Who knew strep throat could be a full body experience? I had no idea, I barely remember the last time I had strep throat - high school maybe? - but on Monday morning, my journey began.
I woke up Monday morning with a scratchy, raw throat, the kind that is brewing under the surface with the promise of lots of pain to follow. Sierra, the oldest twin, had come down with a fever and scarlet rash last week, which was then diagnosed as strep throat (her antibiotics almost immediately took care of her symptoms luckily), so I just knew that it was my turn. I'd escaped so many of their illnesses this winter, having only come down with one short-lived cold myself the entire season, but the misery of strep throat, I knew, loved company.
Driving Quinn to school, the body chills and aches started, a sure sign that a fever was coming, too. I dropped him off and since I still haven't found myself a good primary care physician, I immediately drove to the MinuteClinic at CVS in the next town north of us. I winced at the stiff cool breeze as I loaded the twins into the double stroller, piling in their snacks and books to keep them busy. Luckily I was the first patient of the day, the girls ogling the Nurse's every move on their Mommy; taking my temp, swabbing the back of my throat, the heartbeat clip on my finger, taking my blood pressure (always very low, 102/64 today), checking for swollen glands under my chin... Shockingly, the strep test came back "negative", but they would still send it out to a lab, and we'd get those results the following day. Guess my gut had been wrong, though I knew my throat would not be.
So, I winced again at the breeze as I reloaded the twins back into the van, and since it was apparantly just a virus, I figured I'd better get some necessities from the store since I could just feel I'd be in no shape to do it again soon. We hit the post office, texted my husband 'my turn to be sick', and then my head started swimming the whole way through the grocery store; I picked up whatever I saw and thought we could use, apples, baby carrots, cinnamin swirl bread for the girls... I even bought Ibuprofin, and I do not take pills, I just never do, not for allergies, not for headaches, nothing. I firmly believe that my body can heal most anything, but I had to give in to this particular evil within. We stopped back at school and picked Quinn up, and upon arriving home with all three ducks in a row, all hell broke loose within my body.
My throat was completely blocked, that full, blubbery pain in the back where you feel like you're gagging, and you just can't swallow and each time you try to swallow, a horrible pain shoots out. I also knew I had a fever; I was shivering and trembling, so so cold, like I was standing outside in subzero temperatures, yet sweating bullets at the same time, all while making the kids lunch, anything I could throw on a plate to fill their little bellies before I could put two of them down for naps and only have one left up to neglect. I knew my afternoon would involve me and the couch, and if the girls were napping, at least I could keep Quinn occupied in other ways while I melted into the cushions.
I apologized to the kids that Mommy wasn't being much fun just then. I told them that Mommy was really very sick, but that I just needed to lay and I'd be better and able to play again soon. I got the girls layed down for naps, comfy clothes on for myself, and directed Quinn to the armchair with his VTech Learning Tablet to babysit him while I layed on the couch next to his chair. And oh my God, it all hurt. I'd taken the ibuprofin but it was not doing anything. Every single bone in my body hurt, I'm guessing all my joints were inflammed. My skull ached, my neck and every vertebrae in my back was on fire, my knees and legs and pelvis were killing me, and yet I couldn't stop shivering despite the heavy down blanket I was covered up with. It's the kind of cold that starts from the inside, radiating from my bone marrow, stretching out from within, spreading up and down my skin. I know people say some pain is like being hit by a truck, and I can totally understand that - but it's not like the aftermath of being hit, it's that moment of impact when you can just feel your body shattering and the pain is numbing and you can't hear anything because your ears are smothered by the sounds of an explosion.
Of course the girls didn't nap that day - why would they? Of all days that I just needed them to nap and be indisposed for a little while, where they'd be safe and happy and resting peacefully? Not Monday, my worst Monday ever. I'd dozed for maybe 25 minutes on the couch before I had to give in to the calling for Mommy, and I knew that I really shouldn't let Quinn veg-out on his tablet for much longer anyway. It was an absolutely beautiful day - sunny and almost 70, one of our first spring-like days after a very long, snowy winter. I managed to cut up some apples and grab a box of Angry Birds (graham crackers), somehow managed to get Quinn's and the girls jackets and shoes on which is a daunting task even on the best day.
The kids were overjoyed to be outside in the nice weather. They flew like little birds from the backdoor, cheering and smiling, their arms in the air, the warm breeze rustling their soft hair feathers. Within minutes they had their jackets off, like pink and orange and bright blue leaves decorating the ground in the yard. I grabbed my hat and winter coat, and sat on the back deck stairs, still freezing even in the warm air - okay, "sat" is a graceful to describe me, I was slumped like a slug across the two steps between the patio and the deck, but the sun was warm on my black yoga pants and the patio was warm on my legs, and truthfully, unless one of the kids was in danger, I couldn't have moved even if I'd wanted to.
I layed there watching them, through tears (from the fever, not from crying), as they were jubilently swinging on the swingset, pushing toys around the deck, playing bus stop with the wagon, eating their snacks from colored bowls on the deck, giving me a teasing look as they threatened to go up two many rungs on the ladder or attempt the slide on their own. I would call out safety instructions every now and then - 'don't go any higher', 'don't walk in front of the moving swing'...- and apologies - 'sorry Mommy can't push you on the swing today', 'sorry I can't play tag'. Thankfully, Doug got home at 5 that night, which is early for him, and he took them for a walk, the girls in the wagon and a bike ride for Quinn, while I somehow mustered the energy to boil and bake something for dinner. Then I layed down on the couch and mentally and physically checked out.
In my fevery dreams, I tossed and turned and could hear things taking place around me - the kids got home from their walk and ate dinner, Doug gave Sierra her amoxicillin, he spent a long time doing dishes after dinner while the kids ran around the house, jumping on me and eventually playing in their book room. He wrangled the girls to bed and bathed Quinn, and at some point, he came back to see what I needed. My temp was 102, my body was still aching and my joints burning, I wasn't hungry, my throat raw, but I ate some apple slices to take more ibuprofin, and it must have done some good because I actually fell asleep. I vaguely remember walking up the stairs to my own bed, bringing an extra blanket to cover up my freezing body.
Tuesday morning dawned just the same as the night had been. I gagged on the giant lump in my throat, which only made it hurt worse, and I pulled on a cardigan sweater over my pajamas, as if a very uncool tribute to Kurt Cobain, and went downstairs and prepared the kids breakfasts slower than a snails pace. I laid my greasy head on the table while they ate, since I had no bowl of my own, telling them again that "Mommy is still really very sick, I'm sorry I'm not talking very much". Lots of television ensued that morning, as I layed on the couch under my down-blanket cocoon, coming out more frequently than I really wanted to but I had to get them snacks or diaper changes or other things. I took them down to the playroom, and I layed at the bottom of the steps so they couldn't get past me if I happened to close my eyes for a minute; surely I'd feel them crawl over top of me, right? I prepared lunch very slowly, again, just putting together things with very little preparation involved that could still pass as a meal. I found I could still do some things as long as I moved slowly and if I whispered the word of what I needed to get (cheese, cheese, cheese, cheese; grapes grapes grapes grapes), so I wouldn't forget what they needed before I got there to retrieve it. I can only imagine how crazy I must have seemed, but luckily the kids aren't old enough to know what crazy is, or to be alarmed by it.
I got the girls down for a nap and halleluh, both girls slept that day! I succumbed to Quinn's repeated requests for a tv show (I'm sure he sensed my state), and he layed on the couch with me, under his own little blanket, as I dozed in and out during that wonderful 30-minute reprieve. I heard my phone ringing it's vibration on the counter, but I was powerless to answer it. After a little while, I heard Kelsey wake up, so I grabbed my phone on my way out from picking her up. The kids sat on the couch watching yet another show (sorry little brains, I'll make it up to you somehow). Under my downy shield, I listened to a voice mail - CVS got my strep test back from the lab and it was "positive"! 'Thank God', I thought! At least it was something treatable and not a wait-it-out kind of sickness anymore.
Sierra awoke moments later, so I let her join in the show while I slowly prepared snacks for the car. I left the girls in their regular shirts and sleeping pants, and put the girls dress shoes on them because the slip-on option was much more appealing than tie laces or even zipper boots, even if they looked like the cutest little clowns you ever did see. Quinn was excited that he didn't have to wear shoes in the car. And off to the drive-thru cvs pharmacy we went. I was so dizzy, my head was swimming, but I had to get those pills, though I probably had no business operating a motor vehicle that day. I picked up my penicillin and drove home, resuming my place on the ground/steps in the back yard so the kids could play (yes, I made Quinn get shoes after all). I had put a frozen pizza in the oven for dinner, which I served with baby carrots. Cardboard Dinner served everyone (hey, they were organic carrots though!). Doug came home at 6 and took over again.
By Wednesday morning, I was still in pain, achy from another sleepless night and the inflammation, but Quinn was now complaining of a sore throat. We thought it might have just been an act, because he was still chasing his sisters around, playing, jumping off the couch, doing his usual routine, but we decided I'd better take him into the doctor. Doug stayed for a little while that morning to help with the kids so I could shower, and he set the appointment for 10 a.m. We left at the same time, him to the office and me making another shaky drive with three precious cargos in the car to get to the pediatricians. Quinn was positive for strep (brave little guy didn't even flinch when they swabbed his throat), so they tested Kelsey, too - also positive. I'd had three doses of penicillin by them and an ibuprofin that morning, so my bones weren't quite as painful and my fever was coming down so the shivering was at a lull, but my head was still throbbing and I was barely holding it together mentally, just enough to function.
We drove to the Rite Aid pharmacy, and went next door the grocery store to buy more popcicles and milk. The girls were being rambuncious in the double stroller, squealing and trying to grab their brother, making it hard to steer, and when Quinn wasn't playing "can't touch me" with the girls, he was running up and down the aisles (some show of sickness...). My head was pounding and my vision was all shaky because I was dizzy, my field of vision bounced and rattled with every step I took. My neck hurt, but cracking it only made the dizziness worse. We went down the bread aisle, Quinn skipping ahead of me and step-dancing, when my ears picked up the sounds of the terrible Muzak that was playing overhead, a provocative techno beat and strange raspy vocals talking about "we don't have to rush tonight, baby, let's take our time tonight" or something along those lines, and in my head I'm thinking how that's highly inappropriate for a grocery store on a Wednesday morning, and it's so incredibly loud and pulsing. The girls are hanging out of the stroller, my arm is breaking under the weight of the gallon and a half of milk, Quinn's dancing and probably drawing attention to the odd music, and I notice an old woman in the aisle with me, and I'm sure she's embarassed by the song (assuming her hearing aid is turned up to hear it). I catch a wave of dizzy and try to head us up the aisle toward the checkout, and two more elderly folks turn the corner, and in my head, I imagine they're hearing the song, too. As we turn out into the main aisle, there are 5 more white-haired people, and I'm surrounded and can't help but smile because I'm completely lost in my head, feeling like I'm having some kind of strange drug-induced trip, but it's only penicillin, and listen to those horribly sexy words being blatantly sung loudly to all these old people. I actually laughed out loud, it was too much for my fragile mind to handle, too funny not to recognize, and we pushed our way to the self-checkout because I just need to get the hell out of there. We paid, and I gulped in warm, moist air as we leave the store, to pick up the kids' medicines. The same song is playing in Rite Aid, but it's much quieter and there aren't any old people, and I just feel sick to my stomach. All I can think is, 'What was all that?'
