And Then They Were Six

Six months, that is.

I re-read the previous three posts, and I can't even believe how much life has changed in just six short months. I can't believe how much life has changed in the last three months, or since yesterday, for that matter. It is amazing how certain cliches suddenly make sense when you become a parent. "The only constant is change," for example. Or perhaps that is the sleep deprivation talking.

In the time between the last entry and now, our most significant change has been sleep training. We kept up that exhausting high-wire act of lulling two babies to sleep 6 times a day, until one night I heard Lydia cry out in distress and ran into the nursery to find her face down in the crib, in her swaddle.

And that was the end of the swaddle.

The next night, it took me 2 hours to lull her to sleep without her swaddle.

And that was the beginning of sleep training. Now I know sleep training is a controversial subject, and I myself was heard to shout things like "You're a monster" at the people around me helping during that first brutal night. But in our house and in our lives it has worked nothing short of a miracle. The swing that lovingly held Miriam for all of her sleep prior to sleep training now lovingly holds both girls only for play-time. And when left to her own devices, Lydia fell asleep in 15 minutes flat that first night instead of the 2 hrs it took her in my arms the night before.

I cried through the entire day leading up to our first night of sleep-training. After the swaddleless soothing debacle I knew I had no choice, but I couldn't get over the fact that they would never again have the innocence that, whenever they called out, Mommy would come to help. If I'm honest with myself though, as twins they never really had that innocence: when I was changing one, the other was left to hang out on her own despite her vocal imploring that I ignore her sister in favor of her. Same thing with getting them dressed, same thing with picking them up to play, and so on. So really, I was mourning something that never existed. But in my mind I was abandoning them to the grown-up world and the lonely night. That day, I kept explaining to the girls over and over again what was going to happen that night: that we would be letting them learn how to fall asleep on their own. That we loved them very much and would be there for them in the middle of the night when they got hungry again, but we wouldn't be coming in to help them go to sleep because it was time for them to learn how to sleep without us. I started to cry each time I explained this to them and the girls picked up my despair and mirrored it back to me; it was not a fun day for any of us.

Night came, and we did our routine: two girls splashed in the bath and got put in pajamas, and two girls ate at the breast and received their vitamin d drops. And then two girls got zipped into sleep sacks and reminded that tonight they were going to learn to fall asleep on their own. And the ocean sounds were played on the stereo and the little space heater was turned on, and then two little girls were put down in their cribs and told, "Goodnight". And Mommy and Daddy left the room.

Almost immediately, both girls started to cry. Right at that moment, my sister-in-law arrived to lend her support: after sleep training her four children she is somewhat of an expert. She asked how I was doing. I told her to f-off and that I hated her. She smiled, gave me a hug, and then she and Bruno walked me to the room in our house furthest from the nursery.

According to all the books, I was to wait 5 minutes, and then I could return to the nursery and offer a consoling pat or two. When Bruno stood in front of the clock counting down those infinitely long five minutes, I nearly tore his head off. I raced back to the nursery as soon as the clock hit its mark, Bruno in tow, and attempted to soothe two children used to being held until they were asleep with a mere pat or two. To my shock, Lydia actually calmed. Miriam, as might have been predicted, was a flailing banshee, and our presence seemed to simply inflame her ire. After a minute of my trying to pat her into calmness, Bruno dragged me out of the nursery.

This time I was to wait 10 minutes. Bruno and my sister-in-law wanted to return to the sound proof booth, but I insisted on standing vigil in the living room: if my children were going to have to go through this, the least I could do was suffer along with them, and send them my best hoodoo-voodoo vibes for calmness. I poured my energy toward them: "you can do this, my big brave girls, just relax into sleep, you can do this..." To no avail.

10 minutes up and I was screaming at Bruno to return to the nursery. Again, to my shock, Lydia calmed with a few pats, and that was the last we heard from her that night: she fell asleep after that. My theory is that Miriam's bellowing was so annoying that Lydia fell asleep to shut it out. Miriam, in the other hand, seemed offended by our offered pats, and looked, as our Dr. said to expect, like she had been run over by a bus. A minute or so later, and Bruno was dragging me out of the room again, and this time insisted that I return to the room on the other end of the house, where he turned on the fan, the heater and the clothes dryer.

