Comma Dot Comma

When Abi was almost two, we went to my sister’s to help her care for her colicky newborn. Every time I would hold the baby, Abi would scream and sob to shake the rafters. Nothing consoled her: being held by her dad, leaving the room, leaving the house, being offered a toy or some food. Nothing. The screams persisted until SHE was the one in my arms.

Now she is almost four and I think that somewhere inside her she is screaming like that still. Having siblings has turned out to be a real crisis of faith for her. For three fourths of her life, there were two foundational principles she could count on: Her parents loved her more than any other child in the world, and they would always be there for her. Enter babies. The latter principle fell into dust first. It took her about six months to work through that one.

Then the boys started getting real personalities. Her parents now play with, cuddle and console the boys just as they do her. They recount stories of their cuteness to friends and one another, just as they do with her. Abi knows she is deeply loved, but she also now knows she is not loved The Most. She is back to wearing her chew necklace (a repurposed teething toy to use when she is stressed). She talks often about “our old family” and fantasizes about eating the babies or getting rid of them. She has made it her mission to impede the activities of parents and babies doing things together by grabbing someone, blocking a path, or covering eyes.

She still loves the boys very much and shares her toys, invents new games, calls them her “sweet babes” and performs impromptu marriage ceremonies between herself and Callum. It’s quite a war inside that intense little girl. I sympathize and pray for her and do what I can to reassure of her place in my heart; but I must ultimately stand on the outside and let her work through it on her own. Meanwhile the boys are causing one ruckus after another.

Ronan is a lightning fast crawler now. He loves to open and shut the drawers in the bathroom. The bathroom is verboten. So when he hears Abi announce she has to go pee and sees her race down the hall, he drops whatever he is doing and is off like a shot after her, knowing she will open the door. He can usually get most of the drawers open before she is even on the toilet. He’s also adorable beyond words, so pleased with himself and the world when he’s not sick. Tonight at dinner I gave him a chunk of my bagel to gnaw on. He sat up straighter in the chair, beaming and squealing, reaching out with the bagel to show each family member in turn his awesome score. And he cracks me up with his frequent mistaken crises. Like once his foot went under the couch and he couldn’t see it anymore. He was SURE it was stuck and started sobbing in panic, though there was plenty of clearance. That’s Ronan.

Callum has a much shorter attention span than Ronan does, which I guess is why Ronan spends the most time picking at the knotted string tying the cupboard doors of the entertainment center together. But Callum is full of joy and constantly exploring and even taking a few wobbly steps now and again. He doesn’t crawl unless he has to, preferring the challenge of cruising from one piece of furniture to another, and pushing smaller furniture around with an almost pompous look of “I’m doing important work here” as he strains to maneuver a dining room chair or end table. Whenever he is bored he heads over to the piano to play a little tune and sing along. He is such an easy baby when he is not sick. Before Callum I didn’t quite believe this kind of baby existed, though friends claimed to have them– one who sleeps often and well, who eats happily and well, who doesn’t cry much and laughs and smiles often.

Parenting them is challenging in new and different ways. The sheer amount of time I spend cleaning babies, high chairs, and floors after meals is borderline overwhelming, even with cheats like bibs that are actually rubber buckets (thanks for the recommendation, mom’s group!). And now that they are bored with the usual rooms and toys and routes and routines, I am mostly on the run, grabbing a baby on the cusp of danger or destruction. One sees the other doing something and tries it too (pulling off outlet covers and eating them, dragging the floor lamp around, etc). I’m glad to have Abi around. One of her chores is to act as baby anchor. She will sit down and lock her arms around the waist of a baby about to get into trouble and hang on for dear life until I get there. She was really put to the test at the library recently, stopping Callum from pulling books off the shelves while I retrieved Ronan from under a rocking chair and put him back in the stroller. “Mom… I … can’t… do… it… much longer! This job… is getting… TOO HARD …. for me!” she said. Indeed.

The boys make a break for it

“Watch me give Ronan a thrill,” said Dr. G. this evening. He held Ronan like a dance partner and slowly and steadily whirled him around, making a zoom sound. Ronan’s eyes got big and he gasped and smiled. They went a little faster and Ronan got concerned. That was about as wild as Ronan wanted to get. I laughed because just a few minutes earlier Dr. G. had given Callum a thrill by swinging him upside down and around his head and tossing him in the air, eliciting squeals and giggles. Each boy is really settling into his own personality now, and I love how each is happy and sweet in a different way.

