Dear Brady,
Today is your 5th birthday. I can't believe it either! I went back and checked your birth certificate to make sure it said "2007," and it did. Then, because math is not my strong subject, I counted on my fingers to 2012. The result: you are in fact 5 years old today. It went by so fast. And apparently, it means that I'm just "Mom" now -- no "Mommy" for you anymore.
Man, I have just loved the past year with you. I think we've finally reconnected. I had NO idea how hard it would be to try to keep our lives together. I missed you. Not to say we didn't have our moments, but for the most part, you've been sweet, kind to your sisters, helpful, and oh-so-lovable. One day when you read this, you may not remember that you had an articulation disorder and were in speech therapy for months and months. But because of that, you were a late, unconfident talker. Well, no more! You are a chatterbox. From the moment you wake up until the moment you (finally) fall asleep, you are observing, asking, telling, cajoling, storytelling, and fact checking. (You also whine sometimes. But I love you anyway.)
And you are FUNNY. (I would like to think it comes from the Jewish side, but really, your dad is the funny one in the family.) You tell jokes, you recognize silliness, you dance all crazy and make funny faces. You seek out humor. You do pratfalls to make your sisters laugh. (Well, maybe that IS your Jewish vaudeville side.)
You want me to lay down with you at night until you fall asleep. The books tell parents not to do this, but I say screw the books. In a few years, you won't want me to do this, and I will miss it immensely.
You love superheroes, dinosaurs, Hot Wheels cars (but not Matchbox, for some reason), Legos, and playing with your older friends in the neighborhood. Your perfect day would be spent at a park with climbing walls. Your favorite foods are quesadillas with sour cream and salsa, hot dogs, cheese puffs, olives, and chocolate. THIS is your favorite song right now: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rDG0c3saE4I&noredirect=1
You are the best big brother I could ever ask to have birthed. You want to come with me to wake up your sisters, and my God, they are thrilled to see you. You teach them about the world. You protect them. You help me with them in a million different ways.
I think back to your birth 5 years ago, and I realize what a long road we've traveled together. I'm not always as kind, patient, or involved as I'd like to be, but I always love you more than life itself. I hope one day, maybe when you have kids of your own, you'll look back and realize that I WANTED to play pirate ship with you all morning, but I had to get everybody ready for school, and we were already late. I WANTED to hang out and watch dinosaur movies all day, but I had to get dinner ready, or clean up the mess from lunch, or do laundry. It wasn't because I wouldn't rather have snuggled with you all day on the couch.
So all of this to say, I am so lucky, so fortunate, so blessed to have you for a son. I am so proud of you every day. I watch you grow and mature, and learn to be the person you've yet to become, and I can't wait to see who that is.
Love,
Mom(my)
Thursday, March 15, 2012
Monday, September 19, 2011
On having twins
When I go to the grocery store, the park, the pediatrician's, or ANYWHERE with both girls in tow, I'm stopped an average of 5 times with this basic conversation:
--Are they twins?
Me: Yes. (thinking in my head: of course they're twins. are you an idiot?)
--A boy and a girl? [Note: I do not dress the girls in ribbons and bows from toes to head, not that it would matter with this question.]
Me: No, two girls.
--Oh. You don't dress them alike?
Me: No, they're 2 separate people. [Note: Those who do dress their kids alike are all right by me!]
--Are they identical?
Me: We don't know. We might find out one day.
Sometimes, it ends right there. And sometimes, it gets personal.
--Were you surprised? OR Do twins run in your family? [Translation: Did you use fertility treatments?]
Me: Oh, yes! OR My grandmother was a twin, but there hadn't been any for 91 years.
Then usually, I fake having to be in a hurry. Or rather, in a greater hurry than I already was.
And poor Brady if he's there too. He's essentially ignored.
--How old are they?
Me: 17 months.
Brady: YOU DIDN'T TELL THEM HOW OLD I AM!!
Me: And 4 and a half years.
Although I've gotten smarter and now say "4 and a half years and 17 months." Brady's usually satisfied with this.
Having twins is an absolute riot. And by that I mean it's sometimes hysterically funny, and sometimes, it's like an actual RIOT, with only the cool police shields and rubber bullets missing. When both girls go for the same toy, the screeching alone is enough to drive you over the edge. But when they're hugging each other and giggling, or playing peek-a-boo with each other, you can't help but smile and laugh along.
The first year was HARD -- just trying to keep 2 premature babies alive while also caring for your oldest child, keeping a household going, working, and occasionally talking to your husband is not for the faint of heart or stomach. But this second year is CRAAAAAAZY. Two toddlers without judgement or impulse control going in 2 different directions is insane enough. But these girls have OPINIONS -- which sippy cup each prefers, whether snack is delicious enough, even which sun hat should be worn outside -- and they are a force to be reckoned with. If I have to again say "Sit on your tushie" while they stand on a chair, "Get off the table" as they climb on top of the DINING ROOM TABLE, or "Eat your own snack" as they lunge for Brady's popsicle for the 100th time, I think I might lose my mind. Whenever we're out and parents of older multiples see us, they make a point to come over and say, "Don't worry! It DOES get easier!" (And I always think, "Man, we must look like shit if they came over here to tell us that.")