Since Lydia was asleep and Miriam seemed to rev up when we returned to the nursery, we decided to stay out at this point and let Miriam work this through on her own. Every ten minutes I insisted in poking my head out the door to hear what was happening. Lydia remained asleep, and Miriam continued hollering her protest. It was during this period that I shouted out things like, "you two are monsters!" and "I hate my life, I hate myself, I hate you two!" to my poor husband and patient sister-in-law. And then, at nearly two hours from when we started, Miriam finally fell asleep.

And stayed asleep. This child, who for the last three months had slept only in the rocking arms of her parents or her swing within the comforting hug of a swaddle, was now sleeping soundly in her crib. And though I was terrified of a repeat performance after the middle of the night feed, to my complete shock both girls fell back to sleep on their own and without any crying. The next night, Lydia cried for 15 minutes, Miriam for 30 minutes, and then both were asleep. The third night, both cried for a mere 10 minutes and that was that.

The difference this has made in our lives is enormous. Before sleep training, the bed-time routine rarely finished before 8pm and then we tiptoed around like crazy people living in fear of a child waking up, which meant one of us had to go and bounced her back to sleep. Now, we finish up at 7pm, kiss the gals goodnight and leave the room, and they chat or play with their blankies and fall asleep on their own. And if they wake, they can go back to sleep on their own too. An absolute miracle.

But the biggest miracle of all is the discovery that Miriam is a great sleeper! All that time I was keeping her in the swing, and she was getting junkie half-sleep was belying her true nature. It turns out, she loves to sleep! If I am late getting her down for a nap, she protests vociferously, and once I put her in her crib, she looks me in the face, gives me one last screech for good measure, and then rolls to her side, sticks her thumb in her mouth and goes straight to sleep. Amazing.

Lydia still seems to need those same 10 minutes of crying to get to sleep before every nap and before most bedtimes. It is fairly upsetting to me, until I remember how long it took her to fall asleep when I was "helping" her, and how much sleep she lost that way. Now she works it out for her ten minutes, and then settles in, gets great juicy chunks of sleep and wakes up smiling.

Amazing how much can be accomplished when you simply step out of the way.

One Sunday in September

As I sit down to write on this September Sunday, Bruno is sitting behind me reading children's poems in Croatian to Miriam and Lydia, who are sitting in their bouncy seats listening and smiling. Awesome.

It has been quite a chaotic road to this peaceful moment. Wow did we have no idea how hard parenting twins would be. Awesome, but insanely difficult. Trying to get two completely independent little beings to eat at the same times and sleep at the same times. Having to decide whether to distract the hungry child or wake the sleeping child. Having to accept that, if you are on single parent duty, one child will be crying while the other child is being changed, bathed, moved, rocked to sleep.

OK, so I typed that last sentence about a half hour ago. In the interim, Miriam and Lydia both began what we call "melting": they went from happy play time with their Tata to yawns and frowns and pouts. We whisked them out of their respective bouncies, brought them into the nursery, darkened the room, swaddled the babes, turned on the CD of ocean sounds (and remembered to press "repeat": this is key to nap-time success.) Bruno took Miriam and I took Lydia, and we began to "shake them down", our term for dancing around the room with a swaddled child in your arms trying to lull them into closing their eyes and reaching unconsciousness. We have a silent dance of communication between us during these moments too. Bruno tells me how stiff Miriam still is by lifting her into the air with one hand: her body doesn't bend at all. I suppress laughter, which helps with soothing Lydia as I am now bouncing quite naturally. I bounce my way around to having my back to Bruno: I am looking for a report on the status of the eyes of my child. I turn back around to see Bruno bugging his eyes out: his way of communicating to me that my child may as well have sucked on an espresso pacifier. Bruno's has now gone limp in his arms and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't jealous.

We are now 5-10 minutes into the shake down, and Bruno's child (Miriam) is ready to be put down. I suppose I now have to 'fess up that Miriam only sleeps in her swing. And I'm not talking just naps: she sleeps all night in that stupid, life-saving swing with it's horrible click-click, click-click. She gets these leg spasms that wake her up every ten minutes and something about the shape of the swing keeps the spasms from waking her. So for now we are guiltily embracing the crutch and enjoying our well-rested child. And I suppose when she no longer fits in the swing, we'll figure out how to get her to sleep in a crib.

