A Post About Guilt

{ a photo entirely irrelevant to this post: my sweet pudgy Lucy in her first sink bath }

Here's what I've been thinking about lately:

I still have some guilt in the dusty corners of my heart. Guilt that's been there since Max and Maggie were born and that has lately been rearing its ugly head. Usually I only feel this guilt when I see pictures of babies in the NICU, their too-skinny baby bodies hooked up to monitors and wires and tubes. Even then I don't often recognize it for what it actually is; I only feel it as pain.

When our pediatrician suggested, at Max's 18-month well visit, that Max might need speech therapy, I felt that as pain at first also. I didn't understand why it hurt me; I have truthfully said several times since then {and I'll say it again!} that I'm not worried about Max. I'm not worried about his language skills or any kind of developmental delays. He's a happy, healthy, smart little boy and he makes me so proud and there is nothing about him that concerns me. {Okay, so I get a little concerned that he likes to walk around with his blankie over his head, but only because he always ends up running into something and hurting himself.} It was the phrase "this isn't uncommon for children who were born prematurely" that did it.

Because honestly, it boils down to the fact that I feel guilty that my twins were born seven weeks early. I feel guilty that they had to spend two weeks in the NICU. And oh, so much guilt that I couldn't be there with them every hour for their first two weeks of life. That I couldn't hold them close to me when they needed me so badly. That they were pricked with IVs in their hands and feet and foreheads, and I wasn't even there when it happened to experience the pain with them.

I feel guilty because I was 24 {and an immature 24} when I was pregnant with my twins. I didn't understand yet the responsibility that was being placed on me, and I didn't take seriously enough the care that I already owed my children. When my doctors started giving me physical restrictions to encourage a healthy pregnancy {no sex, no exercise, then bed rest, and eventually continued monitoring and hospitalization}, I stubbornly chafed against rules that I saw as unnecessary. I insisted that I was fine, and I figured my babes were fine. I thought they would be okay if they were born at 32 weeks, and I viewed early labor as being preferable to a four-week-long hospital stay.

I cringe when I remember those thoughts. How could I?

My attitude changed immediately when they were born. I saw them, my tiny four-pound babies, and suddenly my heart was in constant danger of breaking. I was overwhelmed by love, more love than I had ever felt in my life, but it was almost unbearable to see them struggling to survive and adapt. I was proud of my children for being so strong, but I was also so sorry; babies shouldn't have to be strong. I should have been strong for them.

If there's one thing I learned during the two weeks they stayed in the NICU, it's that my life wasn't about me anymore. It's a lesson that I've tried to remember for the past 21 months, those words that ran through my head again and again: it's not about you.

At this point, it's almost irrelevant whether Max's speech abilities are related to his premature birth. I can't blame all of the obstacles my twins will face in their lives on myself, and I can't go back and change what happened.

I'm not really sure how to end this post; I don't have a way to wrap everything up nicely or a message to take away. This post was more about working through my feelings than anything else. Thank you for reading, though, if you're still reading.

On Babies Growing Up

Christian and I play a game wherein we pretend that March 20th is never going to happen again. Our babies will be eleven months and 28 days old on March 19th, and then the world will stop. Time will no longer move forward, and our babies will never be one year old. How could they? It was just weeks ago that we brought them home from the hospital.



In my heart I've already resigned myself to the inevitable. Refusing to acknowledge how old they are doesn't keep me from seeing how big they've gotten. Or how much they've learned. Or the growing up they've done.

Maggiebaby is finally taking an interest in crawling. She loves to scoot around on the floor like an inchworm; I think she realizes that sometimes the only way to get what she wants is to get it for herself. For example, I'm never going to hand her dust bunnies to eat. That's gross. But when she's on her belly she can move around and pick up all the little fuzz balls she wants, and she seems to want all of them. She can even stick them in her mouth when I'm not looking. Sneaky Maggie. {Sneaky like Buddy.}



Max got his first haircut today. I put him in a polo shirt and saw {to my horror!} that he had a little mullet peeking over the collar. Since I happen to know that mullets aren't Max's style, and since I wouldn't trust anyone else with scissors near my son's head, I sat him in his booster seat and trimmed those shaggy hairs away. I admit it, it broke my heart. I almost cried when the first lock of my baby's hair fell to the floor. Then when we were done I changed him into two-piece pajamas. He is turning into just the biggest boy.



