Alimentum, Gentille Alimentum

Ellie needs to slow her pumping schedule. She’s not ready to stop, but she does need to pump fewer times each day. A demanding full-time job doesn’t mix well with draining close to a pound of milk six times every day. Plus when she pumps that often, I have to do dishes twice a day to ensure that she has clean pumping paraphernalia, so I’m inconvenienced too.

Ellie wants to cut down to four pumps a day. The problem with that routine, besides bearing the backlog of breast milk until her body adjusts, is she won’t produce enough milk to keep the twins fed. We’ll need to supplement with formula feedings, but finding a formula to feed them has been harder than finding a Seahawk fan outside of the 98xxx zip code area.

You may remember the boys developed a dairy allergy.* Ellie originally purged all dairy from her diet to accommodate their sensitivity. She has since resumed eating dairy in moderation with no ill effects since cutting all dairy is incredibly difficult to do, partially because so many products contain dairy ingredients, and partially because peppermint stick ice cream is so tasty.

The standard formulas are all milk-based, so those are out as an option. I had hoped to try feeding it to them to see what happens, but our pediatrician strongly advised against that; apparently a little blood in the stools doesn’t just freak out the parents. I thought the next step would be to try a soy-based formula, but soy is also a common allergen, and there’s a good chance they’d be allergic to that too. Instead our pediatrician went straight to the hypoallergenic formula, called Alimentum, a named derived from the aluminum that gives it its flavor. Alimentum smells like rotten eggs, but only if those eggs were prepped by sitting in a hot car for a few days before cracking.

For some reason, the twins didn’t like the stuff. I even tried mixing it with breast milk to dilute the flavor, but they screamed as soon as it hit their tongue. In response, the pediatrician gave us a different hypoallergenic formula to try, but he told us that they hopefully won’t like it either because the stuff is $40 a can.** I took it home, diluted it with breast milk, and found more screaming.

Out of ideas and desperate to drop down to one dishwashing a day, I started preparing straight shots of Alimentum a couple times a day, hoping their tongues would eventually numb to the stuff and they’d eat it. To my surprise, they ate the straight stuff the first time I offered with no screaming. They weren’t as enthusiastic about it as they are with breast milk and their spit up afterward smelled really bad, but they ate it. Apparently the problem was mixing it with breast milk. So if anyone else has a baby who needs Alimentum but won’t eat a breast milk/Alimentum cocktail, try giving straight Alimentum. Soon, maybe you too will be washing significantly fewer dishes.

* If you don’t, here’s a summary: The boys developed a milk allergy.
** That’s opposed to the Alimentum, which is only $30 a can.

SpeechUpdate

The update on Abbie’s speech is: Not much. She still isn’t really talking. She’s making some more sounds, but the only word she really says is still “muh” for “more.” She’s way behind where the development charts say a 20-month-old should be. She should have a vocabulary of at least a few words and as many as 100 spoken words by now, plus the standards like “mama” and “dada,” and she should be telling me “no” frequently. Lack of speech isn’t entirely without benefits.

Her signs are coming along much better. She recently added bird to her repertoire, which for her involves flapping her arms up and down like a bird. She doesn’t look exactly like a bird though since she flaps her arms out in front of her instead of at her sides, like she’s imitating a bird with a major neurological disorder. She also recently started signing cat, which involves sliding a finger across the cheek like you’re tracing a whisker, except Abbie starts her finger at the corner of her mouth and rips is almost straight down like she’s imitating a cat with a huge frown, possibly because it just discovered that the bird it caught suffers from a major neurological disorder.

She’s even made her first two-word sentence using signs. That sentence is “fish on,” as in she wants us to turn on the fish mobile on the twins’ swing. The swing used to belong to Abbie, and she hated it when she could still fit in it. Most children find a swing’s gentle rocking motion soothing; Abbie found her swing to be an inadequate substitute for mom or dad’s arms. The fish mobile directly above the seat might have helped soothe her at the time, but she never even noticed it. Now that she can’t fit in it, the mobile is her favorite toy, and she’s not shy about telling us to turn it on. First thing in the morning, I see “fish on.” While changing her diaper, Abbie will furiously tell me “fish on,” letting me know which activity she would most prefer to having her bottom wiped. At mealtimes, she occasionally says “fish on” instead of more, though to be fair she may just be asking for Goldfish crackers, which are tastier than her mobile though less musical.

Even more encouraging is her ability to identify objects when asked, or “receptive communication.” While paging through her books, she will point to just about any objects when asked, especially if it’s animal related: Dogs, cats, fish. She still confuses guinea pigs and mice, but at least she identifies that they’re both rodents. She can even identify colors in one of her books when asked, though I think she just memorized the colors’ locations.

Most impressive was her ability to return a torn flap to its original location. One of her books had a flap that simply said “whale” on it that fell out, and by “fell out” I mean “was torn out.” She pulled this abandoned flap out of her book box, immediately pulled out the correct book, immediately opened the book to the correct page, and immediately put the flap back in its original “whale” spot. She’s showing a very good memory at this age, and that’s very encouraging. I’m sure she’ll start talking someday soon. As long as she never remembers she’s supposed to tell me “no” a lot, these toddler years shouldn’t be too bad.

Securing Supplies

Securing Vital Supplies is now officially a challenge. Up until now I’ve enjoyed having someone staying with us to watch the kids while I run to the store in peace. Those helpers have all gone home now with happy memories of caring for pleasant children and repressed memories of enduring screaming children. When we run critically low on some Vital Supply, like shampoo or my lunch apples, I need to plan a time when I can run to the store when Ellie is home to watch the twins, or bite down and head to the store with all three children, two of which are immobile and the third can’t be trusted to walk alone without doing something dangerous like running into traffic or putting parking lot roughage into her mouth.

Yesterday I took advantage of Ellie being home for the weekend to embark on a couple such trips. I always take Abbie with me on these trips because the twins are enough to handle by themselves, and leaving Ellie with all three children seems cruel. Sure I stay home alone with all three children every day, but that’s my job and I’m used to it. It’s not like Ellie ever sends me to the hospital to explain to a patient why they can’t refill their Codeine prescription two weeks after they received a four-week supply. Plus, I never need to pump while watching the kids.