Callum is Mr. Exuberant. He loves to laugh and finds reasons to do it all day long. Dr. Seuss rhymes. Abi in pigtails. Tickles. Happy music. A hat. Mommy talking in a deep voice. Daddy pretending to be asleep and then waking up. Shaking a toy as hard as he can with Ronan. Crawling out of the room, only to crawl back in in a few seconds later with a triumphant guffaw. The most frequent comment I hear about him in public is, “Wow, he’s a smiler, isn’t he?” He can get pretty dramatic with his tears, too, clutching my knee and looking deep into my eyes while his whole body shakes with sobs as he waits for his turn for a bottle. Ronan is sometimes very concerned about Callum’s distress and sometimes he just gets annoyed and tries to kick him in the face.

Ronan, though a quieter spirit, is still cheerful and friendly. He is always the first one to crawl over to a new baby and say hi, the first to pat the face of a sad sibling, the first to offer a toy to his brother or sister. He loves to play peek-a-boo and will do it with any object he can find, even a baby spoon or a clear plastic lid. It’s harder to get a giggle out of him but when you do, it feels like a real prize. He does like to assert his will, though. For a few weeks he was regularly saying mama, dada, and no. Now it’s just no. Mostly he says it for fun, like a little song, nononononNOnonoNO. But when he wants to use it to communicate, it’s unmistakable. Today Abi tried to hug him when he didn’t feel like it and he said, “NO!” and pushed her arm away. Abi cried. “I want to spend some time with that baby but he doesn’t want to spend time with me!” He really enjoys crawling after her up and down the hall, while she says, “Here puppy! Here puppy! Time to go for a walk!”

Callum has pretty much eclipsed Ronan developmentally, though Ronan is in no way slow. Callum is practicing his free stands and cruising along from one piece of furniture to the next to the next to the next. Most of his food makes it in his mouth now and he is the Lead Baby Explorer on their expeditions. He is also much larger than his brother: a couple inches, a pound and a half, and a shoe size bigger, to be exact. I especially rejoice in his growth and accomplishments this month, as we just received the all-clear from a neurosurgeon and a craniofacial specialist: his skull was not growing quite right, and if it were deemed serious, the only treatment would be major reconstructive surgery. We spent a few weeks letting the internet scare the pants off us before we were assured from every quarter that his case is quite mild. Apparently it is more common in twins for one of the skull areas to fuse early, due to the extra crowding and pressure on the skull. I can confirm that near the end of pregnancy the piercing pain against my rib cage– or alternately, my pelvis, when he flipped back head down– never ended. Must have felt about the same to him, poor boy!

Abi’s motherly ways have convinced my subconscious that she is a suitable caregiver. I will be standing there trying to decide if I should put the babies in the baby jail (what we call their fenced in area) while I run to the bathroom or the washer, and think for a moment, “Oh, Abi’s here, they’ll be fine.” Then the responsible part of my brain yells, “SHE IS ONLY THREE YEARS OLD!” But she is so assiduous in steering them away from forbidden areas, confiscating questionable items, yelling no when they go for a cord, limiting the number of cups they take from a cupboard, checking on and reporting back their whereabouts every few seconds, bringing them some of her favorite toys when they are bored, singing and reading to and hugging them when they are sad, and so on– surely you can forgive this tired mom for accidentally thinking that she’s got it covered sometimes.

Abi spends much of her thought life in the future these days– planning out every phase of her life in great detail, including the afterlife (she will live in her regular house but every morning we will rush out first thing to hug Jesus). I can’t help but laugh at her permutations upon permutations of plans. Lately she told me that she would have to go to college to learn how to make movies so she can make her film about living on the moon. She has planned out the menus for all my visits to her when I am a grandmother and she is an adult. She is sad that she cannot marry one of her brothers. “Is that God’s rule, or your rule?” she asked me when I told her that marriage is meant for starting a new family and so cannot include current family members.

