“I’ve been doing some thinking…”
“Mom and Dad look far too well-rested. How can I cause more mischief?”
“They’ll poop in their pants. They’ll poop on your pants.”
“Apparently riding the dog like a small pony is frowned upon in this establishment!”
Hi Ho Scout!
As part of a campaign to generate awareness about the crisis of premature birth in our country, the March of Dimes designated November as Prematurity Awareness Month. Premature birth is the leading cause of newborn death worldwide. And the rate of premature birth has risen by 30 percent since 1981.
“We need to fight for our little ones so they don’t have to.”
Every year, 1 in 8 babies are born prematurely – that’s more than 543,000 children. This year, that number includes my twin boys. Compared with one baby, twins (or other higher order multiples) in California were about six times as likely to be preterm in 2007. A traditional pregnancy lasts for 40 weeks; full term is considered at 37 weeks. My muppets arrived in the middle of their 27th week – 12 weeks early.
I don’t call them my million dollar miracle muppets just for fun. Care for preemies costs more than $26 billion a year – 10 times greater than the average expense of a full-term newborn. The costs break down as follows:
(These estimates come from Preterm Birth: Causes, Consequences and Prevention, a 2006 report published by the Institute of Medicine and funded in part by the March of Dimes.)
Having a child draws out a wide range of emotions in any case. I remember lying in my hospital bed, watching nervous and excited moms rush into the Labor and Delivery unit. Inevitably, I’d hear the mom or dad gleefully shouting that they were about to meet their new family member. I’d always envisioned that same scenario for my family. Instead, I was wheeled into the OR sobbing, clutching a nurses hand as I chanted “chubby babies, chubby babies.”
Born three months premature, my sons were a tiny two pounds. But from the very beginning they were perfect in all the littlest ways. They each had a distinct personality and a desire to make their preferences known to the world. I am a mother, a mommy to two precious twin boys. My husband and I are parents. But they were not yet really ours. You meet your children and you would do anything for them – then you are faced with the guilt of not having provided enough to keep them out of harm’s way.
I learned so much during the 10 weeks my boys were residents of the NICU. They had the most amazing nurses, who patiently explained everything to my husband and me and cared for the muppets as though they were their own children in the hours we couldn’t be with them in the hospital. Those nurses became family.
Today
My muppets are doing great. They’re great big boys (at five months old) and spend their days smiling and giggling. With each passing day, the NICU becomes more of a distant memory. But for all the families currently going through that experience, I hope someday the NICU nurses are all out of work because they are no longer needed.
November is Prematurity Awareness Month. Chances are somebody you know has experienced the roller coaster of emotions a baby born too soon brings. – it’s far more common than we like to think.
“You have Mom hair.”
I looked at myself in my rearview mirror. It seems the ideal is for youthful long luxurious locks – then you have kids and make the move to a short, no-nonsense minivan-driving look. And I have become that mom. With Mom hair.
When the muppets were born, we bought a new car. It’s not a minivan (I drew the line at that one), but it is a three-row SUV. I laughed at myself then – I was well on my way to soccer-momdom.
During pregnancy, hormone changes cause hair to grow fuller, thicker, faster and just generally all around awesome looking. Perhaps that’s nature’s way of saying, sorry you resemble a beach ball – here’s a lovely frame for your newly full face. Sadly, I spent most of my time sporting a great mane as an accessory to a hospital gown.
I knew that my hair would start to fall out again several months after the muppets arrived. Since I’ve always had long thick hair, I thought I was prepared to deal with the inevitable shedding. But I was definitely not prepared for the actual extent of the shedding that was to occur.
One morning, four and a half months after the muppets were born, I had dragged my sleep-deprived self out of bed and was getting ready for work. I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror. The reflection staring back at me looked like it had a receding hairline. I brushed my hair off to the side, and brushed the thought out of my mind – obviously I was just deliriously tired.
But as I continued to get ready, I noticed my hair coming out by the handful. Strands of hair were all over the house. My desk at work was starting to look like a hair salon with clippings on the floor. I began to wonder if it was stress or lack of rest that was causing such a drastic style change.