Even when the twins aren’t with me though, they’re with me in spirit. Our first stop was the grocery store. While there, a little old lady saw Abbie, and stopped me in the produce aisle while I was refilling my precious lunch apple supply.

“Is that your baby?” she asked. I had to make sure she was talking about Abbie, because I haven’t thought of her as a baby since the twins came home. I told her we don’t call her a baby anymore since we have even younger ones at home.

“Oh, they’re always a baby,” she said. “Until they’re 19, they’re a baby. Even then, they’re still a baby. I’m a baby.” I told her fair enough, and hurried with my baby through the rest of the store so I could return home to my even younger babies before they woke up hungry.

Later I went to the nearest big box store for big box store items. After collecting everything, I stood in the checkout line behind a poor woman with three young children (ages newborn through probably 5) who apparently didn’t have a wonderful spouse at home to take two-thirds of their children while she shopped for necessities. She was fumbling with her purse while trying to keep her kids in line and taking what she thought was too long to do it. She apologized to me for holding up the line.

“That’s okay. I’ve got kids too,” I said. It got a chuckle out of her, and she starting moving a few seconds later. I paid for my Supplies, and quickly moved to my car as well. Back home, Ellie needed to pump soon.

The Comment Post

I’m terrible with comments. I read all of them, but I never take the time to respond to them. Some days it’s a miracle I take the time to shower, let alone respond to the wonderful things people say on here. I wish I could spend more time responding because it would be a great way to get to know people and cultivate relationships. On the other hand, ignoring comments does give me a way to write an entire day’s post by just responding to comments.

When I cut Tory’s toe with the fingernail clippers, several people wrote to say they had done the same thing. After this morning, I’m no longer the only one living in the house who can say they’ve cut a baby’s appendage with the clippers. I don’t want to name names, but let’s just say that we don’t let Abbie use with the clippers yet.

Becky added a list of other things I could look forward to in raising children “1) Drop baby on head. 2) Get puke in your mouth. 3) Inadvertently eat baby poop.” To that list I can say 1) Done and done. 2) I’ve never gotten puke in my mouth, though when Abbie had the flu she did puke all over my shirt while she laid on me on the couch. 3) Um, you may want to pay more attention to what goes in your mouth :)

When I said I didn’t know if we had identical or fraternal twins, Amy said her hospital checks every pair of same sex twins. I’ve heard that from other people, but apparently they don’t do that at our hospital, and somehow it slipped our mind to ask right after their birth. I have a feeling that either the hospital or our OB was supposed to run that test right after birth, and someone completely forgot about it. About a week before they came home from the NICU, we did ask a NICU doctor if there were any tests to determine if they were identical. He stared at us incredulously and said no one had ever asked him that before. It seems to me like a pretty standard thing to know, but I guess not. Someday we’re going to do some DNA testing, but in the meantime I’m going to hope for some obvious difference between them to settle things, like an extra 20 pounds, or maybe an extra leg.

Yesterday I wrote about feeding difficulties, specifically keeping Abbie from interfering. Cindy again suggested a hand free bottle system. I apologize for not paying attention the first time you suggested it. I usually don’t hear things the first time Ellie suggests things either, but as she says, “just because you weren’t paying attention doesn’t mean I didn’t say it.” This morning I ordered two of the kind she suggested, and if I like them I’ll order several more. Thanks.

That catches me up. Someday I may have enough time to respond to comments in a timely manner. In the meantime, keep the comments coming. Unless you have a complaint of course.

Here’s one of our Christmas photos of the twins:

Feeding Difficulties

Feeding the twins by myself is becoming a great challenge. Not that the twins are being difficult; they’re too young to squirm out of my patented floor feeding position. In a couple months I may need a couple straight jackets to keep them in position for simultaneous feedings, but for now most of our feeding difficulties are coming directly from Abbie. A 20-month-old can make a giant nuisance of herself while I sit on the floor with both babies exposed to her whims and both hands occupied with bottles.

Her biggest infraction is knocking the bottles out of their mouths. She likes to walk up to them, put her index finger in one baby’s mouth, breaking the seal and causing him to cry, and repeating the process with her other brother. I have no idea what causes her to do this. She doesn’t seem to want the bottles for herself since she always knocks both bottles out and then looks pleased for doing so. She may be trying introduce herself since she always does this first thing when she sees them eating. Most likely she’s trying to get my attention by distracting me from her brothers. If that’s the case, it’s an effective technique. I’m trying to discourage her by telling her that’s naughty, pointing out that it makes them cry, and telling her not to touch them again. When she puts her finger in their mouth again, which she usually does, I lock her in her room for a couple minutes. That may not be the best punishment, but it does buy me a couple minutes to feed them in peace.

When she decides to play with something non-feeding related, things calm down, at least until she tries getting my attention again. She often wants me to play with her while I feed the twins, and her favorite way of getting my attention is by throwing a chosen object down in front of me, a space that’s usually occupied by the boys. When she wants to play with a stuffed animal, that’s not a big deal, as it bounces harmlessly off someone’s forehead. When she wants to play with something a little harder, say one of her kajillion plastic-encased noise makers, or Bag ‘O Glass, then we have a problem. I do my best to deflect the thrown object away from faces and redirect her to a floor-bound or at least lighter toy, but she doesn’t give up easily.

I lost my cool this afternoon when within a span of a couple minutes a cat spilled a glass of water in the kitchen, Abbie knocked over the glass of water I set next to myself, the dog started pounding on the back door to be let in, Abbie threw a book at her brothers, the twins squirmed, cried, and otherwise did everything in their limited power to avoid eating the milk they were screaming for five minutes ago, and Abbie, undaunted by her inability to get my attention from the front, started throwing her book at the back of my head. I locked Abbie in her room for a couple minutes more than a couple minutes to catch my breath and soak up spilled water while the twins screamed, apparently because they missed the challenge of avoiding the bottle. When I let Abbie out, I sang and did everything I could think of to distract her while I finished feeding her brothers. It wasn’t pretty, but we made it through.

