Stream of the Conscious

November 14, 2010

G.G.

Cameras and paparazzi at the ready – my grandmother met the muppets this weekend.

GrammaJ and G.G. (short for Great Grandma) arrived on Friday night after a much-delayed flight. Sadly, a morning mechanical issue somewhere in Baltimore prevented G.G. from getting to meet the muppets on Friday. They were fast asleep when we got home.

Saturday morning I awoke to rumblings in the nursery. With a distinct lack of lightening quick reflexes, I rolled over in bed and willed my eyes to open – the boys weren’t screaming yet, so I still had hope for five more minutes. (Won’t they think this story is funny when they’re whining “just five more minutes Mom…” as I try to wake them up for school?) As I slowly entered a slightly more conscious state-of-being, it occurred to me that I could comprehend the nursery mumbles.

I wandered into the boys’ room and found G.G. snuggling with Search as the two rocked back and forth in the glider. They were having quite a conversation – apparently Search had a lot of stories to share. G.G. looked up at me and smiled, “I just couldn’t wait one more minute to meet the honies.”

I’m pretty sure there is some sort of physiological change that occurs when one becomes a grandmother. The brain matter alters and pheromones morph into a baby-soothing drug. Now, much like twins are double the trouble, a great-grandma is twice as nice. Both Search and Destroy spent the entire weekend cooing, chatting and laughing.

Both G.G. and GrammaJ commented that our living room was distinctly beginning to take on the feel of a Toys R Us store. I have a friend who is determined not to let her house turn over to the kids – I have failed miserable at this task. The muppets have all kinds of gizmos and gadgets, special seats and swings. GrammaJ was fascinated with the Bumbo chair.

A Bumbo chair is a foam seat that is designed to support tiny babies and allow them to sit upright, before they can sit on their own. Destroy does not like this contraption. He a) does not like to sit and b) doesn’t really fit. Pudge’s tummy gets in the way of the support so he ends up leaning back awkwardly and screaming to get out. G.G. and I could not stop laughing at GrammaJ’s attempts to convince Destroy to sit in his swanky little seat.

He would much rather stand. When he is lifted over the chair, instead of bending his chubbly little legs, he will arch his back – throwing his head as far back as he can – and then straighten himself out as stiff as a board. So much for cooperation…

So G.G. picked up the cranky muppet, who immediately cuddled up in her lap, eyes wide open as though expecting a story. G.G. and GrammaJ? There was little to no chance of a nap. GrammaJ noted that I was never a great napper – there were things to be done and adventures to be had! G.G. then pointed out that GrammaJ was a quick kid to give up her morning nap as well. And that’s when we learned about the perfume.

Shockingly, this is a family story I had never heard before. This was the muppets first Grandma Winnie story, and it was such a treat to have it involve the mischief makings of my mother.

GrammaJ was about three. G.G. put her down for her morning nap – since she was a big kid, she was dozing on G.G.’s bed. Closing the door gently behind her, G.G. left her sleeping little angel to explore dreamland and went about some of her daily chores.

A while later, G.G. returned to her room. GrammaJ was no longer on the bed. G.G. scanned the room to find Gramma J perched atop the dresser. She looked positively pleased with herself – having scaled the drawers to reach her conquest: mom’s perfume.

She smelled fantastic. G.G. noticed her perfume bottle was lying on its side, with a bit of the contents dripping out onto the wood finish. GrammaJ grinned. “Look at what I have accomplished!” her smile seemed to say. She had drunk the perfume.

G.G. immediately called the doctor. “Well, it’s mostly alcohol. She’s probably just a bit tipsy. But I bet she smells nice.”

I have a strong suspicion that this same scenario would play out very different for this generation. I don’t foresee myself being nearly calm enough to chuckle about an inebriated babe – poison control and emergencies rooms would be in their future.

My weekend with the grandmas was far too short. But I am so excited that the muppets finally got to meet their great-grandmother (and Search’s namesake). It was certainly a fun-filled celebratory weekend, which is why I’ve been slightly MIA for the past several days. I will post pictures and share more of the adventures tomorrow.

As I close out the final evening of my twenties, it makes me smile to feel like a kid again listening to Grandma’s stories. Tomorrow, it’s a new decade – my third.

5 Comments

November 11, 2010

One Family’s Story

So many people have babies born too soon. When Jon and I began our experience as “preemie parents,” I was amazed at how many stories we began hearing. It seemed almost everyone we knew had been touched by an early birth.

I vividly remember the NICU walk every day as we went to visit the muppets.

Now, Pampers has launched “Love Comes Early,” an 8-episode Web series that follows one family as they navigate life in their local NICU and fight to nurse their daughter Addyson, born fifteen weeks premature, to health.