As it turns out, when 2 toddlers are testing their limits, they totally feed off each other. While this works out when they're learning to dance, it's not so fun when they're dashing up the stairs again and again, climbing the changing pad to get to the wipes, pulling Brady's and my hair, and straddling the arm of the couch. So whereas we could leave the room when Brady was this age, these girls need constant supervision. And it's exhausting and frustrating. The only thing I can say is that we learned a lot from Brady's toddlerhood, and we'll do things a lot differently with the girls. "Limits" is a word we understand now, both their need to test, and our need to set, and as they grow older, to follow through on with clear consequences.
But as they get older, they are getting more amazing. To watch them not only grow but thrive after all the complications of the pregnancy, and to see them realize that they have a special relationship -- it takes your breath away. And watching them with Brady -- oh, my, it just brings tears to my eyes. Just this morning Bayla almost fell out of a chair, and I couldn't get there in time. But Brady caught her! And then he was so proud to be such a protective big brother. He adores them, and I'm fairly certain they love him more than me.
Deciding to go for a second child is a big deal when your life has become more easy, and then to find out that child will be children...well...it's a lot to handle when you're somewhat ambivalent about it because you love your first child SO much you think it's enough. But then you welcome these kids into the world, and you see the sibling relationship start to develop....it's unbelievable. Everyone said that siblings are "a gift" for an older child, and they were so right. Brady has grown by leaps and bounds. He has his moments of course, but mostly, he's a considerate, mature, sweet little boy who values and loves his sisters. Seeing them all play together is a sight to behold.
And so I've concluded that all in all, even when I'm catching hulking baby girls as they fall off the couch for the 10th time in a row at the same time, we'll keep 'em. I love this family of mine. Before they were born, I didn't realize what I was missing. Now I double understand.
--Are they twins?
Me: Yes. (thinking in my head: of course they're twins. are you an idiot?)
--A boy and a girl? [Note: I do not dress the girls in ribbons and bows from toes to head, not that it would matter with this question.]
Me: No, two girls.
--Oh. You don't dress them alike?
Me: No, they're 2 separate people. [Note: Those who do dress their kids alike are all right by me!]
--Are they identical?
Me: We don't know. We might find out one day.
Sometimes, it ends right there. And sometimes, it gets personal.
--Were you surprised? OR Do twins run in your family? [Translation: Did you use fertility treatments?]
Me: Oh, yes! OR My grandmother was a twin, but there hadn't been any for 91 years.
Then usually, I fake having to be in a hurry. Or rather, in a greater hurry than I already was.
And poor Brady if he's there too. He's essentially ignored.
--How old are they?
Me: 17 months.
Brady: YOU DIDN'T TELL THEM HOW OLD I AM!!
Me: And 4 and a half years.
Although I've gotten smarter and now say "4 and a half years and 17 months." Brady's usually satisfied with this.
Having twins is an absolute riot. And by that I mean it's sometimes hysterically funny, and sometimes, it's like an actual RIOT, with only the cool police shields and rubber bullets missing. When both girls go for the same toy, the screeching alone is enough to drive you over the edge. But when they're hugging each other and giggling, or playing peek-a-boo with each other, you can't help but smile and laugh along.
The first year was HARD -- just trying to keep 2 premature babies alive while also caring for your oldest child, keeping a household going, working, and occasionally talking to your husband is not for the faint of heart or stomach. But this second year is CRAAAAAAZY. Two toddlers without judgement or impulse control going in 2 different directions is insane enough. But these girls have OPINIONS -- which sippy cup each prefers, whether snack is delicious enough, even which sun hat should be worn outside -- and they are a force to be reckoned with. If I have to again say "Sit on your tushie" while they stand on a chair, "Get off the table" as they climb on top of the DINING ROOM TABLE, or "Eat your own snack" as they lunge for Brady's popsicle for the 100th time, I think I might lose my mind. Whenever we're out and parents of older multiples see us, they make a point to come over and say, "Don't worry! It DOES get easier!" (And I always think, "Man, we must look like shit if they came over here to tell us that.")
As it turns out, when 2 toddlers are testing their limits, they totally feed off each other. While this works out when they're learning to dance, it's not so fun when they're dashing up the stairs again and again, climbing the changing pad to get to the wipes, pulling Brady's and my hair, and straddling the arm of the couch. So whereas we could leave the room when Brady was this age, these girls need constant supervision. And it's exhausting and frustrating. The only thing I can say is that we learned a lot from Brady's toddlerhood, and we'll do things a lot differently with the girls. "Limits" is a word we understand now, both their need to test, and our need to set, and as they grow older, to follow through on with clear consequences.
But as they get older, they are getting more amazing. To watch them not only grow but thrive after all the complications of the pregnancy, and to see them realize that they have a special relationship -- it takes your breath away. And watching them with Brady -- oh, my, it just brings tears to my eyes. Just this morning Bayla almost fell out of a chair, and I couldn't get there in time. But Brady caught her! And then he was so proud to be such a protective big brother. He adores them, and I'm fairly certain they love him more than me.