Hopefully Abbie is learning her lesson to not bother us while they eat. I’m sure she’ll stop bothering us within the next month or two. If not, then hopefully by then the twins will develop the ability to deflect incoming objects.

Doctor Doctor Doctor

I had to take the kids to three doctor appointments yesterday: The twins each had their two-month check-ups and the dog had to go to the vet, who’s a doctor of veterinary medicine and technically also a doctor. Theoretically the kids didn’t need to come with us to the vet, but the authorities tend to frown on leaving small children home alone.

The dog had to go to the vet first thing in the morning, with the twins’ appointment 90 minutes later. I didn’t want to cram her appointment in on the same day as the twins’, but her impacted anal glands* demanded priority work, and that was the soonest I could get her in. So I woke the twins promptly at 7am, or at least quit trying to pacify them, to start the process of waking and packing up three small children in under an hour. In that time, I managed to feed the twins, change their diapers, eat my breakfast, wake Abbie, change her, pack a breakfast for Abbie to eat at the vet, load the twins into their carriers, put Abbie’s coat and shoes on, load Abbie and the dog into the car, load the twins into the car, and finally stuff myself into the driver’s seat. If getting small children and a dog up and out of the house in the morning were an Olympic sport, I would so win the gold.

I entered the office with an infant carrier in each hand, the end of the dog’s leash tucked in my pocket, and a prayer that Abbie would dutifully walk by herself into the office, which she did. The vet was fast, but less than helpful. The dog’s glands were too swollen to drain, so he gave me a set of antibiotics in case something ruptures and said good luck. He also made a comment about how it was my day to take the kids. I call those days when I have the kids “weekdays,” and sometimes “weekends.” At least she was due for some vaccinations, so the trip wasn’t a total waste.

Amazingly, all three children behaved while the vet poked the dog. The twins slept the entire time, except for a couple minor complaints that were easily pacified. I kept Abbie busy with the breakfast I brought for her. That violated a rule I made long ago to never use food to keep my children entertained, but I made that rule while I still had one child. On our way out, the office staff took pity on me and carried one of the carriers out to the car for me.

From there I went home, regrouped, and then headed back out for the twins. Their doctor is in a large hospital, so I was able to transport everyone easier by pushing our fabulous double-stroller with one hand, Abbie in my other hand, and no dog dangling from my pocket.

In the pediatrician’s office, the nurses mostly took care of the twins, leaving me to watch Abbie. In the near hour we waited in that little room, Abbie grew bored of every toy in the diaper bag, the Tasteeos I brought, and even the generic Froot Loops I packed for emergencies. By the end, she amused herself by climbing on the garbage can, which despite being dangerous was actually the safest instrument for her to play with in the room.

At the doctor, I discovered Tory is up to 8lbs, 15 ozs, and Ian is up to 7-13. Ian is also catching up to Tory in height, as he’s only a quarter-inch shorter. For some reason, we ran down a checklist of things two-month-olds should be doing even though they just passed their due date. We answered, “starting to” on all the milestones. Then they received their first set of vaccines, which I remember as being the hardest on Abbie, and so far they’re hitting the twins hard. They’re slightly crankier than usual, which doesn’t sound like much until you multiply “slightly” by two and figure in the simultaneous factor.

On the way back home, I pushed the double-stroller with both hands and let Abbie walk at its side. She did a good job of minding, which leads me to believe I may someday be able to leave the house with all three kids by myself. In the meantime, I want that medal for taking all three by myself.

* In addition to being a great name for a band, impacted anal glands is also a great reason to never get a dog.

One

The twins woke me up yesterday morning just before 3am. I looked at the clock, muttered something about what they were doing awake less than three hours after their last feeding, and stumbled out to check on them. We moved them out from our bedroom to the living room on Sunday evening, and they’d been doing well out there. They’ve been inching closer to lasting four hours between feeding overnight, and it had been a couple weeks since they’d woken up less than three hours after their last feeding.

Ian was awake and complaining. Since he’d gone less than three hours, I gave him his pacifier, waited for him to calm down, and went back to bed. A few minutes later, Tory woke up complaining. I gave him his pacifier, and since it was after 3am, I started warming their bottles for their first overnight feeding.

Ellie pumped in the bedroom while I fed. Both rituals take about the same time, and I stumbled back to bed with little tummies full right after she crawled back into bed with fresh milk in the fridge. I wanted to fall back asleep as quickly as possible, but Ellie wanted to talk about how great it was that the twins just went five hours between feedings.

Huh? Let’s see, I last fed them at 10pm, and again at 3am, that makes, uh, carry the two, shake the sleep-deprivation fog … I guess that is five hours. How about that?

My lifelong dream for the past month is realized; they’ve slept long enough at night to only take one feeding. I imagine that the move to the living room helped. They no longer wake me every time they grunt in their sleep like a couple of feral babies. No matter where I set the baby monitor’s volume, they have to get really worked up before crying loud enough to wake me. I imagine I slept through general complaining for about an hour before finally stirring.

I fell asleep happy, knowing I’d finally be able to only wake once a night, and hopefully on a consistent basis. Then they woke up again at 6am, an hour before I want them (and me) awake in the morning. I moved out to the couch, rising every few minutes to give a pacifier to the complainer, hoping to limp them through to 7am. When I finally bothered to check the clock again, it was 7:15, so I guess the pacifiers worked a little too well.

This morning they woke at 2:40am. I fed them, and hoped they’d sleep until at least 6am. They slept until 5:50am. I moved out to the couch to do the pacifier thing again, hoping to limp them along until closer to 7am. It worked, and this time I watched the clock to be sure I got them up at 7am.

Now by popular demand, here’s a picture of them, this one of them sleeping. At least, they’re supposed to be sleeping.

Gotta Keep 'Em Separated

I have received a number* of questions on the blog about how I tell the twins apart. All newborns look the same, and we have two of them with the same equipment. I’m to the point where I can tell them apart by looking at them as long as they’re side by side. I can vaguely recognize facial features if I can compare and contrast. We haven’t yet resorted to semi-permanent tricks to identify them like painting their nails, though I do know that Tory still has a scab on his toe from the time I cut him with the nail clippers. We have ruled out permanent identification tricks like unique ear piercings or, as my father-in-law suggested, only circumcising one boy.