What happened to my tiny little grasshopper babies?

A Morning in the Life {1.23.12}

7:15 I wake up because my body won't sleep anymore, and because newbaby's presence in my belly necessitates using the bathroom. I put in my contacts, brush my hair, and put on a bra so I won't feel so schlumpy even if I stay in my pajamas all day. Then I head downstairs to say good morning to my little family.

7:20 It was Christian's morning to get up with the babies; they've all been awake since 5:45. Maggie is in the Jumperoo, and notices me right away. She bounces and smiles and makes happy sounds. She's so excited to see me, but then gets upset when a minute passes and I haven't picked her up yet. Max crawls over to me, climbs up my front for a hug, and immediately gets distracted and wants to be put back down. Christian finishes watching his episode of Boy Meets World, then goes upstairs to get ready for work. I stay and play with my babies.

8:00 Christian and I say family prayer together, then he kisses us all and walks out the door. Max crawls after him. He's sad when he realizes that his Daddy is gone. I decide it's a good time to eat breakfast. Babies eat oatmeal, fruit and yogurt, then Cheerios and bits of cheese and toast for finger foods. I have peanut butter toast, orange juice, and a prenatal vitamin.

8:30 I wash baby faces with a wet paper towel {Max especially hates this}, and then turn babies loose to play on the kitchen floor, tugging and chewing on their booster seat straps and chasing stray Cheerios. After a few minutes they get fussy. Max has crawled over and is sitting on top of his sister; he has also stolen her strap, and she's about to fall over. I carry Maggie back into the living room and Max follows us. I change diapers and turn on a DVR-ed episode of Oswald to carry us through until nap time.

8:35 Babies only stay interested in Oswald and Weenie through the opening sequence, then look for other forms of entertainment. At this point, actual baby toys are passed off as uninteresting. We try reading books and playing with Mommy's phone and banging on Mommy's laptop, but nothing is captivating for long.

8:55 Even though I usually try to make it until 9:00 or later for first naps, I decide that my babies are tired enough to justify a slightly earlier nap time. As I carry them upstairs, first Maggie, and then Max, I talk to them quietly. I remind them of all the fun things we did this morning, and what a good job they did at everything. I tell them they're tired now, and that I love them so much, and that they are wonderful babies -- the best babies in the whole world. I lay Maggie down and place her sleepfriend next to her, then cover them both with a blanket. Max chews on a corner of his blankie to soothe himself to sleep.

9:00 I have time to myself. Some mornings I take a shower, but my hair is looking clean enough today that I go straight to my computer. I check e-mail, Twitter, Pinterest, Google Reader, and then settle into blogging. I already have an idea in mind, so I type type type, then read and re-read and edit edit edit. My babies both make noise after they've been down for about an hour, but that's normal, and it's brief, and they both go back to sleep.

10:45 I can hear Max making awake sounds, so I know that my alone time, and the morning, are over.

*baby photo by meaghancurryphotography

Stop! Mary Time.

How many hours do you get to yourself a day? Do you plan some "you" hours in?
Do you have any time to read/journal/craft/watch TV/etc? Or is it all about babies, babies, babies?
When Christian gets home to do you hand the babies off for some "me" time?


Oh gosh, you guys. I've been putting off answering this question for a few days, debating what to say. Part of me wants to just say how I feel right now, which is that I get no time to myself and I'm constantly overwhelmed with babies. The other part knows it wouldn't be fair to Christian or anyone else who helps me out. So I'll try to be honest.

-----
I don't plan any me-time during the day; I don't really try to plan anything during the day. The babies aren't on a daytime schedule, so they sleep when they want to sleep and eat when they want to eat. My day revolves around them. I sometimes wake up and think, "It would be nice if I had time to do laundry today," and then when I have a free moment I'll try to fit it in. I do my best to be flexible, because if I plan on something like free time or accomplishing a chore, and it doesn't happen, I get incredibly frustrated.