Deciding to go for a second child is a big deal when your life has become more easy, and then to find out that child will be children...well...it's a lot to handle when you're somewhat ambivalent about it because you love your first child SO much you think it's enough. But then you welcome these kids into the world, and you see the sibling relationship start to develop....it's unbelievable. Everyone said that siblings are "a gift" for an older child, and they were so right. Brady has grown by leaps and bounds. He has his moments of course, but mostly, he's a considerate, mature, sweet little boy who values and loves his sisters. Seeing them all play together is a sight to behold.
And so I've concluded that all in all, even when I'm catching hulking baby girls as they fall off the couch for the 10th time in a row at the same time, we'll keep 'em. I love this family of mine. Before they were born, I didn't realize what I was missing. Now I double understand.
Monday, July 25, 2011
Failing our daughters
We were at our neighborhood pool yesterday when I overheard a cute 16-yr-old-ish girl talking to the lifeguard, another 16-yr-old-ish girl. The first girl was lamenting her extra fat and laid out her plan: a crazy combo of fad diet and strict exercise regimen, consisting of 1.5 hours of cardio a day. Oh, and trips to the tanning bed because being tan makes her stomach look better.
Now, let me say that this girl, who is pretty and blonde, looks exactly how I would have killed to look when I was 16. I didn't see any fat on her. And I thought, where is her mother in all this? Aside from stepping in to avoid the SKIN CANCER risks associated with going to a tanning bed, is her mother not telling her she's beautiful? Is she hanging around with people who don't make her feel better about herself, and bring her down? Maybe her mother is involved, is telling her she's beautiful, and is warning her to stay away from the tanning beds. I don't know. But for me, it was a wake up call to make sure I'm saying the right things around my kids so that they know they're perfect, and that I'm comfortable with myself.
Which isn't to say I am. I can't remember a time since puberty I was happy with my body. I had curves early, and I like to eat, so that's a difficult combination for a teenager. I wasn't athletic, and the popular clothes for the time didn't fit me correctly, so I never looked the way I wanted. Add in a tall, blonde, volleyball-playing best friend, and well....I hated the way I looked. (Note: not my BFF's fault-- she never made me feel badly about myself. It was all in my head.) I gained 20 lbs my freshman year of college, and that did NOT help. Looking back, I was beautiful. I was never thin because of the aforementioned curves, but I wasn't baby-ravaged either! I could have chosen my wardrobe better. I could have exercised more routinely. I could have just dealt with it! The boys never seemed to mind too much, and I had plenty of amazing friends. But always, in the back of my mind, my body wasn't good enough.
And that brings me to my mother. My mother's mother, my Bubba, had some weird ideas about weight and fat people. She made my mother feel terrible about her own body. When my mom was dying from cancer, it made her stomach swell, and I'm sure my mother was dealing with body issues at the very end of her life; how could she not? She'd been programmed. My mother did her best to tell me how beautiful I was, how I should show off my body (appropriately. This was the time of grunge-- she would have settled for a tucked-in shirt). (God, I miss grunge.) I do remember one time, when I was back living at home when Mom was sick, and the stress of her illness, combined with a desk job, and the comfort of being with a boyfriend (now husband) who loved me, was contributing to some weight gain. She said something about noticing, and I responded with some barb about going to fix dinner, if I could fit through the door. She started to cry and apologized profusely-- she'd just done to me what her mother did to her, what she swore she'd never do. That stuck with me.
In a million years, I didn't think I'd have any daughters, not to mention TWO daughters. Bayla loves to eat, and she's a solid little girl. She's perfectly average percentile-wise. But I noticed that I was saying stuff like, "Look at that Buddha belly." She doesn't yet know who Buddha is. Heck, she doesn't even know what her belly is. But I realized that it's a negative comment for anyone other than a baby. And so it's going to stop.
And you know what else is going to stop? My self-deprecating comments about my own body and clothes. I'm not the heaviest I've ever been, but these kids have done a NUMBER on my figure. I have a permanent pooch where a cute belly had been before. My boobs are not where they used to be. But I successfully carried 3 children, and I have a husband who loves me even more for my pooch and stomach-boobs.
Bayla and Harper will most likely have different body types. Already I can tell that Harper is longer, leaner, more coordinated. It is 100% my responsibility to make these girls feel beautiful. Whether they believe me or not is up to them-- I didn't believe my mother. But I'm going to do my damnedest to help them love themselves. And also, choose the right clothing styles for their bodies. But they have to love and respect themselves. And I will NOT have any sexting to be accepted.
And what about Brady? Boys have it rough too. He'll be skinny his whole life, like his Daddy. I'm going to try to help him love his skinny little self, help him see the benefit of avoiding a pot belly in middle age. And I'm going to teach him that women come in all shapes and sizes, and we're all beautiful, all worthy of love. And that smart, well-read women are more interesting than shallow beauties.
They all have to realize that they should strive to be healthy, not stick-thin or hungry. HEALTHY, in mind, body, spirit. Teaching them this is my most important job. Second most important job: bringing back grunge. I think I still have a flannel shirt or 2 somewhere.