The moment at hand is that of getting Miriam into her swing without waking her. The child has a hair-trigger waking device; the slightest change of position, temperature, or rhythm will cause her to open one eye and stare you down with it as she fills her lungs preparing to yell out her fury at having caught you in the act of trying to put her down. Transferring her to the swing is a delicate delicate operation, one which Bruno is afraid to attempt, having had several infuriating failures in the past. So, I now have to place my wildly awake child down, hope she doesn't scream bloody murder, take Bruno's limp but highly sensitive child and get her into the swing. Happily, even if Lydia goes to pieces the one thing Miriam is immune to is noise: she's fallen asleep next to the speakers in the living room and peacefully slept through entire episodes of Mad Men pouring into her tiny ears.

I put Lydia down and the sweet child just lies quietly and stares at her sheep mobile. I count to three in my head, steeling my nerves, take Miriam from her father and begin to sail her through the air, mimicking the motion of the swing. I hover her over the swing, following its motion and gently, oh so gently, place her swaddled butt into the device, following it as it swings up toward me, and removing my hands as it swings my child back away from me. I step quickly out of Miriam's eye-line, in case that one eye is open and looking to express fury. A few moments later I deem the transfer to be successful, and head over to Lydia's crib. Bruno is standing there beaming: she has fallen asleep on her own, G-d bless her. We both make for the door, avoiding the creaky spots on the floor and pressing the door handle down as we leave to quell the squeaking hinges.

Just a typical Sunday afternoon with twin 3 month olds.....

The Need to Feed

So there are a million entries between the place-holder announcing the birth of our girls and this one. There is the birth story, detailing Ursula's heroic, picture-perfect behavior and Cedric's easy compliance. That same story tells of how, with Dr. R calling the shots, I felt the comfort of being an enlisted man under the command of an expert general; I asked no questions, followed orders, and played my part in the victory in the O.R. that early morn.

Next comes the story of the time in the hospital, the exhausted, exhilarated time with nurses and doctors and lactation consultants and pediatricians flowing in and out of the room that held all we needed in the Universe. The feel of child on breast for the first time and the sharp learning curve of diapering and feeding and soothing. Of family arriving at 4 in the morning to meet their newest kin at the earliest possible hour. Of being awake for 48 hours straight and feeling like you could go that way forever if that was what it took. Of Facebook congratulations and flowers, and hospital meals and Grammy's supplemental picnics and two new parents who were still getting used to the idea that questions addressed to "Mom" and "Dad" now were posed to them.

And the story of leaving the hospital, of a new Mom who imaginedn illness in order to try not to get birthed into the real world quite so soon. Of the slow, careful car ride home, the savored moment of crossing the homestead threshold, babes in arms this time. The small, quiet moment of triumph: two babes in two car seats and two awed, silenced parents. And the hilarity of the hour that followed, when all hell broke loose as the babes woke up and demanded feeding and changing all at once, and the phone rang and the doorbell rang, like some predictable sit-com episode. And how there was nothing to do but laugh and laugh as the chaos descended and settled in for a long comfy stay.

So many stories in the days that followed, of learning that, despite the strongest wills the world, humans cannot function on only 1 hour of sleep at a time. The designing of schedules for ourselves that we used to laugh at in other families. Of learning to nap at the drop of a hat and wake at the drop of a hat. Of diaper changes and outfit changes and appetite changes. Fights, scathingly with each other, futilely with the girls, unkindly with poor Grammy, who dropped everything in her world to temporarily come take care of us and our household while we learned how to take care of our children.

Stories of doctor's appointments for the girls, of weight lost and plans to regain it, and more weight lost and new adjusted plans, of blocked tear ducts and anti-biotics and eye massage, and mittened hands to prevent scratching. Of our first stroller ride in the park, which lasted 10 minutes, and healing grown-up bodies and growing brand new bodies. And amongst all the sleeplessness and worry, uproarious laughter at a facial expression or a well-timed toot, delight and heart-melt at the sight of two babes sleeping by our bed, the locking of eyes and the smelling of scents and the birth and bonding of a family.

Which takes us to now, and the relentless unending nursing. Which I don't have time to write about, because now the monitor on the mantle is squeaking and glowing blue, and the need to feed is once again upon us.