The idea of "hours" to myself made me laugh; on a good day I'll get a total of two hours of baby-free time between 7:30 and 5:30 {when Christian's at work}. On bad days, when one baby wakes up just as the other goes down for a nap, I get zero hours. Zero minutes. As the babies have gotten older, and as I've learned to make better use of my time, I've been able to do certain necessary tasks {eating, getting dressed, making bottles} while they're awake. So I can survive the bad days, even if I'm exhausted at the end of them.

-----
I sometimes read, although I usually save that for when Christian gets home and the babies are in bed, so I can enjoy it more. I've stopped writing in my journal {my last entry was supposed to be my birth story, but I never finished}, and I was never much of a crafter. I usually keep the TV off during the day, for the babes and myself, but when I have free time in the evening I often watch.

-----
I used to feel entitled to handing off, not both babies to Christian when he got home, but the responsibility of being in charge. I didn't feel like I could expect him to do everything, but for some reason the idea of having someone tell me what to do instead of just having to do it sounded relatively relaxing. However, it wasn't fair of me to put such a large burden on him. Now we try to share the load.

If I desperately need a nap, he's good at taking over so I have the opportunity. If I have to get out of the house, he's good at making that happen, too -- I usually end up running errands to the grocery store, the library or Target that can't wait until the weekend.



My life has changed a lot since I wrote this post. I still feel overwhelmed at times, but I get through it. I love my babies, and every night I pray that I will find joy in raising them. And I do, constantly.

Someday

Goodness. I keep meaning to post more often, and I keep getting sidetracked by other activities. Mainly things like feeding babies, feeding myself, and squeezing in my bi-weekly shower. There are even days when I think to myself, "I'm going to tweet today," and I can't even get that done. True story. {Although honestly, spending a fair amount of time on Pinterest takes precedence over Twitter every time.}

I have so many things I want to do every day. I want to clean my house. I want to plan the family get-together we'll have after the babies' blessing. I want to plant the flowers that have been sitting on my patio for two weeks, and I want to hang the artwork that has been leaning against the nursery dresser for just as long.

I didn't realize a lot of things before the babies were born, but I think mostly the thing that I didn't realize was how little time I would have left for myself. I crave time. I'm hungry for a few peaceful seconds to myself.

At this point, I'm going to make myself feel guilty if I don't add the caveat "I love my babies." I start many frustration-venting conversations with the phrase "I love my babies, but..." And I do love my babies. I love my babies so much, sometimes I think my heart will break. I love my babies so much, I just sit and rock them when I should be eating breakfast. My babies are wonderful and adorable, and with them in my life I feel more confident, strong, and more myself than I ever have before.

BUT I didn't realize how hard raising twins would be.

I keep reassuring myself with the words of other mothers, who have told me that the first year is the hardest. I tell myself, "this is just a phase. Enjoy your tiny babies now, and don't worry about everything else -- it will keep." And someday I will have time to myself again. Someday I will do more than just survive.

One Month Pictures

For those of you keeping track, the babies actually hit their one-month mark on April 20th. I'm a little late with these pictures. And if you can do date math in your head {I couldn't, and had to pull out my trusty calendar to count the days}, you'll realize that "a little" means two weeks. I'm hoping that at this point, in whatever way I fall short in my life, and however short I fall, people will forgive me and chalk it up to the fact that I have twins and spend most of my energy keeping them alive.



Ever since I saw this idea on Pinterest, I wanted to try to copy it. I only have my point-and-shoot camera, I made letters that were way too big, and holy cannoli is it hard to get them both clean and awake and quiet at the same time, but I'm reasonably pleased with how this picture turned out. As a quick reminder, that's Maggie on the left, and Max on the right.



Christian's been teasing me lately that I've become a mommy blogger, and I guess it's true: my last six posts have been about the babies. It's hard not to talk about them when my world revolves around them right now. Besides, they're just so adorable with their round toes and neck rolls and pudgy thighs, it's hard to imagine that anyone would want to hear about anything else. {I might be a little biased about the perfection of my offspring}.