At any rate, we got back to the comfort of our own home, and I'm putting the kids lunches together with a little more ease this time. I was surprised that both Quinn and Kelsey had come down with it; yes, I know it's highly contagious, but they'd been acting perfectly fine, hadn't had any symptoms. If their poor little throats felt anything like mine did, or if their little bodies were just as achy as mine, I felt so bad that I hadn't noticed, or worse, that they'd caught it from me and there I'd been lost in my own feelings of illness to consider this. I don't know if it was the timing of the penicillin and that maybe it was finally doing it's job, or the fact that I realized that my babies were sick, but I was suddenly able to put my own sickness aside to focus of their needs. I started Quinn and Kelsey's doses of amoxicillin, continued Sierra's rounds, seeing all our medicines lined up at dosing time was quite a sight. I read them books despite my raspy, still sore throat, cuddled with them, tried to cook them healthy, less-shortcut meals, focused and tried to spend time just playing whatever they wanted to play. It was actually really nice to just BE with them for a change, instead of worrying about all the other things on my "To-Do" list that I knew I had no hope of doing (like painting, building shelves, etc) since I wasn't fully recovered myself.
By Saturday, everyone is mostly back to normal, other than needing to continue the meds even though the kids think they're feeling better already. 10 days it will be, not a day less - I'm not taking the chance that this horrible round of strep comes back. I'm in no hurry to ever feel that way again! So thankful that it is all over now... Fingers crossed we've met our quota on sicknesses for this winter season. Bring on spring!
Saturday, April 13, 2013
Monday, January 28, 2013
First Solo-Playdate Anxiety
I'm having some serious mommy guilt right now, and questioning my judgement and parenting skills. Quinn is on his first ever solo playdate, without me!, and I'm suffering with my decision to let him go.
Last week, I accepted an invitation for Quinn to go over to a classmates house for a playdate. No problem, right? The little girl had been to our house a few weeks ago, had a nice lunch and some fun playtime, and we've been to other playdates at other classmates' houses and they've always played well together. She is a wonderful little girl, so sweet and precocious and friendly, and her mother is always very warm and inviting when I see her at their school; she frequently offers to help me as she sees my hands are full with three kids. Plus, they live only a few blocks away from our house. It occured to me on the drive to their house today that, wait a minute - how well do I really know them? Sure people may appear nice on the surface, but what if I'm completely naive and miss something? What if they have a torture chamber in their basement? What if they skip town with him and I never see him again? Should I have been to someone's house before leaving my child there? Checked for hidden dangers or red flags or proper childproofing? Does this make me a terrible mother, maybe I didn't do my due diligence before sending him to a new place? What if he gets there and he's scared or sad to be away from me? What if my assurances to him about his safety aren't true? And I can't help but loosely remember a quote from "Girl with the Dragon Tatoo" - something about the urge to offend someone being stronger than the urge to flee a sense of danger. Should I have had that talk with him already, about the inappropriate touching and not keeping secrets from us? Ugh, I've completely dropped the ball!
And am I really ready for him to go over to someone's house without me? There are other friends whose houses I would not have any concern sending him to, places we've been more time than I can count; maybe I should have practiced there first? And it's not even that I have any reason whatsoever to be concerned about the current playdate - I guess I'm just having some separation anxiety myself.
We pulled up to the house, and I went around to get Quinn out of his seat. He suddenly realized that I wasn't staying this time, and he was understandably a little anxious and started the "But Mommy, I'll miss you" and "I want you to stay, too" as we walked up to their door. I assured him that he would be perfectly fine, and that we only live a few blocks away, and he can call me or come home anytime he's ready. I nervously reminded him to be a good friend and remember his please and thank you's. We were barely able to knock before the door swung open, and the little girl was beaming at his arrival. I walked him inside and was met by the mother, a big grin on her face and super relaxed and inviting. It was warm and clean in the rooms I could see, and it seemed open and bright; nicely decorated, not cluttered, comfortable but orderly. Quinn threw off his coat and shoes, and ran to play with his little friend, so I could tell that his anxiety had faded, but I had a heavy heart as I smiled back, finalized the details of his return home, mentioned that he might be scared of their dog (which she said would stay on their back porch, no problem), and slowly walked back to the car (where the twins were waiting and asking why they couldn't go to play, too).
I brought the twins home and fed them lunch. We read three books, changed diapers, and sang a couple songs before laying them down for their naps. They went to sleep immediately, peacefully, both tired from restless nights and having been under the weather for a couple weeks now. I made myself some lunch, surprisingly ate it while it was still hot!, and then slowly realized how quiet the house is. Part of me is a little excited for some time to myself - it's rare to have some time alone in the afternoon, when I feel more motivated and think I might actually be able to accomplish something. Even when the girls are sleeping, most days I tidy up the lunch things and do a little dinner prep, but then I play with Quinn and truly enjoy the one-on-one time we have together. So then the other part of me speaks up and misses him being away right now, and starts to question whether he's okay over at his classmates' house, whether I made a good decision to let him go... So instead of being productive (not that writing on this blog isn't productive!), I find myself just killing the time until I see him come down the street, up onto the porch, and back into our home, and into my arms.
I know that he's <probably!> perfectly fine where he is, and is <probably> having a pretty good time right about now. And I also know that it's <probably> just my insecurity and inexperience making me feel guilty about letting him go. I know that the first time leaving him at a friends house will be the hardest time, and that it's a totally normal thing to and will happen more and more frequently now that he's getting older (5!). For now, I'll just keep looking out the window until I see them walk around the corner (oh no, it's snowing! Did I dress him warmly enough? Will he be cold?). Waiting to hear his footsteps again...
Sigh...
Last week, I accepted an invitation for Quinn to go over to a classmates house for a playdate. No problem, right? The little girl had been to our house a few weeks ago, had a nice lunch and some fun playtime, and we've been to other playdates at other classmates' houses and they've always played well together. She is a wonderful little girl, so sweet and precocious and friendly, and her mother is always very warm and inviting when I see her at their school; she frequently offers to help me as she sees my hands are full with three kids. Plus, they live only a few blocks away from our house. It occured to me on the drive to their house today that, wait a minute - how well do I really know them? Sure people may appear nice on the surface, but what if I'm completely naive and miss something? What if they have a torture chamber in their basement? What if they skip town with him and I never see him again? Should I have been to someone's house before leaving my child there? Checked for hidden dangers or red flags or proper childproofing? Does this make me a terrible mother, maybe I didn't do my due diligence before sending him to a new place? What if he gets there and he's scared or sad to be away from me? What if my assurances to him about his safety aren't true? And I can't help but loosely remember a quote from "Girl with the Dragon Tatoo" - something about the urge to offend someone being stronger than the urge to flee a sense of danger. Should I have had that talk with him already, about the inappropriate touching and not keeping secrets from us? Ugh, I've completely dropped the ball!
And am I really ready for him to go over to someone's house without me? There are other friends whose houses I would not have any concern sending him to, places we've been more time than I can count; maybe I should have practiced there first? And it's not even that I have any reason whatsoever to be concerned about the current playdate - I guess I'm just having some separation anxiety myself.
We pulled up to the house, and I went around to get Quinn out of his seat. He suddenly realized that I wasn't staying this time, and he was understandably a little anxious and started the "But Mommy, I'll miss you" and "I want you to stay, too" as we walked up to their door. I assured him that he would be perfectly fine, and that we only live a few blocks away, and he can call me or come home anytime he's ready. I nervously reminded him to be a good friend and remember his please and thank you's. We were barely able to knock before the door swung open, and the little girl was beaming at his arrival. I walked him inside and was met by the mother, a big grin on her face and super relaxed and inviting. It was warm and clean in the rooms I could see, and it seemed open and bright; nicely decorated, not cluttered, comfortable but orderly. Quinn threw off his coat and shoes, and ran to play with his little friend, so I could tell that his anxiety had faded, but I had a heavy heart as I smiled back, finalized the details of his return home, mentioned that he might be scared of their dog (which she said would stay on their back porch, no problem), and slowly walked back to the car (where the twins were waiting and asking why they couldn't go to play, too).
I brought the twins home and fed them lunch. We read three books, changed diapers, and sang a couple songs before laying them down for their naps. They went to sleep immediately, peacefully, both tired from restless nights and having been under the weather for a couple weeks now. I made myself some lunch, surprisingly ate it while it was still hot!, and then slowly realized how quiet the house is. Part of me is a little excited for some time to myself - it's rare to have some time alone in the afternoon, when I feel more motivated and think I might actually be able to accomplish something. Even when the girls are sleeping, most days I tidy up the lunch things and do a little dinner prep, but then I play with Quinn and truly enjoy the one-on-one time we have together. So then the other part of me speaks up and misses him being away right now, and starts to question whether he's okay over at his classmates' house, whether I made a good decision to let him go... So instead of being productive (not that writing on this blog isn't productive!), I find myself just killing the time until I see him come down the street, up onto the porch, and back into our home, and into my arms.
I know that he's <probably!> perfectly fine where he is, and is <probably> having a pretty good time right about now. And I also know that it's <probably> just my insecurity and inexperience making me feel guilty about letting him go. I know that the first time leaving him at a friends house will be the hardest time, and that it's a totally normal thing to and will happen more and more frequently now that he's getting older (5!). For now, I'll just keep looking out the window until I see them walk around the corner (oh no, it's snowing! Did I dress him warmly enough? Will he be cold?). Waiting to hear his footsteps again...
Sigh...
Tuesday, January 8, 2013
Five blessed years ago...
Five years ago tonight, I was in the throws of labor with my first born child, my handsome, inquisitive, wonderful son Quinn. He was initially due on January 1st 2008, supposed to be a New Years Baby, but there we were, a week later before he was finally coming full steam ahead. My pregnancy had been amazing - I did prenatal yoga, ate what I was supposed to (well, baby wanted cupcakes, and baby always gets what he wants!), took walks 5 days a week, tried to reduce stress at work, dreamed about names and nurseries and all the things that go along with planning for a baby. Other than some heartburn in the last two months, I didn't have any issues or complications. I was one of those annoying woman who loved being pregnant and literally just glowed!
I was finally admitted to the hospital on Tuesday afternoon, the 8th of January, after three days of Braxton-Hicks contractions, two days of seemingly real contractions, and then having a non-stress test and biophysical profile at the hospital - I went to my doctor's office Tuesday at lunchtime to talk about an induction since the baby was over a week late, and she found that I was 5 cm dilated and ready to go to the hospital to have this baby. After 26 hours of labor (despite having wanted a natural birth, I caved and took an epidural halfway through), 4 hours of pushing, and an emergency c-section, Quinn was finally born into our lives.
I have such vivid memories of that remarkable day - I will never forget the thoughts and emotions (fear of change and of pain, feeling overwhelmed, sheer joy, the impatience of just wanted to hold him) I had on the insane 12 minute drive from our condo to the hospital; hearing the static electricity in the air in the hallway while walking the halls, getting ice chips and popsicles, and leaning on the wall during contractions; how warm and soft the blanket on the bed felt on the cold skin of my legs felt when I had to lay down to be monitored; kneeling on the bed over the headboard and seeing the TV's reflection in the glass of a picture on the wall, hearing my Mom and husband laugh about the episode of Family Guy that was on; the feeling of neverending pushing, feeling so exposed and desperate for him to be born already, and then the feeling of being rushed to the operating room. Not long after that feeling, I had the most important moment of my life - seeing my baby boy for the first time. He didn't cry at first, just looked around with those big inquisitive eyes; I swear he gave me a look immediately, like he knew me already. I can honestly say that the past five years with him, getting to know him, teaching him and learning from him, have been the happiest of my life.