Apart from the various illnesses we are in a pretty good rhythm. I’ve got to constantly avoid the temptation to treat caring for the children like an assembly line: diaper, diaper, bottle, bottle, meds, meds, meds, dressed, dressed, dressed, meal, meal, meal, nap, nap, teeth brushed…. There is always a sense of urgency to finish one kid up quickly because the next one needs me. I like it when another adult is there, or one of the kids is gone, so I can allow my son to dawdle at his bottle and play with me between gulps or see how silly my daughter and I can make our morning outfits. But the ratio of work to play is still very high, as it always is with small children. At least I burn a lot of calories in the process, and can appreciate the joy that the kids bring even if I am managing it more than creating it.

It doesn’t happen every day, but most evenings, there is a lull in the rushing and all five of us end up on the floor together, just hanging out. Callum will be trying to pull himself up on my knee while Abi tickles her dad and Ronan giggles against my other leg, holding out a toy for me to admire. Somebody tells a story about his or her day and somebody else pretends to fall asleep so Abi can “wake” them with a song. In those brief minutes with my family, I feel the gossamer threads of peace and affection and loyalty and fun that connect us together. I feel almost perfectly happy. And that happiness tells me that motherhood was meant for me, and me for motherhood. I love my blue-eyed crew.

And now the boys are in bed and Abi and Dr. G. are not yet returned from a trip to the snow. The three of us stayed home because I was still pretty sick and the boys had no snow clothes and would not appreciate it anyway. The day turned out to be a gift– it felt almost leisurely, giving my attention to only two children. I got to know my sons a little better. I learned that Callum likes to explore like mad for five minutes then crawl over to me for a wiggly one minute cuddle. I learned that Ronan loves to share his toys with Callum all of a sudden. He holds one out to his brother and says, “Uh! Uh! Uh!” until Callum comes over and takes a lick of it or shakes it. He will even follow Callum, scooting along with the toy in front of him, until full appreciation of the object has occurred. I learned the hard way that the boys have reached such a size that I should never skip one of their meals, no matter how big their bottles were and how exhausted they seem and how late we got back from Target. I learned that I want to start making time for them as individuals, just as I do for their sister, lest I miss out on any of their quirks and sweetnesses.

This morning I was helping Abi get ready for preschool (Pajama Day! Hooray!) when I heard the boys vocalizing very loudly and cheerfully in the playroom. “Hmm… I said to Abi. I hope those boys are not getting into trouble.” They were unsupervised– everywhere they can go is childproofed, but nonetheless they can always find things to destroy or that can destroy them, and I can only leave them for about a minute. I shouldn’t even do that. Callum is a single-minded shoe chewer; Ronan can sniff out any piece of paper that is within one foot of the ground and start eating it. But the baby corral is still in the garage a month after I snagged it off Craigslist, one third cleaned. As the bigger car seats I snagged off Craigslist three weeks ago are likewise crammed in a closet, zero thirds cleaned.

Anyway. Dr. G did a supervisory sweep by the playroom as he was packing for work and told me, laughing, “Don’t worry. They’re in their fort.” They had crawled under their bouncy thing (Bouncer? Jumperoo?). They both like to take a favorite toy under there individually, but this morning they were propped on their elbows face to face inside the circle of the base, chatting away about interesting baby stuff. A new social milestone. They do “play” together, which means that of the two dozen toys in reach, the only interesting one to either boy is the one his brother has. They follow each other around, grabbing for toys. There are tussles. There are tears. There are steamrolls upon steamrolls, instigated by Callum.

They both use sign language pretty well now. Ronan thinks the sign for “more” means “want.” He does it all the time, being a baby who wants a lot of things. Infuriatingly, he only wants to feed himself, despite having no pincer grasp and pretty spotty hand eye coordination. So he will sit in his high chair furiously signing more-more-more and crying as I shovel spoonful after spoonful into his mouth. He wants to hold the spoon HIMSELF. Giving him a different spoon to hold no longer tricks him. His attempts to get a full spoon of food into his mouth generally result in a row of splats across his eyebrows. Callum loves little fruit flavored rice puffs and is quickly getting a pincer grasp worked out so he might, just might, be able to get one in his mouth by himself. For now, getting his hands a little wet so they stick to them works okay.