Now, let me say that this girl, who is pretty and blonde, looks exactly how I would have killed to look when I was 16. I didn't see any fat on her. And I thought, where is her mother in all this? Aside from stepping in to avoid the SKIN CANCER risks associated with going to a tanning bed, is her mother not telling her she's beautiful? Is she hanging around with people who don't make her feel better about herself, and bring her down? Maybe her mother is involved, is telling her she's beautiful, and is warning her to stay away from the tanning beds. I don't know. But for me, it was a wake up call to make sure I'm saying the right things around my kids so that they know they're perfect, and that I'm comfortable with myself.
Which isn't to say I am. I can't remember a time since puberty I was happy with my body. I had curves early, and I like to eat, so that's a difficult combination for a teenager. I wasn't athletic, and the popular clothes for the time didn't fit me correctly, so I never looked the way I wanted. Add in a tall, blonde, volleyball-playing best friend, and well....I hated the way I looked. (Note: not my BFF's fault-- she never made me feel badly about myself. It was all in my head.) I gained 20 lbs my freshman year of college, and that did NOT help. Looking back, I was beautiful. I was never thin because of the aforementioned curves, but I wasn't baby-ravaged either! I could have chosen my wardrobe better. I could have exercised more routinely. I could have just dealt with it! The boys never seemed to mind too much, and I had plenty of amazing friends. But always, in the back of my mind, my body wasn't good enough.
And that brings me to my mother. My mother's mother, my Bubba, had some weird ideas about weight and fat people. She made my mother feel terrible about her own body. When my mom was dying from cancer, it made her stomach swell, and I'm sure my mother was dealing with body issues at the very end of her life; how could she not? She'd been programmed. My mother did her best to tell me how beautiful I was, how I should show off my body (appropriately. This was the time of grunge-- she would have settled for a tucked-in shirt). (God, I miss grunge.) I do remember one time, when I was back living at home when Mom was sick, and the stress of her illness, combined with a desk job, and the comfort of being with a boyfriend (now husband) who loved me, was contributing to some weight gain. She said something about noticing, and I responded with some barb about going to fix dinner, if I could fit through the door. She started to cry and apologized profusely-- she'd just done to me what her mother did to her, what she swore she'd never do. That stuck with me.
In a million years, I didn't think I'd have any daughters, not to mention TWO daughters. Bayla loves to eat, and she's a solid little girl. She's perfectly average percentile-wise. But I noticed that I was saying stuff like, "Look at that Buddha belly." She doesn't yet know who Buddha is. Heck, she doesn't even know what her belly is. But I realized that it's a negative comment for anyone other than a baby. And so it's going to stop.
And you know what else is going to stop? My self-deprecating comments about my own body and clothes. I'm not the heaviest I've ever been, but these kids have done a NUMBER on my figure. I have a permanent pooch where a cute belly had been before. My boobs are not where they used to be. But I successfully carried 3 children, and I have a husband who loves me even more for my pooch and stomach-boobs.
Bayla and Harper will most likely have different body types. Already I can tell that Harper is longer, leaner, more coordinated. It is 100% my responsibility to make these girls feel beautiful. Whether they believe me or not is up to them-- I didn't believe my mother. But I'm going to do my damnedest to help them love themselves. And also, choose the right clothing styles for their bodies. But they have to love and respect themselves. And I will NOT have any sexting to be accepted.
And what about Brady? Boys have it rough too. He'll be skinny his whole life, like his Daddy. I'm going to try to help him love his skinny little self, help him see the benefit of avoiding a pot belly in middle age. And I'm going to teach him that women come in all shapes and sizes, and we're all beautiful, all worthy of love. And that smart, well-read women are more interesting than shallow beauties.
They all have to realize that they should strive to be healthy, not stick-thin or hungry. HEALTHY, in mind, body, spirit. Teaching them this is my most important job. Second most important job: bringing back grunge. I think I still have a flannel shirt or 2 somewhere.
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Quick update
Wow! It's been more than 2 months since I've posted to this blog. Didn't intentionally stay off it, but time flies when you've got 3 kids to keep out of danger. Brady is always a ball of energy, and Bayla and Harper are obviously liking what they see in their big bro. They are into EVERYTHING. EVERYTHING. We spend a lot of time keeping them off the couch (since they don't know how to get off of it yet, and there have been a few bad falls); out of the fridge, pantry, or garage; off the stairs; or from being tackled by Brady. I'm all about trial and error and letting them figure things out on their own, but I am NOT all about head injuries.
The girls are truly toddlers. They both walk around like tiny drunken coeds after a frat party. They fall into walls and each other, giggling all the way, and sometimes they pee on the carpet. They are a hoot to see together, and I'm fascinated by how they're developing as individuals and as twins. For instance, a month ago, Bayla would just snatch whatever Harper had that she happened to want, and Harper would devolve into hysterics. Now, if Bayla takes something, she hands it back to Harper after she's examined it. Each twin shares interesting objects with the other. On the other hand, it gets a little out of control when Bayla tries to grab Harper's poopy diaper as I'm changing her.
As individuals, Bayla wants to be where the party's at. If something fun is going on, she must be part of it. She LOVES to chase Brady. Harper doesn't like the rough-and-tumble as much and often sits to the side playing with a toy, watching her siblings with a kind of frightened amusement. But she herself loves to be chased, and to play hide-and-seek.
And MOST importantly, they're sleeping through the night. Thank holy God.