Like I said, I know their faces, but they have to be side by side. Tory is plumper, which is especially noticeable in his chubbier cheeks. If we can get them to smile, Ian has bigger dimples, though that may be a result of his leaner cheeks. I can also pick one up to identify them, as Tory is about a pound heavier, which is pretty noticeable when talking about 8-pound babies. Tory is also about an inch longer, though that’s hardly noticeable when they’re both wearing sleepers that are several inches longer than their bodies.

That’s about it for physical differences. I still don’t know if they’re identical or not, but they look similar regardless. In pregnancy, Ellie’s OB said that with the way they developed, they were probably fraternal, but there was a 25% chance they were identical. I still feel the same way; they’re probably fraternal, but there’s significant chance they’re identical.

They may develop wildly different personalities, but for now they still have the newborn tabula rasa personality. Ian seems a little more laid back, and Tory is a little quicker to cry to the point of refusing to inhale, but otherwise they act similar. The biggest personality difference is in feeding where Tory consistently eats faster, eats more, and, probably relatedly, spits up more.

I use a few tricks to keep them separate. During sleeping and feeding, Ian is always on the left, and Tory on the right. This ritual goes back to when the NICU decreed which baby stays on which side in their cribs. I also try to dress them in different colors, with Tory wearing the blue outfits, approximately half their wardrobe, and Ian wearing every other color we own. I chose these colors because our smallest outfits, preemie and newborn sizes, seemed to be more unisex colors, so I put our smallest child in the smallest outfits.

Otherwise they’re pretty similar. I still confuse them briefly, but I know enough about them to keep them straight when I do mix them. Just compare sizes, and I know exactly who’s who. Or if that fails, find the one with the scabbed toe.

* One.

Mattyphus

When the gods of ancient Greece were really mad at Sisyphus, possibly for committing some sort of celebrity-groping infraction before an ancient awards show, they devised the cruelest punishment they could imagine for him. They condemned him to spend eternity rolling an enormous boulder up a mountain, only to see it fall under its weight every time it neared the top. That’s not bad, but if the ancient gods were really devious, they would have doomed him to spending every weekend for eternity taking three-hour car trips to see his family with his 20-month-old and newborn twins in the back seat. I should know after doing just that this weekend. I mean traveling, not pushing a boulder.

Going back to see our families this weekend was not my first choice of activities. We knew we’d have to take the twins back eventually to let our extended families see the twins, I just hoped it would be around Thanksgiving, and when I say “Thanksgiving,” I mean “Thanksgiving of 2012.” I did not want to travel with our three young children, partly to prevent exposing the twins’ delicate immune system to potentially nasty diseases, and partially because I knew someone would scream at some point during the entire three-hour trip. Ellie’s grandfather’s recent health problems, though, necessitated moving the trip up to as soon as possible. He’s doing better now, so it’s not like he’s on death’s door, we think.

We started packing Friday night, paused briefly for sleep, and continued packing until the children woke, at which point we tag teamed feeding creatures and loading the car. Our original goal was to be on the road by 9am, and amazingly we only missed that goal by a few minutes. Possibly even more amazingly, everything you need to care for three small children for a weekend plus the children themselves fits into a Subaru.

The twins took the car ride better than I thought they would. Considering they had spent maybe 90 minutes in a car total in their entire lives, they did very well, sleeping most of the trip. Entertaining Abbie was the bigger problem since she’s too big to sleep in the car unless we really want her to stay awake. At first we tried playing her music CD, but that only worked for so long, specifically through nine repetitions of “I’ve Been Workin’ on the Railroad.” We tried handing her toys, but the only entertainment she derived from them was by throwing them. After a lot of complaining and a little nap that was just long enough to ensure it was her only nap of the day, we arrived at our destination,

We stayed in one place all weekend, letting family come to us. On Sunday morning we packed up and headed home. We were smart enough to let Abbie watch a movie on the laptop on the return trip, something she periodically enjoyed. With important football on the radio, I had hoped to commandeer the stereo to listen to a game, but I needed to keep her CD playing because Abbie liked to randomly alternate between the movie and the music, and heaven help us if one wasn’t there when she wanted it.

We returned home exhausted from the car ride and stinky from having not showered since Friday. It was a good feeling to show the twins off to family for the first time, and who probably won’t have another chance to see them for months. Hopefully our next extended car ride will be around the holidays when the twins will be old enough to enjoy that portable car DVD player that you can bet we’re going to buy before then.

I'm Still Standing, or at Least Sitting Upright More or Less

I survived the Most Hectic Weekend Ever, but now I need to recover. I’ll summarize the suffering tomorrow, but until then I’ll just say it involved a lot of traveling.

This is the way we dust the house, dust the house, dust the house...

Our housekeeping problems are over!



I’m too busy to say much else. We’ve got a ridiculously hectic weekend coming up. If I survive, I’ll try to give details on Sunday.

Hurting Someone I Love

Yesterday I did one of the worst things I’ve ever done to our boys. For the past few days, I’d been noticing that their fingernails were growing long, fast approaching claw status. Every time they grabbed my neck folds for support while I carried them, I felt them dig in hard. Fortunately I’m a grizzled old stay-at-home father of three with battle-hardened skin that’s impervious to the machinations of pre-toddlers, so their grasp just hurt and maybe left a red mark for a few minutes instead of drawing blood. The boys still have baby soft skin though, and kept marring their faces as they thrashed in the agony of lying awake in their crib. Yesterday morning I finally had enough discoveries of new red dots on their faces, and I grabbed the fingernail clippers intent on trimming some cuticles.

I started pruning with Ian’s right pinky toe. I’m still not sure why I started with the toenails. No matter how sharp they grow, they remain sheathed inside their sleepers. When their toenails start slicing through their footies, then I may need to trim them back a bit, but otherwise I should have just left them alone.

