Kim's Journey To Motherhood

Four Months

Dear Emma and Ellie—

Four months.  I cannot even fathom it.  Four months ago I was going into the hospital for my routine twice-weekly ultrasound (carrying twins brings a lot of tests to your door) and I ended up staying for five days and leaving with you two in my arms instead of inside of me.  

Four months seems such a small period of time compared to the lifetimes we’ve lived inside of it.  

This month you…

learned to roll over more reliably

got a new caretaker. Your babysitter on Wednesdays  S, is awesome and takes such good care of you guys.  Brooklyn approves.

helped me celebrate my first Mother’s Day as a parent

in your continuing trend of media domination were in the newspaper 

went up north to the Shack for the first time.  This is huge as it means so much to your Daddy and me to see you guys in Papa Mac’s shack up north.  One day you’ll learn all about him and understand why.

You guys are so different yet so much the same.  It became clear to me this month that you guys are like The Dude and Walter from The Big Lebowski.  Ellie is The Dude and only gets riled up when necessary but generally has a very zen outlook on life.  Emma, well, you’re Walter and you’re fired the hell up.  You two interact the same way as well.  It cracks us up.  

Happy four months, Bug and Goose.  Here’s to a summer of fun.

Love,

Your Mama

——————-

Dear Emma:

So much medical drama this month.  Turns out that the flat spot on your head is getting worse and your torticollis isn’t getting better at the right pace to help the flat spot.  That means for three months or so—over the summer no less—you’ll have to wear a helmet to help your head grow in the right direction.  You also are going to physical therapy to help with the neck turning issues.  It’s not going to be easy to see you in that helmet, but hopefully you don’t notice and we can all just make it through the next few months without too many tears on that front.  

Plus, your daddy already got you awesome decals for your helmet and even bought himself headgear to wear in solidarity with you so you two can be “helmet buddies.”  If that isn’t adorable, I don’t know what is.

(this is your daddy’s helmet on you)

You are sassy and loud, little one.  You are learning about the volume of your voice this month.  What once was a coo or a giggle is now a scream or a shout.  Most of the time it’s adorable. Sometimes it’s frustrating…not going to lie.  But really, even when it’s frustrating, I can smile about it later.  Boom away.

Now that you’ve discovered how fun it is to roll over you will not stop.  Like will. Not. Stop.   It’s funny because your sister was the first one to roll over and yet she isn’t as impressed with it as you are. You’re all over the place any chance you get.  Most mornings we find you on your side.  

You are the overachiever your mommy is.  And you brag about it about as much as your mommy does.  Good for you.  People need to know about your accomplishments.  

Keep booming.  Keep turning.  Keep holding the world accountable to your every need and whim.  You will, no doubt, hold us all to our promises.

Love you always, Goose,

Mama

————-

Dear Ellie:

When your sister started yelling so much I wondered if you’d ever feel the need to talk. Maybe she’d do all that for you.  While your yelling doesn’t hit the same level, you’ve recently started talking.  it’s this low grade mumbling talk that no one understands but you seem perfectly content using.  I think you believe that we understand you.  I wish I did, sweetie.  I wish I did.  

You have powerful legs.  Your only task is to learn how to stand on them and then you’ll be off to the races.  One time this month you nearly collapsed the whole play mat and gym because you wanted to tear down the monkey…with your legs.  Daddy and I joked that you were bringing that drug kingpin in for questioning and that the owl and the lamb were patsies in his scheme.  I think you play along with that to satisfy us, so thank you.

Sometimes your reflux is better, sometimes it is worse.  As you grow, that will happen.  I hope you don’t keep it your whole life like I have, but you might.  If you do, know that I literally feel your pain and we’ll work through it together.  I have a feeling once you can eat solid foods we’ll be better off.  Just hold on, little one.  

You absolutely love Sesame Street.  You watch Elmo and the other characters with great joy.  We don’t watch a ton of TV, but that’s one show I watched as a kid that I can’t imagine not being in your life.  It’s different than it was when I was little, but I think we love it just the same.

It’s funny to watch you when you’re in your zen mode.  

You’re so calm and collected.  So unlike me.  So very able to relax and take it all in.  I never thought I’d be jealous of a baby, but here I am trying to learn patience from you.  Go figure.

