Lucky

FIRST: I'm sorry I've been MIA. I've tried to read and honestly, I've tried to comment but blogger has been giving me fits. So I wouldn't blame you if you have stopped reading, but I've had this post in draft form for a while, and it rolls around in my brain a lot, so here it is...



Lucky.
It's a loaded word, for me anyway.

I used to rant and rave about using the term 'blessed' when describing someone having a baby. Because it must mean that me, barren as a log, was decidedly unblessed because I couldn't procreate. And who wants to be called unblessed? Hearing that term cut through my heart like a knife. I wanted the word 'blessed' replaced with 'lucky' because I could deal with being unlucky, but unblessed? No thanks.

And now I hear the term lucky being tossed our way quite often. Nearly everyone comments on how our babies are so lucky. I don't mean here, in the comments section, and even if the word did crop up there that wouldn't bother me because my readers tend to get it.

It's the general public. They learn our babies are adopted (I mean, it's pretty obvious) and if they learn they are Ethiopian they immediately say how lucky they are, usually with a big smile, and sometimes an actual pat on my back, and always one that is implied. Ick.

I don't correct them because if I did, it would go something like this, and I'd probably be carted off to the looney bin.

Lucky? No, they are not lucky. They suffered a loss that is unimaginable to most. They are separated from their birth family. In an ideal world, the first choice, barring a safety issue or a complete inability to provide loving care, is that children are raised by their birth parents. Second choice is always other family. Third choice is another family in their home country, in their culture--domestic adoption. Then it gets down to orphanage care versus international adoption and I think it's pretty obvious that international adoption into a loving family has many benefits over institutionalized care. But no, they are not lucky. They got the fourth choice. The fourth one down the list.

We were the fourth choice. And I don't think anyone ever feels lucky when they get their fourth choice.

But if I said all of that people would wonder why the hell I adopted (and why do I still get my feelings hurt over the fact that it feels like most of my infertile peeps will do anything but adopt?).

I know it's confusing. Because I do believe in international adoption as a way--the fourth choice way-- to provide a family to a child who would otherwise be raised in institutional care. But I will never, ever think of it as the ideal choice.

And yes, I understand that there might be benefits to living in the U.S. over Ethiopia--improved life expectancy (by decades), improved access to education and opportunity, etc. etc. But actually---even that gives me pause. Taking someone from a country where people are satisfied and happy with much, much less and introducing them to our vulgar consumerist nation (and yes, I know I could work really hard to raise little non-consumerists but right now I'm just happy to have two babies that might start sleeping through the night consistently and don't throw their food across the room) isn't ideal either. And yes, as far as families go I do think Mr. MTL and I will make decent parents.  So I understand why people immediately think our babies are lucky, on the surface.

But the more I am with them, the deeper my love grows for them, then the more deeply I am able to get a sense of the pain of their young lives. Of the immense loss and grief that will always, always color their world. And it's more heartbreaking than I could have ever imagined.

Some days I watch them, playing innocently, laughing and discovering and taking sheer delight in the pleasures of being an infant.  And my heart starts to hurt. I think I'm having a heart attack. Because I know, I know they will not be this innocent forever. Soon they will know. And it will hurt. And I can't do one thing to make it not hurt.

I am not foolish enough to ever think we can 'make up' for their loss of culture. Making up for their loss of birth parents isn't even on the radar because that's an impossible task. Impossible.

If you don't understand that and you have fertility issues then try to imagine what would 'make up' for the loss of your fertility.

Their job is NOT to make up for the loss of our fertility and our job is not to make up for the loss of their birth parents, their culture, their everything. Our job is just to parent them the very best way that we can. To love them with our whole hearts. To allow them their grief and sorrow, to hold their hands through it, to be aware.

They are not lucky.
But we are.

Scattered

I feel like this post is going to be scattered, and probably long, so go ahead and get a cup of coffee. Or a Diet Coke. I'll wait.

And yes, forgive me for bullet points. I have exactly 14.5 minutes until two sleeping Africans become two boisterously awake Africans and so bullet points will have to do.