I watched this and it seemed all too familiar. But in honor of Prematurity Awareness Month, I wanted to share since it seems a great way to show you what it’s like – for any parent going through this. Our stories are all different, but all too similar.

6 Comments

November 10, 2010

Mini Me

The muppets are finally feeling better. Sick muppets are stressful.

This past weekend, they finally began recovering just enough to realize they did not feel good. So we had an extreme “hold me” weekend. Search was at least content to lie beside me. Destroy would not rest his well-exercised lungs unless he was firmly ensconced in my arms. On the positive side, Destroy’s continued screams did help clear our some of his congestion.

Needless to say, there was not much time for blogging endeavors.

Grandma Nancy stopped by on Tuesday to visit for the afternoon. Naturally, they immediately transformed into perfect angels. But hey – I’m not picky in the manner with which I encounter happy giggly muppets.

This was Grandma Nancy’s first extended stay alone with the boys. (So I do not begrudge her the halo effect even a little – it means she’ll come back for additional extended alone stays…) Rumor has it the conversations among the three took several trips down memory lane. (You’ve seen the Nanny Diaries documentary; the muppets converse regularly now.)

A popular question asked of me, other than “are they identical,” is “who do they look like?” And who better to confirm such a question than Grandma. The winning answer?

Jon. The muppets look like Dad.

Unlike animated Disney offspring, where sons are carbon copies of their father, the muppets do have some of my features. Search, for example, has inherited the trademark pointy chin found on my side of the family. And he has a similar body type to my baby self – longer and leaner. Destroy, in contrast, has more of a Michelin Man body type, round and rolly.

See for yourself.

Did your children look just like you? Or did you look just like one of your parents?

4 Comments

November 6, 2010

Cold and Flu Season

It’s the 2010 cold/flu season. And the muppets are now the recipients of a 2010 cold.

This is their first illness (other than “tiny”). So naturally, I panicked. Jon called the advice nurse to ask if we should bring them in to see the doctor.

“Do they have a fever?” No.
“Have they stopped eating?” No.
“Is there green goo coming out of any orifice?” No.
“Is he vomiting?” Other than the standard projectile spit-up, no.

I think I could hear the advice nurse rolling her eyes at us. She told us that the muppets have a cold; watch them. Surprisingly, this made sense to me. For some reason, I always assumed that very sick children come with a fever. Instead, Destroy got wheezy.

Grandma Nancy came to visit on Friday. Destroy grinned, coughed and wheezed hello. “Oooh, I don’t like the sound of that,” she commented. That was all it took – Jon immediately made an appointment for that afternoon. He called me at work to let me know of the change of plans.

In a previous life, I likely would have quietly approached my boss and inquire if it would be okay if I left a little early so I could go to the doctor. But now it was about my boys. Mommyhood engulfed me. “I’m leaving to take my muppets to the doctor,” I informed my boss. Sick muppets do not qualify for a debate. (Although, to be fair, this was already a Friday afternoon and I have 24/7 access to work from any location.)

The doctor looked at Destroy’s breathing and said “I can’t let him leave here looking like that.” My eyes widened and my stomach began to sink. I wanted no part of staying in the hospital and there was no way I was going to be able to leave my little man there again. His pulse ox (oxygen saturation level) was 94 and he was experiencing heavy retractions – where the skin pulls tight around each rib on the chest as the child works to breathe.

The day the muppets graduated from the NICU, their pulse ox was 94 – and we were doing a happy dance it was finally so high. But 94 is apparently a bad low number now that they’re big boys.

The doctor decided to try treating him with albuterol, a bronchodilator that helps open up the airways in your lungs to make it easier to breathe. It’s normally used as an asthma treatment, but also works for tiny developing lungs. The medication works by creating a steam that is inhaled through an oxygen face mask.

Destroy wasn’t thrilled with the concept, but he didn’t fight it too hard. And amazingly, he responded phenomenally to the treatment. The doctor even later admitted that she didn’t think we’d be going home that night…

So we were given a crash course on how to work a nebulizer and sent home. Yay! Turns out the biggest complication was when Jon got locked in the pharmacy. (They shut all the large fire doors at closing. I was beginning to wonder if we’d end up spending the night for a completely unforeseen issue.)

This morning, after a wake-up nebulizing albuterol experience, we went trooping back to the doctor for a follow up. Both muppets were getting checked since, even with my limited medical training, I’m pretty sure they have the same virus.

Destroy’s pulse ox was 100. Search’s read low, 96. But the medical assistant looked at him and decided he looked far too healthy to have only a 96 percent saturation level. After a repeat measurement, Search was 99 percent saturated. I then came to the conclusion that yesterday’s technician got the wrong result.