It has been an amazing journey that we've had together, from learning all the things that go along with infancy and toddlerhood, and now as we're looking ahead to kindergarten next year. It was "Me and Quinn against the world" for awhile there, and I treasure those memories. He has taught me how to be a mother, and he is in my thoughts every minute of the day. I dream of him at night, and love waking up to him crawling up our bed in the morning. He is such an amazingly smart and caring boy, so skilled and strong at so many things, and he is learning in leaps and bounds on a daily basis. I'm completely in awe of him!
He has truly taught me the meaning of life and love. For him, I have had to think about things in the immediate and things 18 years into the future. For him, I have given up many things of myself, but have not regretted it for one minute. I will always try to protect him from hurt and the bad things of the world. I will always try to help him process his feelings and to be sensitive to the feelings of others. I want him to know that he can do anything he sets his mind to, and there are no limits to how far he can go. And I want him to know just how much I truly love him, to the very depths of my heart and soul, and I am immensely proud of him and thankful to be his Mommy. He will always be my first little love, and I look forward to so many more birthdays to celebrate together. Happy 5th birthday, my sweet little boy, Quinn!
I was finally admitted to the hospital on Tuesday afternoon, the 8th of January, after three days of Braxton-Hicks contractions, two days of seemingly real contractions, and then having a non-stress test and biophysical profile at the hospital - I went to my doctor's office Tuesday at lunchtime to talk about an induction since the baby was over a week late, and she found that I was 5 cm dilated and ready to go to the hospital to have this baby. After 26 hours of labor (despite having wanted a natural birth, I caved and took an epidural halfway through), 4 hours of pushing, and an emergency c-section, Quinn was finally born into our lives.
I have such vivid memories of that remarkable day - I will never forget the thoughts and emotions (fear of change and of pain, feeling overwhelmed, sheer joy, the impatience of just wanted to hold him) I had on the insane 12 minute drive from our condo to the hospital; hearing the static electricity in the air in the hallway while walking the halls, getting ice chips and popsicles, and leaning on the wall during contractions; how warm and soft the blanket on the bed felt on the cold skin of my legs felt when I had to lay down to be monitored; kneeling on the bed over the headboard and seeing the TV's reflection in the glass of a picture on the wall, hearing my Mom and husband laugh about the episode of Family Guy that was on; the feeling of neverending pushing, feeling so exposed and desperate for him to be born already, and then the feeling of being rushed to the operating room. Not long after that feeling, I had the most important moment of my life - seeing my baby boy for the first time. He didn't cry at first, just looked around with those big inquisitive eyes; I swear he gave me a look immediately, like he knew me already. I can honestly say that the past five years with him, getting to know him, teaching him and learning from him, have been the happiest of my life.
It has been an amazing journey that we've had together, from learning all the things that go along with infancy and toddlerhood, and now as we're looking ahead to kindergarten next year. It was "Me and Quinn against the world" for awhile there, and I treasure those memories. He has taught me how to be a mother, and he is in my thoughts every minute of the day. I dream of him at night, and love waking up to him crawling up our bed in the morning. He is such an amazingly smart and caring boy, so skilled and strong at so many things, and he is learning in leaps and bounds on a daily basis. I'm completely in awe of him!
He has truly taught me the meaning of life and love. For him, I have had to think about things in the immediate and things 18 years into the future. For him, I have given up many things of myself, but have not regretted it for one minute. I will always try to protect him from hurt and the bad things of the world. I will always try to help him process his feelings and to be sensitive to the feelings of others. I want him to know that he can do anything he sets his mind to, and there are no limits to how far he can go. And I want him to know just how much I truly love him, to the very depths of my heart and soul, and I am immensely proud of him and thankful to be his Mommy. He will always be my first little love, and I look forward to so many more birthdays to celebrate together. Happy 5th birthday, my sweet little boy, Quinn!
Saturday, December 15, 2012
Typing through Tears
"Senseless" does not even begin to cover the act of violence that took place at the Sandy Hook Elementary School yesterday, Friday, December 14th. As a mother, as a woman, as a human being, I just cannot fathom why such young children could have been targeted by such a cruel act. I'm just so distraught over it all, as is the entire country - I don't have a vested interest, I don't know anyone who was affected, I haven't suffered a loss because of it myself, but everytime I think of it right now (all those innocent little children), I break down in tears. I was distracted enough yesterday not to focus on it too much, but today, being away from my own children, in several public shopping places while doing some Christmas shopping with my husband (while his parents took my babies to the playground), it was all I could think of, and I found it hard to think about anything else.
My "put yourself in their shoes" sentiment is to blame. All I can think of are those poor little faces in their last moments; their little eyes and soft chubby pink cheeks looking up to the door when that goddamn shooter entered the room, how scared they must have been, how they just wanted their Mommy's and Daddy's to make it all better. I think of the parents of those poor angels, how they said Goodbye to their babies Friday morning, never knowing that it would be the last time they'd see them or hold them warm in their arms. How they would have to walk into their little ones' bedrooms and know they'd never get to tuck them into bed again, never see their smiles and hear their little voices, so alive with awe and enchantment and curiosity for the world opening around them. This will always be the Christmas when they lost part of their hearts, part of their own souls. They'll have to return gifts that they'd so carefully planned out, hoping at that time to see their beloved's faces light up on Christmas morning when opening the perfect gift. It will never be okay. Nothing could ever make up for their loss, and my heart bleeds for them.
I think of my own babies and how I would feel if anything ever happened to them. But I have to stop right there, because I just can't go to that place and torture myself; I could never wrap my head around having to be without them after loving them for so long. As I hug them now, I hear their little hearts beating in their chest, see the blueness of their veins and capillaries below their fair skin, imagine the thoughts they're having and the questions and ideas they're forming in their heads, watch them play and chatter and just breath. I can't hug them tight enough, can't make them understand just how much I LOVE THEM; all I can do is tell them every chance I get, show them by giving extra hugs and kisses, try to be more patient and understanding, and just stop cleaning the kitchen or whatever else I feel is important at the time, and just be there WITH THEM. At least I still have the chance to do all these things, unlike those poor children whose lives were cut short and those poor parents will have to miss them forever and ever.
Everyone wants someone to blame, someone to take the fall for this, some way to take action to stop this from happening to others, some constructive way to come to terms with this, since that bastard took his own life after ending so many innocent ones for no apparent reason. It doesn't seem like it's enough for him to burn in hell for eternity - he took the easy way out and he cannot be punished now. I hope for the parents sakes that a clear motive comes to light, so there isn't just a huge question mark of why this bastard did this; nothing will fill the holes in their hearts, but for so many questions surrounding it to remain unanswered would make it that much worse, in my eyes. Why did he go to the school that day at all, if he'd already killed his own mother at their home? What did those poor children have to do with anything? What was it that made him target certain classrooms? Was it quick and painless? Why did his mother have those guns to begin with? Why? Why? Why?
Many people are now petitioning for stricter bans on gun control, which I am in support of - I can understand the right to protect oneself and having rifles for hunting game, whether to provide food for ones family or as sport, but I don't think that semi-automatic and assault weapons need to be accessible to the general public, not even with a background check (apparently this particular shooter was honor roll and had no history of mental illness or criminal action, so bans probably wouldn't have stopped the sale to him anyway). I know that "guns don't kill people, people kill people", but I have to hope that measures could be taken to deter attacks on innocent, young children. If only it were possible to have more security at schools and public places - that may not have stopped this shooter either, as it seems he forced his way into the school - such as metal detectors, locked doors, video cameras at the entrances... something to protect these children who cannot protect themselves. If he'd tried to buzz in at an entrance with a camera, and they could have seen him and said he couldn't come in without removing his coat or where ever he was hiding his weapons, maybe it could have been avoided. Maybe if there were metal detectors at school doors, it might deter someone from even bothering to enter that building. I know that profiling and judging by someone's appearance is supposed to be wrong, but if it could save a life, so be it. I'd do anything to protect my children, all children... It's just not fair that they'd ever have to see this sort of thing firsthand, let alone know about it at all at such a young age. They should be thinking about Christmas and Disney castles and race cars and games, they should be able to see school as a fun place to learn and play and make friends, not what it became yesterday. We can only shield them from the cruelty of the world for so long, if only we could shield them from these random acts of violence.
I'm tempted to keep Quinn out of preschool and stay at home with my babies until after the holidays, but then I'd have to give him a reason why (and who's to say that it's any safer after the holidays...), and I'd never want him to know about what happened to those poor children, or for him to realize that something like that could ever happen to him or at his school. I'm hoping by getting some of this out of my head, out through my fingers, I might be able to overhear some snippet of this story on the news without breaking down into tears. I don't know how to come to terms with all this yet, I hope it doesn't destroy my usual optimistic outlook, because then he (the shooter) will live on in my fear, and I definitely do not want that.
Quinn caught me with tears in my eyes this afternoon. I was lost in thought while emptying the dishwasher; the quickest thing that came to mind was to say that I miss my family at the holidays, which is true. He came over and pulled me down to him, and he hugged me the tightest squeeze ever, rubbing my back. It was all I could do not to cry even more, just feeling his little body in my arms, feeling his heart beat against mine, the pure innocense in his gesture. He said "I'm your family, Mommy, and the girls will be, too, when they get up from nap!" I sighed, rubbed away the tears, and said "And I love you more than you could ever know.", to which he rolled his eyes and said "Mommy, I know", but then smiled as he went back to his toys. I closed the still-full-dishwasher and went to play with him. The dishes could wait, but I could not wait to just spend time with him and enjoy ever precious moment we have together. If I can learn anything from the horrific tragedy yesterday, it's to just be in the moment and enjoy every second I get with my babies, breath them in, make memories, and do everything I can to make them know just how much I do love them.
Sweet dreams to the angels that were lost yesterday and to the adults who were also lost along with them; may they all remember how much they were loved here on earth and not be afraid anymore, and may their families take comfort in the sweet memories that they had together. #typingthroughtears
My "put yourself in their shoes" sentiment is to blame. All I can think of are those poor little faces in their last moments; their little eyes and soft chubby pink cheeks looking up to the door when that goddamn shooter entered the room, how scared they must have been, how they just wanted their Mommy's and Daddy's to make it all better. I think of the parents of those poor angels, how they said Goodbye to their babies Friday morning, never knowing that it would be the last time they'd see them or hold them warm in their arms. How they would have to walk into their little ones' bedrooms and know they'd never get to tuck them into bed again, never see their smiles and hear their little voices, so alive with awe and enchantment and curiosity for the world opening around them. This will always be the Christmas when they lost part of their hearts, part of their own souls. They'll have to return gifts that they'd so carefully planned out, hoping at that time to see their beloved's faces light up on Christmas morning when opening the perfect gift. It will never be okay. Nothing could ever make up for their loss, and my heart bleeds for them.
I think of my own babies and how I would feel if anything ever happened to them. But I have to stop right there, because I just can't go to that place and torture myself; I could never wrap my head around having to be without them after loving them for so long. As I hug them now, I hear their little hearts beating in their chest, see the blueness of their veins and capillaries below their fair skin, imagine the thoughts they're having and the questions and ideas they're forming in their heads, watch them play and chatter and just breath. I can't hug them tight enough, can't make them understand just how much I LOVE THEM; all I can do is tell them every chance I get, show them by giving extra hugs and kisses, try to be more patient and understanding, and just stop cleaning the kitchen or whatever else I feel is important at the time, and just be there WITH THEM. At least I still have the chance to do all these things, unlike those poor children whose lives were cut short and those poor parents will have to miss them forever and ever.