• Sleeping. Thank you for the advice. Honestly. I enjoyed reading everyone's opinions. I had a total DUH moment a couple of times. We are down to one feeding a night--hooray! Basically some of you were right, we had to offer more formula during the day. However, it's interesting to see how they can really push that bottle away if they simply don't want it, no matter how badly I want them to want it/drink it during daylight hours so they won't need it/want it during the nighttime hours. They basically take a few ounces before morning nap (here is where I wish they would take more), 7-8 oz before afternoon nap, 8 oz when we rock them before bedtime, and then they wake up for 7-8 oz anywhere from 2:30 to 4:30 in the AM. We will probably start gradually reducing the nighttime offering too. But waking up once, and sometimes after 5-6 solid hours of sleep for us (we go to bed at 9 pm now, ha) feels heavenly. And they really pack away the solids too, for the most part. But every day is different.
• I went back to work this past week. Three full days (I leave at 6:45 am and return at 5 pm, DH gets home at 4:30 pm). The babies wake up at 6:10ish so I get to play with them before I leave. Which means I get up at about 5:15 to get myself ready.
• Sub-bullet time (fancy schmancy!). I cried the first day. I did not cry the second two days.
• I am really enjoying work time. Yes, I realize it was the first week back and in another month I'll probably loathe work. But for now....
• I feel like I fail one million times a day as a mother, but at work, I know what I'm doing. I'm ordering lab, writing prescriptions, explaining test results, chatting with coworkers (oh! adult conversations, how I've missed thee so!) and while I may not be perfect at it, I'm better at it than I am as a mother, at least in terms of errors made.  
• I love coming home to them.
• I love my two full days with them on my own, and of course love the weekends when we're all together.
• The nanny is great with the babies.
• My heart broke a million times over when I saw how, on the third day, they were so excited to see the nanny. I guess the alternative is worse, but still....
• The nanny is not so good with the housekeeping. Granted, it's not her primary job, but I don't really relish coming home to extra work created by her. Clean up your food prep mess for goodness sake!
• I don't like being a boss....argh.
• Patients. As in, mine. I had two photos of the babies in my office. It was all the patients wanted to talk about. I had to redirect conversations a million times over. And if I hear how lucky my babies are one more time I am going to lose it. That's a whole other post. And yes, I know it is said with nice intentions, but they aren't lucky. I promise to post that post (written weeks ago and tucked away in my drafts file, soon).
• When do other people clean? My DH and I just nearly broke our backs trying to get the whole house cleaned while they napped. Our daughter hates loud noises so we have to wait until she's really asleep or out of the house with the other parent to vacuum and run the hard floor scrubber. Otherwise I feel like my standards for cleaning are going by the wayside, and anyone who knows me knows this stresses me out.
• Cold fronts. It will only hit 90 degrees here this week and honestly, folks, it feels like a blizzard. This morning for our morning run it was 58 degrees and I had to put the babies in little jackets. And I kid you not, there is nothing more adorable than the little man in his Paul Frank zip up hoodie (thanks Kim!). Nothing. At least, I challenge you to find something more adorable. Did I get a photo? No.
• Running. I only get to do it four days a week now. Simply can't go on a work morning. I miss it. I had never run for so many consecutive days ever before, without missing one. Oh well, all good things must come to an end.
• Weight loss. After three days of just sitting at a desk and then resuming full time Mom duties on Thursday, I quickly realized why I lost weight. Oh.My.God. I never sit down. Except now, when I'm typing at 105 wpm trying to get all my thoughts out on a random blog post. But it's ok, because I probably should have been at this weight for years. But having to buy all new pants and skirts is somewhat annoying because who has time to shop anymore?
• Hiking. We took the babies hiking yesterday. To the trails where we used to run, all.the.time. I had a heart clench moment when DH was talking to the babies and said "Mom and Dad used to run here all the time, and all we would talk about was you. And now you're here, with us." Oh man, what a moment.
• Concerts. Mr. Lee.bot had a show the other day and I was able to take the babies with the help of their Aunt Stacey. He called us onto the stage and sang "Our Family." Our son reached for the guitar, smiling as his Dad sang a song written about him. I held it together guys, I actually did. But inside I was sobbing tears of gratitude and joy listening to him sing the words "Our family, looks different but we're still, our family."
• Prunes. DH learned the hard way that a little prunes goes a long way in helping intestinal issues of certain babies. I won't go into any other details because, really? Disgusting.
• Photos. I will now post some, in the 7.5 minutes I have until they wake (how do I know when they'll wake? They really, really are on a schedule!)