April Is the Best Month

Happy One-Month Birthday, babies! I don't have a lot to say about this month being the most rewarding and challenging of my life {though it has been} -- my brain is still catching up with the fact that I'm the mother of two children. When did that happen? For that matter, when did I get pregnant? After I got married, you say? I'm still not entirely sure I even got married, or started dating Christian. Christian? Christian who? You mean the guy who walks around looking like he's angry all time?

Basically, everything after 18 seems like a dream. My head can't quite believe the wonderful life I've been given. I'm operating as if everything around me is real because I think it's wisest for now; I have yet to be convinced I'm not just going to wake up halfway through high school Physics, wondering what the heck we're supposed to be learning about.

For the record, I love my babies like crazy. I tell them all the time that being in a family together is my most favorite thing in the world. It's so much my favorite, I almost forgot that my birthday is next week. My birthday was my old favorite thing.

Thoughts at Four Weeks Old

{Christian wanted me to make it clear that he was burping the babies in these pictures,
not choking them. Christian has proven to have excellent baby burping skills.}

If, four weeks ago, you told me that my babies would eventually be four weeks old, I don't think I would have believed you. While, looking back, those weeks seem to have gone by so quickly, another four weeks seems impossibly far away. I know I'm not the first person to have noticed this, but time is weird.

I have a love/hate relationship with how much the babies are growing. I love that they're healthy and getting stronger all the time, but I already miss how tiny they used to be. Max doesn't even fit into his preemie sleepers anymore. {The first time I put him into a newborn size, I imagined him saying "I'm a real boy!" just like Pinocchio.}

Our twins seem totally devoid of any psychic twin powers. They act indifferent to each other's cries, and oblivious to each other's existence in general. Mostly it's just like we got two kids at the same time. They are both very tricky, though. Often we'll hear them fussing and go in to check on them, only to find them fast asleep. Five minutes later, more fussing, we go up to check, fast asleep.

We've started reading books to the babies. They already have their favorite stories. Maggie loves "Guess How Much I Love You" and "The Very Hungry Caterpillar" {I think it's because she's also tiny and very hungry, and shaped not unlike a caterpillar still}. Max enjoys "Where The Wild Things Are" -- even though he thinks the Wild Things are a little bit scary, he likes how the boy in the book is named Max too.

Maggie has a tendency to go {you know, go} when her diaper comes off. If she goes number ones we call it a Maggie Special. Sometimes she goes numbers twos, and we call it a Maggie Super Special. The other day Alice got a Maggie Super Special all over her pants and on her foot. Kate and I thought it was hilarious. At least she can't say I didn't warn her -- I warn everyone who changes Maggie's diaper.

I Can't Believe It's Been One Week

Somehow it's been almost one whole week since we brought the babies home. Honestly, it feels like much longer. Our lives have changed so much, it's crazy to think about. While we love our babies more than we could ever have imagined, we didn't realize how exhausting it would be to take care of them. We're so grateful for everyone around us -- friends and family -- who have made this week in any way easier.



P.S. We went to the doctor today and both Max and Maggie have gained a pound since they were born -- can't you tell? I have a hard time keeping myself from eating their cheeks.

Why I Haven't Posted Thousands of Baby Pictures

I know I haven't posted in a while. Part of that is just the normal, I'm-a-new-mom busyness -- I don't have time most days to take a shower, so there's no way I have enough time to write a blog post. I've been walking around for the past two days in Christian's shirts and maternity leggings {which are the most comfortable things ever; seriously, it feels like I'm not wearing anything at all}, thinking that everyone around me smells like overcooked broccoli, until I realized that probably it was me who was stinky. Gross.

Another reason I haven't posted is that before Saturday, my babies were still in the hospital. Because they were born so early, they needed a little bit of help before they were ready to come home. For some reason, their hospital stay ignited this strong maternal instinct in me, and I didn't want to post pictures of them in isolettes, with their monitor cords and IVs trailing from their tiny little fragile bodies. I was so proud of them and how hard they were trying, and all of the progress they were making. I didn't want people to see their pictures and pity them, instead of seeing how amazing they are.

I know it might have been silly or misguided, but I really couldn't stand the thought of posting a lot of hospital pictures. Please forgive me. I'll work on doing better at taking pictures of their ever-fattening cheeks. Deal?