Even though I am growing the parental eyes in the back of my head, I still don’t have the gift of using hindsight before completing an action. I grabbed Ian’s little toe, lined up the nail with the blades, and squeezed. Instead of hearing the standard “click” associated with the clipping of nails, I heard nothing. Then I saw Ian’s face scrunch in agony so horrible that he refused to breath. Then I heard screaming, a lot of screaming, that was accompanied by a growing spot of blood on his toe.

Looking at it now, I missed his toenail completely. The incision mark is a good 1/10th of an inch below the toenail, which may not sound like much, but keep in mind that his toe is still extremely small, maybe a quarter-inch in diameter, or approximately the same size as the nationwide level of interest in the Seahawks-Panthers NFC Championship Game.

I grabbed a tissue, and did the only thing I knew to do; I applied steady pressure to the wound to stop the bleeding. Of course applying steady pressure to the toe of a wriggly infant is no easy task, much more difficult than finding a plausible way to bring Jack Bauer back to CTU after killing him in last season’s finale. After 15 minutes of trying and failing to stop the bleeding, I woke up the big gun, aka “mom.” She had his toe bandaged and the bleeding stopped in minutes, averting the crisis.

Except that wasn’t the worst part. After everyone calmed down and I set them down for the nap, Ellie noticed that I had put them in the other one’s spot. I looked at them, and realized that I had forgotten who was who. After fretting for several minutes over what I thought was Ian’s toe, I had actually cut Tory’s toe. I have no idea when I switched the two, but it was the longest I had ever gone while misidentifying them. And I’d gotten so good at identifying Tory as the plumper one. Forget the toe cutting thing, that stuff happens; misidentification was the worst thing I’d ever done to them. Somehow they’ll have to find a way to forgive me.

"It's okay, I landed on my head."

She’s fine in spite of the fall. I was making her breakfast while I thought she slept, and Abbie decided the best way to tell me she was awake was face to face. While stirring her bananas, I heard a thud followed by whimpering, and knew immediately that she had fallen out of bed, or possibly beaned the dog with a Weeble she’d hid in her bed. I rushed in and found her face down on the floor; she was unhappy and a little surprised, but otherwise in good shape.

Later that morning we scrambled to rearrange her room before the afternoon nap, exchanging places between the crib and the toddler bed that we set up long ago hoping that she’d decide to use on her own. We also moved everything out of her crib and into the bed, up to and including the mattress, in hopes that it would make the transition more familiar and easier.

We’d made a half-hearted effort to move her into the toddler bed a while ago. At naptime, we set her in the bed to see what happened. She immediately climbed out. We repositioned her in the bed and left the room, and she immediately climbed back out and began playing with her toys. At that point we gave up and let her sleep in the crib for a few more months. Now we were serious about the toddler bed. I picked up every conceivable plaything off the floor, giving her nothing to do but sleep when we shut the door.

The first nap went remarkably well. I know she climbed out of bed after I left the room, but when I check on her after she fell asleep, she was back in her bed. Later, I set her down for the night confident of achieving the same result. Abbie climbed out of bed confident of achieving a later bedtime. With no toys left within reach, she dug into her clothes dresser, pulling out every burp cloth and bib she could reach. After she finally fell asleep, Ellie opened the door to check on her. Abbie was not in her bed, but had fallen asleep on top of a makeshift bed of burp clothes, comforted with her favorite lamb blanket. The scene was adorable yet drafty, so we moved her into the bed, and she fell asleep with minimal fussing.

She stayed in bed until morning when she toddled out the door I opened to watch me feed her brothers. I heard a thud when she got out of her bed, so I assume she fell out of it again. Still, she managed to spend an entire night in her toddler bed, which is a great improvement if for no other reason than it’s a couple feet closer to the floor when she falls out.

An Evening at Sears

I spent all day yesterday trapped inside my house. I couldn’t even get the mail, my one outdoors highlight of the day, since the holiday meant there was no mail. I suppose I could’ve walked to the mailbox anyway just for the experience, and if anyone asked if I forgot about the holiday I could’ve said that I never picked up the mail from the day before, but that was Sunday when there’s never mail and that would’ve just been silly.

That night when Ellie asked if I wanted to pick up our pictures from the photographer at Sears, I initially balked. I was tired. I’m always tired these days, but somehow I believed that I’d have more energy tomorrow. When Ellie mentioned that it would be my chance to leave the house for the day, I changed my mind, threw Abbie together, and drove to the mall. On the way I pondered if the more pathetic highlight for the day was a trip to the mailbox or a trip to Sears. Then I almost rear-ended another car and decided that pondering and driving don’t mix when I’m in a sleep-deprived haze.

Abbie and I walked through the entire store to reach the photography department. Along the way I noticed many signs advertising seasonal clearance and holiday sales, and made a note to check for cheap children’s clothes before leaving. At the photography desk, the clerk found my order, helpfully showed me the pictures to ensure everything was correct, and then helpfully showed me the three extra sheets of pictures they sent that I could have for an extra $16. Two of the sheets were a black and white family photo and a sepia-toned photo of the kids, just in case we have any relatives that fear color-photography. The other sheet was a calendar, which was interesting, but not $16 interesting. I told her no thanks, and let them send the sheets to the trash bin since they’d rather destroy sheets they’ve already printed than make me a deal.

On the way out, I moved toward the children’s clothes. A suspiciously friendly clerk found us along the way and traveled with us through several departments commenting on Abbie’s cuteness. Eventually she dropped her sales pitch, asking if we realized that Sears does home improvements. I told her we don’t own a home, which is true, and an even better deterrent for sales pitches than telling telemarketers that I don’t have a checking account.

The children’s department had little clothing left. The one highlight was a few infant coats meant to slip into a car seat, allowing us to bundle and buckle simultaneously. We registered for a couple before the twins came, but nobody bought them for us. Here was my chance to buy two for 75%-off. I almost bought them, but then I remembered that we don’t go anywhere with the twins, and realized it would probably be a waste.

With pictures in hand, we headed for the door. On the way out I saw a couple ask the suspiciously friendly clerk where the maternity clothes were. The clerk pounced on that opening, making small talk about the coming baby while she led them to the department. Suckers.

