When my heart began to hurt.

When I got the call, I was expecting news about A’s test results. I thought that the pediatrician was confused when she left the message to contact her to discuss Maggie. After all, she only had the standard CBC test, not the test for thyroid and blood sugar that A was prescribed. I called with the confidence of assuming that everything was just fine and that Dr. B. just wanted to advise me that the tests were in and that I could stop stuffing my little bean with all the extra calories she could take.

It turns out she wasn’t confused. A’s test results weren’t back yet and that made her hopeful that there was nothing to be concerned about. You see, when the tests are normal, the lab doesn’t call her. They just fax a written report within two to three days. If there was something abnormal regarding the test results, she would have received a call. She did receive that call, for M’s results.

It appears that M has a low white blood cell count. Immediately Dr. B assured me that it was nothing to become alarmed about, but that she wanted to inform me that M would have to be tested again in two weeks and to provide me with information on how to deal with this situation.

Apparently, having a low white blood cell count usually means that you just have a harder time getting better when you are sick or you are more susceptible to catching an illness. There are other, more serious causes for this symptom, but at this point, there is no reason for me to discuss, or even think about something so devastating. Right now, we just have to follow some simple rules.

M should not be exposed to other sick people.

If M does become ill, we should notify the doctor immediately and monitor her behavior and symptoms.

If M develops a fever, we must report it to Dr. B immediately and, if she is unavailable, we must take M to the emergency room for treatment.

From the beginning of our conversation yesterday, I immediately began to tremble. My hands shook and my eyes welled up. My heart began to hurt. Is this what it is like? Is this how you find out that the things that you hold more precious in life than your own are completely out of your control? The feeling of helplessness consumed me immediately. That I can have no control and am at the mercy of forces outside of my own are concepts that I cannot comprehend. J says that I have a control issue. Is it an “issue” that I feel so vulnerable against things that can happen to my children, regardless of how hard I work to protect them?

Well meaning friends and family have assured me that everything is all right, that it is a fluke or that she is fine and it’s nothing to worry about. I would say the same thing to my friend or family member. But being on the receiving end, I wanted to shake them and say, “Don’t you remember what it’s like??” Not worrying is not an option.

M is the feistier of the two beans. She runs and climbs and laughs from her belly. She pokes at her calm sister and has a devilish twinkle in her eye. She already knows how to hide her misbehaving (her favorite spot is by the refrigerator). The girl’s got moxie. I have no doubt that this will probably be either a minor infection or mistaken lab results.

But that doesn’t stop the worry.

That doesn’t stop the feeling of helplessness, the anger that I can’t do anything to fix this problem. It doesn’t quiet my desperation to get to her as soon as possible to hold her so tight in my arms, as if that could make her white blood cell count miraculously increase. Last night, my eyes lingered on her a little longer, I pet her hair a little more and I held my breath at every cry or stumble. I wondered if my parents felt this way when we were little, and if they still feel as strongly today.

A couple of weeks ago, we heard the horrible news that an acquaintance of ours received a similar phone call, but with a much more shocking message. Their little girl is only eighteen months. It is a word that no parent should hear and I won’t begin to imagine what that family is going through.

So, if something like this causes me to worry a little more, pay a bit more attention or really appreciate each and every day that they are in my life, then maybe that call was a wake-up call.

I don’t think my heart will stop hurting until the day I die. It is a wound of parenthood.

During the work week in the winter, I’m usually home for the rest of the day by 3:30 p.m. I go to work, I pick my Beans up, we come home. J doesn’t get home until around 8:00 p.m., so it’s just the three of us for the bulk of the evening. Sometimes, the girls will fall asleep in the car and I’ll gingerly maneuver them from their car seat to their cribs for a little afternoon siesta. Then, I’ll come downstairs, gaze longingly at the couch, festooned with soft pillows and warm blankets, and make my way, grudgingly, to the basement for laundry.

When they awake, it’s playtime. The dogs are fair game and we’ve got Christmas music blaring in the background. The Beans have dinner, I start dinner for me and J and we wait (im)patiently for J to come home. The minute he does, I’m quickly forgotten and continue finishing dinner while the three of them commence the act wherein the Beans pretend like they haven’t seen him in twenty-three years (which is, of course, impossible, as they are only 15 months old) and are all, “Daddy!” and “Hi!” and “Whoa!” and he pretends like he’s a slide and he lays on the floor and they climb all over him.

