatments, unlimited golfing etc. And it was wonderful.
I was treated to a facial, an hour-long pregnancy massage (with a giant pillow with a hole in the middle so I could actually lay on my stomach - pure bliss), an entire afternoon in the spa.. it was heavenly. One of the evenings, the company had arranged for all of us to get together for dinner at one of the fancy resort restaurants. I dressed up as fancy as is possibly for a small whale, and headed to dinner at 8 PM. That was a little late for me since my usual pregnancy bedtime was between 8:30 and 9:00. But I went anyway, and guided Forrest to a seat near the exit so I would be free to get up and use the restroom as needed. What I didn't know when we showed up was that we were about to be served a 500 course meal. Seriously, the food just kept coming. With plenty of time in between each course to cleanse our pallets, I suppose. I tend to drink a ton of water when I'm dining out. Especially when I have to wait a long time for my food. So I was drinking a lot of water, and my tiny little pea-sized bladder kept filling up all too quickly. And then Charlie felt it necessary to do a little jig at frequent intervals. All of this meant that I needed to use the restroom. A lot.
And the restroom was nowhere near where we were sitting. And it wasn't the "weave your way through all the tables to the other side of the restaurant" kind of trip to the restroom. The restaurant itself didn't actually even have a single toilet anywhere inside of it. Instead, guests had to stand up, weave their way through all the tables to get the to door, walk out the door and into the resort, and then walk another half-mile to the restrooms in the hotel lobby. It was quite the trek.
The entire journey to the restroom and back took me about 10 minutes. Which is about the frequency at which I felt I needed to use the restroom. So my night looked a little something like this:
8:00 - Seated
8:10 - Restroom break
8:20 - Eat first course, drink lots of water
8:21 - Restroom break
8:30 - Eat second course, drink a gallon of water
8:35 - Restroom break
And that was only the first half hour. This dinner continued on well into the 11:00 hour. And everyone seemed to be wide awake, with no intent to wrap it up anytime soon. Sometime after my 137th trip to the restroom, one of my husband's coworkers leaned in close to Forrest and quietly asked if I was ok. Forrest just laughed and responded that yes, I was fine, but pregnant women just have to pee an awful lot. Finally around 11:30, I could barely keep my eyes open. My legs were numb from sitting in the same chair for so long, and I needed to use the restroom yet again. I decided it was time for me to call it a night, so I excused myself for one final time and headed to bed while everyone else stayed and chatted and ate until heaven knows how late.
Thankfully I haven't had any experiences with the unpleasants this pregnancy that have even come close to that one. Even last night at Chili's, when I had to use the restroom four times during our hour long dining experience - it didn't even come close to what I experienced at the resort that night.
I had actually somewhat forgotten that resort dining experience until now. I think when I was pregnant with the twins I was just so beyond exciting to finally be pregnant that I blocked out all of the difficult and uncomfortable parts. I had waited so long for the experience, and it was something that I didn't know if I would ever get to experience again. So I chose not to dwell on the unpleasants, and to some extent I don't think I really noticed them. But let me tell you, I sure have noticed them this time!
It's a good think this pregnancy has been unpleasant, though, because otherwise I think I would want this baby to stay inside of me for as long as possible. Unpleasants make it exciting to think of the new baby finally being here, and help to drive away the terror of having 3 kids under the age of 2! Actually it doesn't completely drive away that terror... but it helps a little.
While I was in the height of my discomfort with two babies inside of me, Forrest's work held an end -of-busy-season party. It had been a particularly awful busy season, where they were working 80-90 hour weeks for nearly 5 months. So to celebrate surviving the madness, we were invited to a lovely weekend resort stay, complete with meals, spa treatments, unlimited golfing etc. And it was wonderful.
I was treated to a facial, an hour-long pregnancy massage (with a giant pillow with a hole in the middle so I could actually lay on my stomach - pure bliss), an entire afternoon in the spa.. it was heavenly. One of the evenings, the company had arranged for all of us to get together for dinner at one of the fancy resort restaurants. I dressed up as fancy as is possibly for a small whale, and headed to dinner at 8 PM. That was a little late for me since my usual pregnancy bedtime was between 8:30 and 9:00. But I went anyway, and guided Forrest to a seat near the exit so I would be free to get up and use the restroom as needed. What I didn't know when we showed up was that we were about to be served a 500 course meal. Seriously, the food just kept coming. With plenty of time in between each course to cleanse our pallets, I suppose. I tend to drink a ton of water when I'm dining out. Especially when I have to wait a long time for my food. So I was drinking a lot of water, and my tiny little pea-sized bladder kept filling up all too quickly. And then Charlie felt it necessary to do a little jig at frequent intervals. All of this meant that I needed to use the restroom. A lot.
And the restroom was nowhere near where we were sitting. And it wasn't the "weave your way through all the tables to the other side of the restaurant" kind of trip to the restroom. The restaurant itself didn't actually even have a single toilet anywhere inside of it. Instead, guests had to stand up, weave their way through all the tables to get the to door, walk out the door and into the resort, and then walk another half-mile to the restrooms in the hotel lobby. It was quite the trek.
