What do you do when the words come back, and you long to write…. but it’s been so long you’ve almost forgotten how?

I guess the best answer is you just jump in and start writing, and eventually you’ll find your groove again .

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I’m enjoying my children.

When did DragonMonkey get so old?

I think Squid wanted to pop this pony in the back of our minivan and take her home

What a bland thing to write.  I know.  A good life doesn’t really make for very interesting writing, or stories, not unless you put some real effort into it.  I do feel a small pang of regret that I won’t be able to look back on the twins’ infancy the way I am able to with DragonMonkey and Squid’s.

Aside from a few Facebook entries chronicling my sleep deprivation, or sharing a couple of pictures of the Kraken crying, I just haven’t really taken down too many of their stories.

I think I realized in the beginning that I would have to make a choice:  Do I chronicle the twins’ infancy – the small details, like the way Magpie would only “talk” at first if she had her dimpled, tiny fingers wrapped firmly around an index finger, anchoring her so the sound could bubble up out of her?  The way I broke down sobbing at six weeks, crying out that I‘ve done nothing but sit on this couch nursing twins for six weeks straight, I even sleep sitting up, people aren’t made to be in a sitting position for this long, I’ve been sitting on my stupid butt for so long I actually gave myself hemorrhoids, please I just want to go outside, I just want to sleep more than two hours at a stretch, please I want to feel the sun on my face….

Shouldn’t I be writing down the intricacies of the Kraken’s cry, the way it starts out sounding like a stalled engine every single time he wakes up, or the silent way he laughs? What about the way his small, warm body curls against mine at night?

Shouldn’t I be writing about that, so I can have the memories to luxuriate in at a later date?

Or do I breathe them in now, pouring out my love in the small, simple touches of mothering that leave no time for anything but, only to have time and sleeplessness wear away the details until I’m left with nothing more than a vague sense of memory?

In case you can’t tell from the crickets and tumbleweeds on this blog, I went with option two.

I’d like to say I’m doing all sorts Pinterest-worthy mothering to my four kids…. but mostly, I’m just being lazy and enjoying the heck out of them.  I suppose I ought to be doing more – signing them up for some sort of school sport, or reading more to them, or coming up with brain-growing crafts, or something like that.

I mean, I’m not saying it’s all perfect.  I yell too much some days.  The older boys get loud and obnoxious with each other.  The babies scream.

Marvelous Magpie

It’s not perfect and I’m not perfect…. but overall?  It’s good.  Real good.

I find myself sinking into the feel of the babies in my arms, or eavesdropping on the older boys’ playing with all the lazy indulgence of a binge eater nibbling on the last few chocolates in a box.

They say that childhood is fleeting  –  “they” being the people who no longer have access to it as much as they would desire.  If you ask the mother of a cranky two-year old toddler how fleeting childhood is, the answer will invariably be “not fleeting enough”…. but I feel it. I feel the press of time weighing down on me like the weight of the summer sun, and I feel the way this will be gone all too soon, so I drink it in, trying to drench my skin and my soul in the feel of this brief moment before it’s gone.

I’ve always had these moments of joy in my kids – I just never really write about them. There’s something very easy and simple to invite strangers on the internet to take a peek on the funny, embarrassing, or frustrating areas of my life.  It’s a lot more dangerous to invite them to look in on the private things I love.

If I share a story about how am stupid, and someone reaches out to tell me, “Hey, Becky, that’s pretty stupid”… well, obviously we agree with each other.

But… but I don’t know how my heart could handle hearing a similar about something that’s actually precious to me.  Oh, sure, I could get over it, but mostly I think….why risk it?

The thing is, I know why I feel this need, this sense of urgency to just take joy in my babies.

I have a friend.  Had a friend.  Have a friend?

Oh, it wasn’t one of those uber-close friendships.  She was just someone I knew briefly in high school and only reconnected with recently because of the internet.  On the surface we had a lot in common.  Silly stuff.  We’re both tall.  We both grew up in Huntington Beach.  We both went to the same church.  We both had the same group of church friends.  We both loved sports, and the outdoors, and the color burnt orange and Calvin and Hobbes.  We both got married and had some kids.  We both believe in Christ.  We both had twins.  Of course, we have our differences too.

I never had to leave my husband because of…. well, let’s just leave it at irreconcilable differences.  I never had to move cross-country with six-week old twins.  I never got diagnosed with aggressive cancer when my babies were three months old, either.

I’d been following her story for a while – the radiation, the chemo, the sickness, the laughter, the trials… if you ask me, I think it’s easier to be brave in a single moment than it is to be brave through a long, hard slog.  She was brave.  She even had the tattoo to prove it.

Bravery in the small things seems so much harder to me

And eventually it came down to the end.  And that’s where our stories differ, too.  I got to spend my summer snuggling my babies.  She got to spend hers learning how to say goodbye, to watch her babies turn to her parents as their primary caregivers, to be looking to transition to that next stage in life – heaven.

I received the news of her passing via Facebook… which is as it should be.  I wasn’t a close family friend, or someone who was all that close with her in the end…. but her passing still hit me.