By Saturday morning, I’ve got a list this long of things that I couldn’t accomplish during the week and I give him a choice: either stay home with the Beans and let me run my errands, or be my chauffer and maybe I’ll feed you. He almost always picks the second of the two. He’s never been one of those guys who hates to go to the mall. He has his breaking point, but he has no problem tagging along and catching a bite to eat afterward. It’s much more fun now, because he can show off the girls or take them to the toy store and “Wow!” along with them. The errands generally continue on to Sunday and by Sunday afternoon, J is signaling defeat, waving his white flag in surrender and curling up in a ball on the floor while the Beans pummel him with Elmo books triumphantly. Every Sunday evening, when the girls are put to bed, he collapses on the couch and mutters something incoherent that translates to mean that we’ve successfully worn him out.

This happens every week. I get cabin fever. I think the girls do too. They have to go out. Even if it’s just for a drive. A change of scenery is necessary for our sanity. We are never home on weekends.

So, when J had to work this past Sunday, I had a list of places running through my head that I wanted to get to. We kissed him good-bye after breakfast and I went upstairs to get ready. Only, I saw a book that had been sitting on my nightstand, unread for weeks because I can’t keep my eyes open past 11:00 p.m. anymore. And then I saw the four baskets of clean laundry waiting to be put away or hung up. And then I heard the girls laughing uproariously downstairs about something or other.

When I went downstairs, I found them chasing each other with stolen Christmas tree ornaments. I sat on the couch for a few minutes, enjoying the little show. Before I knew it, it was time for their nap, and time for my chores. And when they awoke, I was knee deep in laundry, still in PJs and glasses. When J got home, he asked if we got anything done. I was happy to report that we watched Cinderella, built a fort, colored several masterpieces, made banana bread from scratch and dressed Maximus up in Cookie Monster socks. We had just changed out of our jammies a half hour before he walked through the door. Sometimes it’s nice to just stay at home.

How five days off can seem like one day.

We visited my alma mater on Wednesday. Rather, my best friend and I sat in a condo on the outskirts of my alma mater for half the day, scolding/chasing/soothing our four children while intermittently catching up on events since our last chaotic get-together. And she’s going to bring another kid into the mix?!?! What happened to dinner and drinks?

Thanksgiving. Visiting with the in-laws. Allergic reaction emergency. Stopping at parents for medication and to put up half of their Christmas Tree. Visiting with the extended family. Thinking, why do we, on holidays, get the girls all dolled up, take the Beans to an unfamiliar home and subject them to [well-meaning] strangers who coo and fawn and beg to hold them when clearly it’s the last place they want to be? The end result of every family get-together is us carrying our limp and defeated little Beans up to their safe crib and then falling into a pile on the couch, wondering why we left the house in the first place.

Black Friday. Or rather, “Yeah, right Friday.” I don’t love anyone enough to stand in a line at Target that is wrapped around the perimeter of the store. Nor do I need that twenty dollars I would have saved had I waited three hours. The bonus was that I got to sneak out for a bagel and coffee while J manned the fort. Later that day, we braved the crowds for lunch with Gramma M and a little sale at the Baby Gap. Later that evening, after the Beans were in bed, J and I put up the tree. The Sixth Annual Christmas Decorating Extravaganza was likely the last one we’d spend alone for the next twenty or so years. We passed out on the couch watching Home Alone. A success!

On Saturday, Gramma M. had a little post-Thanksgiving Thanksgiving Dinner for our wee little family, since we missed out on Gram’s Dressing (my paternal grandmother’s recipe – the grandmother that M is named after). We purchased half the lights available at Target and scoured the internets for instructions on how to hang outdoor Christmas lights. Yes, you read it correctly. Remember, this is a couple who refused to move into any home with such incentives as, “A cozy fixer-upper!” or “Just waiting for your personal touch!”

Sunday, bloody Sunday. Well, we put the lights up. In light of the fact that the event did not result in threats of divorce or more than one injury (and really, it is just a little bruise, who are we kidding?), I’d say that it was a success. And it was confirmed with a resounding “Wow!” by both Beans when we showed off our handiwork later that evening. After the lights but before the light show, we took the girls to Borders and B&N to grab a magazine (J), a book (M&A) and a coffee (MB). Let me just tell you, M may be the shyest of the two when it comes to relatives, but she was all “How’s Your Day?” when we were at the bookstore! She practiced her more graceful walking all over the store, befriended a little boy who was making a Christmas list and passed up a little whipped cream for the lady with the big red bag. As evening crept in and the Beans were in bed, I surveyed the house for signs that things were accomplished on my vacation. I concluded that it was a wonderful five days but wondered if I was being a little selfish if I lobbied for a sixth day off to rest.