Abi likes hearing about when she was their age. The other day I told her how I used to hold her and play with her and read to her all the time, because she wanted so much attention. I added that sometimes I feel sad that I can’t do the same with the boys. “Don’t worry, mom. The babies LOVE me! And I give them attention!” Ah, yes, true. Every word. She “reads” to them (I had NO IDEA how many books she had memorized), she sings to them, she pulls her chair up next to the bouncer and plays with their toys with them, she teaches them (“grass is little prickly things that are ticklish when you pet them”) and introduces new foods and is generally wonderful. She has at last accepted their presence in her life, a landmark noted by the fact that she finally, FINALLY calls each baby by his own name.

It’s been nice to have some family harmony in the midst of one sickness after another, after another, after another. We keep gearing up to get the boys trained to sleep through the night instead of waking twice each, and then another fever or cough or rash or whatever strikes. Sigh. Someday. Last night (morning?) at 5 am all three kids were awake and had been for anywhere from 2.5 hrs (Abi) to 1 hr (Callum). Oy. Glum, glum, glum. But whatyagonnado. I yearn for more contact with friends and other adults and for quarantines to be over. And to be well, and well-rested, myself. I am ready for more in my life than all babies, all the time. Though they are pretty entertaining.

I keeled over around 9 pm tonight. Dr. G and I were watching a little TV together after the kids were in bed, and I had strategically placed myself at his feet in hopes of a massage. Which I always do, and he always obliges, that kind, kind man. I was enjoying the show but my eyes felt ever so weary. I rested them for just a second. Next thing I knew, the show was over and Dr. G. was shaking me awake where I was sprawled on the carpet. This is not as rare an occurrence as you might think.

Some friends asked me the other day how I’m doing, REALLY. I said that each night as I fall into bed I offer up my profound gratitude for the privilege of caring for three wonderful little people. I adore them and enjoy them and worry about them and am completely exasperated by them. What was I anxious about before kids (BK)? The state of the world, I guess. Now it’s Callum’s plague of mysterious bug bites and Ronan’s painful reflux and Abi’s slightly turned in foot. I used to rage about politics. Now it’s how expensive twin baby gear is, even when acquired second-hand or at cut-rate internet prices because it is a weird color (Cranberry/noche stroller, anyone?). So I offer up my grateful joy to God and my whirl of crazy anxious thoughts, and then in 10 seconds I am dead asleep. This is my beautiful, exhausting life.

At church last week, the pastor advised the congregation to put the big events of 2012 behind them, whether good or bad, and look ahead to the future. I had to wryly grin to myself. Who has time for closure? Young children change so fast that parenting sometimes becomes a scramble to keep ahead.

Life around our house is definitely getting more fun. I’ve got three little gigglers up for a good time. One of the surprising pleasures of having multiple kids is seeing them enjoy each others’ company. Of course, Ronan and Callum’s method of showing affection is to clamber on top of the closest sibling and try to suck his or her head. This strategy doesn’t go over well with Abigail. “Get that baby off me!” is her constant refrain. “Don’t point that baby at me! He has spit!” She is still not totally sure who is whom.

Callum in particular adores Abigail. If she is in the room while I am trying to soothe him for a nap, he breaks into gasps of delight every time he gets a glimpse of her and kicks his legs wildly. Now she lies down stealthily between the cribs so she can still be near me and not distract the baby. She is most solicitous of both boys’ moods and needs, bringing them toys and songs and kisses all day long.

The boys are determined to find ways to locomote. They are up on their hands and knees rocking, and practicing various combinations of kicking, rolling, and stretching to get where they want to go. I lecture them daily about being content with where they are in life, for at least a few more months. They see right through my advice to the hidden terror I have about two mobile babies and a young preschooler. They scoff at it, doing their best to wiggle as much of their bodies as possible under the couch when I’m not looking.

They, and I, have gone through several really big transitions in the past few months. They have been learning to put themselves to sleep instead of always relying on me to do it for them; they started solid foods; and, just two weeks ago, they switched from breastfeeding to formula. The slow, easy process described in my nursing book, in which bottles are gradually substituted in for different feedings, failed to work for about a month. We had to go cold turkey. I was making well over a gallon of milk a day by that point. Yowch. Or should I say, YOOOWWWWCCCHHH.