Brady is in camp this summer, and he's having a tough time with the transition. The structure is a lot looser, the consequences are lax, and some of his peers aren't the best behaved children ever. So after coming out of preschool with rules and regulations (along with fun), he's turning back into his old self, and it's causing a lot of strain here at home. Still, he's loving the pool this year (FINALLY!!!), and he says the most hilarious things. And when he's not worked up and pushing his sisters onto the floor, he's a sweet, kind, caring, helpful brother. We love that kid.
Anyway, I've been struggling with a deep, philosophical blog, but I haven't quite figured out how to structure it. Look for that one soon. Just wanted to give a quick update-- all is well with the Slemonade Stand!
The girls are truly toddlers. They both walk around like tiny drunken coeds after a frat party. They fall into walls and each other, giggling all the way, and sometimes they pee on the carpet. They are a hoot to see together, and I'm fascinated by how they're developing as individuals and as twins. For instance, a month ago, Bayla would just snatch whatever Harper had that she happened to want, and Harper would devolve into hysterics. Now, if Bayla takes something, she hands it back to Harper after she's examined it. Each twin shares interesting objects with the other. On the other hand, it gets a little out of control when Bayla tries to grab Harper's poopy diaper as I'm changing her.
As individuals, Bayla wants to be where the party's at. If something fun is going on, she must be part of it. She LOVES to chase Brady. Harper doesn't like the rough-and-tumble as much and often sits to the side playing with a toy, watching her siblings with a kind of frightened amusement. But she herself loves to be chased, and to play hide-and-seek.
And MOST importantly, they're sleeping through the night. Thank holy God.
Brady is in camp this summer, and he's having a tough time with the transition. The structure is a lot looser, the consequences are lax, and some of his peers aren't the best behaved children ever. So after coming out of preschool with rules and regulations (along with fun), he's turning back into his old self, and it's causing a lot of strain here at home. Still, he's loving the pool this year (FINALLY!!!), and he says the most hilarious things. And when he's not worked up and pushing his sisters onto the floor, he's a sweet, kind, caring, helpful brother. We love that kid.
Anyway, I've been struggling with a deep, philosophical blog, but I haven't quite figured out how to structure it. Look for that one soon. Just wanted to give a quick update-- all is well with the Slemonade Stand!
Friday, April 15, 2011
Dear Harper
Dear Harper,
Today you turned one year old.
All children are miracles, but you are even more so. You and your sister almost didn't come to be. For 12 weeks, we waited, we wondered, we watched, we worried. It was completely out of our control, and that's a horrible feeling. But I felt you move around, literally doing somersaults, kicking me everywhere at once, and it was reassuring. You were having a great time in Mommy's tummy, and I smile when I think about you and Bayla touching each other through your membranes. When you were born, you were small, but you were a beautiful little baby. I loved you and was so proud of you from the very second I laid eyes on you.
You and your sister were soooooo worth it. You are my reward, Harper Jordan Slemons. For what? I don't know. I don't care. I just appreciate you. You are the sweetest, most laid-back, most thoughtful baby. You don't laugh easily (except at your sister), but when you do, it's the best sound. You are an observer. You like to study faces and situations, and your cuteness and sweet nature are so apparent to everyone.
I think in spite of your more reserved nature, you are going to have a lot to say, and it's going to be a hoot. I think you'll have a dry sense of humor like your Daddy, and I think you'll be a reader and a critic. You love music, and you happily rock to children's songs and my terrible rendition of "Shake Your Booty." I love to watch your typically even-mannered expressions break into smiles. Your eyes smile too.
I love your kisses-- you make the kissy sound, and you give me full-on open-mouth kisses. You'd rather be on the floor with your favorite toys than in my arms, which sometimes means you're overlooked in favor of your Tazmanian Devil of a brother or drama queen of a sister. But I always have my eye on you-- I just know I don't have to worry as much.
Your bright smile and gorgeous eyes melt my heart. I can't wait to see you walk, and talk, and learn to read, and discover the music that inspires you, and be who you are.
You are your sister share an unbelievably special bond, and I notice that you love to watch her. You two are a perfect fit, two peas in a pod, a winning pair. But more than anything, you are Harper, and I know that you will always be true to yourself.
I was meant to be your mama, and you were meant to be my youngest. Even though your name always comes last (I just do it chronologically), you are certainly not least. I love you beyond measure, and I always will.
Mama
Today you turned one year old.
All children are miracles, but you are even more so. You and your sister almost didn't come to be. For 12 weeks, we waited, we wondered, we watched, we worried. It was completely out of our control, and that's a horrible feeling. But I felt you move around, literally doing somersaults, kicking me everywhere at once, and it was reassuring. You were having a great time in Mommy's tummy, and I smile when I think about you and Bayla touching each other through your membranes. When you were born, you were small, but you were a beautiful little baby. I loved you and was so proud of you from the very second I laid eyes on you.
You and your sister were soooooo worth it. You are my reward, Harper Jordan Slemons. For what? I don't know. I don't care. I just appreciate you. You are the sweetest, most laid-back, most thoughtful baby. You don't laugh easily (except at your sister), but when you do, it's the best sound. You are an observer. You like to study faces and situations, and your cuteness and sweet nature are so apparent to everyone.