That night was bath night. I casually asked Jon if he could tell that my hair looked a bit thinner. “Oh wow,” he commented. “Now that you point it out, I can totally see it.” I was not pleased (with the fact that it really was thinning, not that he commented on it).
Oh. My. Gosh. I stared down at my naked little man splashing around in the tub. My blood pressure started to rise a bit as I realized I was rapidly heading in the direction of matching hair styles with the fuzzy-noggined muppets.
Apparently, this is totally normal. All of my fellow mommy friends laughed at my predicament. Why did none of you warn me about this?! Each and every one pointed out that they had, in fact, told me this was going to happen. Why did none of you warn me about this in a way that made me believe you?!
I generally prefer long hair. I know Jon prefers long hair. But constantly combing out clumps of my hair was driving me slowly insane. The hair that wasn’t falling out was instead falling victim to the vice-like grips of muppet fists, which would then get ripped out if I tried to detach myself from a cuddly boy.
It was time for a drastic change. The hair was getting chopped.
For the record - my outfit was way less frumpy in person...
I think I’ll let it grow out again. When my hair decides to stay firmly put, it’s welcome to be long. Until then, I shall experiment with how to make Mom hair look stylishly chic. And I promise to stay away from the high-waist jeans.
I left the house without my keys this morning. I walked out the front door and stood in front of my car for a full minute, trying to process the problem facing me. Finally, it occurred to me that since the car was locked, I should find someway of altering that situation. I went back inside and promptly forgot why I’d done that.
Back in college, we used to joke that, “Sleep is a crutch!” We’d stay up until the wee hours of the morning talking, then drag ourselves – bleary-eyed – to any class that had the audacity to take place before noon. For two years, I participated in Children’s Theatre. This class required me to be present at 7 a.m., before we costumed up and went to perform teachable lessons at school assemblies around the Bay Area. That is the full extent of my memories of the program. I may have even slept-walked through a couple performances. (I do recall dressing up as a mama bear and a gypsy…)
Then I landed a job that required my tushy to be in my chair at my desk by 6 a.m. (NYSE hours). I still occasionally stayed up through the wee hours – but my definition of “wee hours” rapidly changed: any point on the clock involving double-digits. (In hindsight, I don’t think I’ll even specify between standard and military time.)
Interestingly enough, the muppets have been sleeping far more these days – practically through the night. We even had a stint from 10 p.m. to 5 a.m. this week. But the stress and sleep deprivation of these past five months is starting to catch up with me. I am now fully aware of why they call it “mommy brain.”
A recent Yahoo! Health article points out some of the most common sleep misconceptions. Number one is that people can be “short sleepers.” The article goes on to say that the majority of adults need at least 7-8 hours of sleep, per night, to remain healthy. These scientists obviously do not have children.
According to BabyCenter.com, most muppet-aged babies (I’m averaging actual and adjusted ages) sleep a total of 12 to 15 hours a day, including nighttime sleep and naps. And, around three months, little ones begin to develop more of a regular sleep/wake cycle and no longer require as many midnight snacks.
But in addition to sleeping more at night, Search and Destroy are far more alert during the day. It’s awesome to see them looking around, wide-eyed, as they take in everything new to the world for them. I may complain about the exhaustion from being “on” 24/7, but their discoveries certainly put a new perspective on things.
I have no idea what I’m doing as a new mom. I’m sure being on high-alert in anticipation of their next adventure is what makes me tired – well, that waking up at their every movement to make sure they’re okay. But that absolutely must pale with the exhaustion from trying to learn how to live.
Come to think of it, I’m pretty sure their wonder of learning all things new and exciting includes the genetic predisposition of “Sleep is a crutch!” Why sleep when stuff might be happening?!
The twins photo session has been featured on the “Inspire Me Baby” blog – a publication aiming to providing inspiration for family photography.
The muppets are young celebrities.