I can't decide how I feel about my hoodie.

Help! I'm being swallowed by this backpack!

All headphones, no pants.

Dad, I'm not a dumbell.

Two of a kind.

(why am I standing weird?)

Who is this NY people keep telling us about?

Advice needed!

This post is a Mom blog type post whereby I will be soliciting advice from those who have gone before me...I am sorry for those still in the IF trenches. I wish it weren't so.

Sleep. Night feedings. Please help.

Our babies are over ten months old. We brought them home over three months ago. Somewhere along the way some friends of ours who also adopted "psuedo twins" told us they did the bedtime routine and fed their babies a bottle, but then also woke them right before they (the parents) went to sleep and gave them another bottle, and then they slept through the night.

We tried that! Basically, it meant that at 6:45 pm or 7 pm ish we fed them their last bottle and then woke them at 10 pm and fed them again. Guess what? They always sucked down about 6-8 oz of formula at that 10 pm feeding. Guess what again? They didn't sleep through the night, still waking for another bottle at around 2 am. Hmph.

Our pedi told us the other day to STOP the waking up forced feeding at 10 pm. She said that it was teaching them to need that feeding.

We happily obliged. Quite honestly most nights we are falling asleep at 9:15 pm so we were happy to go to bed earlier. The first few nights--EUREKA!--they slept longer, sometimes going until 3:30 am before waking once to be fed. So we were still waking once but getting to go sleep earlier so getting a longer stretch of solid sleep and it seemed like a decent plan.

But lately, here's the thing: they are waking TWICE per night to eat. They eat solids three times a day and take two small bottles daily and are starting (though they are not good at it at all) to take liquids from a sippy cup. We feed them dinner at 5:30 (it takes them about 45 minutes to eat because of the self feeding) and they seem to eat quite a bit. Then at 6:30 they have a bath, at 6:50 it's books, bottle, rocking and then to bed. They usually goof off in their cribs (despite nearly falling asleep drinking their bottles, so this, too, perplexes me) for a while and then drift off to sleep anywhere from 7:15 to 7:30 pm. But now they are waking at 11 pm and 4 am consistently for bottles. They usually drink about 6 ounces, sometimes the full 8. Last night our son woke at 10 pm crying...we let him cry for about five minutes, he did fall back asleep but then woke SCREAMING at 11 pm and there was no going back.

I guess I always thought 10+ month olds would sleep longer, could go longer at night. I'm not complaining really--at least it's pretty easy to just get up and feed them, change them, and they go back to sleep, but really I'm just wondering if anyone has any advice. I feel like sometimes we're doing something wrong.

Well, this is rambling. Just hoping someone can tell me the magic cure :) Ha.

EDITED TO ADD:
I think they get enough to eat during the day...they get about 28 to 30 oz of formula total daily plus three meals of solid foods and they seem to really chow down at those meals! They eat vegetables, fruits, soy *meat*, grilled cheese sandwiches, bagels, waffles, etc. Our daughter is 90th percentile for weight and our son is 50th percentile for weight. I guess I just thought waking every four hours to eat at night seemed frequent, but maybe not....

Too much.

I know I've been away. I'm sorry I'm not always commenting. I'm trying to read and keep up. But some days it's all I can do to keep up with the most basic of tasks. Hmph.

Warning, the following is a little tongue-in-cheek, and I don't want to be flamed in comments, BUT this past week our normally 'easy' 9.5 month old daughter has 1) started crawling (yay!) 2) started completely refusing to be fed ANY baby food on the spoon (argh) 3) finally sprouted one lonely tooth and 4) decided that naps are for babies, and so is going to bed at night at the normal hour too, since you asked. Our son was teething and also had an ear infection. They also got their last set of 'catch up' vaccines plus a flu shot...

So it's been stressful. Tiring. Agonizing. See--there are books on raising twins, there are books on parenting internationally adopted infants, but there are not a lot of expert opinions about parenting internationally adopted psuedo-twins. One expert says let her cry it out on the naps, but what about her brother, sleeping ten feet away? On the feeding--just let her self feed whatever she wants, but do NOTHING to make mealtime stressful (international adoption book) but the pedi says "make sure she gets her several servings of fruits and vegetables per day." How? She won't feed herself fruits OR vegetables. But yet she went from the 50th percentile to the 90th percentile for weight...so clearly she's not starving....

