Phone numbers

My parents have had the same phone number since I was two years old, which means it's been the same number for a very long time.

I can say it so fast it just sounds like one big word, as it's been rolling off of my tongue for years and years.

Tomorrow will be the last day I can call that number and ask to speak to my father.

He is moving out of his house tomorrow.

My mom simply cannot take care of him at home anymore (even with nearly full time help).

The disease that has ravaged his mind is too much, for her, for everyone.

We are grateful that he was home for as long as he was.
Herculean efforts were made to help him recover as much as possible after his stroke (he went to the same rehab as Congresswoman Giffords) but alas, there was nothing that could be done, really. Dementia is cruel.

My mom is exhausted. Spent. Mentally, physically, financially (and no, it is not about finances).

She is also heartbroken, having to be separated from her husband of 40+ years. I can scarcely stand to think about her on their acreage, in their big country house, all alone.

After tomorrow I will have to call another phone number--one I will undoubtedly have to look up repeatedly--and ask to speak to my father, ask someone I don't know if he would be willing to talk on the phone.

But he won't want to talk.
It's a rare occasion that I can get more than two sentences out of him on the phone, and it's clear he really doesn't know what's going on. He only knows it's me because my mother always tells him to say hello to me. She can't stand for him not to know his own daughter.

I guess we're lucky that most days he doesn't know he's at his own home anyway, maybe that will make it less hard on him.

But it doesn't make it any less hard on me, on my mother. I know some of you have lost your fathers and I don't know which is worse--to lose them outright early or to watch them disintegrate into nothingness when they were the strongest person you ever knew.

My dad--he could chop down a huge tree while wearing a J-collar with a broken neck. He could work in the hot sun all day long and never complain. He could run marathons. He could ride his bike longer and faster than Mr. MTL and I ever could--he exhausted us on countless rides. He could do the hardest crossword puzzle of the week in the newspaper and never.give.up until every last blank was filled in. He could read the Christmas story to us every year and always choke up on the words "And she pondered all these things in her heart." He could give you a gentle squeeze with his calloused hands, he could laugh at your bad joke, he could sing off-key but from the heart...he could do all of those things and now, he cannot.

And tomorrow he has to move out of his house. And into the care of virtual strangers to live out his days with more indignities than anyone should ever, ever have to suffer.

Oh Dad.
I'm so sorry.

Finally, an update and new photos!

Wow, I guess my last post was just too heavy. How I wish it didn't need to be written, didn't need to be said, how those emotions weren't there.

So this post is dedicated to all things happy and good.

• The mister went back to work this week. OK, so that sucked royally, for him, for ME, for the babies, but the good news is, we survived! Taking care of them is exhausting, my back aches, my wrist hurts, I am still losing weight just from the never-sit-still nature of it all but I'm getting it all done. And keeping the house clean. And everyone is fed. And we play play and play some more. And during their naps I do sit still and enjoy Diet Coke that has been in the freezer for 25 minutes and is just a little bit icy and frozen. Delish.
• Watching Mr. MTL with these babies is magical. Who else would play music for them, every single night, while he does bath duty? I'm serious--he plays songs for them on the ukele--Buddy Holly, some Mr. Leebot, and some stuff he makes up off the cuff. They adore it. He also turns giant red toy tubs into drums and gives them great beats to bounce to while they go nuts in their jumpers. And of course they've had many private Mr. LB concerts where they shake their little shakers to the beat! These kids may not end up liking music, or being musical, but no one will be able to say they weren't exposed to it.
• Running. We go every morning, at 6:45 am and I push that damn Bob Revolution Double Jog Stroller up and down the hills of our little community. They are early risers and it's fine by me--it's hitting 105 and 106 every day lately so the only chance we have for outdoor time is super early. It is quite the workout, I'm slow as ever, and I only make 4 or maybe 5 miles but I get it done.
• They love to play! And read! And help me bake! And play some more! And get in the baby pool! And pretty much everything (OK well the little guy doesn't so much like the carseat for very long) we've done they seem to like. We still keep it simple and mostly at home but now that we're in a routine we know when we can safely venture out. Target, watch out!
• No one is sick anymore! Well, scratch that...there are still issues with our son that we will work with PT on but that should be manageable. But at least we're not running to the pediatrician every other day anymore.
• They are eaters. Big eaters. Our daughter is up to 19.6 pounds, whoa. Our son is 18.5 pounds. They are doing great--solids three times a day and I love to feed them! Once I was given permission to use one spoon for the both of them (by some twin moms out there) it got a lot easier. I mean, they lick each others faces so why was I worried about them sharing a spoon? Maybe it's because I, personally, share spoons with no one (not even the mister) so I was projecting that onto them. I don't know.
• They are showing the earliest earliest signs of attaching to us. They look for us, they cry for us, they call out for us. It's wonderful. We're not dumb and know that attachment takes months and years, but we are grateful for the smallest of signs.
• Baby laughter. Never did I imagine the ridiculous things I would do to make a baby laugh. But we do, and we are rewarded handsomely.
• They are delicious. In every way possible. You will see, in the photos (our first professional photo shoot--> and only one!)

