I'm big

I declare that it's official.  I am now bigger than I was full term with either of my other pregnancies. 

For those of you who don't believe me, the picture on the left was taken a few days before Anna was born.  I was 39 weeks pregnant.  The picture on the right is me today, at 27 weeks weeks pregnant.

Dream worlds

It was about 3 am.  I'd been having a very strange dream about "short snakes" that I wasn't quite as afraid of as "regular snakes," cucumber juice piped directly from the garden (used for washing cucumbers, of course), and strawberry preferences, when I was awoken by an angry, piercing, wake the neighbors scream coming over Anna's monitor.

When I'd emerged from my dream enough to understand the content of the scream, I made out hysterical repetitions of, "I want to dray [play]!  I want to dray!"

I walked to Anna's room room, took her out of her crib, and tried to hold her and calm her down.  I began to explain everyone was sleeping... everyone whom she hadn't already awoken, that is.  She fought with me with all her strength, insisting that she wanted to play.  I actually couldn't hold her any longer, so I let her go.  She ran out of her room.  I quickly followed her, worried she'd fall down the steps in her frantic rush.  She ran right into Kate's room with a purpose and then, suddenly, stopped.

She stood in the middle of Kate's dark room, very still, wearing the dress she'd worn the day before, because pajamas had been another battle Dave and I had chosen not to fight.  She looked confused, sad, so little.  I gave her some time to process that Kate was sleeping, that it was dark, that it was actually the middle of the night.

Then, I crouched down beside her and gently asked, "Do you want to go back to bed now?"  She nodded a defeated little nod, and I picked her up, kissed and hugged her, and returned her to her crib.

Parenting assistance

Kate is a wonderful, loving, generous, all around great kid.  But, as all children have, she has areas she's working on. Right now, we've been working on helping her learn to control her whining and crying when things don't go her way. Usually, it just takes a reminder. Occasionally, we'll have her take a little bit of time in another room until she's calmed down.

Anna's also been getting more times out. I will usually set her in a Pack 'N Play or in her crib until she's been calm for a while. Dave, however, can get Anna to walk into the study on her own and take some time to think. Recently, he's been able to simply tell her, "Anna, go take a time out until you're ready to play nicely," and she'll go.

Yesterday, at dinner, Kate was getting a little tired, which is usually what causes the whining and crying. I'd asked the girls to pick what they wanted to do after dinner, play outside for a little while before getting ready for bed or take the time to play in the bath before bed. Kate wanted to do both. She began to whine and cry, "I want to do both."

I looked at her and said, "No, honey. Don't start this."

Anna thought she'd help handle the situation, and she piped in with, "Go take a time out, Kate."

Getting the point across

I'm often facinated by how very young kids can express themselves so well, even with a limited vocabulary.

Yesterday morning, Anna was desperately asking me for something.  She'd explained she wanted the "basketball hand," but I wasn't understanding her.  She soon elaborated, "I need the basketball hand for the superhero."  If anything that confused me more.  Finally she told me, "The superhero arm broke.  I need his basketball hand."

That's when I realized she wanted the arm that had broken off one of her Brewer's bobbleheads.  The hand on the arm had a baseball glove holding a ball.  She probably tried the term "basketball," because she knew the ball was a special kind of ball.  Since she didn't know the term bobblehead, and she didn't know the term baseball player, she probably thought something along the lines of, "He's got a uniform.  Let's go with 'superhero.'"

Planting time

Thursday would have been the perfect day for planting, but I wasn't feeling very well.  We ended up waiting until Friday and Saturday... after the big rain storm Thursday night.

Did I mention Anna refused to wear her garden boots?  A few times, she literally got stuck in the mud.  She walked around commenting, "Sticky.  So Sticky."

A couple months ago, after our indoor seed planting, I mentioned that I'd revised my "Every child should garden" philosophy to "Every child should garden... outside."  I have to admit, yesterday had me considering another revision.

April showers bring May flowers

Spring fun

Kate, Anna, and I were outside in our front drainage ditch (very classy, I know) making boats out of leaves to go under boot bridges and designing leaf bridges for pillbugs to cross. 

 After a while, we got to talking about what other bugs do, and I was going to tell the girls how bees spread pollen. Before I could get past the word "bee," Anna interupted and reminded me angrily, "A bee stung me. It hoht [hurt] my finger. It hoht me so bad, Mama!" Poor kid, totally traumatized.

Later, when I pointed out a tiny pillbug and said I thought it might be a baby, Kate commented, "Adorable."