Today’s doctor confirmed – they have a cold. She also thought Destroy responded really well to the albuterol and said, in the grand scheme of sick babies, this is relatively mild. (They still have not experienced a fever and continue to eat like gangbusters.) We can expect the wheezing and coughing to last about one to two weeks – similar to when you or I get a cold and then can’t shake the blasted cough for 7-14 days after we feel better.

In addition to albuterol, this weekend’s prescription involves a significant amount of snuggling. Despite feeling icky, both muppets have maintained their awesomely adorable happy baby demeanor. They just require a lot more holding. They’ve slept a tremendous amount for the past couple days; I am encouraging this because I know that’s what I enjoy doing when I’m sick. But the second I try to put them down, their little snuggle meter blares to life.

“HOLD ME! I NEED TO BE HELD. I DO NOT FEEL GOOD!!!” As soon as I pick them up, I am rewarded with a coo.

Apologies if I appear a bit skittish for the next one to two weeks. Babies get sick. Colds are to be expected (especially during the cold and flu season). But that doesn’t mean I have to like it. I plan to remain on high alert in Mama Bear mode until the muppets are all better.

One final Public Service Announcement: If you are sick, stay home. Keep your cooties to yourself. The muppets don’t want them.

7 Comments

November 3, 2010

The Nanny Diaries

Unlike the manic Monday misery most people feel at the start of each week, Monday is fun-day for the muppets.

Our nanny, Holly, is officially attached to the boys. And boy, do they love her – she’s fascinating, fun and oh so entertaining. For several weeks, Search has greeted Holly with a big grin. This past week, the three of them had a little chat.

Hi. Ink. And arf.

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To the Man in the Mothers Room

Actual sign on the door

I’m not going to lie – pumping sucks. It is zero fun, and has been for the past five months that I’ve been doing it. But, I’ve decided I want the muppets to have breast milk – and producing milk is the one part of becoming mother that has gone exceedingly well.

I was never able to convince the muppets to breastfeed. They learned on the bottle, discovered it was easier and decided to stick with it. Jon and I decided not to stress the issue – after all, there are two of them and it helps to have a partnering waiter when hunger strikes. (Any comments from the peanut gallery about how I’m selfish or lazy will not be approved; this is not the post for that debate. Additionally, they drink only breast milk, so offended advocates are invited to find something better to complain about.)

During their two and a half month NICU residence, I pumped every three hours. Now that they’re home, I pump every three hours or when they wake up during the night. (If they’re not getting up, I’m not getting up.) And of course, I pump at work.

I am well aware that I am luckier than most. My company is very mommy-friendly – they even have stork spots designated for future mommies to park in. (All the closer to the bathroom during the arfing phase of pregnancy.) Each building has a “Mothers Room.” These are equipped with a recliner, small table, phone, refrigerator for the sole purpose of storing milk and counter with sink. One can reserve the room via our corporate calendar system.

As much as I hate gathering up my stuff every three hours to trudge down the hall and attach the S&M-looking system up to make the boys dinner, I have heard many more horror stories about work pumping. I’ve been told of teachers having a traumatic pumping experiences when a young student wanders into a classroom where she is pumping and peeks around the divider set up for “privacy.” A friend of mine is relegated to pumping in a storage closet and recently had to leap behind some of the aforementioned stored equipment when a colleague failed to heed a giant neon sign warning “MOM PUMPING. DO NOT ENTER.”

My ability to pump at work in relative luxury is the reason I have never seriously considered switching the boys over to formula. But it appears the inability to read clearly posted signs, is not an isolated incident.

I have the Mothers Room reserved three times a day through the muppets first birthday: 9:30 a.m., 1 p.m. and 4 p.m. It’s not uncommon for the room to be occupied when I arrive; there are lots of pumping moms. This morning the room was occupied – slightly odd since I work at a generally late-starting company.

I knocked. No response. Usually I’ll hear a mom reply, “Just cleaning up” or “Sorry, didn’t realize the room was booked.” I waited three more minutes and knocked again. Still no response. The door only locks from the inside, and I could see the light on, so I knew someone was in there. Two minutes later I knocked yet again. When the silent treatment continued I told the mystery occupant I had the room booked through the “occupied” sign on the door handle.

Finally, the door opened. A man, clearly annoyed with my constant knocking, walked out. He was in the middle of a personal phone call. He mumbled, “sorry,” and scurried away.

You sir, are not a nursing mother.

So, to the man in the mothers room, the next time you have an urgent need to lock yourself in a room for a personal phone call – might I recommend a storage closet?

In case you missed the prominent sign displayed directly at eye level, this particular room “is provided for nursing mothers to use while expressing milk. Please do not use this room for any other purpose.”

4 Comments

November 1, 2010

Put the NICU Nurses Out of a Job

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 27^th 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:

$16.9 billion (65 percent) for medical care
$1.9 billion (7 percent) for maternal delivery
$611 million (2 percent) for early intervention services
$1.1. billion (4 percent) for special education services
$5.7 billion (22 percent) for lost household and labor market productivity

(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.