I know.

I'm a horrible blogger lately. I'm a horrible commenter.

It's weird, being on this side. I read it time and time again--as people cross over they don't know their place anymore.  I don't think I was meant to be a "Mommy Blogger." I'm an infertility blogger who transitioned into an adoption blogger. I don't know what to be now. Just a regular blogger?

I promise an update type of post soon, there's certainly lots to say, but lately I've just had so many moments where my heart is in my throat and I nearly succumb to sadness that threatens to take me down.

East Africa.

What is going on there is horrible. It causes my heart to break.

We are connected to East Africa. Our babies came from there. Our babies have relatives there.

There but the grace of God go I.

I go to put up their baby food and there isn't enough room for all of it.

I go to dress them and find that they are outgrowing clothes left and right and putting on more rolls of fat and chub.

And mothers in East Africa are leaving their starving babies on the side of the road to die because they simply cannot make it any further. Refugee camps are swollen with the starving, the exhausted. They don't hope for a better life, they just hope to live, period.

And we spent $80K trying to have a biological baby. While babies starve to death. And yes, you could insert anything--bigger car, better house, vacations, clothes, going out ot eat--anything that we don't need but simply want. And yes, I know we all do it every.single.day while so much of the world suffers. And that there will always be horrific disparities between the haves and the have nots but I sometimes wonder how did it get like this? Why do we allow it? If I could go back, with hindsight...

I cannot even fit all of their food onto the shelf in the pantry.

Abundance. No hunger pangs here. Fat babies.

That I love with all my heart.

There were sisters on Oprah a few months ago that run a food pantry. They said their motto was the following:
There is only one race, the human race.*
There is only one father, the Heavenly Father.
And you should never take the last piece of bread because someone might come along who needs it more than you do.

Those words are always running through my mind.
But most days all I can do is just hug and love on my sweet chubby babies.

*And just to be clear: as an international adopter I do not believe the first line as a way to go about parenting across cultures, I just think it's a sweet sentiment.

Things.

"The cheapest place I have found to get wipes is Target," she says, giving me the 'new Mom' tip.

"Noted," I reply.

We are sitting at the kitchen table. We are hoping that certain sleeping people in the next rooms are really sleeping, soundly sleeping, no catnaps. We are both tired and we could both use a break. A good long nap would be nice--for everyone.

I tiptoe to the first bedroom door and peek in, holding my breath as if my babies can hear the rush of air into my lungs. I listen for the telltale deep breathing of sleep, I watch their chests rise and fall. Yes! They are asleep.

I tiptoe to the next bedroom door and peek in, still holding my breath.

Ahhh, again the sweet deep breathing of true sleep.

Naps, it seem, are going well.

The thing is, I am talking to my mother about wipes, the ones she uses for my father.
I am peeking in on my own babies but also my own father, who is 'down' for a nap.