The entire journey to the restroom and back took me about 10 minutes. Which is about the frequency at which I felt I needed to use the restroom. So my night looked a little something like this:
8:00 - Seated
8:10 - Restroom break
8:20 - Eat first course, drink lots of water
8:21 - Restroom break
8:30 - Eat second course, drink a gallon of water
8:35 - Restroom break
And that was only the first half hour. This dinner continued on well into the 11:00 hour. And everyone seemed to be wide awake, with no intent to wrap it up anytime soon. Sometime after my 137th trip to the restroom, one of my husband's coworkers leaned in close to Forrest and quietly asked if I was ok. Forrest just laughed and responded that yes, I was fine, but pregnant women just have to pee an awful lot. Finally around 11:30, I could barely keep my eyes open. My legs were numb from sitting in the same chair for so long, and I needed to use the restroom yet again. I decided it was time for me to call it a night, so I excused myself for one final time and headed to bed while everyone else stayed and chatted and ate until heaven knows how late.
Thankfully I haven't had any experiences with the unpleasants this pregnancy that have even come close to that one. Even last night at Chili's, when I had to use the restroom four times during our hour long dining experience - it didn't even come close to what I experienced at the resort that night.
I had actually somewhat forgotten that resort dining experience until now. I think when I was pregnant with the twins I was just so beyond exciting to finally be pregnant that I blocked out all of the difficult and uncomfortable parts. I had waited so long for the experience, and it was something that I didn't know if I would ever get to experience again. So I chose not to dwell on the unpleasants, and to some extent I don't think I really noticed them. But let me tell you, I sure have noticed them this time!
It's a good think this pregnancy has been unpleasant, though, because otherwise I think I would want this baby to stay inside of me for as long as possible. Unpleasants make it exciting to think of the new baby finally being here, and help to drive away the terror of having 3 kids under the age of 2! Actually it doesn't completely drive away that terror... but it helps a little.
Thursday, February 5, 2015
Flashback to the 90's
I may have been a slightly awkward pre-teen. And by slightly awkward, I mean REALLY awkward. Everybody goes through a stage right? I wore Harry Potter glasses, never brushed my hair, and hadn't quite grown into my long arms and legs. There's a reason my sister nicknamed me "Lurpy." I really was. And to add to it all, I was terribly uncoordinated.
What does that have to do with anything, you ask? Well, yesterday as I dropped a 6th egg out of the refrigerator I had a flashback to 1999, or maybe the early 2000's. It was awkward, uncoordinated pre-teen and early-teen me, dropping a brand-new jug of milk on the front steps and watching it shatter. Or tripping over my own feet in the middle of a soccer field with nobody else around me to disguise it.
Flash-forward to today. And I'm pretty much the same person, plus a husband and 2.5 kids. I don't remember being this clumsy when I was pregnant with the twins, but maybe that's because all I ever did was sit in a chair with my feet propped up and watch reruns of Psych. But now that I'm pregnant AND I still have to care for my two tiny humans, the clumsiness is more apparent than ever.
And it's not just dropping eggs. This morning Charlie and Caroline were playing on a chair together and I was sitting on the floor next to them. Caroline dove off the chair and into my arms, and I lost my balance and tipped both of us over onto the ground. On the way down, I hit into the chair and knocked Charlie (who was standing up without holding on) off on top of me and Caroline, resulting in two crying babies and one extra-long contraction.
I have to double check the floors 10 times before bed to make sure there are no toys, clothes, pillows etc. in my path from the bed to the bathroom. Because if there is so much as a cheerio on the ground, I can guarantee my feet will find it and somehow trip over it (as evidenced by multiple trip-and-falls per day).
Thank goodness I only have 4.5 more weeks of this. Any longer and I'm not sure we'd all survive!
What does that have to do with anything, you ask? Well, yesterday as I dropped a 6th egg out of the refrigerator I had a flashback to 1999, or maybe the early 2000's. It was awkward, uncoordinated pre-teen and early-teen me, dropping a brand-new jug of milk on the front steps and watching it shatter. Or tripping over my own feet in the middle of a soccer field with nobody else around me to disguise it.
Flash-forward to today. And I'm pretty much the same person, plus a husband and 2.5 kids. I don't remember being this clumsy when I was pregnant with the twins, but maybe that's because all I ever did was sit in a chair with my feet propped up and watch reruns of Psych. But now that I'm pregnant AND I still have to care for my two tiny humans, the clumsiness is more apparent than ever.
And it's not just dropping eggs. This morning Charlie and Caroline were playing on a chair together and I was sitting on the floor next to them. Caroline dove off the chair and into my arms, and I lost my balance and tipped both of us over onto the ground. On the way down, I hit into the chair and knocked Charlie (who was standing up without holding on) off on top of me and Caroline, resulting in two crying babies and one extra-long contraction.
I have to double check the floors 10 times before bed to make sure there are no toys, clothes, pillows etc. in my path from the bed to the bathroom. Because if there is so much as a cheerio on the ground, I can guarantee my feet will find it and somehow trip over it (as evidenced by multiple trip-and-falls per day).
Thank goodness I only have 4.5 more weeks of this. Any longer and I'm not sure we'd all survive!
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