Anyway. My head. It explodes with the what ifs. What if I'm doing it all wrong? I feel like I am, about 75% of the time. Why don't I have more patience? When will the sleep deprivation get better (ha!)...although we are getting better at nighttime, we still don't get through the night without being woken up twice...once for a full feeding and the other time because one of them starts to make noise and we have to wake up to determine if it's for real or not. And did I mention that on top of everything, I go back to work parttime in one week? And the nanny is wonderful--truly wonderful (experience with multiples twice, mature, hardworking, very loving) but I'm all at once jealous of her and looking forward with such glee and delight to our two full mock days this week, where I will be out of the house but not at work. I will get to have lunch with a friend, I will get my hair cut, I will do some shopping. I will feel guilty.

OK, so the blog title post.

On a particularly trying evening, the Mr. looked at me and said, "Was it too much fun we were having before they got here?"

I answered back, "No, I think it was too much free time we had."

"No, he said, too much going out to eat!"

"No, too much hanging out with friends!"

And back and forth it went.

Too much money.
Too much sleep--glorious sleep!
Too much running on trails.
Too much watching TV.
Too much eating food while it's still hot.
Too much reading for pleasure.
Too much staying up late because we knew we could sleep in.
Too much going anywhere at a moment's notice.
Too much vacations.
Too much, too much, too much.

We had too much of all of these things, and so we gave them all up.

Ha.

From the Mr.'s birthday.

Too much cuteness, indeed!

I'm the last splash...

Today was my birthday.

It was the first one in a long time where I wasn't anxious. I wasn't thinking about the fact that I was another year older and still not a mother. I remember my 31st birthday, the year I knew I would be a mother. Hmph. That was six years ago.

But today, today I am. And it was different. It made a difference. I felt light, happy, some might say ebullient even. That heavy, heavy weight of the question--would I be a mother?--gone.

I took the babies swimming! It was glorious. I received gerbera daisies from a dear friend Gail. I did someshopping, completely alone--divine. And the night will end with a chocolate cupcake filled with a caramel mousse. Oh yes.

I leave you with these photos from my day.

F'ing monkey

I have about six different draft posts right now but alas, I thought I'd share a little diddy about parenthood with the MTLs.

So...bedtime rituals have been established since the get-go and honestly, have overall worked out pretty well. Most nights, the Mister and I are sitting down to a quiet, grown-up meal by 7:15 pm. Now, it does bear pointing out that this is because the meals themselves didn't have to be cooked from scratch.they were meals from that delicious stockpile I froze prior to our trip, or from generous friends who made such things as artichoke spinach lasagna, so no real time was spent in preparation.

Ahhh, 7:15 pm how we loved you so. It was quiet. We could sit down. We could eat (and as anyone who knows us in real life can tell you, the MTLs do love to eat!). We could zone out while watching reruns of the Sopranos, or more recently dive into Project Runway (hello? I love me some Tim Gunn).

But lately, the past five nights or so, change has been in the air. No idea what prompted it but I'm fairly certain the babies are in cahoots with each other because they both decided, with no warning to us, to start holding rodeos in their cribs after they were laid down. During the normally peaceful rock in the rockers while drinking a delicious warm bottle of formula they decided to arch and kick and dance and sometimes squeal. They weren't crying, they just weren't relaxing. And thus laying down in the crib just invited more shenanigans.

So yeah, they didn't start off crying, but sort of ended up crying, and the thing is, with two babies, if one cries you freak out and don't want the other to hear and be disrupted so you probably do things a little differently, rush in a little quicker, try to appease the upset baby with, well, pretty much anything at some points.

After the fourth night the Mr. and I were at our wits end (I know, cry me a river). But we just couldn't figure out what went wrong, what was different (nothing!). It was mission critical time yet again, time to lay our daughter down, and she seemed to be ready. The Mr. held his breath and went to lay her in her crib, hoping for no rodeos and a peaceful drift off to a nice deep slumber like she had always done before.

I stood watching in the doorway, having already laid down our son who was mercifully being quiet...we were almost there! Almost there!

And then.

Where is the f'ing monkey? Mr. MTL didn't shout this (of course not!), but he mouthed-shouted and I could clearly make out what he was saying.