Everyone wants someone to blame, someone to take the fall for this, some way to take action to stop this from happening to others, some constructive way to come to terms with this, since that bastard took his own life after ending so many innocent ones for no apparent reason. It doesn't seem like it's enough for him to burn in hell for eternity - he took the easy way out and he cannot be punished now. I hope for the parents sakes that a clear motive comes to light, so there isn't just a huge question mark of why this bastard did this; nothing will fill the holes in their hearts, but for so many questions surrounding it to remain unanswered would make it that much worse, in my eyes. Why did he go to the school that day at all, if he'd already killed his own mother at their home? What did those poor children have to do with anything? What was it that made him target certain classrooms? Was it quick and painless? Why did his mother have those guns to begin with? Why? Why? Why?
Many people are now petitioning for stricter bans on gun control, which I am in support of - I can understand the right to protect oneself and having rifles for hunting game, whether to provide food for ones family or as sport, but I don't think that semi-automatic and assault weapons need to be accessible to the general public, not even with a background check (apparently this particular shooter was honor roll and had no history of mental illness or criminal action, so bans probably wouldn't have stopped the sale to him anyway). I know that "guns don't kill people, people kill people", but I have to hope that measures could be taken to deter attacks on innocent, young children. If only it were possible to have more security at schools and public places - that may not have stopped this shooter either, as it seems he forced his way into the school - such as metal detectors, locked doors, video cameras at the entrances... something to protect these children who cannot protect themselves. If he'd tried to buzz in at an entrance with a camera, and they could have seen him and said he couldn't come in without removing his coat or where ever he was hiding his weapons, maybe it could have been avoided. Maybe if there were metal detectors at school doors, it might deter someone from even bothering to enter that building. I know that profiling and judging by someone's appearance is supposed to be wrong, but if it could save a life, so be it. I'd do anything to protect my children, all children... It's just not fair that they'd ever have to see this sort of thing firsthand, let alone know about it at all at such a young age. They should be thinking about Christmas and Disney castles and race cars and games, they should be able to see school as a fun place to learn and play and make friends, not what it became yesterday. We can only shield them from the cruelty of the world for so long, if only we could shield them from these random acts of violence.
I'm tempted to keep Quinn out of preschool and stay at home with my babies until after the holidays, but then I'd have to give him a reason why (and who's to say that it's any safer after the holidays...), and I'd never want him to know about what happened to those poor children, or for him to realize that something like that could ever happen to him or at his school. I'm hoping by getting some of this out of my head, out through my fingers, I might be able to overhear some snippet of this story on the news without breaking down into tears. I don't know how to come to terms with all this yet, I hope it doesn't destroy my usual optimistic outlook, because then he (the shooter) will live on in my fear, and I definitely do not want that.
Quinn caught me with tears in my eyes this afternoon. I was lost in thought while emptying the dishwasher; the quickest thing that came to mind was to say that I miss my family at the holidays, which is true. He came over and pulled me down to him, and he hugged me the tightest squeeze ever, rubbing my back. It was all I could do not to cry even more, just feeling his little body in my arms, feeling his heart beat against mine, the pure innocense in his gesture. He said "I'm your family, Mommy, and the girls will be, too, when they get up from nap!" I sighed, rubbed away the tears, and said "And I love you more than you could ever know.", to which he rolled his eyes and said "Mommy, I know", but then smiled as he went back to his toys. I closed the still-full-dishwasher and went to play with him. The dishes could wait, but I could not wait to just spend time with him and enjoy ever precious moment we have together. If I can learn anything from the horrific tragedy yesterday, it's to just be in the moment and enjoy every second I get with my babies, breath them in, make memories, and do everything I can to make them know just how much I do love them.
Sweet dreams to the angels that were lost yesterday and to the adults who were also lost along with them; may they all remember how much they were loved here on earth and not be afraid anymore, and may their families take comfort in the sweet memories that they had together. #typingthroughtears
Wednesday, October 17, 2012
Quake 4.0
We suffered an earthquake yesterday - and by suffered, I mean that I'm suffering because I DIDN'T EVEN FEEL IT! A 4.0 magnitude quake pinpointed in Maine (where there've apparently been several earthquakes over the past few years...who knew! as a former/hoping-to-be-again-Geologist, I should have!). The shaking was felt throughout the Boston area, and even further west into parts of New York; no tsunami's were spawned though, unfortunately...
It was a little after 7 p.m. when I had gotten the kids into the bathtub - Quinn went first, and then the twins went together, about 7:15 p.m. Quinn had run upstairs to get clean pajamas (since he'd missed the potty and peed on the first set... hohum), when Doug called from the kitchen "What was that?". Seconds later, his phone signaled a new text, from our neighbor Jamie, who asked if our "...house just shook, too?". Apparantly, the bathing of two two-year-olds was distraction enough for me to not even notice the house shaking. My excuse is that my house is generally shaking anyway, especially leading up to my three children's bedtimes! Oh well, the quake didn't cause any injuries or damage anywhere, just cool stories for everyone else but me... but then, the more I thought about it today, I realized that I actually do have a little story related to the legendary "2012 New England Earthquake".
I'd taken the kids for a walk just before dinner yesterday, to peep at the beautiful shades of leaves and skip stones across the lake. We got home about 5:30 to find the neighbor's black lab (mix?) dog, Tucker, sitting on our front porch. Tucker is often out wondering the neighborhood, chasing garbage trucks, accepting treats from the mailman so he'll leave him alone, pooping in everyone's yards (despite my telling him that it's not my birthday and please don't leave me anymore presents!), chasing baby strollers being pushed past the house, escorting small children blocks away much to the chagrin of their frantic parents. Just last week, I had to intervene when a police officer was going to take him away (book'm Danno!) because he was running amuck and wasn't wearing a collar. My kids love Tucker, and have always yelled gleefully to him out our front window; they pet him and hug him whenever we see him out, and he often comes over to say "Hello" when we get home from somewhere, but he always goes home easily when I tell him to. Not yesterday though...
We arrived home, with the twins in the stroller and Quinn walking along. As I said, Tucker was sitting on our porch, which is something he never does, and when I unlocked our front door, he tried to get inside. He was whimpering and definitely seemed upset about something. He went over to the captive girls in the stroller, let them pet him and hug him, licking their faces and hands. He went over to Quinn standing in the driveway not far from me, walked under his hand for a pet, and then came over to me. He jumped up on me, but gently-so, and he just looked at me. I nicely told him to get down, and he whined and layed against my legs so I could pet him. I thought maybe he was just upset about being outside, that maybe he wanted to be inside his house. Quinn asked what was wrong with Tucker, and I said maybe he was hungry or thirsty.. Tucker kept whimpering and coming back to me, going up on the porch. At the time, I didn't think too much of it, though it was odd behavior for Tucker (I did scan him for bites, thinking rabies; I feel bad for thinking that of him now). We were about to serve him a bowl of water, when, about 5 minutes later, the Nanny poked her head out the door and called for Tucker, who had gone back up on my porch. I told him he had to go to his house, that Sam (one of the 21 month old twins he belongs to) needed him to play, and I took him by the collar and walked him across the street. The Nanny met me part way, and I told her he was acting funny, and she led him inside his house.
We went about the rest of our day and night - craziness while making dinner, eating of dinner, more craziness while cleaning up from dinner, bathtime times three, said earthquake, bedtimes times three. This morning I happened to think about it more, and had an epiphany - maybe Tucker sensed that something was coming. I know I've heard about animals sensing when earthquakes or other "forces" are impending. It dawned on my that maybe Tucker had been trying to tell me that he was worried about something happening, that he could sense something was off-balance and unsettled in nature or all around. Looking back, thinking about the odd way he had been acting, the whining and whimpering, his affection toward the kids but focused attention to me, and his relectance to leave - Tucker knew.
I was hoping that we would see him outside today, but I could only hear him barking out a window. Granted the earthquake didn't amount to anything this time, but if there had been a disaster coming, it would have been amazing if he'd been able to tell me, to warn me to take care of my babies. I have a newfound respect for Tucker. While I'm not quite ready to accept "gifts" on the front lawn, I won't be so quick to tell him to go home anymore.
It was a little after 7 p.m. when I had gotten the kids into the bathtub - Quinn went first, and then the twins went together, about 7:15 p.m. Quinn had run upstairs to get clean pajamas (since he'd missed the potty and peed on the first set... hohum), when Doug called from the kitchen "What was that?". Seconds later, his phone signaled a new text, from our neighbor Jamie, who asked if our "...house just shook, too?". Apparantly, the bathing of two two-year-olds was distraction enough for me to not even notice the house shaking. My excuse is that my house is generally shaking anyway, especially leading up to my three children's bedtimes! Oh well, the quake didn't cause any injuries or damage anywhere, just cool stories for everyone else but me... but then, the more I thought about it today, I realized that I actually do have a little story related to the legendary "2012 New England Earthquake".
I'd taken the kids for a walk just before dinner yesterday, to peep at the beautiful shades of leaves and skip stones across the lake. We got home about 5:30 to find the neighbor's black lab (mix?) dog, Tucker, sitting on our front porch. Tucker is often out wondering the neighborhood, chasing garbage trucks, accepting treats from the mailman so he'll leave him alone, pooping in everyone's yards (despite my telling him that it's not my birthday and please don't leave me anymore presents!), chasing baby strollers being pushed past the house, escorting small children blocks away much to the chagrin of their frantic parents. Just last week, I had to intervene when a police officer was going to take him away (book'm Danno!) because he was running amuck and wasn't wearing a collar. My kids love Tucker, and have always yelled gleefully to him out our front window; they pet him and hug him whenever we see him out, and he often comes over to say "Hello" when we get home from somewhere, but he always goes home easily when I tell him to. Not yesterday though...
We arrived home, with the twins in the stroller and Quinn walking along. As I said, Tucker was sitting on our porch, which is something he never does, and when I unlocked our front door, he tried to get inside. He was whimpering and definitely seemed upset about something. He went over to the captive girls in the stroller, let them pet him and hug him, licking their faces and hands. He went over to Quinn standing in the driveway not far from me, walked under his hand for a pet, and then came over to me. He jumped up on me, but gently-so, and he just looked at me. I nicely told him to get down, and he whined and layed against my legs so I could pet him. I thought maybe he was just upset about being outside, that maybe he wanted to be inside his house. Quinn asked what was wrong with Tucker, and I said maybe he was hungry or thirsty.. Tucker kept whimpering and coming back to me, going up on the porch. At the time, I didn't think too much of it, though it was odd behavior for Tucker (I did scan him for bites, thinking rabies; I feel bad for thinking that of him now). We were about to serve him a bowl of water, when, about 5 minutes later, the Nanny poked her head out the door and called for Tucker, who had gone back up on my porch. I told him he had to go to his house, that Sam (one of the 21 month old twins he belongs to) needed him to play, and I took him by the collar and walked him across the street. The Nanny met me part way, and I told her he was acting funny, and she led him inside his house.
We went about the rest of our day and night - craziness while making dinner, eating of dinner, more craziness while cleaning up from dinner, bathtime times three, said earthquake, bedtimes times three. This morning I happened to think about it more, and had an epiphany - maybe Tucker sensed that something was coming. I know I've heard about animals sensing when earthquakes or other "forces" are impending. It dawned on my that maybe Tucker had been trying to tell me that he was worried about something happening, that he could sense something was off-balance and unsettled in nature or all around. Looking back, thinking about the odd way he had been acting, the whining and whimpering, his affection toward the kids but focused attention to me, and his relectance to leave - Tucker knew.
I was hoping that we would see him outside today, but I could only hear him barking out a window. Granted the earthquake didn't amount to anything this time, but if there had been a disaster coming, it would have been amazing if he'd been able to tell me, to warn me to take care of my babies. I have a newfound respect for Tucker. While I'm not quite ready to accept "gifts" on the front lawn, I won't be so quick to tell him to go home anymore.