A Conversation Between Mother and Daughter.

A Squared: This?

Momma Bean: That's Momma's shirt.

A Squared: This?

Momma Bean: That's Momma's necklace.

A Squared: This?

Momma Bean: That's Momma's body.

A Squared: This?

Momma Bean: That's Momma's chest.

A Squared: This!

Momma Bean: That's...erm...Momma's chest.

A Squared: THIS!

Momma Bean: That's Momma's cheh-esss-tah!

A Squared: THIS!

Momma Bean: Boobies! Alright!?!?!?!?!?!? Now, where's your Elmo book?

Well, the first illness has come and gone. Everyone chided me for bragging that my girls have never been sick before, but if this is what sick is, then bring it on! I told my sister-in-law the other day that when J caught M&A's cold, he was a bigger baby than they were. But, isn't that the case, with men?

The girls took it like a man! Hah! Sure, they were a little more subdued and were covered in boogers (as was I) and didn't eat as much as normal, but they still played, they still smiled, they still survived! One evening, A went to lay her little head down on the floor while watching Sesame Street and M grabbed her Cookie Monster and curled up next to her sister. They were both feeling it and needed the comfort. They were only laying there for a little bit and then, with renewed strength, they made their way into the kitchen to help me bake cookies (photos to follow).

Everyone in the house caught the cold, including yours truly, which I guess is karma if you believe in it, but I too feel like this is a pretty mild and manageable cold. We have had our first colds and we have stronger immune systems for it. So there!

• Runny nose
• Sneezing
• Cough
• Lethargy
• Loss of appetite
• Trouble sleeping
• Idiot mother who tempted the Fates last month by boasting that you and your sister haven't been sick since the day you were born.

Check, check, check, check check.

My bad.

This morning I received an email from my cousin’s wife, who told me that she was getting her (Beautiful! It must run in the family!) girls’ Christmas photos taken soon. My first thought was, “Wait. It’s early November. Why so early?” And my second thought was, “Gaaaaaahhhhh!”

Brilliant!! Getting Christmas photos taken before December so that you’re not stuck in a crowd of annoying, sweaty, sticky children who are climbing on every piece of plastic furniture in the place and scratching you with their itchy ugly holiday gear? I told her that I’m stealing her idea and now am on a mission to find THE OUTFIT (x2) as soon as humanly possible. Please provide suggestions and links in the comment section below.

However, I must admit that there is a growing fear in me of having to endure yet another painful photo session with Little Miss Apprehensive. The One Year Photos still bring tears to my eyes, and not because they are so darling. A is a pro in front of a camera. She knows she’s a doll and wants you to know it too. But M. I was in every photo that Her Royal Pie-ness was in (thanks for the skinny legs comment S, xoxo) and it still wasn’t enough to help her to cooperate. Hell, I haven’t even sent those photos out because the place that I take them (we’ll call it Stears) holds your photos hostage for what seems like three years, rather than three weeks. So, those of you on the A-list, plan on getting your One Year photos about one to two weeks before you receive the Christmas photos.

Getting professional photos done of your children sucks. It’s the event I least look forward to in my children’s lives. However, I feel a strange sense of duty to have them taken on a quarterly basis. Who made this rule? Who thought that it would be in the best interest of the child to dress them up in uncomfortably stiff formal ware and pose them unnaturally in front of a variety of drab, unattractive curtains, sitting or leaning on tacky old props? And expect them to smile for a stranger behind a camera? And then have the parents shell out hundreds of dollars for sixty wallet-sized photos that they’ll send to every relative they didn’t know they had, only to have the recipient stuff the photo in their junk drawer behind the book of matches from a wedding that took place five years ago?

Gaaaaaahhhhh!

Of course I’m going to do it. I said it already, I feel obligated to do so. I don’t have baby scrapbooks (insert reader’s gasp) made, so this is the least that I can do for my girls. So, watch the mail. Thanks to Megan, I’ll hopefully get an early start. Keep your fingers crossed that M is cooperative.