6 Comments

October 31, 2010

Happy Halloween

Happy Halloween everyone! This is such a fun holiday for the little ones – cute little kids in warm fuzzy costumes and sleep-deprived parents sporting zombie-like circles under their eyes simply blend in with the crowds.

On this first Halloween for the muppets, they will be helping me hand out candy to the slightly larger little ones traversing the neighborhood in search of fun-size goodies. Our celebration was yesterday.

With lions and tigers and bears – oh my – a number of moms gathered to watch our progeny dive headfirst into a massive sugar high (and ball pit provided for toddler entertainment). Chaos ensued. There were Buzz Lightyears and Jesse the Toy Story Cowgirl, a skunk, giraffe and butterfly. Sadly, the jovial atmosphere was dampened when Mickey Mouse took a bite out of the bear (literally). The bear spent the rest of the afternoon running amuck in his undies – judging by the pattern on those, I suppose he transformed into a fire truck.

But, of course, kings of the jungle were the lion and the mischief-making monkey.

Destroy

Destroy was my little lion and Search was mommy’s monkey. I grew up collecting stuffed animals – I have containers full waiting for the boys and still more stored at GrammaJ and GrampaTavo’s house. Today, my million dollar miracle muppets were by far the cutest and cuddliest stuffed animals to ever exist.

(Momentary tangent: I was completely unsuccessful in my attempts to locate muppet costumes for tiny infants. Apparently they only come in size six months and up, which is too big for the muppets even if they were term size. I figure I have at least one more year of getting to choose their costumes. Who among my loyal readers is crafty enough to create the perfect muppet costumes for Halloween 2011?)

One little boy was wearing an oversized “My First Halloween” onesie. He was one week old. I looked at the tiny man, who weighed in at a hefty seven and a half pounds, and exclaimed, “He’s so tiny!” I had become so used to my little perfect preemies that I hadn’t realized how quickly they were growing up. Not only are the muppets no longer the youngest kids in the crew, they are no longer the smallest!

I was thrilled to actually feel a baby (full term) was small. Look how far we’ve come – and that realization was the best “costume” of the day.

We’ve all had a great time during our first official kickoff to the 2010 holiday season. And Search thinks this weekend’s adventures have been hilarious.

Trick-or-treat!

3 Comments

October 29, 2010

The Great Pumpkin Heist

The muppets are in bed. Last night, they slept for nine hours. I suppose I shouldn’t be that surprised – they’ve had a busy week.

Yesterday, they came to visit me at work – in costume. With so many colors, lights and new people moving all around them, it was quite a bit to take in. Tomorrow we celebrate – in costume again – at a Halloween brunch, followed by candy and trick-or-treaters on Sunday. Before bed tonight, we watched “It’s the Great Pumpkin Charlie Brown.” That cartoon, along with picking out a pumpkin from the pumpkin patch, are some of my favorite spooktacular memories of childhood.

As G.G. mentioned in the Tiny Disguises post, Halloween has become quite an important holiday – at least in terms of childhood memories. So, in anticipation of the muppets future memories, we decided to tell scary stories reminiscing about the past.

Much like me, a pumpkin from the patch was a traditional part of the haunted holiday for Aunt J. One year, Joanne became determined to procure a “real” carved pumpkin. Back in the days before open land was parceled into suburban track homes, there was a 40-acre field across from the house she lived in – where a farmer happened to have a bumper crop of autumn fruit.

Her best friend (and trouble-courting sisters) had already successfully managed pluck their own from the farmer’s field. They said it was easy. All she had to do was walk onto the field and chose her favorite.

Joanne was young, daring, adventurous and innocent. She decided she was brave enough to attempt the perfect great pumpkin heist. She had the courage, naiveté and peer encouragement. What she did not have, however, was timing. The caper commenced right after school, at the mysterious witching hour of mid-afternoon. She approached the field with caution and selected the prime, perfect, plump pumpkin. Then she started making her way home.

G.G. and Gramma J were watching the caper from afar.

Joanne saw them. She did not see the farmer watching her every move. As she crossed the field, so close to completing her mission, the farmer headed her off at the pass. Joanne froze. Her pumpkin splattered.

And she high-tailed it out of that field as fast as her little legs could carry her. Trembling, and scared to death, the budding criminal was bursting with adrenaline as she galloped across field – the farmer on his tractor in hot pursuit.

Gravely concerned for their daugher/sister’s well being, G.G. and Gramma J practically collapsed, convulsing in hysterical laughter.

Joanne did not return home with her pumpkin.

Boys – do not steal pumpkins. We will make our own adventures at the pumpkin patch.

2 Comments

October 27, 2010