Sunday, September 30, 2012
2 X 2 (Two Times Two)
First, I'm sorry for the hiatus in writing this blog. The end of the summer really blew up, from playdates and excursions, to home improvements that contractors were doing (patio, lighting) and those that we ended up doing ourselves. We ended up painting the entire downstairs ourselves - I painted the entryway over three days, and the kitchen and back hallway over a week (damn trim!), and Doug and I spent 8 hours painting the living room and dining room over two nights after putting the kids to bed, plus I spent another two hours doing finish work. We saved $2400 dollars doing the painting ourselves, and I just wanted new color, our colors to decorate the walls in time for the twins' birthday party (I'm hoping to paint all the trim before Thanksgiving), which I spent the past two weeks actively planning, and actually setting up for over the past week.
After the wall color was done, I immersed myself in planning the Mickey Mouse Clubhouse theme and everything to go along with it - I just wanted everything to be special for them, to go all out like I did for Quinn's parties, and quite honestly, I think it was easier to immerse myself in the party details than to admit that - oh my God - my little baby girls are turning 2! Now that the birthday party has come and gone, I can't help but face those emotions and remember their birth story, and I'm forced to come to terms with my feelings of probably never having a one-year old ever again, for the rest of my life. Yikes!
I'm definitely remiss for not telling it before now, but I truly treasure the story of my twins' birth (no gorey details, don't worry!), (I treasure Quinn's, too, of course, but I'll tell that another time). I'd found out in February 2010 that I was having twins. I was only 6 weeks pregnant but after having had a miscarriage a few months before, I was worried that something was wrong when I had spotting again. Thankfully, we found that aside from that fact that I was having twins, everything else was progressing normally. We had sold our condo in Watertown in May 2010, moved to a cute little apartment in Concord, and after a summer of househunting with my two year old boy in tote, we finally moved to our Sudbury home at the end of August 2010. I spent three weeks cleaning the apartment and then the new house, packing up the apartment, unpacking in Sudbury, and attempting to decorate and prepare for the twins' arrival, Friday, October 1st arrived. That day was a whirlwind - we had a playdate with our friend Stacy (and 2 year old Peter and newborn Sara) in the morning, then I feverishly unpacked the last boxes, made three meals for the freezer, took Quinn to the playground, and made a dinner of baked chicken, steamed green beans, and baked potatoes - my first clue that labor was eminient should have been that I ate an entire breast of chicken, which I had been having strong aversions to my entire pregnancy (I could cook it for Doug and Quinn, but I couldn't get it anywhere near by plate without literally gagging). I bathed Quinn, kneeling in the massive bathtub so I could reach him, not minding that I ended up soaked, too, just enjoying laughing and playing with him. He seemed so little then, so small wrapped in my arms in his lion towel, growling in the mirror afterward with his most ferocious voice that still came off soft and sweet with that smile and those little baby teeth. I read him three stories, and then layed with him in his new big-boy bed, holding him under his covers. He asked me to tell him a Lucky story (stories I make up for him, based on a horse my grandparents once had), which I did, and then we said his prayers. About the time he drifted off, I felt a strong POP in my stomach, much stronger than one of the babies kicking me. I knew what it was - my water had broken. I layed there debating whether to tell him that I was going to be having the babies, but I decided against it, thinking it better to let him go to sleep peacefully in his own bed, instead of him waking up more now, with questions and concerns. I held him a few seconds longer than normal, kissed his soft, fragrant hair, and crawled out of his bed. I caught a glimpse of him sleeping as I left the room; putting his gate in his doorway, I couldn't help a light groan as I felt the water break more. I rushed to the bathroom; Doug came to the doorway - he had been in the living room, just settling into his leather recliner for some Friday night beer and TV, but I think he knew that my sound leaving Quinn's room meant something. I told him my water had broken, I sat on the toilet trying to wrap my mind around the fact that this was "IT", waiting for contractions. I don't remember what he might have said to me; we both knew that we needed someone to come stay with Quinn until Doug's parents could get to us from southern Vermont. I left a message with one friend while Doug tried another, and I called my doctor in Cambridge who told me to get to the nearest hospital. Long story short, we got the neighbor across the street to come sit until another friend from Arlington could get out to our house to wait for Doug's parents to make the three hour drive from VT.
We left for the hospital around 9:30 p.m., my contractions were painful and about 90 seconds apart, and grew to only about 45 seconds apart very quickly. It was a beautiful night - it was warmish but the air was crisp, it had rained earlier in the evening, but had cleared up by this time. It smelled of wet woods outside, and there were stars everywhere and a bright moon was overhead as we drove Doug's truck through rural parts of Sudbury and Concord. We arrived at Emerson Hospital, parked close to the door, where I had parked many times for a prenatal yoga class over the weeks before moving. I stopped and looked up at the sky, and asked Doug to do the same, despite his urging to get inside - I just wanted to stop and remember being a parent of one, remember being pregnant, grasp that we would VERY SOON be welcoming TWO BABIES. I took a deep breath of the crisp air, took one last look at the stars, let out a deep sigh with a wave of contractions, and we went inside.
I was the only one in labor when we arrived that night. They already had my records (thanks to Mount Auburn for forwarding them so quickly, so late at night!) and greeted us at the door, already knowing our names and that we were coming, and they'd already contacted a second team of doctors, nurses, and pediatricians, since we'd be needing two teams of labor staff, since I was having twins! It's strange but I remember every moment of that first part of the night with acute detail - we arrived through a certain door that made a specific sound, we went to the desk just inside where there was a vase of pink carnations, went left to the first room in the hall, I used the bathroom first and remember the scent of the soap there, then was monitored on the bed along with two monitors, one for each of the babies. My contractions were at least every 45 seconds, very intense but I could talk in between. I remember it all almost with a feeling of static electricity; I felt very aware of my surroundings, remember specific conversations and feelings, wishing I'd asked them to see if I'd dilated on my own before doing the ultrasound to confirm that Twin A was still breach and that I'd require a c-section. I remember using the bathroom one last time before making that walk to the operating room, waiting on the table for all of the various doctors and nurses and specialists to arrive, waiting for the epidural which was required for the c-section. I remember Nurse Ellen letting me squeeze her hand so many times when contractions would tighten and wrap up across me every 30 seconds in that stark white, bright room while we waited for more people in blue scrubs to appear as I went in and out of awareness. Pretty soon, the epidural was administered, Doug was allowed in the room, and Dr. Rubin and an older doctor started. I remember lots of pulling and pushing and pressure - it's a strange feeling lying on a table, being fully conscious and aware that someone is cutting-CUTTING- into your body but not being able to feel the pain of it, knowing that your body is gaping open, imagining blood and guts hanging out, and you have to rely on these complete strangers to do everything precisely right, that THREE LIVES depend on them! I had to just focus on the babies and stop thinking about that stuff, but even that felt surreal.
At 11:27 p.m. 10/01/10, Twin A, Sierra Harriet, was born. She cried out loudly in a deep, raspy voice when they pulled her out, which I wasn't expecting because Quinn hadn't cried until his first bath. They suctioned her, wrapped her, and put a "Twin A" sticker on her hat, before bringing her around to my head - I saw her and sighed "Hi Baby", and she immediately stopped crying, her tiny eyes looking right at me, feeling my forehead against her baby skin. My first girl, inadvertent middle child, sweet little round head; we hadn't decided on her exact name yet, but there was a clear winner. They took her over to a warming bed to check her over, while the doctors kept working - I remember one of the doctors actually getting on top of the table and pushing on me with his elbow and forearm, apparently pushing the next baby toward "the opening".
At 11:28 p.m., 10/01/10, Twin B, Kelsey Grace, was born. She, too, cried when they pulled her out, but in a softer way. They prepared her, a "B" sticker on her hat, and brought her around to my side of the curtain, and like her big sister, she stopped crying when I called her, by name, my "Little Kelsey". Twin B, the baby of the family, so tiny and soft against my cheek; she was "poor Kelsey" because she'd already had fits of hiccups daily, and I felt like she'd been elbowed and squished by her sister. She, too, was taken to a warming bed to check her out.
Thankfully both girls appeared healthy, but since they were twins born at 36 weeks (and 4 days) and just over 5 lbs each, they were placed in a special care nursery. Doug accompanied the girls for their first baths and screenings while I was "patched up". A short time later, we were reunited in a recovery room, the first room I'd been to upon arriving to the hospital. One of my favorite pictures was taken by one of the nurses - Doug and I with the twins on my chest, both girls crying (as we'd soon find out was their norm), but both of us smiling, Doug looking a little uncertain and sheepish, and a disbelieving but loving smile on my face. I knew immediately that I loved them, beyond any feeling I'd ever felt, but it was just so surreal to have two babies - two teeny tiny babies, they each fit in one hand with jerky, twitchy arms and legs hanging over, who were hungry and tired and crying, probably from being traumatized just being born and being out of their comfy little warm dark womb. They were already louder and seemingly more needy than their big brother. My hospital time after having Quinn had felt almost like a vacation; I'd ordered meals from a special little menu, been watched over my doctors and nurses, got plenty of sleep, and he wasn't really a crier unless he was especially hungry, just made little baby sounds, like petite little sneezes and lots of farts and burps. The twins, on the other hand, were super needy from Day 1, needing to eat every one to two hours, crying a lot, gassy, not sleeping very well, scaring each other into hysterics. I had to learn how to breastfeed them at the same time, dealing with holding these wiggly little babies in place, keeping them awake long enough to get a good feed so they'd gain weight just to survive, figuring out how to console two babies at the same time (and just when I thought I had it figure it, it all seemed to change all the time throughout that first year!). They were just so tiny and I was severely outnumbered and overwhelmed; I was pretty scared and immediately exhausted. Still, I had so much love in my heart for them, and ever the optimist, I knew it would all turn around at some point.
Their homecoming was even a bit lackluster. It was pouring down rain that day, and it was interesting trying to get them into our new minivan in what seemed like giant carseats because they were so tiny. But, after spending 5 days in the hospital with them, I was anxious to get them home and find our way into this new phase of parenthood, our new family of 5. We arrived back to our house in Sudbury, where my Mom was watching Quinn - he was napping at the time, and she'd just showered and was getting dressed. No fanfare, no warm home overflowing with family, no yummy dinner scents in the kitchen like we'd had with Quinn. But still, our girls were home, in our new house, with their big brother who in my head was still my first baby although he'd grown into such a little man since holding his 5 lb baby sisters; he just seemed so much bigger now than when I'd left him sleeping in his bed less than a week before.
Over the next two years, the twins transformed from these tiny, helpless babies, into the sweetest little girls with two separate personalities. They started off nursing every two hours around the clock for 13 months, not sleeping through the night consistently until 16 months, crying for 5 hours a day every single day for the better part of first nine months, at the same time!, requiring drives just to fall asleep for naps and then having to be in their carseats in their rooms in order to sleep during the day... They were so much work for so long, but slowly the most wonderful things started to happen - they both smiled at 6 weeks old, they were quick and easy laughers, finding joy in the simplest things, they loved going for walks and being outside, they absolutely loved their brother instantly, they started doing yoga poses as they learned to crawl and cruise and eventually walked at 13 months. They started sleeping through the night and waking up happy and smiley, saying words and now sentences, wanting certain books or toys or foods, feeling purely happy and proud as they do new things and can get their points and needs and feelings across to us. They've started to play together and act like little girls and not just little babies anymore.