53 hr. 36 min. Avail.

or

M.O.M. Consumer Tip #2

Pre-bean, anything below seventy-five hours available would have sent me into a tizzy. I mean, what if there were a seventy-five hour 24 marathon? What if F/X held a three day tribute to Julian McMahon’s hotness? Couldn’t chance it. I was so OCD about deleting shows from my DVR that I would do it during every commercial break, driving J nuts in the meantime.

Now, I’m thrilled that I have fifty-three hours plus. I feel like the Oprah of DVR hours, willing and able to throw my leftover hours to the little people who need them more than I do. Once, earlier in the year, I was down to twenty-three hours. I had been saving all of the Grey’s episodes, as well as every Passport to Europe with Samantha Brown and Semi-Homemade with Sandra Lee. I was frantic. Granted, the last time I was in Europe, I was five and the only things I ever made from a Sandra Lee recipe were the cheesecake pops I made for Mr. & Mrs. C last holiday season. But I still needed to have them and I will watch them eventually.

It’s hard to watch anything nowadays. I tell people that I get my news from Best Week Ever or the weekend edition of the Freep. What election? Who’s even running? When the girls and I are home during the day, we watch Sesame Street or a Noggin show. That’s where a quarter of my used hours go. You never know when an emergency happens and you need to queue up last week’s Sesame to narrowly avert a complete meltdown. If we’re not watching the kiddie shows, we’ve got my favorite Sirius Satellite stations on and HRP is (im)patiently teaching me a bit about rhythm. It’s either “The 90’s and Now” or “80’s Hits”.

So, now, we’re very stingy with our time. When someone recommends a good show, I’ll smile and nod and quickly put it out of my mind. No room for that. Our television viewing begins at approximately 8:45 p.m. and ends at 11:00 p.m. every weeknight. With the exception of Mondays, when I host a chat for M.O.M.s and Thursdays, when J watches a horribly violent UFC show that I refuse to see, we generally enjoy the same shows. The weekends are a gamble and we are lucky if we can catch the whole Lions game. We’re always playing catch-up. Right now, we’re catching up on Prison Break. We’re in the third episode of the second season. As soon as we’re done with the episode, delete.

Honestly, I don’t know what we ever did without the DVR. If you don’t have one, get one.

Since I picked the girls up at 2:30 p.m., we've gotten a lot done. We went to the Secretary of State to get my license plate tags (one month late!) and then shopping at our second favorite store, Costco. We made and ate a delicious dinner. We read several books. We watched Sesame Street and The Wonder Pets. We folded three baskets of laundry (and unfolded one). We did the dishes, put the toys away and got ready for bed. Our house is cleaner than it's been since...well since right before the first guests came over for the girls' birthday party. Now they are sleeping and I'm relaxing to the tunes of Sirius 80's Hits, sipping on a Diet Coke and savoring my one serving of Dove Dark Chocolate. Girls' Night was fun and productive.

I’m not one of those who hovers over her children, who expects the worst, who anticipates disaster. M wielded a stick the other day and I told her that she’s got a good swing. A popped a foreign object in her mouth and I advised her that it’d be arriving in her diaper promptly at 7:48 p.m. that evening, conveniently early enough that her father wouldn’t have to deal with the mess. If a sick aunt kisses them, I don’t immediately disinfect. In fact, I’m almost hopeful that I’ll hear a sniffle or two the next day.

I know, I know. I should be knocking on the nearest wood, I should be biting my tongue. But I’m not. Kids get sick, right? Mine don’t, but normal kids do! In almost fourteen months, I haven’t heard so much as a cough. I should be thankful, but you have to know that this is odd, coming from parents like J and me. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not wishing that the girls will get sick. And I am thankful that I haven’t had to endure what some of my friends have. Sick kids are no fun, I get it. And if they are anything like a sick husband, I’ll want no part of it.

I anticipated that the girls would be sick often during their first year of life. They were born a few weeks early and into the beginnings of a Michigan cold spell. Michigan isn’t kind to even its youngest residents in the winter time. It is bitter and it is brutal. And if what I heard was true, from the “lactation consultants” that I had the joy of speaking with during my twenty-four hour magnesium-sulfate treatment following delivery, wherein I was bedridden and incoherent and in a morphine induced nod, I would single-handedly be responsible for my children’s underdeveloped immune system if I could not find a way to produce the wonder drug that is breastmilk.[1] Guess what ladies? Wrong!