Twins update

We had an ultrasound today.  The twins both looked great, measuring just over two pounds each.

Kate and Anna like to talk to them in my belly, and Anna made up this strange thing where she pushes my belly back and forth a little and says, "The babies want to wock [rock] and wock and woll [roll]!"  (I have no idea where she got that, but Kate says she remembers hearing the phrase "rock and roll" on show a long time ago.)

My girly girls

Kate has always been a "girly girl."  She loves to wear dresses, jewelry, things in her hair, and (after I gave in) nail polish.

Kate has been working on converting Anna.  This is evident when Anna wakes up from her nap to find Kate dressed in dress-up clothes.  Anna never fails to be impressed, complimenting Kate with something to the effect of, "Kate!  You look like a princess!"

This week Kate convinced Anna her nails would be much more beautiful if they had purple polish.  And, I complied.  They have loved it!

  

Nicknames

Anna has become kind of defensive about nicknames. 

Sometimes it's appropriate:

It started one morning last week when I said, "Come on Grumpy Pants, let's go change your diaper."  

Anna responded with a defensive, "Don't tall [call] me that!"

At the Brewers' Game, Anna was chewing on some ice in a cup.  She said, "This ice is so good!"  I laughed and commented to my friend, "Cheap date."  Anna promptly requested, "Don't tall me that."

But sometimes, it's a little ridiculous:

The girls were playing in the playroom, and I wanted Kate to help make brownies.  I called her in, "The brownie stuff is ready.  Come in here, Kathryn Jane."

Anna yelled into the kitchen, "Don't tall me that."

Kate shook her head and mumbled, "She wasn't even talking to you!"

Kate's vocabulary

Kate's vocabulary both amazes me and, occassionally, makes me roll my eyes.  She can sound kind of pretentious. 

She'll say:
"This Play-doh is extremely hard to open."
"Anna, actually you don't know how to read."
"I love books about Rupunzel, which is why we should get more at the library."
"Anna just completed the whole top row of the puzzle on her own."
"Mommy, you certainly don't have a small belly."
"No, Anna definitely needs her hair combed."

Poor "Dampa"

We tease my dad a lot for his fear of messes, but that's because there is so much truth to it.  He moves away from food covered little hands, and gets a look at least resembling fear when he asks others to wipe kids' messy faces and runny noses.

Despite his opposition to messes, he and Anna get along perfectly.  There's something in their personalities that draw them to each other.

When we were visiting my parents the other day, Anna was sitting on my dad's lap, and they were playing and goofing around.  After a while, Anna said, "Dampa [Grandpa], you [your] shirt all wet." 

Not believing his shirt was wet, he teased Anna a little, "My shirt is all wet?  What happened?  Did you go potty on me?" 

During this time, I'd glanced up to notice a significant wet area on my dad's shirt. 

Anna ignored my dad's teases and responded in all seriousness, "No, Dampa, I wipe my nose on you!"

No crying in baseball

No crying in baseball...

...Unless, perhaps, your mom decides to both throw you the ball and take a picture, and her depth perception gets distorted and the ball lands directly on your head.  Then there's crying in baseball.

On a happier note, here was an excellent catch...

The birds and bees

I was, once again, answering some baby-making questions from Kate.  I did pretty well, even handling the question of "Where does the man put his penis?" until I came to a completely unexpected one.

With an amused look, Kate asked, "You guys did that?"

Something to consider

Breaking from my usual pattern of telling about situations, often humorous, from my life as a mother, I feel I have to share the situation of a mother I know from church and what she had to say about it.

Sally* and her husband have taken in foster children, with the possibility of adoption, for many years. She now has three adopted children and a six-week-old foster baby, Oliver, who she may or may not get to adopt. I asked her last night if she had an update on whether or not she was going to get to keep Oliver, and she explained to me that right now it looks like the father wants to have custody, but they won't know if he'll qualify for custody for 15 months. I was shocked. Fifteen months is an incredibly long time to raise a baby, not knowing if you're going to keep him or not. After we'd talked for a little while, I asked, "So what do you do? Do you let yourself get attached?" That's when she gave me an answer that may someday change my life.

Here's my poor attempt at giving her answer in her own words:

"I dated many guys, and some would break up with me. I let myself get attached, and then I lost them, and I survived. And I'd still let myself get attached again. With a baby, it's not even a choice. If you don't get attached, the baby suffers. A baby needs to attach to someone, or they won't make it. They'll survive, but they won't be okay in the long run. That's why there are so many messed up foster kids, because they never got to attach to anyone. Once a baby has learned how to attach to one person, even if they get taken away, they'll be capable then of attaching to another person.”