Origin of the Sleeping Through the Night

The twins turn 8 weeks old today. Yesterday they hit their original due date. Tomorrow they start sleeping through the night. I hope.

The twins still wake up every three to three-and-a-half hours overnight. They begin fussing at 1am and 4am every morning with an adherence to the clock that the guys on “24” can only wish they could achieve. I can deal with that schedule. I’m getting used to surviving on six hours of sleep every night, especially if I don’t look at the clock close enough to realize that by the time I fall asleep, I’m probably getting closer to five hours of sleep a night, if that. I can make up part of the difference with an afternoon nap, and the fog I’m living in adds a nice soft hue to the world.

I was reviewing some of the finer points of raising newborns* last night when I stumbled across writings on newborn sleep patterns. I checked the part about sleeping through the night, and saw that some babies are sleeping through the night by 8 weeks. Like a masochist I compared unknown, possibly hypothetical children to my children, and realized that in the time it takes some babies to sleep through the night, my children’s sleep patterns haven’t evolved one minute.

I realize that’s not a fair comparison. 8 weeks is a ridiculously optimistic goal, like losing ten pounds in ten days or seeing the Cubs win a World Series in my lifetime. Abbie didn’t sleep through the night until shortly after 10 weeks; at 8 weeks, she was only sleeping in four to five hour stretches. Of course, even in my perpetual haze I can see that four to five is a lot better than three.

I also have to remember the twins were premature by 8 weeks. They’re just now reaching gestational maturity, and unlike the neck muscles, the preemie’s brain and tummy catches up to the full-termer’s equivalent organs slowly. Plus the twins spent their first almost four weeks in the NICU where nurses were paid to feed the twins every three hours around the clock if we weren’t present, and at 1 am we were definitely not present.

That still leaves over four weeks of twice an overnight feedings with no change in routine. I’m ready for the twins to start lengthening that routine. A consistent four-hour overnight routine might be enough to burn off this fog.

* Rule #1: Don’t drop them.

My Drug Problem

My mother is staying with us for a few days to help with our home’s sudden youth movement. She looked at our mess, our two screaming babies and occasionally screaming toddler, and decided we needed a night out alone. Last night we set the twins down for their nap, gave my mother the necessary supplies for Abbie’s supper, and set out to eat in a restaurant. We thought it might be 18 years before we eat in another restaurant, so this was a big deal for us. Ellie’s desire for broasted chicken led us to the best (only) broasted chicken in town, a bar that I previously blogged about. I made a tragic mistake with our meals this time though; a mistake that I’m still paying for. I ordered a Diet Coke. Not only did I drink my Diet Coke, but I also drank my refill.

I don’t ingest much caffeine. I hate the taste coffee, so there goes the biggest source of caffeine. I mostly quit drinking pop* a few years ago, though not because of the caffeine or some other health reason; I’m just too cheap to spend money on it, especially when water is still free. I still enjoy an occasional ounce or 20 of pop, which is what I did yesterday afternoon. Ellie has access to 20-ounce bottles in the hospital, and brought one home for me. I indulged in it without giving much thought to the caffeine building inside of me without going anywhere like so many “Lost” plot lines.

When we went out to eat, I ordered my ill-fated Diet Coke. Normally I just order water in a restaurant, but there are limits to my cheapness; I can’t bring myself to be the guy who goes to a bar and drinks nothing but water, so give me a tall frosty glass of Diet Coke. Our food was agonizingly slow to arrive, and I’d downed my initial glass by the time it came. By the time I’d finished my food, I’d mostly downed my refill as well.

I spent the next several hours buzzed from the few dozen ounces of cola I’d recently consumed. When it came time to put the twins down for the night, I fed them, set them down, laid myself down, and stared at the ceiling. Normally I’m pretty good about dozing off as soon as they do, but last night all I could do was wonder how many times per minute my fingers were shaking, and whether that pace was quicker or slower than the pace from five minutes ago.

I lay awake for over two hours. When Ellie rose to pump, I went with her. While she discharged, I quizzed her about medical drug trials, figuring that was a good way to put myself to sleep. By the time I returned to bed, I knew the twins would get back up any minute, so that kept me awake until they did wake almost an hour later.

I’m pretty sleepy right now and ready for as good a night’s sleep as the twins will let me have. I have to remember to limit my future daily caffeine intake. Fortunately I probably won’t be visiting any more restaurants any time soon.

* “Pop” is what we call it in Des Moines. It’s also known as “soda,” “soda pop,” “cola,” “Coke,” or “tasty carbonated beverage” depending on your geographic location.

I Want Candy

Abbie is learning lots of new signs now. She knows fish (puts hands together and swings side to side), baby (puts hands together and swings side to side), and swing (puts hands to side and swing).

So what if all of her new signs look the same? Usually I can figure out the sign by context. The worst of her confusion is with candy. For that sign, you point your index finger to your cheek and rotate your hand a few times. That’s not to be confused with the sign for apple where you point your thumb to your cheek and rotate your hand a few times. For Abbie, everything she wants to eat is candy. When she actually wants candy, that’s good. For sweet things, that makes sense. We thought it was cute when she made the candy sign to eat more pancakes. She noticed that the syrup was sweet. It became a little less cute when she made the sign for something like sausage, which although tasty, is definitely not sweet.

Adding to the confusion, she makes almost the same sign for sing. Sing is supposed to be a pointed index finger spiraling outward from the mouth, but she doesn’t have the physical skills for that one yet, so she uses the same sign for candy. Usually I can figure that one out from context, but strangers have a hard time interpreting her. Whenever Abbie points to her mouth, my mother doesn’t know whether to grab the fruit snacks or the stereo remote. Hopefully she’ll start vocalizing more, or we’ll never know when she wants to say “baby fish,” or heaven help us “baby fish swing.”

Lousy Dog

The twins sleep in our room for now. We’d love to give the twins their own bedroom, but we only have two bedrooms for five people. When they start sleeping through the night, we’ll move them in with Abbie, but for now they have to wake up someone in the middle of the night, and I’d rather they wake us than her. We have a Pack N Play in our room for them to sleep in. They always sleep in that and never ever in our bed unless it’s really late at night and we don’t have the patience to coax them to sleep.

