Pregnancy outranks what ails me

 

 

The blessings are countless to be having twins, but life is also about to get a lot harder. For instance, short of losing a limb (broken isn’t enough) there’s no injury that will compare to carrying two humans in your belly for 9 months. It has barely slowed Jessica down at all, she can still move faster than me, so I can’t expect any sympathy for an ingrown toenail. I’m forever going to have to endure whatever ails me because any complaints will be met with, ‘I gave birth to twins.”

Just this week, I’d been experiencing some slight abdominal pain, but we planned on going to the aquarium. I briefly wondered if I could withstand hours of walking or would I be better off spending the day resting at home. Then I looked at my very pregnant wife and the decision was made. Aquarium, here we come!

God knew what he was doing when he made women the bearer of children. I wince in pain when a splinter is pulled out of my thumb, which is far less than a baby (or two) being extracted from me. Admittedly, I’ve always been the weaker one between us, but this whole pregnancy even amplifies that. It carries enough weight (literally) to forever be held of my head. Twenty years from now, a splitting headache could be keeping me from cutting the grass, when the words “I had twins” gets me into motion.

The words ‘I’m tired,’ have already been stricken from my vocabulary. I don’t have the nerve to complain about being fatigued to someone who has worked a 16 hour day when pregnant with twins, while the most I’ve done is complete Wordle in three tries.

After I have a restless night, I don’t have the nerve to yawn after hearing how the twins decided to have a dance party at 2 a.m. Plus, I know the effort it takes for her just to roll over.

I’m trying my best to look like I’m pregnant, that part I’m capable of, but it’s still not the same. Enough Taco Bell might resemble the feelings of a babies kick, but it’s only temporary. What’s inside me will come out much quicker and easier than our bundles of joy.

When asked, ‘How are you?’ My forever answer will be, ‘I’m good,’ because whatever ails me is less than being pregnant with twins.

Ultrasound vs. Picasso

 

'The second one is easier,' is often said about having children. If the ability to make sense of the ultrasound images is any indication, the claim is false. In my eyes, brain surgery appears as complicated as identifying specific body parts on the screen. There's a class for new parents about everything from proper nutrition to how to change a diaper, but there should be one on how to decipher images on an ultrasound. Looking at an image of a fetus should not require the same brainpower that interpreting a Picasso does.

At our first ultrasound I was tempted to ask the technician if the building had an antenna because the screen looked like there was no connection to cable. The screen was all jumbled. With two babies in there, the chances are doubled that I could see an arm. There's four instead of just two, within a pretty confined space, but it's all just a blur to me. I don't wish to find out, but I don't think having an ultrasound with sextuplets would make any difference. 

I trust the professionals with the fact we are having a boy and a girl. No offense to my son to be, who is still really young and will grow, but I couldn't see anything down there. If I couldn't see an arm, I'm not going to see that.

Then at the end, the ultrasound technician gives us a collection of printed pictures. The images do at least provide me with something to study. I don't show them to anyone, because I can't explain them. I'm no photographer, and often have my finger in the pictures I take, but am at least able to identify what it's of.

Despite the challenges it presents I do enjoy going. It's an incomparable delight to see your offspring in the womb, I might not know what I'm looking at, but I know they are there. Plus, every now and then, if the angle is just right, I can make something out. I'm pretty sure I've seen both of their profiles. Furthermore, hearing their heartbeats and the sign of life it represents is magical.

Though I may not be able to see much of their ultrasoumds,I'm still certain that both babies are pure works of art. 

Am I Ready?

 If I had a dollar for every time I've been asked, 'Are you ready?' since finding out about the twins, I'd be able to fill the van up with gas. You'd think I would have a set answer, but I don't. I better be though, because they are coming whether I am ready or not.

The question flashes me back to when I was about four years old, teary-eyed and nose white with sunscreen. I'm standing at the edge of a pool and a mean looking man with a whistle around his neck asks, 'Are you ready?'