My babies are turning two tomorrow! I cannot believe it! I don't want to forgot those early moments when they were newborns, despite some very low lows, there were so many amazing times and highs "so high you had to look down to see heaven" (to quote one of my favorite movies). In addition to watching all three of our children play together, it's just so special to have identical twins, two babies who will always have each other, who have known nothing else, and they'll always have a big brother to look after them. I still look at the twins some days and wonder how I have two babies, two little people at the same stage in their lives, to go through everything together. And, I feel so blessed to have my son, too; my clever, amazing little boy... I am so fortunate to have my beautiful children; they give my life purpose and bring me so much happiness.
Of course, looking at these three little faces everyday, seeing how big they're all getting, makes me realize that, in all likelihood, I will never be pregnant again, will never have those feelings of watching my stomach grow with a new life, hear a little heart beat for the first time, see my baby on an ultrasound, feel those little punches and kicks as they move around in my belly. I'll probably never give birth to another little one, hear a little voice for the first time and feel that baby skin. I'll never breastfeed another baby again, hold this tiny little baby in my arms and know that it's part of me. And as my baby girls go from being 1 to being 2 year olds, it doesn't seem possible that I'll never have a 1 year old again. It may sound crazy to think of it like that, but I guess I've spent a lot of my life just looking forward to having babies, and then the past 4+ years raising babies from infancy into preschool age, it just seems hard to let go of that mentality. It makes me feel a little sad to accept that that phase of my life is passing, has passed, even though there are so many wonderful phases to come. I guess I'm just not quite ready to let go of that feeling of hope and impending joy that carrying a new baby brings.
Still, on the eve of my daughters second birthday, I can't help but savour the memories that THEY have given me from the moment I found out I was pregnant with twins, these two babies!, to feeling them move in my belly, to their birth, and every smile and baby step and milestone since. I just want to keep all my babies safe and help them learn, and make things special for them, and just enjoy being with them from day to day. I don't ever want to forget these moments for as long as I live. It has been such a rollercoaster, but I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.
Happy 2nd Birthday, Sierra and Kelsey! Thank you for helping to make me the luckiest, happiest Mommy in the world! You're beautiful, you're smart, and you're important, and I love you so so much!
After the wall color was done, I immersed myself in planning the Mickey Mouse Clubhouse theme and everything to go along with it - I just wanted everything to be special for them, to go all out like I did for Quinn's parties, and quite honestly, I think it was easier to immerse myself in the party details than to admit that - oh my God - my little baby girls are turning 2! Now that the birthday party has come and gone, I can't help but face those emotions and remember their birth story, and I'm forced to come to terms with my feelings of probably never having a one-year old ever again, for the rest of my life. Yikes!
I'm definitely remiss for not telling it before now, but I truly treasure the story of my twins' birth (no gorey details, don't worry!), (I treasure Quinn's, too, of course, but I'll tell that another time). I'd found out in February 2010 that I was having twins. I was only 6 weeks pregnant but after having had a miscarriage a few months before, I was worried that something was wrong when I had spotting again. Thankfully, we found that aside from that fact that I was having twins, everything else was progressing normally. We had sold our condo in Watertown in May 2010, moved to a cute little apartment in Concord, and after a summer of househunting with my two year old boy in tote, we finally moved to our Sudbury home at the end of August 2010. I spent three weeks cleaning the apartment and then the new house, packing up the apartment, unpacking in Sudbury, and attempting to decorate and prepare for the twins' arrival, Friday, October 1st arrived. That day was a whirlwind - we had a playdate with our friend Stacy (and 2 year old Peter and newborn Sara) in the morning, then I feverishly unpacked the last boxes, made three meals for the freezer, took Quinn to the playground, and made a dinner of baked chicken, steamed green beans, and baked potatoes - my first clue that labor was eminient should have been that I ate an entire breast of chicken, which I had been having strong aversions to my entire pregnancy (I could cook it for Doug and Quinn, but I couldn't get it anywhere near by plate without literally gagging). I bathed Quinn, kneeling in the massive bathtub so I could reach him, not minding that I ended up soaked, too, just enjoying laughing and playing with him. He seemed so little then, so small wrapped in my arms in his lion towel, growling in the mirror afterward with his most ferocious voice that still came off soft and sweet with that smile and those little baby teeth. I read him three stories, and then layed with him in his new big-boy bed, holding him under his covers. He asked me to tell him a Lucky story (stories I make up for him, based on a horse my grandparents once had), which I did, and then we said his prayers. About the time he drifted off, I felt a strong POP in my stomach, much stronger than one of the babies kicking me. I knew what it was - my water had broken. I layed there debating whether to tell him that I was going to be having the babies, but I decided against it, thinking it better to let him go to sleep peacefully in his own bed, instead of him waking up more now, with questions and concerns. I held him a few seconds longer than normal, kissed his soft, fragrant hair, and crawled out of his bed. I caught a glimpse of him sleeping as I left the room; putting his gate in his doorway, I couldn't help a light groan as I felt the water break more. I rushed to the bathroom; Doug came to the doorway - he had been in the living room, just settling into his leather recliner for some Friday night beer and TV, but I think he knew that my sound leaving Quinn's room meant something. I told him my water had broken, I sat on the toilet trying to wrap my mind around the fact that this was "IT", waiting for contractions. I don't remember what he might have said to me; we both knew that we needed someone to come stay with Quinn until Doug's parents could get to us from southern Vermont. I left a message with one friend while Doug tried another, and I called my doctor in Cambridge who told me to get to the nearest hospital. Long story short, we got the neighbor across the street to come sit until another friend from Arlington could get out to our house to wait for Doug's parents to make the three hour drive from VT.
We left for the hospital around 9:30 p.m., my contractions were painful and about 90 seconds apart, and grew to only about 45 seconds apart very quickly. It was a beautiful night - it was warmish but the air was crisp, it had rained earlier in the evening, but had cleared up by this time. It smelled of wet woods outside, and there were stars everywhere and a bright moon was overhead as we drove Doug's truck through rural parts of Sudbury and Concord. We arrived at Emerson Hospital, parked close to the door, where I had parked many times for a prenatal yoga class over the weeks before moving. I stopped and looked up at the sky, and asked Doug to do the same, despite his urging to get inside - I just wanted to stop and remember being a parent of one, remember being pregnant, grasp that we would VERY SOON be welcoming TWO BABIES. I took a deep breath of the crisp air, took one last look at the stars, let out a deep sigh with a wave of contractions, and we went inside.
I was the only one in labor when we arrived that night. They already had my records (thanks to Mount Auburn for forwarding them so quickly, so late at night!) and greeted us at the door, already knowing our names and that we were coming, and they'd already contacted a second team of doctors, nurses, and pediatricians, since we'd be needing two teams of labor staff, since I was having twins! It's strange but I remember every moment of that first part of the night with acute detail - we arrived through a certain door that made a specific sound, we went to the desk just inside where there was a vase of pink carnations, went left to the first room in the hall, I used the bathroom first and remember the scent of the soap there, then was monitored on the bed along with two monitors, one for each of the babies. My contractions were at least every 45 seconds, very intense but I could talk in between. I remember it all almost with a feeling of static electricity; I felt very aware of my surroundings, remember specific conversations and feelings, wishing I'd asked them to see if I'd dilated on my own before doing the ultrasound to confirm that Twin A was still breach and that I'd require a c-section. I remember using the bathroom one last time before making that walk to the operating room, waiting on the table for all of the various doctors and nurses and specialists to arrive, waiting for the epidural which was required for the c-section. I remember Nurse Ellen letting me squeeze her hand so many times when contractions would tighten and wrap up across me every 30 seconds in that stark white, bright room while we waited for more people in blue scrubs to appear as I went in and out of awareness. Pretty soon, the epidural was administered, Doug was allowed in the room, and Dr. Rubin and an older doctor started. I remember lots of pulling and pushing and pressure - it's a strange feeling lying on a table, being fully conscious and aware that someone is cutting-CUTTING- into your body but not being able to feel the pain of it, knowing that your body is gaping open, imagining blood and guts hanging out, and you have to rely on these complete strangers to do everything precisely right, that THREE LIVES depend on them! I had to just focus on the babies and stop thinking about that stuff, but even that felt surreal.
At 11:27 p.m. 10/01/10, Twin A, Sierra Harriet, was born. She cried out loudly in a deep, raspy voice when they pulled her out, which I wasn't expecting because Quinn hadn't cried until his first bath. They suctioned her, wrapped her, and put a "Twin A" sticker on her hat, before bringing her around to my head - I saw her and sighed "Hi Baby", and she immediately stopped crying, her tiny eyes looking right at me, feeling my forehead against her baby skin. My first girl, inadvertent middle child, sweet little round head; we hadn't decided on her exact name yet, but there was a clear winner. They took her over to a warming bed to check her over, while the doctors kept working - I remember one of the doctors actually getting on top of the table and pushing on me with his elbow and forearm, apparently pushing the next baby toward "the opening".
At 11:28 p.m., 10/01/10, Twin B, Kelsey Grace, was born. She, too, cried when they pulled her out, but in a softer way. They prepared her, a "B" sticker on her hat, and brought her around to my side of the curtain, and like her big sister, she stopped crying when I called her, by name, my "Little Kelsey". Twin B, the baby of the family, so tiny and soft against my cheek; she was "poor Kelsey" because she'd already had fits of hiccups daily, and I felt like she'd been elbowed and squished by her sister. She, too, was taken to a warming bed to check her out.
Thankfully both girls appeared healthy, but since they were twins born at 36 weeks (and 4 days) and just over 5 lbs each, they were placed in a special care nursery. Doug accompanied the girls for their first baths and screenings while I was "patched up". A short time later, we were reunited in a recovery room, the first room I'd been to upon arriving to the hospital. One of my favorite pictures was taken by one of the nurses - Doug and I with the twins on my chest, both girls crying (as we'd soon find out was their norm), but both of us smiling, Doug looking a little uncertain and sheepish, and a disbelieving but loving smile on my face. I knew immediately that I loved them, beyond any feeling I'd ever felt, but it was just so surreal to have two babies - two teeny tiny babies, they each fit in one hand with jerky, twitchy arms and legs hanging over, who were hungry and tired and crying, probably from being traumatized just being born and being out of their comfy little warm dark womb. They were already louder and seemingly more needy than their big brother. My hospital time after having Quinn had felt almost like a vacation; I'd ordered meals from a special little menu, been watched over my doctors and nurses, got plenty of sleep, and he wasn't really a crier unless he was especially hungry, just made little baby sounds, like petite little sneezes and lots of farts and burps. The twins, on the other hand, were super needy from Day 1, needing to eat every one to two hours, crying a lot, gassy, not sleeping very well, scaring each other into hysterics. I had to learn how to breastfeed them at the same time, dealing with holding these wiggly little babies in place, keeping them awake long enough to get a good feed so they'd gain weight just to survive, figuring out how to console two babies at the same time (and just when I thought I had it figure it, it all seemed to change all the time throughout that first year!). They were just so tiny and I was severely outnumbered and overwhelmed; I was pretty scared and immediately exhausted. Still, I had so much love in my heart for them, and ever the optimist, I knew it would all turn around at some point.
Their homecoming was even a bit lackluster. It was pouring down rain that day, and it was interesting trying to get them into our new minivan in what seemed like giant carseats because they were so tiny. But, after spending 5 days in the hospital with them, I was anxious to get them home and find our way into this new phase of parenthood, our new family of 5. We arrived back to our house in Sudbury, where my Mom was watching Quinn - he was napping at the time, and she'd just showered and was getting dressed. No fanfare, no warm home overflowing with family, no yummy dinner scents in the kitchen like we'd had with Quinn. But still, our girls were home, in our new house, with their big brother who in my head was still my first baby although he'd grown into such a little man since holding his 5 lb baby sisters; he just seemed so much bigger now than when I'd left him sleeping in his bed less than a week before.