Last night I was changing the babies before we put them down for the night. Ellie was already dozing off; I try to give her as much time to sleep at night since she has to pump breast milk every four hours, plus she works at a job that seriously frowns on employee naps even though she works in a hospital with beds everywhere. The dog was also dozing on our bed. I lock her in her kennel when we go to bed, but before then she’s free to lounge wherever she likes. Some people don’t let their dogs on the bed; I figure that if we can’t use our bed, something should be able to get some enjoyment out of it.

While I change one baby, I leave the other one resting on the bed, even though this violates every baby rulebook ever written. Babies should never be left on a bed for fear that they could roll off and seriously hurt themselves when they hit the floor. When our babies are able to do more movement than simply flailing their arms and legs like vestigial appendages, I’ll stop leaving them on the bed, but until then it’s just the most convenient place to leave them. Anyway we have a protective layer of clutter piled several inches thick on our bedroom floor; should a babe fall off the bed he would gently bounce into the safety of a wadded up sock with holes in the toes that Ellie made me throw away months ago but somehow missed the garbage can and is now a part of the protective layer.

After changing one baby, I needed to switch baby positions, moving the one on the changing table to the bed and the one on the bed to the changing table. Unfortunately between Ellie, the dog, and the inert baby, all available real estate was taken. I shrugged and made room, setting the freshly changed baby right next to the dog. Even though they’re too young to pull fur, that move immediately woke up the dog. She rolled to her feet and hopped off the bed.

I was happy to see the dog go since it gave me room to set the babes down simultaneously. Ellie though was unaware of the dog’s movement and only heard the thud when she hit the ground. She immediately sprung from her 90%-asleep state, terrified that a baby rolled off the bed and she would see him lying injured on the ground, or possibly she thought she’d see me catching him on the second bounce off the clutter. I assured her that it was just the dog hitting the ground, and went back to changing babies. Ellie returned to semi-sleep, hoping that the babies would be out of our room before they start to roll over.

Stepping Out

I enjoyed a special treat yesterday: I went outside twice. I try to make it outside everyday except Sunday* to check our mailbox some 100 yards beyond our front door. My special treat was an unplanned trip to the hospital to drop off Ellie’s breast pump. She was almost 30 minutes late pumping when I dropped it off; much longer and something might have exploded.

I don’t go outside much anymore. I used to worry about gas prices, now I worry if we’re driving the cars enough to keep the batteries charged. Part of the reason is it’s January in Iowa; it’s too blasted cold to take the kids outside, and even if we get to enjoy one of those rare 60-degree winter days, the sun has usually set by the time I realize the weather is nice and put shoes on Abbie. Dressing three children for cold weather is almost impossible to do by myself, especially when the oldest of those children can take one shoe off as fast as I can put the other one on. I long for those warm summer days when I can open the door, watch a barefooted Abbie race the dog into the backyard, and step outside with a baby in each arm dressed in nothing more than a diaper if I’m feeling especially lazy that day.

Mostly I don’t get outside because I have three young children to watch. I’ve already decided that I’m never ever taking all three kids anywhere by myself. All doctor’s appointments will be for Abbie or the twins. I can entertain Abbie by myself, I can entertain the twins by myself, but I have nightmares of holding a screaming child in each arm while praying that Abbie doesn’t run too far away or stick anything too dangerous in her mouth.

I’m still trying to figure out how I’m going to get to the grocery store. We have enough cans of things like creamed corn and cloves in the cupboards to give us a year’s supply of food as long as we’re creative and desperate enough. We’re still going to need perishable things like milk though, and I’ll be darned if I’m just going to run to the corner supermarket when the one 10 minutes away is 50-cents a gallon cheaper. I suppose Ellie and I will have to tag-team, she watches the kids while I run to the store. The drawback there is I now owe her a round of watching the kids while she runs to the store, and while she’s on this trip she feels compelled to take, she feels compelled to buy something, and next thing you know we have another crate of creamed corn to stack on the shelves.

* Duh.

Feedings. Nothing More Than Feedings.

Feeding is the most enjoyable activity I do with the twins right now. Considering my other options are changing their clothes and diapers,* keeping them awake,** and giving them a bath,*** feeding is about the only enjoyable activity I do with them. Unless you count watching them sleep as an activity.

Feeding a baby while he teeters in your arms between slumber and alert gives a certain degree of satisfaction. Give me a basketball game to watch and a well-behaved toddler playing quietly while I feed him, and I could do that all night. Of course he’d then spend the next couple hours spitting up most of the dozen or so ounces I forced into him during the game.

Right now the twins are eating three to four ounces at each feeding, and enjoying eight feedings every day. We’re trying to eliminate one of those overnight feedings, but no luck yet.**** Tory generally takes close to four ounces, and Ian takes close to three-and-a-half. To put it another way, Tory eats close to 30 ounces and Ian 25; that’s a combined 55 ounces, which Ellie would have to snack on 20 Wheat Thins, four ounces of summer sausage, and a dozen vanilla sandwich cookies to equal her caloric output. Their massive intake shows in their weights, as Tory came in at 7lbs, 11ozs today, and Ian was 6 lbs, 14 ozs. It’s good to see them putting on weight; that makes a couple more childhood disorders, disabilities, or diseases we don’t have to worry about out of the way, and approximately 103,260,540,564 left to fret over.

They eat all that milk in about 20 minutes. That’s substantially faster than Abbie ate, though I think that’s mostly due to the different bottles we’re using for the twins. We could go back to Abbie’s bottles and their slower flow, but I’m discovering that I need those extra 10 minutes at each feeding a lot more with the twins than I did with Abbie.

Sometimes, mostly between the hours of midnight and 7am, they poke along on their feedings. When it’s 2am and all I want to do I go back to sleep, and I see that my baby has only eaten a half-ounce in the past ten minutes, I want to cry. The best trick I’ve discovered to make them eat faster is to apply steady outward pressure on the bottle, giving them a constant sensation that the bottle is about to be removed. The steady threat of ending the feeding is enough to kick them into action. Should they still doze off and let the bottle slip from their mouth, I gently poke it back in with enough force to wake them back up. That gets them sucking again, and gets me back into bed quicker. Sleeping is my favorite joint activity with the twins.