The pink Paul Frank sock monkey that our daughter clutches within an inch of its life when she falls asleep. The monkey! Where the eff was the monkey?

I dropped to my all fours and crawled across the room, desperately scanning under the cribs, under the dresser, under the changing table, everywhere, trying to stay under my son's radar (he has quite the ability to sense our presence in the room and then bam! pop up over the bumper pad, which is at once annoying as heck but incredibly cute), and met the Mr, who had laid our daughter down sans monkey and was desperately trying to figure out what to do next.

It felt like minutes, but I'm sure it was only seconds before I saw him belly crawl across the room to their toy storage and yank out another stuff animal, belly crawl back to the crib (remember: we can't let our son see us, hence all the belly crawling) and stuff it quickly into our daughter's arms, hoping beyond hope that she won't know the difference.

Of course I notice, but before it was too late, that the particular stuffed animal he grabbed was a dog. A barking dog, you know, one of those that if you squeeze in the middle you'll be rewarded with a ridiculous yappy bark.

Oi vey.

She clutched the dog within an inch of its life (maybe the monkey wasn't so special after all?) and we collectively exhaled. Of course we were inwardly gasping for breath, you know, from all the strenous belly crawling everywhere.

We slunk out of the room. I spent an hour worrying that that dog would start yapping and all would be lost, but alas, they slept.

We made it to our safe haven of a living room where we scarfed some food and I drank a--you guessed it!--Diet Coke. Ahhh, aspartame and artificial caramel coloring, how you soothe the tired soul.

So I leave you with two pictures:

I told you she loves that monkey, though in this photo she has clearly loosened her death grip.

This makes me happy.

Uni-tasking.

Multitasking. When did this term become vogue? It actually bothers me now, much like the phrase "think outside the box" or--mega cringe--"paradigm shift". Did I just date myself? Ahem.

But more than just being annoying, I think the idea of multitasking has actually ruined a lot of us. Or ruined a lot of things, like the ability to uni-task <--(made up word I think).

We're praised for multitasking. Go to an interview and get asked to name your strength and many would proudly say "I can multitask with the best of 'em!" The interviewer would smile and nod enthusiastically. Yes! Yes! We want you to do ten things at once, and do them all well.

I am guilty as charged of multitasking. I make lists about making lists and I fold laundry while talking on my hands-free while watching the news while checking my email. Sheesh. The other day I was rocking one baby and rubbing the dog's belly with one foot while using the other foot to keep the rocker in perpetual motion and I'm sure I was going over a to-do list in my head and if I could have been, I would have been folding laundry at the same time. I am always--ALWAYS--thinking of what is next. I say our schedule out loud. We'll be running together as a family of four on an early Saturday morning I'll say to Mr. MTL "OK so next we'll do this, and then after that it's this, and then it will be time for X and Y and of course don't forget Z." And while I'm hearing my out loud voice proclaiming the day's schedule my internal voice is going over the mega list--you know the one--the one that lurks in the background always....things like.... readoption...circumcision (ack). Buy more life insurance. Change financial planners. Make a will (double ack). Etc. etc. etc. But all the while I'm missing the run. The sound of our feet on the pavement, our rhythmic breathing, the feeling of my muscles doing work, my children's coos and babbles as they notice everything around them.

I am not in the present so much of the time which sounds ridiculous because all you can ever be is in the present. When I am in the shower, surprise! I can only be in the shower. I cannot be anywhere else so I might as well enjoy it instead of thinking about what is coming next. One time, I started squeegeeing the shower walls while the water was still running before I realized what I was doing. That's pretty embarrassing.

Regarding parenting--multitasking can ruin that in a heartbeat. You cannot be blogging, commenting, checking email, Facebook, talking on the phone, whatever--while playing with your kids. But yet I adore my Iphone for exactly that reason. Enter-->guilt. Sure, I can semi-play. But I can't really play. Down on their level moving with them playing. And I must admit that I cannot fully experience the wonder of watching 9 and almost-9 month olds really play unless I'm fully in the present with them.
Yeah yeah yeah, mindfulness and being present might as well be 'paradigm shift' of today huh? You read about it everywhere. But it bears repeating, especially to my multi-tasked out brain.

Because, really, if I'm not really playing, down on their level, how will I ever see this?