I think in spite of your more reserved nature, you are going to have a lot to say, and it's going to be a hoot. I think you'll have a dry sense of humor like your Daddy, and I think you'll be a reader and a critic. You love music, and you happily rock to children's songs and my terrible rendition of "Shake Your Booty." I love to watch your typically even-mannered expressions break into smiles. Your eyes smile too.
I love your kisses-- you make the kissy sound, and you give me full-on open-mouth kisses. You'd rather be on the floor with your favorite toys than in my arms, which sometimes means you're overlooked in favor of your Tazmanian Devil of a brother or drama queen of a sister. But I always have my eye on you-- I just know I don't have to worry as much.
Your bright smile and gorgeous eyes melt my heart. I can't wait to see you walk, and talk, and learn to read, and discover the music that inspires you, and be who you are.
You are your sister share an unbelievably special bond, and I notice that you love to watch her. You two are a perfect fit, two peas in a pod, a winning pair. But more than anything, you are Harper, and I know that you will always be true to yourself.
I was meant to be your mama, and you were meant to be my youngest. Even though your name always comes last (I just do it chronologically), you are certainly not least. I love you beyond measure, and I always will.
Mama
Dear Bayla
Dear Bayla,
Today you are one year old.
All children are miracles, but you are even more so. You'll hear the story many times in your life, but the odds were stacked against you when your amniotic sac ruptured at 22 weeks in Mommy's tummy, when you were just the size of a head of cabbage. We didn't know it at the time, but when this happens, there's only a 1 in 100 chance of you being born alive. We didn't know it at the time because the doctors wouldn't tell us-- it was that bad. We lived in fear that I would become infected, that you would be born too early to make it, that we would lose not 1 but 2 baby girls. You didn't have any fluid, so you couldn't move around. I was terrified to lie down on my left side because I didn't want you to be under more stress. But the presence of your sister protected you from my unforgiving organs, and you grew and thrived somehow. And you, and Harper, and my immune system stayed strong until 34 weeks, which had been our best-case scenario, and you were born at 1:18 p.m. during an uneventful C-section.
We'd been prepared for all kinds of things before you were born. You might be deformed from not having had fluid. You might not be able to breathe on your own because you had no room or fluid in which to practice. Your hands and feet might have turned in on themselves. But when you were born, you had a smooshy head that corrected itself within a few months, and your neck was twisted (torticollis) and required physical therapy for 11 months...and that was it. You were perfect. You came out looking like such a Greenspan. And you were teeny tiny. I loved you and was so proud of you from the very first second.
I've watched you closely this year, stretched your neck to correct your torticollis while you screamed bloody murder in protest, swaddled you tightly so you'd get some rest, fed you thousands of bottles, wiped your tushie-- sometimes very carefully because of your delicate skin and related terrible diaper rashes-- and loved you. You are easy with a smile and a laugh, you are so cute, you are snuggly and affectionate, and you are still perfect. And you are feisty. So feisty. I've said that somewhere in the universe, your Bubbe Beverly is laughing because she knows what's coming. You're very much like me, and I know I'm in trouble. But that fight, that passion...that's what kept you forming and developing when my body could barely protect you. And so that's my favorite thing about you.
Being a twin is a special, special thing. You will always have someone to watch your back, to whisper secrets with in the night, to be your true other half. You are part of a very special match, but you are always Bayla.
I love being your Mama. You were meant to be mine. I couldn't live without you, your sister, and your brother. I can't wait to see you walk, and talk, and tantrum, and grow curly hair, and play with your sister, and hold your own with your brother, and learn to read, and learn Hebrew, and rock your life. Your life-- the life that you fought for, that your sister shares with you, that has so much promise and potential.
I love you forever, my sweet, snuggly Baby A.
Mama
Today you are one year old.
All children are miracles, but you are even more so. You'll hear the story many times in your life, but the odds were stacked against you when your amniotic sac ruptured at 22 weeks in Mommy's tummy, when you were just the size of a head of cabbage. We didn't know it at the time, but when this happens, there's only a 1 in 100 chance of you being born alive. We didn't know it at the time because the doctors wouldn't tell us-- it was that bad. We lived in fear that I would become infected, that you would be born too early to make it, that we would lose not 1 but 2 baby girls. You didn't have any fluid, so you couldn't move around. I was terrified to lie down on my left side because I didn't want you to be under more stress. But the presence of your sister protected you from my unforgiving organs, and you grew and thrived somehow. And you, and Harper, and my immune system stayed strong until 34 weeks, which had been our best-case scenario, and you were born at 1:18 p.m. during an uneventful C-section.
We'd been prepared for all kinds of things before you were born. You might be deformed from not having had fluid. You might not be able to breathe on your own because you had no room or fluid in which to practice. Your hands and feet might have turned in on themselves. But when you were born, you had a smooshy head that corrected itself within a few months, and your neck was twisted (torticollis) and required physical therapy for 11 months...and that was it. You were perfect. You came out looking like such a Greenspan. And you were teeny tiny. I loved you and was so proud of you from the very first second.