When I first met J, we were both sick often. My list included bronchitis, sinusitis, migraines, flus, colds (summer and otherwise). His wasn’t much different, except replace bronchitis with chronic ear infections and take out migraines and replace with vertigo. He was actually taken to the hospital once for the flu. I’ve gotten healthier over the years, and he has too. But given our history, we were armed like soldiers ready for battle. During every weather change, we’d double check nostrils and feel foreheads. Now though, I’m all cocky. Eh, you got a cold? Go ahead, sneeze on her. She won’t get it! See! Kleenex, be damned!

Listen, we’re not careless or anything. I’m not ready to R.S.V.P. for the next Chicken Pox Party and I do carry around a little bottle of Sweet Pea antibacterial hand gel in every diaper bag (yes, I have a few). I’m not asking for trouble people! Really! I’m thankful and all of that.

And I know that this won’t last forever. I know that they aren’t invincible and that one of these days, they’ll catch a cold and I’ll be nursing them back to health. Just please, don’t let it be both of them at the same time. And for God’s sake, please don’t let J catch it too. Because you and I both know that he’ll throw them under the bus for a hot cup of soup, a spot on the couch, the remote control and my undivided attention.

So…who is placing bets on if one of us will catch a cold within the next few weeks? I’m in.

[1] I am in no way negating the scientific fact that breast milk is, in fact, the optimal choice of mothers for feeding their children. What I am doing is calling out the Nazi-like “consultants” that I had the pleasure of being accosted by while I was helpless and medicated and recovering from major surgery.

I can't wait for Girly Movie Night. Already, A is showing signs of good taste. Here's what else we'll watch:

• Pretty in Pink
• My Best Friend's Wedding
• Grease
• The Notebook
• Father of the Bride
• Pretty Woman
• Dirty Dancing
• Girls Just Want To Have Fun
• Sleepless in Seattle
• Gone With the Wind
• An Officer and a Gentleman
• Beaches
• Say Anything
• You've Got Mail
• Steel Magnolias

I better stock up on Kleenex and chocolate.

Do you remember when you used to make mixed tapes? For your best friend's birthday? Your trip to Cedar Point with the gang? For the boy that you had a crush on for three years but never got the nerve to talk to? Of the songs that would remind you of your days in high school as you made the hour and a half trek up to college?

It was an imperfect science, the making of that tape. What would only take minutes today to download and burn onto your blank CD used to take days, maybe weeks of painstakingly finding and recording the songs onto your portable tape player. I remember one time when I waited for days to hear a particular song on the radio so that I could record it for my current mixed tape. And I remember cursing the DJ who had the nerve to talk over the closing notes.

And when you were done and had every song neatly written on a sheet of paper (with a not so brief summary of why you chose that song) and the paper folded just so, in an origami inspired rectangle, you beamed with pride and hoped that the recipient of this mixed tape would appreciate the work that you put into the tape.

With that in mind, I give you my mixed tape for the Beans. And, I tag you to make a "mixed tape" for your special someone (be it toddler, s/o or canine).

1. My Heart Will Go On - Celine Dione

This is the song that was playing on the CD player on January 13, 2005, when I first saw the specks of black inside of me that looked tellingly like two little beans floating around in space.

2. Heaven - Warrant

What can I say, except that I love hair bands! And that I sang this to you often while you were wobbling around inside. Sure, it's not Chopin or Bach, but it's got some redeeming qualities right?

3. Girls Just Wanna Have Fun - Cyndi Lauper

This song actually reminds me of my sisters. Until you have your own song for each other, I will let you borrow ours.

4. Home - Michael Buble

I listened to this song over and over again while I was stranded in the hospital for weeks in pre-term labor. There was one night in the hospital that I literally did not sleep and I thought that I was losing my mind. This song soothed me when no one else was around. The song speaks for itself.

5. Seven - Norah Jones

Have you heard of this song? If not, I recommend that you do. It's...sweet. This is another that I used to sing aloud while I was pregnant. Before I knew what A would look like, I imagined that the girl that is sung about in this song looked exactly like A. What do you think?

6. SexyBack - Justin Timberlake

Not really a song that a mother would choose for her bean, but it's the song that Her Royal Pieness first loved and danced her little heart out to whenever she heard it. Even after it's been played one too many times on the radio, I'll play it loud and watch her smile and start her wild dancing. It makes my day.