I hold my nose and before I'm able to audibly respond, he pushes me into the pool. It's the moment of truth. I will either sink or swim. Spoiler alert: I survived. To say I swam may be an overstatement, but I was able to doggie-paddle or at least stay afloat well enough to be classified as a swimmer.

To this day, I wouldn't consider myself a master swimmer. I don't know the difference between the breaststroke and freestyle, but I can get from one side of a pool to the other with my feet not touching the bottom. I won't win many races, my grandma used to even beat me (I was close). but I'll reach the finish line. On a side note, I think pacemakers result in faster swimming.

My swimming abilities is similar to many aspects of my life. Most everyone else is better at it than me, but I will eventually get it done in my own unconventional way.

I also felt like I was jumping in to turbulent high waters when I got married. Again, everyone asked, 'Are you ready?' There was a lot I didn't know, but I couldn't afford to sink. Thankfully wives are good teachers and tell you everything you need to know. I sometimes forget, but am quickly reminded. If I waited until I could assuredly say that I was ready for marriage and all that comes with it, I would still be single.

When expecting our now five-year old, almost every conversation would include, 'are you ready?" Based on the number of babies I'd held, diapers I'd changed, and bottles I'd given...I was far from ready, but we somehow all survived. There were times I needed a raft, but overall was able to stay afloat.

Now there are two babies coming...am I ready for at 3 a.m. both are crying at the top of their lungs, Mommy is overly exhausted and mad that one won't latch on to drink, the five-year old whines she can't sleep because of all the noise and the dog is barking; all while I have a headache and can barely stay awake? There are days now that I'm ready for bed before it's dark outside and all I've done is play Barbies. People get nervous when I carry two glasses of water at the same time, and now I'll have two humans to hold. I get the remotes from our two TV's mixed up, am I going to be able to tell my own children apart?

Am I ready? I usually don't feel ready when I dive into the new stages of my life, but I manage to survive. When handed the twins for the first time, my only option is to swim and somehow I will, but it won't always be pretty.

Einstsein's Theory of Baby Sleeping?

“We the jury find the defendant…” Those words always provide tension as the next few seconds will determine someone’s fate. I feel as if I’m in a courtroom multiple times every day and night, waiting for the verdict to come in as I try to put Adelyn down in her crib. Will I be granted some freedom or sent back to the rocking chair to try again? Over the past eighteen months, I’ve been in the exact same situation countless times and the pressure has yet to relinquish.

I always thought the expression, ‘sleep like a baby,’ meant a deep, hard to awake from sleep; but Adelyn never seems to fit that definition. She may appear to be sleeping soundly, and a blaring television doesn’t faze her, but as soon as the descent into the crib begins she becomes fully alert. It continues to amaze me, how fast the tide can turn from nearly comatose to wailing cries.

After being awoken by her cries, we go out to the recliner where I hold her. Sometimes she goes right back to sleep (Thank You God), while other times it’s a lengthy process. Either way I wait until she is in a deep sleep, usually breathing loud enough for me to hear her, and then I begin rising out of the chair. The standing up is a key moment as I have to be careful not to disturb Adelyn too much. Depending on her position and my level of alertness, it can be tricky. The room is dark and sometimes she has squirmed so much that I don’t know on what end or head is. It’s really frustrating when I have to start all over because I’ve awoken her by turning her into a human pretzel. More times than not though, the journey back towards her room goes smoothly, unless I step on one of the toys scattered across the floor. If she’s still sleeping soundly, I can feel myself laying back in bed and drifting off as soon as I close my eyes, all I have to do is just put Adelyn down.

Einstein must have been a pretty smart guy, but honestly the theory of relativity has really never served me much in life. Did he ever study how fast a sleeping, peaceful child can flip the switch to being bright eyed and furious? That would have been useful. The transformation never ceases to amaze me. It seems that the times I’m most certain that it will be a seamless transition is when the most problems occur. She can be a dead weight in my arms, but as soon as I begin to lean over the crib, Adelyn stretches out and reaches for my shirt while releasing a shrieking cry. How does she know? On the flip side, my release of her into the crib is not always perfect. I’ve never been very sure handed, and sometimes I lose my grip and kind of her drop her. Mind you it’s a very short distance and onto a soft mattress, but a little jarring, yet she settles right in. I can leave her dangling by one leg and she never wakes up, but if I ease her down gently, the waterworks are likely to start-up.