“From Keary Dee Photography: I shot these twins just a few weeks ago, but you’d never know they were 3 months old in their pictures. Destroy and Search were born 9 weeks premature. They were in the hospital for about two and a half months before they even got to go home. So at 3 months old, they were finally at newborn weight. The session was so fun and I absolutely ADORE their nursery. It’s Calvin and Hobbs theme! The ginormous brown bear is my favorite :)”
Check out the full article at http://inspiremebaby.com/2010/09/29/inspire-newborn-twins-by-keary-dee-photography/
(Minor correction: The muppets were actually 12 weeks early. Nine would have been fabulous…)
It is 9 p.m. I sit here, with baby vomit in my hair, lamenting the fact that I’ve stayed up so late. With that in mind, I’d like to take a moment to bemoan the day I’ve had in the spirit of Alexander – he of the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.
As you know, the muppets got their four-month shots on Friday. This has left them cranky and wide awake. I, in turn, am also wide awake. The middle of the night has become social time, when all I want to do is sleep – the floor upon which I’m currently standing looks perfectly comfy.
I think I’ll move to Maui.
This morning was a circus. I had to get the boys ready and help try to get Gramma J out the door to the airport so she could go back home. I wish my mom could stay longer. She just barely made her flight and then had to sit on the tarmac for an hour while a mechanic “looked at the plane.” That sounds safe. I think I’m moving to Maui.
Today was the first day the muppets spent with the nanny instead of with Mom or Dad. We’ve got a great nanny (peace of mind is vastly underrated), but I missed my boys. It was hard to leave. I think I should go to Maui.
I was running late for work so I had to participate in my 9 a.m. meeting via Bluetooth headset in my car. We’re in the middle of the technology capital of the world, but my phone can’t seem to hold a call. Instead, the plant I was bringing to liven up my cube fell over in the back seat. Now there’s dirt in my nice new car. I want to go to Maui.
When I finally got to my desk, I discovered the hard drive on my computer was dead. The IT guy told me it’d be a while since he had to see if there was anything he could do about it. I went to get coffee while I pondered how to make myself useful without my laptop. The barista called me Patty. I HATE being called Patty. I’m moving to Maui.
I ran to my next meeting, hot coffee sloshing about and over my old-fashioned pen and paper note-taking technique. No one was in the conference room when I got there. The meeting was canceled, but nobody bothered to share that with me. I think I’ll move to Maui.
When I finally got my computer back, all my permissions had vanished. The technician told me “it should work,” but that didn’t magically make his statement true. I’d really like to move to Maui.
Destroy had terrible gas pains and was screaming when I got home. Nothing I did seemed to make him feel any better. Search was crying because he just wanted to be held. I felt like a terrible mother. I should go to Maui.
After a week, Destroy finally pooped. He had a major blowout that leaked through his diaper onto the changing pad. Somehow I got poo on the curtains while I was changing him. As I reached for a new wipe, a fountain of pee drenched me, the kid and the changing table. I think I’ll move to Maui.
As soon as I picked him up, all freshly changed and clean, he vomited all over me. Again. There’s vomit in my hair. And it’s chunky. Now it’s 9 p.m., and I’m still awake. I think I’ll go to Maui.
But, just as Alexander’s mom told him that sometimes people (big or small) have terrible, horrible, no good, very bad days – even in Australia – I know people have crazy, hectic, stressful exhausting days – even in Maui.
Although, in Maui, at least I’d be in paradise with the world’s cutest muppets…
I thought I’d go ahead and share the update – since I know you’re all dying to find out what happened next.
We did not get a payment for October. We did get a notice of overpayment. Today. For the checks I returned (in person) on Sept. 2. For the time they did not spend in the NICU during the aforementioned latter month.
Jon called to let them know we already made time in our muppet-filled hectic lives to give them their overpayed money back. We even shared the receipt numbers., to which the very nice (not sarcastic) social security lady shared were “pending” in their system. (Tangent – Jon was holding Search during this call. Apparently his multiple muppet noises continuously triggered the voice activation in the phone tree so Jon had to repeatedly endure “I’m sorry, I did not understand.”)
Verdict? Since I returned the checks (My name is on them as the guardian. Yes, even though Jon is equally guarding.), they requested that I call back on Monday to find out if they’ve processed the checks they shouldn’t have printed in the first place. I wonder what additional hoops we’ll get to jump through if they haven’t been processed. (I’ll update this post after the auspicious Monday phone call.)