I loaded up the babies into a stroller and we all headed out to the park – the boys bouncing and chattering about Pokemon Go, me quiet in contemplation of inevitable mortality, the simple joy of the sun on my shoulders, and the sound of my children.

For the record I’ve decided it’s impossible to be truly sad when you have to focus on herding children down a sidewalk – it takes too much effort and concentration to keep them all heading the same direction.  Besides, there was something healing in just being a mom to my kids in response to her finally resting from her fight, and flying away home.

I know this is heavy stuff, so I guess I’ll end it here.  I just wanted to take the time to say….Julianne, I can’t wait to hang with you in heaven.  And in the meantime…. thank you for making me a better mom, and for reminding me that it’s okay to just enjoy my kids.

At this point I don’t even know how many thousands of words I’ve typed into unpublished blogposts that will never seen the light of day.

To save on your eye strain and my boredom at hearing myself whine for paragraphs upon paragraphs, here is the one sentence summary of all the posts you guys will never read:

I’m having twins, and while I’m not excited yet, I’m finally feeling less dread about the prospect.

Yup.  That’s me – I’m making my bid early for next year’s Mom of the Year award.

Isn’t that a heck of a thing to admit out loud?  The words “dread” and “kids I’m gonna give birth to” probably shouldn’t ever go together.  I feel a little guilty even writing them. These are people inside me.  People, who for the first few years of their life will think I hang the sun/moon/stars…. and I’m admitting that I’m dreading their arrival. What a terrible emotion for anyone to have, much less their mother.

And for the record, when my twins stumble upon some ancient cached copy of my blog a couple of decades from now and try to use this against me in court to force me to pay their therapy bills… Sorry, guys.  I really don’t mean it personally.  It’s just…. at this point you’re not really individuals to me – you’re just the tiny little invisible people inside me who seem to relish making me sick.

I’ve spent the last six weeks or so alternating between freaking out and feeling guilty about freaking out. Seriously, if “oh, no, I’m bringing two babies into a happy family instead of just one baby” is the worst of my life’s concerns, then I’d say my life is pretty good.  I don’t feel like I’ve earned the right to freak out.

It’s just… two of them.  TWO.  At once. For, like, ever.

It surprised me when The Bean was the first one to climb aboard the “Woo-Hoo! Twins!” Train. It didn’t take him hardly any time at all.  By the time the evening of our first ultrasound rolled around, he was already chugging along and picking up steam and grinning over, “two babies!”

It’s just…. ugh.  Pregnancy has never been my favorite state, and twin pregnancy is just so, so much worse.  It feels a lot like my body has been hijacked, and I’m just being dragged along for the ride.  Plus, it’s honestly a little bit lonely.  I’m too sick to go out there and arrange playdates, so most of the time it’s just me, the dogs, the kids, the living room, and occasional trips to throw up all over the toilet.

I had all of these plans of enjoying my third and final pregnancy, being comfortable with the familiar….  and, well, those plans obviously fell by the wayside.

In case you’re curious, I’m here to tell you that, so far, a singleton pregnancy vs a twin pregnancy feels a lot like the difference between a deer in a petting zoo and a petting an Alaskan moose with rabies.  Also, the moose thinks you’re out to get her baby.  And you’re trapped in an elevator with her.  And oh, look – she just snorted a bad batch of cocaine.

I did what I always do when feeling lost… and I tried to make sense of it via the internet.  I’ve spent hours trying to find online blogs about moms experiencing twin pregnancy, but I’ve discovered that twin moms who blog come in three flavors:

1. The “Fit Pregnancy” Mom:  I admire fit pregnancy mom…. but it’s disheartening to see women in bikinis two weeks after giving birth… or, heck, two weeks before giving birth.  I’m not bitter/jealous of them – I’ve skimmed their blogs, and they’re out there doing hours of pilates while 8 months along.  Dude.  They’ve earned their flat belly.  They’ve really, really, REALLY earned it.  It’s just…. I don’t feel much kinship.
2. The “I’m Doubly Blessed!” Mom:  I think these make for beautiful blogs, and I’m not trying to disparage them, because I think it’s a great perspective to have…. it’s just that reading them makes me feel guilty. I want to be immediately happy with the news of having twins.  I think that’s a great response.  I know I should feel like that… but if I felt like that already, I wouldn’t be out there Googling inspiration.
3. The “Dead Twins” Mom:  HOLY CRAP, there’s a lot of those out there.  I feel like their blogs should come with some kind of a trigger warning:  “Don’t get attached to this mom’s pregnancy. Trust us.  It ends horribly.”  I try to avoid those for obvious reasons.

Anyways, that’s where I’m at.  I’m starting to come around now that I don’t feel so terribly awful all the time – vomiting is now down to only once or twice a week, which feels AMAZING!  I’m 18 weeks along which is kind of considered the halfway point for twins – if I haven’t given birth by 38 weeks along (March 11th, I think?) then they’ll schedule an induction.

I’m not very big on inductions and interventions, but my new perinatologist doctor was very firm but polite on that aspect:  If I disagreed with the “not past 38 weeks” aspect, she would be happy to recommend some other doctors to me who would be willing to see me.