You are a wonder, Ellie girl.  Such an amazing baby.  You are and will always be my zen master.

Love you, Bug,

Mama

When someone tells me that they got pregnant their first month trying

whatshouldwecallinfertility:

I’m also seeing a lot of second kid pregnancies on FB this month.  Same face to that as well.

When I feed the baby…

whenyouhavekids:

… when its breast milk from the boob:

… when it’s breast milk from a bottle:

… when it’s formula:

… when it’s home-made puree from organic vegetables from a local farm: 

…when it’s homemade purees from grocery store fruits and vegetables:

… when it’s pre-made purees from a jar: 

… when it’s a french fry:

… when it’s Dr. Pepper: 

I mean, feed your baby however gets he job done, but I’ll draw the line at soft drinks…

Three Months

Dear Emma and Ellie—

This month has moved you truly from newborns to infants.  And in that time, your personalities have shined through like I dreamed of when you weren’t even a glimmer in my eye.  I’m not going to lie, the first two months were hard.  I can handle it. I handled it.  But enjoying it wasn’t always possible.  This month, I started to enjoy it.  

Your smiles light up a thousand rooms in a million buildings on countless planets.  You bring such joy to all you meet.  

This month you…

Celebrated you first St. Patrick’s Day.  Your daddy insisted—against my wishes—to dye one of your bottles green.  Your poop the following day was, well, green. Really green.  

Celebrated you first Easter.  Met my cousin and her children.  

Both rolled over successfully from tummy to back multiple times and Ellie even rolled over from back to tummy once. 

Learned to grasp things intentionally.  Including my hair, my lip and your daddy’s glasses. 

Celebrated your first baseball opening day.  

WERE ON TV! 

You have packed more into a month than most pack into years.  I was just lucky enough to be around for the ride.  

I also had to go back to work this month. I was not looking forward to it.  The job I’m in right now is not right for me. It was supposed to be a layover on the way to better things.  It has been, but I’m still stuck.  But I’m working on ways to get unstuck.  As much as I love spending time with you, my time away from you has made it easier to be your mom and enjoy it.  I’m learning to be the new me, and sometimes it takes coming home to your two faces to know what that means.  

A year ago I was desperately waiting the start of the IVF that would bring you into our lives.  A year ago I had every idea of what a mother’s love could be and this year I know what a mother’s love is.  I honor the journey infertility brought me every single day.  You are not the end to that journey.  You are a beginning to the rest of my life.  The journey is mine and I hope that you never have to feel that burden in your life.  

Your fourth month will be even more amazing.  You’re starting to sleep more through the night and while you might not think much of it, this makes for happier parents and that benefits EVERYONE.  So keep it up.  And hopefully, the weather will cooperate and your first baseball game in person will happen in a few weeks.

The thing that is the most wonderful about you is how you already love and comfort one another.  You have been known to calm the other one down when she needs it or bring a smile when the other one is sad.  You feed off of one another and while sometimes that means double duty for us, it will always mean double the love for you.  I’m sure you’ll fight like siblings always do, but you already have a bond that I admire.  Don’t lose it.

I love you.  You are my world’s greatest wonder.  

Love always,

Your mama

————-

Dear Emma—

You are going to get everything you want in this world.  How do I know? Because at just three months you have learned to melt hearts around you and move people to action in ways I have seen dictators and muses struggle with in my lifetime.  A smile and coo from you and the world comes a running.  A grumpy face and cry and your every need is met.  You, my girl, are a drama queen of your mother’s ilk and don’t ever forget it.

Here’s the difference: I’m not going to make drama queen sound like a bad thing.  You get on with your bossy dramatic self.  You get what you want.  There is nothing wrong with using what you have to get what you want as long as others aren’t harmed in the process.  Too many girls are encouraged to cover that up.  You will never been one of those girls.  Ever.

You are already trying to sit up and you are definitely talking, but we just don’t know what you are saying.  I can imagine you at the UN one day demanding a peace treaty or economic terms to an agreement.  You are not going to take shit from anyone.  Good. We need more girls and women like you.

You have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow to see how the flat spot on your head is doing. I think it’s better. Your neck strength is definitely better.  I just hope you don’t have to get a helmet.  You will have a fit with that, I just know it.  