I mumbled something about what a wonderful thing it is she does, how I don’t think I could do that. She continued:

"Many people think they can’t do it, that they can't get attached to a baby they might lose. But, what they don't realize is that it is no different from what any parent does. No baby belongs to anyone. All children belong to God. We could lose our children at any moment, whether they are our blood or not. Things happen, unfortunately. People lose their children. That doesn't mean that people don't have children, or that they don't get attached to them."

Obviously, I am in no position now, or in the next couple years, to take in a foster baby. I’d entertained the idea in the past, but I didn’t think I could handle it. However, after hearing her explain the situation for foster children and parents, I feel it is something that I may be able to do, something I someday maybe should do. I’m going to keep this conversation in my mind and pray about it over the years. A lot of you who read this blog are parents with even more love to give. I ask you to consider her words.

*The names in this posting have been changed to protect privacy.

Tomato soup

We had grilled cheese and tomato soup for lunch today, but Anna didn't want any of her soup. As the girls finished eating, I whipped up a batch of brownies. I was trying to finalize plans for tomorrow, so I let the girls lick the spatula and spoon for dessert while I ran into the study for two or three minutes to send out an email. As I was about half way done, I heard Kate yell, "Mom, come quickly." Thinking it's always, "Mom come... Mom come" I finished my last few sentences before I returned to the kitchen.

I should have listened to Kate. As she commented later, she told me to “come quickly.”

I arrived to find Anna had discovered an impressively creative way to dispose of her soup, by dispersing it around the entire kitchen, launching it by the spoonful from a homemade catapult (formerly a spoon). It got everywhere, even all over their homemade boat.

After some time away, Anna cleaned up the mess.  ...Then I cleaned up the mess.   Now I just need to give the girls another bath today, to get the soup out of their hair.

Had I forfeited those two or three spare minutes, I could have saved at least 50 minutes.

Anna's hair

I trimmed Anna's hair this morning.  At lunch, Kate said, "Anna looks so cute."

I said, "Do you like her hair?"

Kate said, "Yeah, it's cute," which prompted Anna to mimic, "Yeah, it's tute."

Kate rolled her eyes and commented, "She can't even see her hair."

Anna misunderstood and thought Kate was saying that she, Kate, couldn't see, her, Anna's, hair.  Anna was very proud of it, so she started to point to her hair and try to get Kate's attention.  Anna would say, "You see my hair?" and Kate would ignore her, telling me, "I meant she can't see her hair."  Finally Anna, gesturing wildly at her head, yelled, "Kate, it wight [right] up heoh [here]!"

I'm glad the girls both like the cut, because I think I made my poor little girl look like Jim Halpert from The Office.  (Although, in my defense, this picture was taken after her hair is nearly coated in tomato soup.)

Jim Halpert from The Office.

My forehead

I often feel guilty about the neglect that I perceive the girls suffered when I was so sick with the pregnancy, as well as the neglect I perceive them suffering now when I'm so exhausted that I need to rest every afternoon, and, additionally, the neglect I anticipate them suffering when I attempt to care for two newborns in less than three months.

Adding to this feeling is a question Anna asks me, at least once a day.  This question goes back to all the migraines I had, when I'd put my hand over my eyes to block out any light (which must have appeared to Anna that I was holding my forehead) and explain that my head hurts.  

Each morning when I get Anna out of her crib, or anytime I appear exhausted or sick to her, she'll seek reassurance, "Your forehead otay [okay] Mama?"

Anna painting a Mother's Day pot for her Oma last week.

Gazillionaire

Dave and the girls got me a beautiful mother/child necklace for Mother's Day.

Yesterday, Kate noticed I was wearing it and asked, "Are you going to wear that all the time?"

I told her I'd be wearing it a lot, since it was picked out especially for me by my three favorite people.

That led Kate to describe how Dave had taken them to the store, and how they'd picked it out. When she finished, just for my own amusement, since I love Kate's concept of money, I asked her, "How much did it cost?"

Kate replied, "I don't know."

I prompted, "One hundred dollars?"

She repeated, "I don't know."

I tried some more options, "One thousand dollars? One million dollars?"

For the third time, Kate replied, "I don't know."

I continued, "A gazillion dollars?"

With complete confidence, she definitively responded, "No, less than that."

Perception

I thought I only felt this way.

Evidently, I also look this way to Kate.