While I’m absolutely sure it was the best choice for them and indeed the whole family, there is a grieving process for both me and the boys in giving up that exclusive part of our relationship. Poor Callum seemed to take it especially hard. Even after he began to forget nursing, he knew there was SOMETHING he wanted. The other night, he was convinced that if he could just get his whole head under my hair and against my neck, he’d find what he was looking for. It was so Flowers for Algernon I had to cry a bit. But every day they are happier and more eager for their bottles.

The boys weighed in at about 19 lbs each at their check-up this week, the last weigh-in that I can take (nearly) full credit for. It still surprises me that my body could make enough food to pack 25 new pounds of body weight on those boys in six months. It’s freaking awesome. I rejoice in how strong they are– I can barely keep them pinned long enough to change a diaper– and how they already try to assert their tiny little baby willpower in a myriad of ways. I rejoice, and I quake in my boots.

When I was a kid, I remember taking my family situation at face value for many, many years. It never occurred to me to question why my parents were my parents or my siblings my siblings or my religion my religion. I didn’t realize that there were actual CHOICES involved in any of it. We were just us. Not so with three-year-old Abigail, who has been trying to get to the heart of these matters lately.

A question to Dr. G and I at dinner recently: “Why did you want to be a mommy and a daddy when you were adults?”

We told her how wonderful it is to be part of a big family. I explained how interesting and full of love and fun it is to take a tiny baby home from the hospital– someone you do not know at all– and help him or her grow into a fascinating person with thoughts and feelings all his or her own. Even though it is a lot of hard work it is worth it. She nodded sagely, and said she wanted to be a mommy too, and name her twins Erin and Gary.

Today in the car she asked me why Daddy and I decided to get married. Wha??? Seriously? That’s what’s on her mind?

I told her how much we really, really liked and loved each other. So much so that we didn’t want to be apart again, but wanted to make our own family and share everything. “Once you love someone really special, you try to find a way to keep them near you always,” I concluded.

“What was special about Gary back then?” Abigail asked. Yes, she called him Gary.

So I told her some of the things I really loved about him then and now– his kindness, his good humor, his curiosity and intelligence, his love of Jesus.

We talked a bit about loving Jesus.

“Why is Jesus a spirit that we can’t see? Why does God not want us to see Jesus? I want to see Jesus.” she said.

“I don’t know, and I do, too,” I said.

“Well, I REALLY want to,” she said.

One more example: At bedtime, Abigail pointed out how her cupcake-print pajamas make her look like a sweet treat. Then she said, “Do you really, really like me?” Oh yes, so very much, I assured her. “Well what are the things you like about me?” she asked, not satisfied with generalities. So I began to list a few as she squirmed in delight:

I like how you find special leaves and rocks outside and give them to us because they look like clouds or snowflakes or pieces of pizza.

I like how you ask so many interesting questions. I know a conversation with you will never be boring! (“Well, that’s because I’m a scientist!” said she.)

I like how kind you are to your brothers, cheering them up when they are sad and bringing them toys and holding their hands.

I like your hugs. I think you might have the most loving hugs in the world! If I ever feel sad or tired or mad, I know a hug from you will make me feel better (Abi almost wiggles off the bed at that one).

“What else?”

Let’s save some for another night.

A few weeks ago I wrote about some of the difficulties of giving Abigail attention. I should add that she usually acts like whatever I give her is not enough, and fights for as much attention as she can possibly squeeze out of me, whether positive or negative. Sometimes I regret making time for her at all because it turns into a war afterward.

But today I was resting for a few minutes, awake but eyes closed, and she quietly came in and rested her arms and head on me. She started whispering: “Lord, bless Mommy for all the hugs and kisses she gives me. Thanks for so much love. Help her to be good.”

Then she caught me smiling. “Oh, you woke up! That’s so funny that I woke you up. I was just starting to pray for you.”

I wonder what else she would have said.

The boys turned four months old yesterday. And though there are dirty dishes to be washed and four loads of laundry to be folded and innumerable boxes to be unpacked, I just… can’t. So, blog post.

Ronan and Callum have reached the age where they seem to be waking up: to themselves, to me, to the world in general. It is so fun to watch two little people at once come into themselves before my very eyes. A double dose of delightfulness.

Callum is still my sweet social boy– he loves to pat my face and smile, especially when I am trying to get him to sleep. He sometimes seems to not realize that Ronan is a different person than he is; if both are crying, and I pick Ronan up and soothe him, Callum will often stop crying too and be soothed by just watching us. And today he sat on my lap and watched Ronan playing on the floor in front of him, a contented smile flitting off and on as Ronan succeeded in getting one toy after another into his mouth.