Over the next two years, the twins transformed from these tiny, helpless babies, into the sweetest little girls with two separate personalities. They started off nursing every two hours around the clock for 13 months, not sleeping through the night consistently until 16 months, crying for 5 hours a day every single day for the better part of first nine months, at the same time!, requiring drives just to fall asleep for naps and then having to be in their carseats in their rooms in order to sleep during the day... They were so much work for so long, but slowly the most wonderful things started to happen - they both smiled at 6 weeks old, they were quick and easy laughers, finding joy in the simplest things, they loved going for walks and being outside, they absolutely loved their brother instantly, they started doing yoga poses as they learned to crawl and cruise and eventually walked at 13 months. They started sleeping through the night and waking up happy and smiley, saying words and now sentences, wanting certain books or toys or foods, feeling purely happy and proud as they do new things and can get their points and needs and feelings across to us. They've started to play together and act like little girls and not just little babies anymore.
My babies are turning two tomorrow! I cannot believe it! I don't want to forgot those early moments when they were newborns, despite some very low lows, there were so many amazing times and highs "so high you had to look down to see heaven" (to quote one of my favorite movies). In addition to watching all three of our children play together, it's just so special to have identical twins, two babies who will always have each other, who have known nothing else, and they'll always have a big brother to look after them. I still look at the twins some days and wonder how I have two babies, two little people at the same stage in their lives, to go through everything together. And, I feel so blessed to have my son, too; my clever, amazing little boy... I am so fortunate to have my beautiful children; they give my life purpose and bring me so much happiness.
Of course, looking at these three little faces everyday, seeing how big they're all getting, makes me realize that, in all likelihood, I will never be pregnant again, will never have those feelings of watching my stomach grow with a new life, hear a little heart beat for the first time, see my baby on an ultrasound, feel those little punches and kicks as they move around in my belly. I'll probably never give birth to another little one, hear a little voice for the first time and feel that baby skin. I'll never breastfeed another baby again, hold this tiny little baby in my arms and know that it's part of me. And as my baby girls go from being 1 to being 2 year olds, it doesn't seem possible that I'll never have a 1 year old again. It may sound crazy to think of it like that, but I guess I've spent a lot of my life just looking forward to having babies, and then the past 4+ years raising babies from infancy into preschool age, it just seems hard to let go of that mentality. It makes me feel a little sad to accept that that phase of my life is passing, has passed, even though there are so many wonderful phases to come. I guess I'm just not quite ready to let go of that feeling of hope and impending joy that carrying a new baby brings.
Still, on the eve of my daughters second birthday, I can't help but savour the memories that THEY have given me from the moment I found out I was pregnant with twins, these two babies!, to feeling them move in my belly, to their birth, and every smile and baby step and milestone since. I just want to keep all my babies safe and help them learn, and make things special for them, and just enjoy being with them from day to day. I don't ever want to forget these moments for as long as I live. It has been such a rollercoaster, but I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.
Happy 2nd Birthday, Sierra and Kelsey! Thank you for helping to make me the luckiest, happiest Mommy in the world! You're beautiful, you're smart, and you're important, and I love you so so much!
Tuesday, July 17, 2012
Moebius Syndrome Conference
I just had the most amazing weekend in Philadelphia, and not in the way that might initially come to your mind. I wasn't there for site-seeing or vacation or reconnecting with college friends. We packed up our three kids and went to Philly to attend and volunteer at the 10th Moebius Syndrome Conference. It was such a wonderful, MOVING experience; being there, meeting so many amazing children and their families, just being a part of something so important. I want to write about my experience there; I just hope I don't sound ignorant or offensive in doing so!
Moebius Syndrome is a rare neurological disorder which causes facial paralysis and the inability to move their eyes side to side. In addition, an affected child often has some limb and chest abnormalities, such as webbed fingers or not having fully developed hands or other limbs, difficulty swallowing and therefore, eating, and often breathing issues. It doesn't appear to be genetic or hereditary, but is more likely based on an abnormality in a gene during fetal development in utero, and isn't necessarily passed from parent to child. Also, it seems to happen more often in a firstborn child, as opposed to a sibling, and if only one side of the body is affected, it seems to be the left-side. There have also been a handful of cases where twins have been born with one twin having Moebius while the other does not.
It is definitely sad, to put it mildly, how many mothers and fathers find out "the hard way" that their child has Moebius. Mothers go into labor like normal, go through what is often hours of painful labor, just to catch that first glimpse of their newborn baby, anxiously waiting to hold them in their arms, only to find that something isn't as it should be. Either the baby cannot cry or cannot move their face at all, some can't muster the energy or breath to cry, or the baby sounds like it's crying but the expression on its' little face doesn't change. Or they might see that the baby has some smaller features on one or both sides of their bodies, like a small, webbed, left hand. In that moment, all parents just want their babies to be healthy and alive, but then a whole new and completely unexpected realm of issues arises. And even as the baby grows and progresses into infancy and toddlerhood, that little baby will never (without surgery) form a smile to show their happiness and can never form a frown to show that they need some extra hugging and attention. People with Moebius are, however, fully capable of a normal life and intellect; I've found that what they might lack in the physical sense, they more than make up for in smarts!
My husband's cousin, Ian Linn, was born with Moebius about 11 years ago. He can't form a facial expression, was born with webbing on his smaller left hand, and has had difficulty eating. His Mom, Dawn, recounted the experience of his birth in a recent article, and having had three babies myself, it really brought to light what it felt like for her to give birth to this tiny little baby, and to find that he was different, though it took the doctors a couple days to give a name to those differences. That being said, Ian is smarter at 11 than I think I was at 20-something (and possibly even now!). He loves to read, and not simple children's books, but all of the Harry Potter books, To Kill a Mockingbird... true works of literature, yet he also enjoys doing all the same things that a regular 11-year old boy likes - playing video games, making up games with Lego's and toys, making friends! He knows all the words to the Phantom of the Opera and breaks out into song, and he has silly moments like all kids do. He works hard to articulate his words so that he can be understood, and he knows when someone doesn't understand, so he tries until they get it. We first got to meet and hold Ian when he was only a couple months old, and we've truly enjoyed getting together with him over the years, watching him grow, following his progress and triumphs and hardships. My husband, especially, has a truly special bond with Ian, and as Ian gets older, it keeps growing stronger. It was because of Ian that we were so excited to join in the 2-years-in-the-making Conference, which his parents, Emmet and Dawn, had taken on the organizing of.
We agreed last year, that we would attend the conference, and even though we'd be bringing two one-year olds and a four year old, that we would help in any way we possibly could. We stayed at Emmet and Dawn's house, to care for their golden retriever, Mousey, and to assist with the conference, which was held at the Sheraton Hotel, as much as we could. Doug was enlisted as a "runner", and I was volunteering in the child care room as much as possible, since that was where I'd be with my own three children (and the twins still won't let me out of their site). After only a few minutes there on Friday morning, I found that the Child Care Room was definitely the best place to be, to meet and interact with so many wonderful children, either affected by having Moebius themselves, or having siblings affected by the disorder. It truly struck me how having Moebius didn't change the wants and needs of children at certain ages.
There were several babies the same age as my twins. A little boy, Braylon, was "almost 2", as his nametag said, but he ran around that place better than my little girls did, and without his mother anywhere in sight, he didn't seem the least bit saddened by her absence and not at all shy or withdrawn. He loved playing ball, and though I couldn't tell what he was saying all the time, I realized that sometimes I don't know what my own "almost 2"s are saying. There was another little girl, Chloe, who was so sweet and so loving. She instantly hugged someone who talked to her, and she was just so little and girly and loved dancing around (she immediately befriended my husband, wrapping him around her little finger in seconds). She'd had some "smile surgeries", and she could move her cheeks a bit more than other kids, and they were hopeful that she would improve with therapy. There were also several babies only 9 months old or slightly older, who needed constant care, whether for comfort and security, or to check feeding tubes or breathing apparatus. It was heartbreaking to see these little babies just struggling to do things the rest of us take for granted. I know most babies early on don't have many expressions and sometimes seem trapped in their own bodies anyway, but it's very sad to think of some of the Moebius babies who will continue that way for months to come (and sometimes much longer than that).
I also met some preteen girls who, if their faces hadn't shown the signs of Moebius, I wouldn't have known they were "different". Madyson was attending from her home in Australia, and she was such a sweet and caring little mother. Her and another girl, Miriam, took upon themselves to hold some of the Moebius babies (such as little Samantha; such a cutie!), and even tried to help my girls get comfortable and color and play games with them. She was just so open and honest from our first conversation, telling me how nice it was to be here and around other kids who could relate to her and felt the same way she felt. During one of the lunches (outside of the Child Care room), she came up to me because she'd gotten separated from her mother, and she was just so smart to know to look for someone to help her find her way; it felt so great that she trusted me to help her, and I was so glad that I was able to do that for her! Several other little girls, MacKenzie, Olivia, Anna, though they all had Moebius, were all just regular little girls - getting their nails and hair done, doing cartwheels. It was so nice to hear them giggling with each other, knowing that they had each other to relate to, feeling like they weren't alone and here, they were not different!
I also met a wonderful little boy, Cedric, who didn't have Moebius, but his new baby brother did. Cedric was one of the boys that Quinn ran around with, but he did find his way to my side many times. We colored up a paper about a thunderstorm and hale and rain that turned to snow and then the sun... we had a whole story going, it was so nice. We painted his fingernails blue, danced, the twins wore his hat and he was so sweet with them. I'm sure in a few years he will begin to question, as I imagine many "normal" kids do, how he was spared but his sibling ended up having Moebius. And perhaps his interest in me was because I gave him attention, which he might not feel he's getting enough of right now as his parents care for his infant brother. I have to admit I did feel a little bad that there I was (causing our usual scene just by being) with my three beautiful children, when some parents are faced with having one child with a disability.
Some Moebius children have more extreme disabilities than others. I met one boy, Cody, who was 10, and had more issues than some of the others in attendence. He was unable to move his eyes side to side and couldn't move the muscles in his face. His father is blind, so that may have been related to some of the issues with his sight. He had a hard time with balance and he fell down a lot, but he was such a nice boy - he was in awe that my twins were so identical, he'd never seen two babies who looked exactly alike. At one point, I wondered if he thought he was seeing double, but I assured him that they were actually two separate babies. He wanted to hold hands with me, which I was completely find with (I later found he was trying to write words on my hand to tell me things), and he wanted to help with the girls; pushed them in their stroller, tried to hold their hands though I think they were a bit afraid of his forwardness. He was adament that I call him by his name; everytime I called him "Buddy", he'd hold up his nametag and hum, and finally I explained to him that I knew his name, but sometimes I call my friends "Buddy". He hugged me : ) Such a big heart, that boy! There was also another boy, named Avner, who was from Israel, and I spoke with his father a lot. He was the middle of three children, and he sat on a cushioned bench with his legs up, his father sitting facing him, and three decks of cards in his hands; over and over he stacked the cards in his hands and then poured them out onto the bench, throw his fathers open hands, and then his father would do the same back. His father told me that there weren't any other Moebius children near them in Israel, and it's incredibly difficult to find doctors and specialists who can care for him, since Moebius is so rare (only about 2000 people in the entire world have been diagnosed). He said so many times, to me in English and then in Hebrew to his son, that Avner brings him so much happiness and pride, that they love having him in their lives. It was touching how he just wanted his son to know that every chance he could. Despite the limited options in Israel, I hope he finds the care he needs physically and emotionally, and the challenges he needs mentally to truly thrive.