I've watched you closely this year, stretched your neck to correct your torticollis while you screamed bloody murder in protest, swaddled you tightly so you'd get some rest, fed you thousands of bottles, wiped your tushie-- sometimes very carefully because of your delicate skin and related terrible diaper rashes-- and loved you. You are easy with a smile and a laugh, you are so cute, you are snuggly and affectionate, and you are still perfect. And you are feisty. So feisty. I've said that somewhere in the universe, your Bubbe Beverly is laughing because she knows what's coming. You're very much like me, and I know I'm in trouble. But that fight, that passion...that's what kept you forming and developing when my body could barely protect you. And so that's my favorite thing about you.
Being a twin is a special, special thing. You will always have someone to watch your back, to whisper secrets with in the night, to be your true other half. You are part of a very special match, but you are always Bayla.
I love being your Mama. You were meant to be mine. I couldn't live without you, your sister, and your brother. I can't wait to see you walk, and talk, and tantrum, and grow curly hair, and play with your sister, and hold your own with your brother, and learn to read, and learn Hebrew, and rock your life. Your life-- the life that you fought for, that your sister shares with you, that has so much promise and potential.
I love you forever, my sweet, snuggly Baby A.
Mama
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
I used to know it all too
So there's some funny blog post that's been making the rounds for awhile now about how non-parents know everything about how to be a successful parent. I just tried to Google it and can't find it, but you probably know what I'm talking about. Anyway, some maybe 20 year old sat next to us at Costco today while Brady and I were enjoying our healthy, delicious $1.50 all-beef hot dogs and pink lemonade. Those of you who know us well know that Brady isn't a great eater. He never has been, and that fact caused me a lot of stress from the time he was born until about the time he turned a year old, at which point I realized that he was healthy and could decide to eat, or not. He really would prefer to just graze/snack all day. However, so as not to hear a whiny "I'm hungry" 15 minutes after a meal, he is made to eat a certain amount before he can have a treat, usually a Hershey's Kiss or cookie. (yes, I know, don't reward with food yadda yadda. But seriously, folks, this kid wouldn't eat otherwise, and he's in the 5th percentile for BMI, so we'll cross any emotional eating issues when we come to them.)
So anyway, I tell Brady he has to eat 5 bites of his hot dog before he can have some jelly beans. I check my phone, and he says, "I'm done." And I raise the Mom Eyebrow and ask, "You ate 5 bites?" Then a smirk crosses his face and he says, "Yes...." Of course I know he's lying. So I raise the Eyebrow again and repeat my question. As he's answering, I hear from the college student to my left. "I took a psychology class. And we read that children really think they're telling the truth because their memories can't retain information for very long."
So after I got over my immediate urge to punch her squarely in the face, I said, "Well, THIS child has an excellent memory and knows how much 5 is. Kids are also manipulative." Before I really started getting into it with her, I packed us up and left. The frozen chicken sliders were melting anyway. But really, WHO tells a parent about something they read in their psych textbook?
Anyway....deep breaths....So as we approach Bayla and Harper's first's birthday, I've been thinking a lot about all the things I've learned as a parent, and not one of them was some bullshit out of a college textbook. (side note: this will change when the kids get older and get "The Talk," because I was a peer sexuality educator in college.)
So here they are, in no particular order. Not necessarily to be used as advice for you, but hey, if it helps, great!
1. You must immediately realize that not only do you not have any control over what your baby will do/has done/can do, the idea of control is ridiculous. Cases in point:
-- Laboring for 12 hours, followed by a C-section
-- Being certain breastfeeding will be a snap. It is not, and for us, it was totally unsuccessful.
-- Going for a second baby, only to find out you're showing early and are sick as a dog because there are TWO babies.
-- Having a perfectly healthy multiples pregnancy, until your Baby A's water breaks at 22 weeks.
-- Everything about your life with 3 kids.
2. You must ask for help, from your husband, your neighbors, your somewhat estranged family, your close family, the strangers in the grocery store. Do not be afraid, because 99.9% of the time, they do want to help and will.
3. The first year of your baby's/babies' life/lives, you need a good supply of diapers, working Internet with connections to Facebook and amazon.com, easy access to Oreos and decent takeout food, and 40-oz coffee mugs. Your child/children need nothing but your love, respect, and eventually, a schedule written pretty much in stone. If you have multiples, the schedule is sacrosanct.
4. After that first year, probably time to step away from the Oreos, but keep that love and respect coming. Add a good dose of LIMITS, and stick to those limits. Set consequences. And oh, the schedule will be completely screwed because of teeth, travel, your baby's new talents and discoveries, and the dreaded Dropping of the Second Nap.
5. By the time they're about 2.5, your kids have learned how to push every.single.one. of your buttons. As hard as it is, you must not break. Your kid is NOT Drago, and you are the parent. Stay calm, stay collected, and it won't take long for them to realize they aren't going to win.
6. Trust your instincts. Think your kid is sick but the nurse on the phone doesn't think so? Take 'em in anyway. Worse that can happen is that s/he isn't sick, right? Don't think the babysitter or daycare is good? You're probably right.
7. Your partner should be your best support. Man, it's hard with work, crazy kids, bills, etc., but your little family is THE most important thing in the world. Try not to resent your partner when you're up in the middle of the night for the 5th time and he's soundly sleeping. But good God, make them make it up to you.