It is surreal.
It is cruel.
The life cycle coming full circle, my father so much like a baby now.

I return to the table and tell my mother that yes, they are all sleeping. We can take a much needed rest.

I don't think she ever imagined she would be sharing shopping tips for things like wipes with her daughter. I know I never imagined it.

But it is what it is.

We took the babies home so that I could get my precious photo of them small, with my Dad.
He barely noticed them.
He certainly didn't want to have them lay next to him, he certainly didn't take note of their coos, of their tiny hands reaching for him.
He maintained his classic blank stare and then asked for an orange.

But I'm glad I took them home. I did it for me.

Life can be so strange, I often wonder what might be next.

Uh oh.

Well, it seems Mr. MTL brought something extra back from Ethiopia.

Malaria.

Yikes. We'll have it confirmed but he's already started on treatment, which isn't a big deal (simple treatment) but he feels pretty crummy.

See, it's 102 degrees here but this afternoon he was piling on the layers. I said "That's it! To the doctor!" He thought his fevers were just lingering from all the crud we've all had. My fevers stopped two days ago for the most part but his kept coming back.

Malaria is not endemic in Addis so it isn't common to get it there, nor is it required to take anti-malaria drugs prior to traveling there. But another couple who were there during our first court trip also came home with malaria so it isn't impossible.

Today, Mr. MTL had to leave us (!) for three whole long hours, which marked the first time I'd really been alone with them since getting home. And it was hard. Hard hard hard. It seems I don't have enough hands, which I forsee is going to be a big problem in three weeks when Mr. MTL is back at work for good.

But we all survived and somehow everyone was fed, we played outside in the baby pool, diapers were changed, and yes, there were some cranky babies here and there because if there's one thing a baby doesn't understand it's "Just a minute, I'll get to you right after I tend to your brother/sister." Yeah, they're not quite getting that phrase yet.

So send us good vibes from quick healing, and yes, that is mostly a very selfish request on my part so I don't lose my right hand for very long :) But I'd like him to feel better, too!

PS To the anonymous commenter who gave me advice about the rockers...those are Eames rockers! As in, classic nursery rockers since 1948, so hardly a 'trend.' They are uber comfortable and we love rocking the babies in them. So no, I won't be getting some clunky wooden rocker or, heaven forbid, a glider rocker. Our Eames rockers rock, plain and simple.

PPS No offense if you like clunky wooden rockers or glider rockers, but they're just not my style.

PPSS I am sorry I am not commenting. I am trying to read your blogs. I am with you in spirit. I am mostly reading blogs on my Iphone in between everything else and while I think Iphones are a brilliant invention, they are not comment friendly.

This post brought to you by Diet Coke.

Ahhh, Diet Coke. Sweet elixir of life, especially right now. I'm not a coffee drinker but I do find I need a little Diet Coke. Or a lot of Diet Coke. Can someone please define what a lot of Diet Coke would be?

We have been to the pediatrician's three times in seven days. I'm very thankful that our clinic has a weekend sick clinic as we have visited it twice. Our son ruptured his eardrum. His fever was nearly 104. I was a wee bit panicked and luckily have a best friend who is a pediatric nurse and calmly told me exactly what to do. Whew. At any rate, sick babies are tough. Sick babies are tougher when you are sick. Seriously, I had a fever for two days. And I never, ever get sick! My sister said: correction, you used to never get sick. Ha.

The babies are lovely. We go out in the Bob Stroller every day--not to jog but to walk, but soon, soon we will be running. But with both adults sick we decided to give our babies some rest. And really? Who would think having babies would be the easiest diet I've ever been on...down about 7 pounds since we left for Ethiopia and none of our illnesses were GI related. I think it's the "I never sit down anymore" effect. I'm sure it will pile back on when I'm more in my groove instead of frantically running from room to room trying to get everything done. And while many have given us the advice of letting housework go by the wayside right now, I just cannot. I need to clean. So I keep cleaning as soon as they're asleep or playing with the mister, etc. etc. I must say that our house looks like a small preschool because of having two of everything--something we swore would never happen.