Once a successful put-down has been accomplished, I run back into bed, okay it’s more of a fast walk. Unless I’m half asleep and then it’s a slow shuffle, with which I may bump into some walls. Thankfully, I have mastered carrying Adelyn through her doorway, without hitting her head on the doorframe. (That does speed up the process) Once I’m tucked in, I wish that the whole process won’t need to be repeated again before sunrise, but it isn’t always granted.

The time will come when I miss such nights, and then maybe I can say, “The defense rests.”

 

Who needs Toys?

 

I’ve never seen it any other way, every time a young child opens gifts, they are more interested in the boxes or wrapping paper than anything else. No matter how expensive the toy, a flimsy piece of cardboard proves to be much more entertaining. However, gifts are continuously purchased as most children have more ‘stuff’ than they could ever use. Of course Adelyn is no exception, as apparently she has more toys than we have storage for, because the floor is always littered with them. Yet it seems like the majority of the time, Adelyn picks the strangest assortment of household items to play with, rather something from her collection of toys.

Based on looks alone, it’s really a pretty pitiful site, as Adelyn often walks around clinging hold to a wash cloth. A dirty, or at least used, wash cloth at that. Forget her Itty Bitty Baby, there’s a wash cloth to hold. In her defense, it is soft. I wouldn’t let her near a dry and crusty towel. It does come in handy sometimes, if there’s a spill, a runny nose, or something that needs wiped she lets me borrow it for a second.

Adelyn is also fond of water bottles. Empty or full, it makes no difference. If one isn’t sitting out somewhere, she knows where they are stored and helps herself. She can make the bottles make a variety of crinkle sounds and are perfect for pretend drinking. I did get nervous though when I saw Adelyn had learned how to spin the bottles.

Our dog, Rose, also has an assortment of toys, which Adelyn plays with more than her. At least with Adelyn the toys last longer as she doesn’t chew them up in a matter of minutes. It’s too early to tell if Adelyn is going to be athletically gifted (her chances aren’t very good), but she can at least throw a ball to play fetch. She fetches the ball herself if Rose doesn’t want to play. Even brings it back in her mouth. On more than one occasion, I’ve witnessed Adelyn step over her toys, just to pull something out of Rose’s basket. Thankfully she’s discovered there’s no meat on the bones we get for Rose, so she pushes them aside for something more useful.

People always say, ‘They grow up fast,’ but Adelyn is really rushing it. She has recently become fascinated with tampons. I’m not yet prepared to tell her how to properly use them, but she likes carrying one around. I found one she had left in her toy chest the other day. It would have been really embarrassing if a visitor had found it. I’m working on teaching her to store the extra in her purse.

If ever buying a gift for Adelyn, make it simple, and bring her a dirty sock, a set of coasters, feminine hygiene products or just an empty box. She will use those more than anything.

The Waves of Life

The first one is always the hardest…that’s why it’s taken me so long to make an entry about raising Adelyn. No, taking care of my first child hasn’t been the hard part (far from easy either), but deciding on what to write. It’s been over a year since Adelyn blessed our lives by arriving on Valentine’s Day 2017, and since then some have suggested I start a blog about my experiences of being a stay at home dad. The idea intrigued me, but I didn’t know where to start. Then I saw this picture from our beach vacation this summer and inspiration struck.