7. Elmo's World - Elmo

I'm convinced that Elmo is the Jim Jones of the toddler world. Elmo makes everything better. Just believe in Elmo. La-la-la-la, la-la-la-la! Elmo's World!

8. You and Me - Lifehouse

Another song that speaks for itself. This is cheating, I know, but what more can I say? Whatever it is, it won't be as eloquent or have such a catchy tune!

9. One - U2

I just included this one because it is my favorite song of all time. And seemed appropriate here.

10. Beautiful - James Blunt

Aside from the f-bomb (did I just say that?) being dropped in the middle of the song, I play this for you on our way home from G&G's house to lull you to sleep. Inevitably, one of you falls asleep and one of you graciously listens to my caterwauling. Except, when that word comes on, then I say something like, "oops!" or "close your ears!" or something else completely insane and motherly. But then, after I say it, I smile and think about how this is just more proof that I am a Momma Bean and you are my beautiful legumes!

My sisters out-of-state will be furious when I say this: I'm done with cider mills! G&G and I took the girls on Sunday to our local and most popular cider mill for a little cider and doughnuts and some farm animals. As the year have gone by, it has gotten busier and busier at this particular cider mill, growing from just a little farm with a bakery and shop to a full blown commercialized zoo (not an actual zoo...the other definition of a zoo) , equiped with corn maze, petting farm, hay rides and ridiculous prices. The lines to every concession stand and to the actual cider mill went on forever and was well more than a half hour long. I waited in line for almost half an hour to get M something to drink, as she was having a minor meltdown, and I had to come back empty-handed, after wrestling with whether or not she'd be better off out of this place or having her thirst quenched.

M had several minor meltdowns that day, beginning with lunch with the grandparents at Champps and ending with a trip to Target to spend Momma Bean's birthday gift certificate. She's not big on crowds or people looking at her or being confined, plus she was working on a half hour nap. For a bean who will sleep 16 hours a night if you let her, this was not a good thing. I thought that Target would cheer her up, as it always makes her erupt in delightful oohs and ahhs, but she wasn't having any of it yesterday. Not even the annoying singing Cookie Monster stocking could garner a smile from that bean.

A Squared, on the other hand, loved it. What could be better than even more people looking at you and telling you how cute you are? I have a feeling that, if she could talk, she'd respond to everyone's compliments with a resounding, "I know!" (think Monica Gellar...or Momma Bean...) She loved the doughnuts (M did not) and got such a kick out of the petting farm that she didn't seem to want to leave.

Anyway, though I swore to the heavens that I wouldn't return, we'll be back this weekend with Daddy. We also have a date with Miss E. when she returns from her European honeymoon to partake in a little cider and doughnuts with her. Hopefully by then, M will warm up to the idea and everyone else in Michigan will find something else to do!

“Saturday night’s alright…”

1996

• Stumble to bed at around 4:00 a.m. Saturday morning.
• Wake up at around 6:00 a.m. to be to work by 6:30 a.m.
• End shift and leave work at 9:30 a.m. and get back into bed until 11:00.
• Tailgating from 11:30 a.m. to 4:00 p.m. Never make it to a game once.
• Raid the sorority house kitchen for some Ramen Noodles or leftovers.
• Nap until 7:00 p.m.
• Dinner
• Get gussied up and begin pre-party party in our rooms at the house.
• Leave for frat party at 10:00 p.m. Kiss a boy. Dance on a table.
• Stumble to bed at around 4:00 a.m. Sunday morning.
• Repeat.

2001

• Wake up by the sunlight streaming into the windows, check the clock, notice it is 9:00 a.m.
• Roll over, kiss new husband, snuggle closer and go back to sleep.
• Wake up again at 11:00 a.m. Shower and get pretty for new husband.
• Late breakfast/early lunch at Koney. He gets a Hani and I get breakfast.
• Go to the mall for a cute new outfit. Have a late lunch.
• Go home and nap until 6:00 p.m.
• Get pretty again for new husband and go out for dinner and drinks with J&A, and maybe a movie or more drinks later.
• Crawl into bed at around 1:00 a.m.
• Repeat.