8. Every child is different, and you have to adjust accordingly,
9. After your babies are born, your life can't be perfect. So decide what you value, and go with those as your priorities. For us, it's not that every toy gets put back each night, and it's not that the floor is swept more than once a week or that the yard is manicured. We'd rather spend an extra 15 min hanging and laughing with the kids before bath. And of course, I must get in some Facebook time at night. :)
10. You are NOT a criminal if you go against the parenting grain. You're not. So what if other moms judge you-- that's not going to stop, no matter which decision you make. Absolve yourself of guilt. (I'm still working on this, but I'm getting better.)
I think I'm just feeling nostalgic as the last babies I'll ever birth are making the quick sprint into toddlerhood. Both girls are standing by themselves and are working up the courage to take their first steps, heaven help us. Thanks for letting me share.
Oh, and the kids are just wonderful. This time last year I was clawing the walls in the high-risk pregnancy area of Northside Hospital. Next blog post on 4/15, when Bayla and Harper turn one. Amazing.
So anyway, I tell Brady he has to eat 5 bites of his hot dog before he can have some jelly beans. I check my phone, and he says, "I'm done." And I raise the Mom Eyebrow and ask, "You ate 5 bites?" Then a smirk crosses his face and he says, "Yes...." Of course I know he's lying. So I raise the Eyebrow again and repeat my question. As he's answering, I hear from the college student to my left. "I took a psychology class. And we read that children really think they're telling the truth because their memories can't retain information for very long."
So after I got over my immediate urge to punch her squarely in the face, I said, "Well, THIS child has an excellent memory and knows how much 5 is. Kids are also manipulative." Before I really started getting into it with her, I packed us up and left. The frozen chicken sliders were melting anyway. But really, WHO tells a parent about something they read in their psych textbook?
Anyway....deep breaths....So as we approach Bayla and Harper's first's birthday, I've been thinking a lot about all the things I've learned as a parent, and not one of them was some bullshit out of a college textbook. (side note: this will change when the kids get older and get "The Talk," because I was a peer sexuality educator in college.)
So here they are, in no particular order. Not necessarily to be used as advice for you, but hey, if it helps, great!
1. You must immediately realize that not only do you not have any control over what your baby will do/has done/can do, the idea of control is ridiculous. Cases in point:
-- Laboring for 12 hours, followed by a C-section
-- Being certain breastfeeding will be a snap. It is not, and for us, it was totally unsuccessful.
-- Going for a second baby, only to find out you're showing early and are sick as a dog because there are TWO babies.
-- Having a perfectly healthy multiples pregnancy, until your Baby A's water breaks at 22 weeks.
-- Everything about your life with 3 kids.
2. You must ask for help, from your husband, your neighbors, your somewhat estranged family, your close family, the strangers in the grocery store. Do not be afraid, because 99.9% of the time, they do want to help and will.
3. The first year of your baby's/babies' life/lives, you need a good supply of diapers, working Internet with connections to Facebook and amazon.com, easy access to Oreos and decent takeout food, and 40-oz coffee mugs. Your child/children need nothing but your love, respect, and eventually, a schedule written pretty much in stone. If you have multiples, the schedule is sacrosanct.
4. After that first year, probably time to step away from the Oreos, but keep that love and respect coming. Add a good dose of LIMITS, and stick to those limits. Set consequences. And oh, the schedule will be completely screwed because of teeth, travel, your baby's new talents and discoveries, and the dreaded Dropping of the Second Nap.
5. By the time they're about 2.5, your kids have learned how to push every.single.one. of your buttons. As hard as it is, you must not break. Your kid is NOT Drago, and you are the parent. Stay calm, stay collected, and it won't take long for them to realize they aren't going to win.
6. Trust your instincts. Think your kid is sick but the nurse on the phone doesn't think so? Take 'em in anyway. Worse that can happen is that s/he isn't sick, right? Don't think the babysitter or daycare is good? You're probably right.
7. Your partner should be your best support. Man, it's hard with work, crazy kids, bills, etc., but your little family is THE most important thing in the world. Try not to resent your partner when you're up in the middle of the night for the 5th time and he's soundly sleeping. But good God, make them make it up to you.
8. Every child is different, and you have to adjust accordingly,
9. After your babies are born, your life can't be perfect. So decide what you value, and go with those as your priorities. For us, it's not that every toy gets put back each night, and it's not that the floor is swept more than once a week or that the yard is manicured. We'd rather spend an extra 15 min hanging and laughing with the kids before bath. And of course, I must get in some Facebook time at night. :)
10. You are NOT a criminal if you go against the parenting grain. You're not. So what if other moms judge you-- that's not going to stop, no matter which decision you make. Absolve yourself of guilt. (I'm still working on this, but I'm getting better.)
I think I'm just feeling nostalgic as the last babies I'll ever birth are making the quick sprint into toddlerhood. Both girls are standing by themselves and are working up the courage to take their first steps, heaven help us. Thanks for letting me share.
Oh, and the kids are just wonderful. This time last year I was clawing the walls in the high-risk pregnancy area of Northside Hospital. Next blog post on 4/15, when Bayla and Harper turn one. Amazing.
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