The epitome of inefficiency.
Social Security is a circus.
This fact was confirmed for me this afternoon. I returned to speak with Social Security for the third time. As I was waiting for my number to be called so I could give them their money back (yes, you read that correctly), I reflected on why this giant government program is in so much trouble.
It is my opinion that the bigger an enterprise gets, the less efficient it becomes. And Social Security may be the biggest of them all. I always thought I wouldn’t have to deal with this treasured government nugget until I was much older. Every so often, I get the little pamphlet telling me that I’d make approximately $7 a month if I retired now; I file them and go on with my life.
Then the muppets arrived. This was my first clue that this experience wouldn’t be simple.
Because they were born under 1,300 grams, they qualified for disability payments. If I may go off on a tangent for a moment – 1,300 grams is a totally random designation. Per their policy, a baby born at 2 pounds 13 ounces is disabled, while a baby weighing in at 2 pounds 14 ounces is just dandy. Reality check – babies of either size are going to spend a significant amount of time in the NICU.
Most babies arrive in a hospital and have their social security number the next day. Not my muppets. Because of their disability (born at 970 and 1,005 grams respectively), they were entitled to $201 per month to supplement their lost income. What income most newborns typically rake in, I do not know. We had to go down to our local Social Security office and meet with a representative to set up payments before they would assign the boys Social Security numbers. And not having a Social Security number is generally frowned upon – especially later in life (when they do actually have income).
We were told we would not receive any money for the first month. This is so Social Security can verify that the children remain disabled. Here’s a thought – if a baby is born premature, chances are they will remain prematurely born. They would receive a check each month (except the first) that they spent even a single day in the NICU.
However:
We were asked to call immediately when the boys come home so no overpayment occurred. Both boys were home by August 9. I alerted Social Security on August 10. On August 15, we received two additional checks. On August 17, we received letters saying we’d be receiving two additional checks. Nothing mentioned why we were getting this. I better call and clarify, I thought to myself.
Nope. This plan of action require there to be a working phone number for the local Social Security office. There is not. Down to the government office went I to wait in line. (Really it’s take a number and sit in a chair, but go with me here.) No one was really able to explain to me what these additional checks were for. But once we got everyone along the same general line of thought, they assured me everything was taken care of. But wait. Even though we gave notice about homecoming at the beginning of the month and went in to personally speak with representatives in the middle of the month, this was not enough time to halt the checks sent out for the month of September.
Our Social Security contact warned us about this. “Happens all the time. You’ll just want to save those checks and bring them back.” Well isn’t that just the picture of efficiency. Print the checks, pay for the postage, send out the money and then ask people to make time to bring it back to you. Let’s try that in reverse and see how well that works out…
That is how I found myself sitting in the Social Security office again this afternoon. I’d returned the checks and was sitting in a chair waiting for the window staffer to find someone authorized to print a receipt for me. (I felt it was well worth the extra time to stay firmly put until I had proof of receipt that I’d returned the checks.)
When I was initially called to the window, I explained the situation and presented the checks. The staffer asked me why I was returning money. I let her know that the boys were premature and had spent time living in the NICU. She asked if the boys had been in the hospital; when I answered affirmatively she said they were entitled to the money. I again explained that they were home now. She instead asked how old they were. After several circles like this, she accepted the checks and went in search of someone who could print a receipt.
Allegedly, everything is now clarified and straightened out. I give it 50/50 odds that the boys receive a check for October.
Yes, they are twins. They are two boys. Yes, they are cute babies.
No, they are not identical; they are fraternal. No, that does not mean identical twin brothers.
Yes, I can tell them apart. How? I look at them.
Thank you. Yes, I have lost all the baby weight. No, I don’t have a big secret. I just didn’t have a third trimester.
Yes, we absolutely have our hands full. Our lives, as well as our hands, were much emptier without them.
Yes, they eat on the same schedule. We’re the parents, that’s why. No, we don’t get a lot of sleep. No we don’t know how we do it either. But we do.
Yes, they are natural. What the heck is an artificial baby?