2006

• Wake up by the sound of A chatting to Duckie about her dream last night, check the alarm clock, notice it is 6:00 a.m.
• Lay perfectly still, pretend to be sleeping as husband stirs in his sleep.
• Fall back to sleep.
• Wake up by the sound of A yelling into the monitor, the content of which translates to say, “I know you can hear me, so wake up and let’s start my day!” Check alarm clock, notice it is 7:00 a.m.
• Lay perfectly still as husband stirs and awakens. Pretend you don’t feel him nudging you. Smile as he gets up to get the Bean.
• Hug the Bean, snuggle with her under the covers, try unsuccessfully to coax her back to sleep.
• Avoid disaster no less than three times as the Bean attempts to lunge over the side of the bed while attacking the dogs. Drag self out of bed at 8:00 a.m.
• Spend next ten minutes convincing M that it is breakfast time and that she can’t sleep her life away. Receive grunts and angry glares.
• Breakfast and playtime.
• Naptime for Beans, chore time for Momma Bean.
• Lunch and then off to Costco/Target/Lakeside. No shower needed. Barely any make-up required.
• Attend a child’s birthday party, visit grandparents and pick up carry-out and a movie.
• Dinner at 6:00 p.m. then playtime.
• Bathtime and bedtime at 8:00 p.m., then into my jammies the minute their heads hit their crib.
• Claim best spot on couch, snuggle under blanket, and watch ¾ of the movie. Fall asleep.
• Wake up, blearily check the clock, notice it is 11:00 p.m. Trudge upstairs to bed.
• Repeat.

Life is good.

I WISH I KNEW HOW TO QUIT YOU!

The other day my mother informed me that A will not nap now unless she is rocked. She followed that up by announcing that she had purchased another package of pacifiers, because she always lost the ones J would send with the girls. I had bitten my tongue before when my dad mentioned purchasing them, but this time I let her have it. Mom replied calmly that they could give up the pipe when they were potty-trained. What?!?!?!?

I told her that I had wanted to get rid of the pipes, as we so affectionately called them, at 1 year old, but had been coaxed by J into only letting them have it for bedtime and naptime. I reluctantly agreed and grimaced whenever I noticed that he or anyone else watching them would give them to the girls any other time. This morning, as soon as the girls were out of bed, I popped the pipes right out of their mouths, as I always do. I was met with a few angry cries, the loudest of which was coming from my husband. But quickly, the girls became preoccupied with something else and the only one left protesting was J.

It’s not that I have a big thing against babies/toddlers using pacifiers. I was in the beginning and was furious to discover that J had given our month old babies their first pacifier. But, as a mother of twins, I know all too well that sometimes you just need a break. A little distraction, a moment of peace, and you’ll do whatever you can to get that. Just a second of it. Whether it’s turning on Sesame Street or popping the pipe, I am guilty of it too. I just didn’t want my girls to develop the habit. I didn’t want them to become dependent on it. I didn’t want them to be three years old, in pre-school and walking around the mall with it in their mouths (a sight that I see quite often at our local mall.)

I’m quitting the bottles too, though that’s been much easier and I’m not quite as vigilant about the subject. I started the girls on sippy cups early and they took to the cups fairly easily. J recently wanted to buy more bottles as ours are a year old and beginning to leak. I nixed the idea. Now, the cups and the bottles are interchangeable for us and the girls really only get a bottle at bedtime and sometimes they don’t even get that. At my house. Elsewhere (Mother!!!) it’s another story. I’m sort of okay with this because they’re deriving nutrition from their bottles (and nothing from their pipes.) And a bottle isn’t a quick fix like the pipe is, for both toddler and caregiver. So this is a battle I’m only half-heartedly waging, because I see that victory is in sight.

Next, it’s potty-training. I’m starting at eighteen months, the age I was when I was potty-trained. They’re getting little potties for Christmas from Santa (shhh…don’t tell them) and it’s mostly so that they can get used to them and play with them while I’m in the bathroom. (Momma Bean in bathroom = door open = Beans in the bathroom.) I’m sure there will be inconsistencies there and that I will do battle with a couple of people, but I’m prepared.

I guess I don’t fight it too much because I know that it must be hard for them. The grandparents. They are doing such a tremendous favor for us by watching the girls while we’re at work and being such wonderful and doting grandparents. And because I’ve been told, under no uncertain terms, that they are grandparents and they will not be the disciplinarians that they were for their children and that they’re only responsibilities now are to love and spoil the girls. What more could I ask for?

This: if, by the time the girls are five years old, I’m still finding bottles and pipes lying around the houses, it’s ON!

Happy Birthday Maggie!