On a daily basis I’m struck by how big Adelyn is getting, not so much physically, but in what she’s able to do. She can use a fork all by herself, though it’s often barren of any food (hey, maybe that’s why she’s so small), identify body parts, and almost walk as fast as I can. It seems like only yesterday that she was dependent on us for everything, now she likes to do it all herself. No truer words were even spoken than, ‘They sure grow up fast,’ except for maybe, ‘We have the meats’ from Arby’s. ‘

Beyond its scenic beauty, for me this picture shows Adelyn stepping into, full of excitement, the big and dangerous world ahead while I’m right behind her for protection. For her the ocean, much like the world in which we live, looks like lots of fun, but it can quickly pull you down. There are both little waves to hurdle and tidal waves with the power to knock you down, all of which must be faced head-on (well, in the ocean you can turn your back, but that’s not the point!). The tide rises quickly though, and it won’t be long until Adelyn’s in deep water (literally). The older she gets the bigger the waves get. There are times I feel like I’m in a hurricane, but then I stop listening to my wife and everything is tranquil. (Just joking) Wait until Adelyn starts pre-school, and all her classmates have i-phones, so she’ll want one. The wave of being socially accepted, is a really big one, which still wipes me out sometimes.

The deeper the ocean gets, the more fish there are swimming around, biting at your heels. Those young boys can be real sharks. With all of her cuteness, Adelyn is going to be the equivalent of fishing with filet mignon as bait and really reel them in. I can see it now, at snack time a boy sits next to her and after drinking of his bottle of Fiji water says, ‘My dad is the CEO of a Fortune 500 Company, what does your dad do?’ Adelyn thinks, while pulling her sippy cup from her mouth, ‘Ummm, he watches a lot of Netflix.’ At least she’ll say it proudly.

Yes, plenty of waves are coming Adelyn’s way and it’s my wish that her excitement will never waver about diving into life (and the ocean) and that Mommy and I will always be able to pull her out when danger comes.

The Crappy Side of Parenting

To say my first few weeks of being a father have been crappy (or another word similar in meaning) would be totally inaccurate, yet with just a shred of truth. While being a parent is a tremendous joy, it comes with a lot of dirty diapers and Adelyn seems to possess the gift of unleashing her bowels right when I’m in the act of changing her. Turkeys may not be able to fly, but trust me, an infant’s poop can go a great distance in the air.

Apparently in order to be a parent, I must change an occasional diaper myself. Despite the amount of time that Adelyn spends drinking, she seems to poop much more than she pees. Or at least she puts them together as a combo. I have learned my lesson though, if it just pee, stand back because an eruption is near. If I didn’t know any better, I’d suspect that my sweet little girl knows when I’m changing her and intentionally unloads on me. It’s payback for not carrying her inside of me for nine months. It’s not been just once, or even twice, but at least three times that the floodgates have been open upon me.

It never fails, I think I’ve lucked out and got just a light load that she dumped, and I begin to wipe her off…BOOM! It happens so fast, there’s no time to react…and IT is everywhere. I have learned not to wear white while changing her, as it will get stained. The nearby décor isn’t even safe, as I’ve had to clean up picture frames (up to five feet away) and wash off the walls afterwards. My nickname for her should be Cannon, and she hasn’t even had any Mexican food yet. Meanwhile, she lies there with a grin. Thankfully the discharge has so far avoided my mouth, but be suspicious of any new freckles that may appear on my face.

The amount of laundry doubles from when I change her, as I never think to get her clothes out of the way. One night we went through all of her nighties and wraps. Plus, an equal amount of my pajamas gets dirty. Adalyn is going to need a whole second wardrobe for when I’m with her all day after Jessica goes back to work.

I am trying to help alleviate the problem, as I have started reading Adalyn a book as soon as I get her on the changing table. It gives her some extra time to try and get it all out.

The crappy times go beyond just diaper changing, as yesterday I held Adalyn for an hour or more, which I thought was a time of bonding. When I handed her off, I noticed a big wet spot on my T-shirt. I figured it was sweat, but Jessica instantly smelled something. It wasn’t sweat. It was more than her diaper could hold and it overflowed, right onto me….more laundry.

The positives of parenting far outweighs this little negative though, besides IT happens, especially when it’s time for me to change her.