Stay strong and proud, my dear.  Keep learning the world around you.  Keep melting hearts and kicking ass and taking names.  Don’t be afraid to ask for what you need and want.  I won’t be afraid of telling you no, but it’s worth a shot.  Good practice.

I adore you, Emma Anne.  

Love,

Mama

——————

Dear Ellie—

You fascinate me.  Sometimes I’ll watch you as your sister fusses and coos and you’re just sitting there, taking it all in.  Some might wonder if she’s taking up all of the attention you want.  I think you don’t want it.  You’re too busy inspecting the world to see how it works.  You might not be the most vocal, but you might be the most knowledgeable.

Emma learned to smile first, but you, my friend, you have the big smile down pat.  You don’t always feel the need to bust it out, but when you do…your whole body smiles.  You move in a new way.  You are a new person.  You become your smile and it explodes across the room.  

You do not hold back.  You are still moving all over. The minute you get this walking thing down, you’re running.  I just know it.  I may have to rethink my apprehension about child leashes once you start walking.  I can just imagine the places you’ll run to and the things you’ll climb up on.  The rate at which you are busting out of the tightest swaddles is only alarming for sleep purposes.  It’s reassuring for growth purposes. 

Your reflux is getting more controlled and I couldn’t be happier about that.  I feel like we’re finally turning a bit of a corner on that and you can be the kid you’re meant to be. I see so much of your Papa Mac in you.  And just when I think you’re all Mac, you give me something that’s so…well, me.  Keeping it interesting, huh? I like that.

Keep moving little one.  Keep challenging my world view…the way only you can.  

I am amazed by you, Bug. 

Love, 

Mama

What Infertility Gave Me for Motherhood

Infertility is a real prick. No one doubts that. And parenting after infertility is full of pitfalls and emotions that parenting without having gone through infertility just doesn’t have.  But that doesn’t mean it also doesn’t have it’s upsides…if you let happen it will.

• Superstition like never before.  A note written on a post-it with the number “787” written at the top. It was my third beta score.  It is still in my cup of binder clips on my desk at work. I refuse to throw it out.  

• Badassery.  When I think that motherhood or parenting is too tough, when I’m ready to throw in the towel for the day I remember all of those months, those years, those minutes that seemed like eternity waiting for a phone call from the clinic…and I remember that I’m stronger than damn near anything put in my path.

• A sense of indifference.  My children were created by biology, patience and science and through the use of chemicals.  To worry too much about the smallest things in the hopes that they’re all-natural babies seems a bit dishonest. (Not that I expose them to things they shouldn’t…just that I don’t flip out when something happens to be around them that isn’t all-organic-all-natural-all-the-time.)

• The Inability to Complain Too Much.  Everyone gives me the “It was hard enough with one, I don’t know how you do it with two” speech.  Again, I don’t know what one is like so it’s an empty comparison for me.  At the same time, even if it were harder, I don’t think I could complain too much at the end of the day knowing that I am the captain of this ship and I wanted this.  I get upset? I dance it out.

• Preparation for Advice Onslaught.  New mothers get a shit ton of advice.  Yes, shit ton is a proper measurement.  You know who else gets advice? Anyone who admits they’re going through infertility.  It’s easier to deal with the advice about motherhood when you’ve had people feel like they had access to talk about your reproductive organs for any length of time.

• Mad Patience.  My kids don’t sleep through the night yet. It’s probably a bit early. But there are other babies that do at this age.  Each time I think about it I get myself worked up about it.  But I then am able to manage my expectations in a way that I think takes the kind of patience only years of infertility and loss can give you.  The same is true of many parenting situations that I’ve been in during these short three months.  It’s all difficult. A lot of it blows.  But it’ll pass.  And if it won’t, I’ll deal with it.   I am filled with patience and strength that I haven’t even begun to show.
• 

See, it’s not all for naught.  I’d rather not have gone through it.  But that doesn’t mean I can’t pick out the good that came from living it.  I’m not Wonder Woman.  I’m just massively learned in not getting your way in this world when you want to.  That lesson goes a long way.

Especially at 5 am when you’re up feeding two babies who don’t want to focus and eat and your allergies are acting up and there’s literally snot running down your face because you do not have a free hand. Literally.