On Saturday evening, there was a cocktail party and a wonderful dinner served for everyone in the Ballroom. I got to meet many of the parents of the children I'd been interacting with the past two days, learned more of their stories and where they came from. After the dinner, there was a talent show, starring the Moebius children. Many of the little girls performed, including a baton dance by Olivia, a gymnastics routine by Mackenzie, ballet by Anna, an impromptu dance number by Katie, Samantha, and Chloe (if she hadn't been too shy to get up from Doug's lap). Chris, an amazing 19 year old Seton Hall graduate peer mentor, performed a skillful soccer trick opener; he'd talked to Quinn earlier in the day and then played soccer with him in the hall during the cocktail party. Chase was an incredibly witty magician.
It literally moved me to tears to see all these kids doing something they loved, as if they were no different than the rest of the world. I saw where all the practiced cartwheels and dancing came from, listened to the words of the songs, Katy Perry and (dreadful) Lady Gaga. As much as I hate Lady Gaga, the words of her song "Born this Way" really struck a chord; as much as I think she's exploiting people with disabilities, I could see that it made these little girls feel better about themselves and their situations, even if just for a minute, and they could feel confident and comfortable in their own skin, that they could feel empowered!
The whole conference was all about doing that same thing, outside of a songs lyrics, whether by having sessions talking about dealing with issues like bullying, or connecting with doctors who could answer questions and provide guidance when everything, especially in the early stages of diagnosis, is all question marks. It was such a wonderful and loving thing that Dawn and Emmet did to organize this year's Conference, to host all the Moebius families who could make it there. They worked tirelessly to put this together, all for the love of their son Ian, but they touched so many other hearts in the process. I feel so honored and blessed that I got to be part of it!
For more information about Moebius, please visit: http://www.moebiussyndrome.com/
Moebius Syndrome is a rare neurological disorder which causes facial paralysis and the inability to move their eyes side to side. In addition, an affected child often has some limb and chest abnormalities, such as webbed fingers or not having fully developed hands or other limbs, difficulty swallowing and therefore, eating, and often breathing issues. It doesn't appear to be genetic or hereditary, but is more likely based on an abnormality in a gene during fetal development in utero, and isn't necessarily passed from parent to child. Also, it seems to happen more often in a firstborn child, as opposed to a sibling, and if only one side of the body is affected, it seems to be the left-side. There have also been a handful of cases where twins have been born with one twin having Moebius while the other does not.
It is definitely sad, to put it mildly, how many mothers and fathers find out "the hard way" that their child has Moebius. Mothers go into labor like normal, go through what is often hours of painful labor, just to catch that first glimpse of their newborn baby, anxiously waiting to hold them in their arms, only to find that something isn't as it should be. Either the baby cannot cry or cannot move their face at all, some can't muster the energy or breath to cry, or the baby sounds like it's crying but the expression on its' little face doesn't change. Or they might see that the baby has some smaller features on one or both sides of their bodies, like a small, webbed, left hand. In that moment, all parents just want their babies to be healthy and alive, but then a whole new and completely unexpected realm of issues arises. And even as the baby grows and progresses into infancy and toddlerhood, that little baby will never (without surgery) form a smile to show their happiness and can never form a frown to show that they need some extra hugging and attention. People with Moebius are, however, fully capable of a normal life and intellect; I've found that what they might lack in the physical sense, they more than make up for in smarts!
My husband's cousin, Ian Linn, was born with Moebius about 11 years ago. He can't form a facial expression, was born with webbing on his smaller left hand, and has had difficulty eating. His Mom, Dawn, recounted the experience of his birth in a recent article, and having had three babies myself, it really brought to light what it felt like for her to give birth to this tiny little baby, and to find that he was different, though it took the doctors a couple days to give a name to those differences. That being said, Ian is smarter at 11 than I think I was at 20-something (and possibly even now!). He loves to read, and not simple children's books, but all of the Harry Potter books, To Kill a Mockingbird... true works of literature, yet he also enjoys doing all the same things that a regular 11-year old boy likes - playing video games, making up games with Lego's and toys, making friends! He knows all the words to the Phantom of the Opera and breaks out into song, and he has silly moments like all kids do. He works hard to articulate his words so that he can be understood, and he knows when someone doesn't understand, so he tries until they get it. We first got to meet and hold Ian when he was only a couple months old, and we've truly enjoyed getting together with him over the years, watching him grow, following his progress and triumphs and hardships. My husband, especially, has a truly special bond with Ian, and as Ian gets older, it keeps growing stronger. It was because of Ian that we were so excited to join in the 2-years-in-the-making Conference, which his parents, Emmet and Dawn, had taken on the organizing of.
We agreed last year, that we would attend the conference, and even though we'd be bringing two one-year olds and a four year old, that we would help in any way we possibly could. We stayed at Emmet and Dawn's house, to care for their golden retriever, Mousey, and to assist with the conference, which was held at the Sheraton Hotel, as much as we could. Doug was enlisted as a "runner", and I was volunteering in the child care room as much as possible, since that was where I'd be with my own three children (and the twins still won't let me out of their site). After only a few minutes there on Friday morning, I found that the Child Care Room was definitely the best place to be, to meet and interact with so many wonderful children, either affected by having Moebius themselves, or having siblings affected by the disorder. It truly struck me how having Moebius didn't change the wants and needs of children at certain ages.
There were several babies the same age as my twins. A little boy, Braylon, was "almost 2", as his nametag said, but he ran around that place better than my little girls did, and without his mother anywhere in sight, he didn't seem the least bit saddened by her absence and not at all shy or withdrawn. He loved playing ball, and though I couldn't tell what he was saying all the time, I realized that sometimes I don't know what my own "almost 2"s are saying. There was another little girl, Chloe, who was so sweet and so loving. She instantly hugged someone who talked to her, and she was just so little and girly and loved dancing around (she immediately befriended my husband, wrapping him around her little finger in seconds). She'd had some "smile surgeries", and she could move her cheeks a bit more than other kids, and they were hopeful that she would improve with therapy. There were also several babies only 9 months old or slightly older, who needed constant care, whether for comfort and security, or to check feeding tubes or breathing apparatus. It was heartbreaking to see these little babies just struggling to do things the rest of us take for granted. I know most babies early on don't have many expressions and sometimes seem trapped in their own bodies anyway, but it's very sad to think of some of the Moebius babies who will continue that way for months to come (and sometimes much longer than that).
I also met some preteen girls who, if their faces hadn't shown the signs of Moebius, I wouldn't have known they were "different". Madyson was attending from her home in Australia, and she was such a sweet and caring little mother. Her and another girl, Miriam, took upon themselves to hold some of the Moebius babies (such as little Samantha; such a cutie!), and even tried to help my girls get comfortable and color and play games with them. She was just so open and honest from our first conversation, telling me how nice it was to be here and around other kids who could relate to her and felt the same way she felt. During one of the lunches (outside of the Child Care room), she came up to me because she'd gotten separated from her mother, and she was just so smart to know to look for someone to help her find her way; it felt so great that she trusted me to help her, and I was so glad that I was able to do that for her! Several other little girls, MacKenzie, Olivia, Anna, though they all had Moebius, were all just regular little girls - getting their nails and hair done, doing cartwheels. It was so nice to hear them giggling with each other, knowing that they had each other to relate to, feeling like they weren't alone and here, they were not different!
I also met a wonderful little boy, Cedric, who didn't have Moebius, but his new baby brother did. Cedric was one of the boys that Quinn ran around with, but he did find his way to my side many times. We colored up a paper about a thunderstorm and hale and rain that turned to snow and then the sun... we had a whole story going, it was so nice. We painted his fingernails blue, danced, the twins wore his hat and he was so sweet with them. I'm sure in a few years he will begin to question, as I imagine many "normal" kids do, how he was spared but his sibling ended up having Moebius. And perhaps his interest in me was because I gave him attention, which he might not feel he's getting enough of right now as his parents care for his infant brother. I have to admit I did feel a little bad that there I was (causing our usual scene just by being) with my three beautiful children, when some parents are faced with having one child with a disability.
Some Moebius children have more extreme disabilities than others. I met one boy, Cody, who was 10, and had more issues than some of the others in attendence. He was unable to move his eyes side to side and couldn't move the muscles in his face. His father is blind, so that may have been related to some of the issues with his sight. He had a hard time with balance and he fell down a lot, but he was such a nice boy - he was in awe that my twins were so identical, he'd never seen two babies who looked exactly alike. At one point, I wondered if he thought he was seeing double, but I assured him that they were actually two separate babies. He wanted to hold hands with me, which I was completely find with (I later found he was trying to write words on my hand to tell me things), and he wanted to help with the girls; pushed them in their stroller, tried to hold their hands though I think they were a bit afraid of his forwardness. He was adament that I call him by his name; everytime I called him "Buddy", he'd hold up his nametag and hum, and finally I explained to him that I knew his name, but sometimes I call my friends "Buddy". He hugged me : ) Such a big heart, that boy! There was also another boy, named Avner, who was from Israel, and I spoke with his father a lot. He was the middle of three children, and he sat on a cushioned bench with his legs up, his father sitting facing him, and three decks of cards in his hands; over and over he stacked the cards in his hands and then poured them out onto the bench, throw his fathers open hands, and then his father would do the same back. His father told me that there weren't any other Moebius children near them in Israel, and it's incredibly difficult to find doctors and specialists who can care for him, since Moebius is so rare (only about 2000 people in the entire world have been diagnosed). He said so many times, to me in English and then in Hebrew to his son, that Avner brings him so much happiness and pride, that they love having him in their lives. It was touching how he just wanted his son to know that every chance he could. Despite the limited options in Israel, I hope he finds the care he needs physically and emotionally, and the challenges he needs mentally to truly thrive.
On Saturday evening, there was a cocktail party and a wonderful dinner served for everyone in the Ballroom. I got to meet many of the parents of the children I'd been interacting with the past two days, learned more of their stories and where they came from. After the dinner, there was a talent show, starring the Moebius children. Many of the little girls performed, including a baton dance by Olivia, a gymnastics routine by Mackenzie, ballet by Anna, an impromptu dance number by Katie, Samantha, and Chloe (if she hadn't been too shy to get up from Doug's lap). Chris, an amazing 19 year old Seton Hall graduate peer mentor, performed a skillful soccer trick opener; he'd talked to Quinn earlier in the day and then played soccer with him in the hall during the cocktail party. Chase was an incredibly witty magician.
It literally moved me to tears to see all these kids doing something they loved, as if they were no different than the rest of the world. I saw where all the practiced cartwheels and dancing came from, listened to the words of the songs, Katy Perry and (dreadful) Lady Gaga. As much as I hate Lady Gaga, the words of her song "Born this Way" really struck a chord; as much as I think she's exploiting people with disabilities, I could see that it made these little girls feel better about themselves and their situations, even if just for a minute, and they could feel confident and comfortable in their own skin, that they could feel empowered!
The whole conference was all about doing that same thing, outside of a songs lyrics, whether by having sessions talking about dealing with issues like bullying, or connecting with doctors who could answer questions and provide guidance when everything, especially in the early stages of diagnosis, is all question marks. It was such a wonderful and loving thing that Dawn and Emmet did to organize this year's Conference, to host all the Moebius families who could make it there. They worked tirelessly to put this together, all for the love of their son Ian, but they touched so many other hearts in the process. I feel so honored and blessed that I got to be part of it!
For more information about Moebius, please visit: http://www.moebiussyndrome.com/
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