Place-Holder

Oh, I have so many things to say, so many things to write, but for now, this will have to serve as a blog place-holder to first of all:

ANNOUNCE THE SAFE AND HAPPY BIRTH OF MIRIAM NORA KURTIC AND LYDIA SARA KURTIC!!!!

Miriam was nearly 5 lbs at birth and was born at 12:41am on June 3rd

Lydia was exactly 6 lbs at birth and was born at 12:54am on June 3rd

It was a double vaginal birth, expertly managed by Dr. R, with four hours of labor and less than one hour of pushing. Both girls are healthy and neither needed the NICU for even a moment. Gratitude does not even begin to describe our feelings....

Birth story soon; for a now a few observations:

Adrenaline and endorphins are an amazing combo and can allow you to stay awake for 48 hours straight while performing herculean tasks all the while feeling like the luckiest creature G-d ever made and so full of love you think you might explode with it.

Curious and unexpected side-effect of absolute exhaustion: everything your spouse says is unbelievably funny, causing you to laugh with such abandon you fall in love with each other all over again.

I used to listen to new parents describe how they were so busy some days they couldn't even make time for a shower. I thought, "What kind of unorganized idiot can't make time to shower." I went for more than 36 hours after the slaughterhouse that is giving birth before making time to shower. Give birth, and learn.

My new favorite moment, probably of my life, was listening to Bruno make up a song about poop and happily sing it to his daughter while changing her diaper at 5 in the morning.

I thought I was doing pretty well with the whole postpartum emotion thing until the nurse arrived to give me my booster shot against whatever whooping cough thing is happening in San Francisco right now and I started sobbing hysterically about the idea that something could happen to our children or to me that would make me unable to care for our children. The nurse nicely patted my hand and told me this was all quite normal. Thank you, nice nurse.

Seconds after Bruno and I arrived back home with the girls today we felt an overwhelming sense of pride and accomplishment. Minutes after we arrived back home today both girls were screaming bloody murder, one against a diaper change the other against her mother's ungraceful attempts to breastfeed, the phone was ringing, and, improbably, there was a knock at the door. Bruno and I looked at each other, and started laughing hysterically. Welcome to our new life, and welcome Miriam and Lydia!

O, Worthy Car

We bought a new car today. And I found myself hysterically crying saying goodbye to the old one. Now, let me clarify that I am not a car person at all, don't really know much about cars, don't really care much about cars beyond the color. My old car was a beautiful and unique color of bronzy brown, but that's not why I was crying. Well, that's not most of why I was crying.

I was crying because we bought that car on the East Coast on the day we found out we were pregnant with the boys. We bought it to be a Mom-mobile. We were so naive and confident that on the very day we found out we were pregnant, we bought a car. We were SO naive and confident that we did so without bringing along infant car seats and strollers to make sure they fit, which is why we now needed to buy another new car to be the Mom-mobile. But regardless of the reality, that barely-old car represents our time with the boys and it was hard to let it go.

That car carried all of us across the country. It witnessed all our hopes and dreams and expectations of life with twin boys. It carried us to the hospital in Oregon, it carried Bruno around Portland, and ultimately it carried us, empty-handed and broken-hearted, away again. It witnessed our fresh grief, our first stabs at dealing with tragedy. It carried us through that time, to and from meetings with HAND, jobs interviews, house hunting. It witnessed countless tear storms from me as I learned how to navigate the Bay Area and re-learned how to navigate life. It carried us to Tahoe and Mammoth and Napa and Santa Cruz. It safely delivered me to auditions and rehearsals and performances. And to endless, endless doctor appointments. Including the appointment confirming Baby A and Baby B's existence. And all the subsequent ones preserving that existence.

I cried saying goodbye to that worthy car, that naive, first-time parent mistake of a car that carried us through such a profound period of our lives within its bronzy brown frame.

Our new car will be a great car too, I've no doubt, and will witness great moments in our evolving family. The Girl-Mobile. And guess what color it is?

Greeeeeeeen!!!!

The Day My Mother Tried to Kill Me, aka: Break, Water, Break!

Dr. R, who is going on vacation at the end of this week, wrote me to tell me to keep walking.

My mother, who is very excited to meet her newest grandchildren, has taken this edict very seriously. So yesterday, when Bruno dropped me off at her house while he wheeled and dealed with the fellows at Subaru, Mom got me on my feet and out walking.