Omniscience

This morning, I called my grandmother to arrange a visit with her.  We planned to go on Friday, so we'd be sure Kate's cold was no longer contagious.

When I got off the phone, Kate said, "What if I'm not better by Friday?"

I told her I thought she would be.

"How do you know?" she asked.

"It's almost a week away,"  I explained.

She continued to questions, "What if I'm not?"

And, being less than patient, I responded, "You will be."

"How do you know?" she challenged, "You're not God."

My elderly friends

When I was pregnant with Kate, I did prenatal water aerobics and loved it. Unfortunately, the health club I go to doesn't offer prenatal water aerobics. It does, however, offer two water aerobics classes, one called Joint Effort and another called H2O. Since Joint Effort was on Tuesdays, Dave's day off, I tried that one.

When I went the first day, almost two months ago, I was a little early, so I swam some laps in the exercise pool while I waited. As I swam, many elderly people began to enter the pool. As the time for the class to begin, two of the women told me it was time for their class, subtly telling me to leave. When I told them I was going to join their class that day, they looked surprised, but they just nodded politely.

As more elderly people joined the water, I got a little nervous about what type of class it was, but I smiled at each of them. I tried to look like I fit in, despite being at least 30 years younger than the next youngest person  in the water and probably 40 years younger than the average.

When the instructor came in, I recognized her as Susan, one of my prenatal water aerobics instructors four and a half years ago. I went over and talked with her a minute, telling her that I was going to be joining the class that day, since I was pregnant again, this time with twins.

As she started the class, Susan introduced me and explained that I was pregnant with twins. The other participants were suddenly less suspicious of me, in fact many were thrilled to have me there. That first day I met each of them and heard stories from nearly every one of them of anyone they'd ever known who was a twin, anyone they'd known who had twins, the spacing of their own children, and, if there was a lack of that in their history, random pregnancy stories.

I appreciated all their friendliness, but the workout could hardly even be called that. As I stood in the water, gently stretching my wrists with the class, I recalled the class description mentioning something about older adults and arthritis. When I’d read it, I'd paid more attention to the "anyone who desires a light workout" ending. But, I realized then, I should have maybe focused more on the first part.

After class, I left the pool, walking past some canes and walkers while I waved goodbye and replied that I sure would take care of the babies. I then hurried into the shower where I silently laughed to myself about the absurdity of the situation. As I showered, I planned ways to make it to one of the H2O classes instead.

The next week, my schedule was again pretty full, and once again, one of my only chances for a workout would be Tuesday morning. I returned again to Joint Effort. I got a lot of, "Hi, Kristal"s and "How are the babies?" I didn’t feel nearly as absurd that time.

It’s now been almost two months, and I've gone nearly every week. I've learned to modify the workout to be more suitable to my needs. I have to admit, I’ve started to love going. I like the instructor, and I love the other participants.

A couple weeks ago, I also realized I fit in. I may be a 33-year-old pregnant woman amidst mostly 70- and 80-something year olds, but to most of them, I’m just part of their class.

The day I felt I fit in one of the men, a very gregarious man who one can't help but like, gave me a personal demonstration of all the moves he'd learned the previous day in the belly dancing class he was taking. You can't really get an accurate picture unless I first remind you he was wearing a swim suit, and I also explain that he's quite a heavy man who appears to previously have weighed a lot more. In case you still don't picture it...there was a lot of flapping. He confessed to me that his instructor told him he looked sexy doing that move, but that he's quite sure she was just joking.

Right after that, I was talking with two ladies, both in their 80's. They asked me how far along I was now. Since numbers given in weeks mean nothing to them, I told them I was about 5 months. They both said, "Oh, you're not so big for 5 months!" I told them that I felt big. Then one of the ladies said, grabbing her own swimsuit covered chest, said, "And you sure don't have a lot up here."

I felt slightly foolish, but I decided to play along. "Yeah?" I said with a smile, "Well you should have seen me before." Then I whispered, "I could wear a training bra."

"Oh!" They both exclaimed, laughing.

Then one woman said, "That's like my 12 year old granddaughter."

The other nodded and then declared, "I bet your husband loves it now!"

Although I laughed and agreed, I couldn't help but think, What? You're almost 90. We can not be talking about sex!

Bring it

Last night Anna was in one of her moods where everything results in a tantrum. 

Dave, joking around for my benefit, said, "Oh, yeah, Anna?  This is how it's going to be?  Well, I'm in a fighting mood tonight, so go ahead and bring it!" 

I laughed and said, "Yeah, Anna, bring it!" 