The stubborn part of me considered it, but not only does she seem very competent/intelligent, she is a big fan of “no C-sections unless absolutely necessary, even for twin moms” (HOORAY!)… AND she has tiny, slender little arms.

The last part is important, because here’s what happens a lot of the time when you give birth vaginally to twins.  After the first twin comes out the second twin is usually (more often than not) not in a good position for giving birth.  Either they were breech (feet first) to begin with, or transverse (laying all sideways across the top), or they rotate into a weird position once they find themselves with all sorts of legroom after their sibling comes out.

Luckily for me, my doctor is very skilled at breech extraction.

Isn’t that a nice, scientific term?  “Breech extraction” It sounds so much better than “I’m very well trained at putting on the LONG rubber glove and plunging shoulder deep into your nether regions in order to haul out your stubborn, sideways unborn child.”

Like this, only sexier. Because nothing says sexy like an entire arm up your crotch.  

At my first appointment with my new doctor she was trying to gain momentum in order to talk me into an epidural (I really didn’t want one with Squid, but finally gave in after the first 31 hours)… and I had to cut her off.  “Look, lady, I’ve watched the Youtube videos.  I’ve seen how far you’re going to go spelunking.  I do NOT want to feel that without epidural.”

Anyways, that’s the glamorous reality of my new life:  I watch Youtube videos of doctors shoving arms up women in order to haul out slippery, screamy children, I get nauseous every night, I collapse in bed by 9pm every night in a sleep so deep it might as well be a coma, and I lay in bed awake from 3am to 5am every night (morning?) for no particular reason.

I also spend a lot of time trying to put off making difficult, soul-wrenching, adult decisions:  Do I try to find someone to lease Caspian for me, or do I simply put him up for sale?

The lease makes the most sense to my heart, although writing the Craigslist ad is still surprisingly difficult.  It’s necessary though.  I’ll be going down to only 10 hours a week at my library job, which means a 50% reduction in pay at a time when we’ll have more expenses than ever.

Selling Caspian makes the most sense, but tears at my heart in a way I try not to think too much about.

It helps if I think of numbers:  I won’t be able to go to the barn without hiring a babysitter (an impossible extra cost) or depending on my mom – The Bean’s only home by 7pm three or four months out of the year – the rest of the time he’s home around 9pm – way too late for me to go riding.

Board (plus farrier, plus feed) averages out to $350 a month.

And then there’s the numbers of actual horse time: the chances of me getting any significant, regular horse time with a set of twins (not even factoring in the fact I’ll have four children.  FOUR?! ) before 2017… or heck, 2018?  It’s not that great.

If I’m considering numbers it helps for me to pick a date at random:  let’s say 18 months after giving birth.  By a year and a half the twins will be toddlers – hyperactive but more manageable in terms of having a schedule and sleeping through the night and not relying on me making milk for them 24/7.

That’s 22 months from now, give or take.

If Caspian sold today, in 22 months I could be saving $7700 in horse board… at a time when we’re really, really going to be needing the money. That’s money which could be applied towards our new vehicle (we have to get rid of my Scion XB – it doesn’t fit four car seats), towards diapers (I’m going to try to do some cloth diapering, since twins use about 500 diapers a month, but still, it’s gonna cost!) or most importantly, it’s $7700 which could be spent on catching up on some of our debts.

Then again, if we’re thinking about numbers….

It would be 2017 or even 2018 before I seriously considered buying another horse.

2018 before I could own a horse again.

That’s such a terrifying thought to me that I do my best to just put it out of my mind, a la Scarlett O’Hara.

If I leased him, even a half lease, I could apply the money made from my library job (the money left over after babysitting expenses) towards half his board.  But what if the lease went sour?  What if they injure him by hot rodding him around the arena?  What then?

Wait.  Hold on.  Waaaaaaaait.  Seeee???  Do you see why I haven’t been blogging?  I have no interest in becoming Twin Mom Variation #4:  Mom Who Only Sees The Dark Side Of Twins And Complains A Lot.

Anyways, that’s what I’ve been up to lately.  I’ve been going through the house and making Goodwill trips like crazy as I try to make room for the impending influx of baby accessories.  I’ve been eating… and then puking, and then eating again.

On a shallow side note – all of the twin books like to emphasize how hard it is to gain weight while pregnant with twins, and I am here to tell you… they’re absolutely right.  Between the puking and my food aversions and the simple fact that there’s two tiny little people inside me sucking out all my nutrients, I’ve only put on 9 pounds… and that’s WITH me deliberately eating high-fat items like fettucine alfredo with butter steak on top.  I think I gained 9 pounds in the first week with my previous two pregnancies, so it’s kind of a nice side benefit.

I’ve also been getting regular ultrasounds – my next one is on November 6th.  So Twin B’s gender is still up in the air, but it’s been confirmed that Twin A is definitely a boy.

Unknown gender Twin BB using his/her brother like the world’s most comfortable beanbag.

So, now I’ve got this whiny post out-of-the-way, and you’re all up to date.  I can go through my drafts folder and delete the rest of my “what am I going to doooooo” type posts and move on with writing about things that make me happy.

What have you all been up to?