A Happy Announcement

These pictures were taken about two minutes after Max's birth, which was about eleven minutes after my life changed in the most amazing, miraculous way. Christian and I couldn't be any happier to be parents; our babies are perfect. I kind of thought it would never happen, like the human beings people kept telling me were in my belly actually only existed in my imagination. After a few days of seeing their tiny faces, getting to smell their wonderful downy little heads, and feeling their fingers wrap around mine, it's starting to sink in. I love them so much I can hardly stand it.

P.S. We call the boy-face child "Max."

Christian Took This Picture Yesterday

And I like it. I wanted at least one good picture of me while I'm super-pregnant, and this is exactly what I had in mind. I didn't want to pay a photographer, I didn't want hearts over my stomach, or anything baby-themed. Just me sitting and looking happily pregnant -- I think Christian did a great job. He's pretty good at getting me to smile.

I Don't Think I've Ever Seen Anything More Adorable

When I went to visit my mother on Wednesday, she gave me a package of diapers as a present.  They're the tiniest diapers I've ever seen, and definitely the most adorable.  I think it's good they're so charmingly small; I don't think my body is up to housing two nine-pound babies.  I can't stop looking at them.  I kind of want to tie ribbons to them and hang them on our Christmas tree:



My mom and I spent the rest of my visit snuggled on the couch, talking about everything that came to mind.  We talked about how wonderful getting married in the temple is, and how long it takes my dad to answer questions, and spiritual thoughts I had after our most recent Sunday School lesson.  We looked at my ultrasound pictures and exclaimed over how cute their little feet are.  It was very cozy and peaceful, and I had a hard time leaving.  Mom suggested I put my feet up and take a nap instead.

I really can't wait until we have a roomful of supplies waiting for our babies.  It seems like forever away.  I hope the time passes quickly.

Little Pregnancy Update

{links left to right: sweater, romper, pink dress, oxfords, baseball outfit, blue dress, overalls, green dress}

Christian and I went to another ultrasound yesterday, and because I'm now 19 weeks*, we were able to find out the genders of our little babies.  I could barely sleep Sunday night for excitement.  I had been waiting and waiting to know, and putting off shopping for anything until I knew.  I even avoided looking a baby girl clothes all together, convinced as I was that we were having two boys.  But now the news is in: one boy, one girl, and both perfectly healthy.  We couldn't be more happy.

Christian is trying to convince me that I shouldn't buy any baby clothes until February, but I'm not sure if I'll be able to wait.  Aren't these vintage clothes adorable?  I love the thought of dressing our baby girl in ruffly cotton dresses, and our baby boy in tiny cardigans and bow ties.  {I want him to look like Christian in this picture.  Actually, I want him to look like little Christian in almost every way.}

*Every time we go to the doctor, we get a different due date.  In fact, we get two different due dates, one for each baby, because they develop at a different rates.  For consistency's {and my sanity's} sake, I picked the closest date and stuck with it -- this date puts me at 19 weeks.

A Slight Clarification

After reading my post from yesterday, Christian looked at me and said, "Your belly is full of growing baby?"  And that might sound like a strange thing for my husband to say, considering we've known I was pregnant since the end of August, so let me explain.

If you already understand the difference between count nouns and mass nouns, you can skip this paragraph.  If you don't, pay attention, because this is important.  Count nouns refer to things that can be divided into individual, countable units, like apples or cars.  Mass nouns refer to things that can't be counted, because they aren't viewed as individual units; think of as milk or sand.  So as a quick example, money, in its most common usage, is mass noun, while dollar is a count noun.

When I posted yesterday that my belly is "round and full of growing baby," I was using "baby" as a mass noun, referring to all of the developing matter inside of me.  I wasn't talking about a single entity of baby, because there isn't just one in there.

There are two.

Happy Thanksgiving!

In a move that's completely cliche, I'd like to share a few things that I'm thankful for today.  I'm thankful that Christian's brother Eric came home safely from his mission in Georgia this afternoon.  I'm thankful that our big huge whole family could be together for Thanksgiving today.  I'm thankful for everything we have, and that we could share an excellent dinner this evening.  I'm thankful for the gospel, for my life with Christian, and right now, I'm especially thankful for...

...my belly, which is round and full of growing baby.