Anna, having no idea what we were talking about, but being in one of her moods, said, "No!  I not going to bring it!"

Her own style

Anna now insists on wearing dresses much of the time, something she learned from her big sister.  My favorite of her looks, though, was when she refused to take off her pajamas, covered them with her Cinderella dress, paired that with a fire fighter hat, and preceded to work on her computer.

My masseur

I consider myself pretty open minded, but there are a few things I'm really particular about, maybe even old fashioned. For some reason, despite the fact that I even have a male gynecologist, I've always wanted female massage therapists. I always confirm it’s a female when I make my appointments.

Last week I made an appointment at the local massage school. (It is far from the best place to get a massage, but being as obsessed with good deals as I am, the fact that I can get one hour massages there for a mere $15 brings me back.) It was hard to get an appointment, so I gladly accepted the one they offered me for Tuesday. After I hung up, I thought, "Oh, I never made sure it was a female..." I thought of calling back, but I figured I'd always had females in the past, so I decided to let it go.

Yes, as I'm sure you guessed, I got a male. It might not have been so bad, except for I got the most awkward man I've met in my life. (I can think of only one other man even in contention, and that was a difficult experience with a bizarre student teacher I supervised six years ago.)

This guy was not only awkward, but I have to say he was also creepy. From the moment he came up to me in the waiting room, my skin crawled. He stood too close and stared at me for at least 3 seconds before asking, "Kristal?" Walking back with me to the massage room, he even walked strangely: his steps were slow, rhythmic, almost methodical.

At first I thought it might be me, that I was letting my nerves make the situation seem awkward, but I soon realized that was not the problem.

As he was asking me the series of pre-massage questions, his unusual phrasing and inappropriate pauses were so uncomfortable that I actually considered bailing. I came close to a panic.  What if he was a serial rapist, using this massage school as a cover? I tried to talk myself down, comforting myself with the fact that he was wearing an official school shirt, but knowing that he could have obtained that shirt through dishonest means quite easily.

After I removed my clothes, I lay there waiting for the massage. I tried to relax, to anticipate the massage. I planned on closing my eyes, relaxing, listening to the music, and enjoying the muscle relaxation, putting out of my mind to whom the hands massaging me were attached.

That plan didn’t work. First of all, when he came in, he didn’t find my positioning appropriate for a pregnant client. He walked back out in a panic and discussed me with his teacher in a heavy, completely audible, whisper. Once he was assured it was fine, he came back in.

Even after he returned and began the massage, relaxation remained impossible. The massage itself was awkward, the transitions choppy. His hands were even literally shaking at times. Additionally, he constantly asked me questions and explained things. Every single body part he massaged, he asked, "Is the pressure to your liking?" First of all, usually that is asked once or twice, possibly three times, not ten times. Secondly, it is often a varied question, "How's the pressure?" "Is the pressure okay?" No one asks, “Is the pressure in your neck to your liking?” "Is the pressure in your shoulders to your liking?" “Is the pressure in your back to your liking?” “Is the pressure in your feet to your liking?” “Is the pressure still to your liking?”

I’ll just leave you with another way he phrased something. Speaking of massaging my calves, he said, "We'll do this in two steps. First I’ll warm you up by massaging lightly, without lubricant." I thought, "Lubricant? You can't say oil?" Then I tried to tell myself I was being silly, until he continued, "Then I'll apply lubricant and begin to stroke you." Really? That was the best terminology he could come up with?

Bottoms online

 At Kate's request, the girls and I were going through some of the old blog posts to look at the pictures.

When we came to the bathtub picture from last month, Kate exclaimed, "Bottoms!?"

I smiled, "What?  Bottoms?"

Kate continued, "Bottoms on line!?  Terrible!  That's terrible!"

We joked around about it for a while.  Then Kate said, "Who reads this blog?  What do you think they'll say? 'Bottoms online?  Who would do that?  That's terrible!  Whose blog are we reading?'"

Gymnastics

On rainy or cold days, we sometimes go to open gym at Swiss Turners.  The kids love it!

Mess

I was putting these pictures online when Anna walked over and declared, "Mess!"  I thought that summed it up perfectly.

Paranoid

As Kate, Anna, and I were walking into the zoo today, a man was walking a little ways behind us.  Kate was right next to me, and I kept glancing between her and Anna, who was lagging just a couple steps behind, as she likes to do.  Suddenly, for absolutely no reason, Anna ran up beside me and announced, "That guy is following me, Mama." 

As long as she doesn't start accusing me

of poisoning her cake...