Ronan is strong and physical. It is easy to get him to giggle by making a silly sound and doing something to him, like shaking his hands or patting his belly. One of his favorite activities is yanking his toys down from the activity gym by clutching them to his chest and then rolling over as hard as he can so the plastic chain links holding them in place pop loose.

They’ve started to play together, mostly arm wrestling on the bed, which Ronan always wins. Callum doesn’t mind. He feels like a winner too.

Taking care of them is still really hard. There is a lot of crying. There are hours spent each day putting one baby and then the next down for three naps, bedtime, and at least one night waking. Some days I just want to curl up and die when I spend 20 minutes putting down one baby, 20 minutes the next, and then ten minutes later, the first one is awake again. Once we find the bolts for the other crib (alas, lost in the move) we are going to separate them so they can’t hurt each other and start sleep training, which should cut down on some of that soothing time.

Maybe the hardest part of having twins is not really being there for Abigail. She constantly gets short shrift… I can only give her my full attention in a few 15- to 20-minute bursts throughout the day, unless the babysitter is here (she comes for six hours a week). I try to include Abi in whatever I’m doing, but frankly I’m a bad multi-tasker and all three kids fuss and complain when I try to divide my attention among them. Abi gets her own snacks and drinks and dresses herself and sets up her own arts and crafts projects. And yes, she just turned three a few months ago. I can be with her long enough to make her lunch or read a book or help her with an art project, but not enough to really PARENT her the way I would like. I don’t consistently enforce the rules and I definitely don’t invest the time necessary to teach her some of the things she is ready to learn, like how to clean up after herself, how to pray for herself and others, how to be polite, and so on. If the babies are so needy they won’t give me a break at all, I just shut them in their room for 20 minutes and let them screech while I do something with Abigail. It is easy to forget that just because she doesn’t screech like they do doesn’t mean she needs me any less.

Sometimes she handles the neglect well, other times not. Yesterday she rose to the challenge of an afternoon of ridiculously fussy babies by experimenting until she got one and then the other to stop crying. Her successful technique? Scratching rhythmically across a big sheet of bumpy paper while standing in front of the babies in their bouncy chairs. Whodathunk? Tonight at bedtime she pressed her hand to my chest and quoted a blessing she had just learned from a library book: “Mommy, I wish you peace, from my heart to yours.” Just lovely. I, too, wish her a heart filled with peace and a house filled with peace. Someday, my dear. Someday soon.

At first, when you look down in the crib and see two little bodies there, you feel surprised. Every time. Two! That’s amazing! How is that possible?

Nursing happens on a giant flat pillow worn around the waist like the rings of saturn. One baby gets tucked under each arm, lying on the pillow. They each get onloaded and offloaded from their baby boppy pillows. This whole arrangement takes up an entire couch.

Many times you fervently wish for only TWO children instead of 3– two babies only, or one baby and one preschooler. But who could you possibly give up? No one.

The one in your arms at the moment is always your favorite. Unless he has been inconsolable, refusing to sleep, and covering you with spit up for hours. Then the other two are your favorites.

At around four or five weeks in, when the exhaustion is total, each parent in turn has the firm middle-of-the-night conviction that everything would be SO much better if the other parent would a) take care of the babies CORRECTLY for once and b) stop trying to sabotage your every effort to sleep. Then you both get over it.

At least once during the night, one parent is so sleepy and confused he or she must be ordered around with short, simple phrases, like a voice-activated robot. “Pick up the baby!” “Burp the baby!”

If both parents are in this state at the same time, there is a lot of confusedly holding babies on the lap and patting them ineffectually, forgetting which one is which and what, exactly, he needs.

You resent each loving, helpful visitor in turn for putting your favorite water glass in the dishwasher when you were still using it. Then you get over it.

Then the boys get old enough to start looking at your face and smiling lovingly, straining to snuggle in even closer with their whole bodies or reaching towards you with a hand, and you are filled with delight.

You realize how small of a reward you actually need to keep going.
You realize how rich you are with children.
You realize you can do it.
You are filled with thanksgiving.
You still wish you could fast forward a few more months.