But I am not complaining.

I just need some more Diet Coke.

Enjoy the picture!

At last.

Hello!
We are here. We are surviving. A couple of days ago I would have written the words: barely surviving, but each day is getting better. Warning: this post will contain some complaints about the rigors of taking care of two infants. And like most IFers who cross over (however they do) I feel some serious guilt ever letting out a complaint here. However, in a nutshell:

The sixteen hour international flight was nothing short of the most excruciating experience of my life. It was my labor and delivery for sure, unmedicated all the way. You see, we stupidly expected to board the flight with two bassinets reserved which would allow the babies to have a real place to sleep, which in turn would give us a chance to sleep.

No such luck. Despite getting to the airport over three hours prior to our departure as instructed, the bassinets were already all taken. At this point we proceeded to tell the ticket agent to reconsider and change his answer. Ha ha. Which meant we boarded that sixteen hour flight with two sick infants with nothing to do but hold them the whole time. And they screamed. And they thrashed. And they were miserable. And I cried within ten minutes of taking my seat. I think I have some post traumatic stress related to the flight.

Our stopover in DC was only moderately better because, despite being extremely tired, the babies wouldn't sleep in the hotel room. I cried some more. So did DH.

When our DC to Austin flight was delayed we all freaked out a little more, and yup, more crying. It was the last flight to Austin and there was no way we weren't going to be on it. DH had me calling our travel agent and he promised to "pay whatever it takes to get home tonight"...I think he would have chartered a private jet at that point. Luckily the flight made and although it was overbooked we made it on board and landed in our hometown.... only to discover that DH's parents (who had our car with our carseats) were stuck in a horrible traffic snarl outside the airport. I had actually seen the lights and sirens from the air as we landed. They hadn't moved an inch in over an hour. So we made a camp on the dirty airport floor and waited some more.

Oi vey.

We made it to our first night in our own home at 1:00 am and proceeded to sleep 3 hours. Which made our grand total of sleep about 3 hours 25 minutes in three days.

Yes I know sleep deprivation is part of the deal. But suffice it to say we were overwhelmed. There were tears. There were moments of sheer panic, dread, and fear.

And then.

My dear sweet Pablo dog took a turn for the worse. He has been in kidney failure for a while, he is quite old, and we knew the end was near. But yet he persisted.

He is the only living creature besides DH who knew the depth of my IF pain. He patiently sat with me while I sobbed so many times, he gave me little nudges and licks but mostly he was just there, abiding with me in my darkest moments.

I'd like to think he held on just in time to see the human babies make an appearance in our lives before he finally felt he could let go and have a sweet release from this life. I loved him like a human and he will always, always be my first son, my original boy. But having to say goodbye to him the first day after we arrived home was excruciating and my heart is still broken.

These last few days have been a whirlwind. Every day gets better. I feel like now that one infant would be a breeze. Oh yes. But we are making it, bit by bit, breath by breath, hour by hour and sometimes minute by minute. They are starting to recuperate, we are getting well, too (seriously--I haven't been sick in years, but every single baby in the orphanage was sick so it was inevitable), and we are starting to find a little groove.

I have so much I want to say about our experiences in Ethiopia. About the orphanages. About the donations. About the surreal day I clutched my baby girl to my chest as DH clutched our baby boy to his in the back of a very old Toyota (there are no car seats in Ethiopia) as we made our way on the muddied, nearly washed out roads towards the US Embassy, where we raised our right hands and talked through glass on a little phone to an anonymous worker on the other side, and in five minutes they were ours....I want to talk about it all but for now, I will just leave you with a few photos for your viewing pleasure:

First pedi visit, my Mom came to help for the day (in case you're wondering who is behind the stroller)

Bob Stroller. No, we haven't used it, besides strolling in the house (it's over 100 degrees here) but check out my daughter's evil glowing eyes!

View from the top, bath time togetherness!

My sweet boy Pablo, in his healthier days.