Her neighborhood is just gorgeous. All of Northern CA is at this time of year, but her neighborhood is a beautiful mix of fabulous houses, stately old trees and positively prolific flowers, all of which Mom seems to know the names for. She started off at a clip, I pulled her back to my toddler waddler pace, and all was well. For the first ten minutes or so.

Somewhere in those ten minutes, I was asked how I was doing, and whether I needed to return home or whether I could continue on for another block or two. Bravely, I opted for the additional blocks, and forward we continued. A few steps later, and I found myself in a scene from some movie where the main character is experiencing the results of having taken hallucinogenic drugs: the block in front of me stretched forward and away, seeming to have no end. My mother was babbling away at my side but I couldn't understand a word she was saying. All I could think about were my throbbing Fred Flintstone feet and my burning, overtaxed lower back.

Mom, to her credit, noticed my shift of focus and asked if I'd like to turn around and head back home. 'No', I heard myself reply, 'You say it is only one more block to the turn around, and I'm supposed to walk, right?' We continue another quarter of a block, and it dawns on me that this may well be the longest block I have ever encountered. Longer than a long NYC block, longer than THREE long NYC blocks. A woman pulls her mini-van in ahead of us, and I consider begging her to drive me back home. I continue plodding past the lucky woman, who has already reached her home and can sit down whenever she wants to. I hate her a little.

We take step after painful step, Mom naming every flower we pass, and finally turn the corner and begin our return journey. Mom points out a brand of mini-van she is considering buying and I hear myself snarl, 'I don't care. How far is your house'? A few more steps, and Mom stops to admire a majestic tree. 'If you stop my forward motion, I will kill you', I threaten. We are both giggling now with the absurdity of my panting agony. Mom cautions me to move to the right to let a jogger through, and I am lapped by an octogenarian. I mutter that I think I could be lapped by a turtle right now and the octogenarian power walks past and tells me to hang in there. A few more strained steps, and I see Mom and Dad's place. Eye on the prize, I leave Mom in the dust and head straight for the door, calling out,'Which one is your reclining chair?' 'Why?", Mom wants to know. 'Because I'm going to go break my water in it' I reply, and we find ourselves in hysterics.

A full 24 hours and four walks later, and my bag of waters is still intact. These girls are as stubborn as each of their female ancestors.

Whenever You're Ready

Dear Baby A and Baby B,

This is your Mama and your Tata here, writing to let you know that whenever you guys feel you are ready, we are ready for you. We know it has been a long journey for all of us filled with ups and downs, and we know we've sent you quite a wash of cortisol and adrenaline and such in our worser moments, but we did the best we could and tried to mitigate all that stuff with as much good nutrition and sleep and joy as we could muster. Hope you didn't mind all the kale.

We've cleared beautiful spaces for you in nearly every area of our home: your nursery, of course, awaits you, but besides that, we have a co-sleeper safely attached to Tata's side of our bed, so he can hear you and touch you and smell you all through the night. We have several of the many bouncy seats set up for you in the living room, cabinets dedicated to your bottles in the kitchen, a freezer to store extra breast milk in the laundry room, and a futon set up in our office for the comfort and rest of all the family members and friends lining up to help take care of you. And yesterday we got a new car to chauffeur you around in safety and style. You haven't even arrived and already you have altered the topography of ever area we inhabit.

Mentally and emotionally, we've done our best to clear space for you too. We've read the books and talked to friends, trying to comprehend the radical change you are about to drop into our lives. We've joined the clubs and posted questions. We've talked and thought and cried about your brothers, trying to work through our feelings, to separate the events of their births and your births as much as we can, and we promise to keep doing that sort of work, to protect you from our past, to allow you to only be enriched by it.

We are scared, no doubt about it. We know, despite all our efforts, our research, our purchases, that we have no idea how to care for you, because we don't know you yet, don't know who you are or what you will need. But we are also excited beyond measure to try. And to fail. And to try some more. Excited to see your faces, to watch you see ours. Excited to learn to nourish you and calm you. Excited to learn from you. Excited.

So, we just wanted to make it clear, after all this time of trying desperately to keep you inside Mama, that whenever you guys feel that you are ready, we are ready for you.

All our love always, -Mama and Tata.