* That makes them cry.
** That makes them scream.
*** That makes them bawl so hard they forget to inhale.
**** They went four hours between feedings last night. Once.

Really Going Solo

Ellie officially returned to work yesterday. That means I officially returned to work yesterday too. No more lollygagging through the day with a plush 1.5:1 child-to-adult ratio, it’s now all me all day for all three kids. Except for when Ellie comes home for the day. I also get help when Ellie comes home to pump in the middle of the day, but she’s not exactly in prime parenting position while pumping.

Just like when Ellie was on call this weekend, I had things pretty easy during the day. The twins slept well when I wanted them to sleep, ate well when I wanted them to eat, and still can’t run away if I turn my back on them to see what Abbie has in her mouth. Abbie also made my day easier by not putting anything dangerous in her mouth, and by not breaking anything.* Ellie has the luxury of coming home twice during the day to pump, which is good if I need brief assistance with any pooh-related emergencies, plus it replenishes our milk supply. It also lets me check in with the Real World, and helps me discover as soon as possible that her first day back is still going fine.

Sadly, just like when Ellie was on call this weekend, we had things pretty rough during the overnight. My first clue things would be rough came around 8pm. Normally the 7-10pm stretch between their last regular feeding cycle of the day and their first overnight feeding at 10pm is more eventful than a weekend with Marcus Vick. That’s the twins’ fussy time; not that they’re difficult during that stretch, they’re just wide-awake and want to be held the whole time instead of sleeping in their crib. Last night though, I had to poke Tory to keep him awake. I finally gave up and set him in his crib at 8pm thinking he really needed the sleep. He stayed asleep until 10pm, at which point we fed them as normal and set them down for the night.

Two-and-a-half hours later, a full 30-minutes before their minimum gap between feedings, Tory was complaining and woke his brother up. We kept them content by holding and dozing for 30 minutes, fed them as normal, and set them down for the night. Two-and-a-half hours later, they were up again. We held and dozed and counted the minutes we’d slept so far that night for another 30 minutes, fed them, and set them down hopefully until I woke them for breakfast.

As you might guess, they were complaining two-and-a-half hours later, but they woke up long before that. Two hours after their previous feeding, they were awake and started demanding breakfast. I couldn’t drag myself up an hour early, so I held and dozed for an entire hour.

I estimate I slept for three to four hours last night. I snuck in a couple naps during the day when Ellie came home to pump, proving that I can do something productive while she’s occupied. Poor Ellie didn’t have the luxury of mid-day naps. She was so bedraggled, a co-worker asked if she had a busy night of call last night. She could only wish.

* At least, nothing that I’ve discovered.

Awakenings

The twins are on a strict three-hour schedule during the day. I wake them up, feed them, keep them awake for a while, set them back down to nap, and repeat everything three hours later.

It’s usually pretty mindless work, just labor intensive; like delivering a senate filibuster, I just have to be a warm body who stays awake to make sure nothing bad happens. An outsider may thing that making them sleep is the hard part, but it’s actually quite simple. I wait until they look sleepy, and then put them down to sleep. If they wake up before feeding time, I give them a minute to see if they’ll go back down on their own, and then give them a pacifier if they persist in complaining, or sound as furious as a six-pound baby with no head control is capable of sounding. In extreme cases of insomnia, I activate their bed’s vibrating function.

The hard part is keeping them awake. Though it’s fading fast as they age, they still have remnants of their newborn narcolepsy, the kind that makes them fall asleep and stay asleep unless they happen to be in a location where you want them to be quiet, such as in church or in their crib. The schedule dictates that I keep them awake for several minutes after feeding, and then put them to sleep drowsy but not asleep. The idea is to make them learn to fall asleep without relying on being held or fed so that when they wake in the middle of the night, they can fall back asleep without intervention. The schedule’s creators may also be sadists who enjoy torturing newborns, but it worked for Abbie so I’m using it with the twins.

My first tool to wake them is to take their legs out of their sleepers. The cooler air surrounds their legs, chills their bodies, and keeps them awake, or at least that’s the idea. That tool rarely works for me, but at least it gives me easy access to the next tool, which is merciless tickling. Feet are the natural target, but I go after the entire exposed leg: Toes, thighs, backs of the knees, anything to open those eyes. Unfortunately* their legs are starting to add fat, insulating them from my twitching fingers.

My next step is to bounce them on my knee. They’re very young for bouncing, so I need to be gentle and support their bodies with extra attention given to their heads, but this one almost always exposes eyeballs. I usually try singing a nursery rhyme to them called “Trot to Boston,” which is about a horse, a horse who trots to Boston. The song might not do much for the twins, but it keeps Abbie entertained and away from our breakable objects.

As a last resort, I rub their chests and backs. I use my fingers to pry right between their ribs; it’s like I’m giving them a massage, except instead of relaxing them, it ticks them off. This one works in all but the most extreme cases, but I have to use it sparingly; I’m trying to keep them awake, not make them hate me for life.

When all else fails, when I’ve unzipped, and tickled, and trotted, and rubbed, and I still can’t see eyeballs, I lay them down in their crib. Not because I’m giving up, but because I know nothing wakes a baby better than being in his crib.

* Unfortunately for me; fortunately for them.

Going Solo

Ellie returned to her job yesterday, sort of. She took call for someone who was out sick. Being on call on a Saturday can be a horrendous 24-hour stretch of answering pages, running to the hospital, and doing all sorts of things that don’t involve sleeping. Or it can involve sitting around the house waiting for a page that never comes, fearful of starting any great projects like watching the entire countdown from VH1’s greatest celebrity feuds since you just know that as soon as they get to Spears vs. Durst the pager will go off and you’ll never find out what the greatest feud of all time is.

Fortunately her day was more of the sitting around trying not to jinx things kind. Once she jinxed things by starting to feed a baby, which of course signaled the hospital to page her within seconds. Otherwise she was available to help, as long as she wasn’t doing anything that would take her minutes to get untangled. This gave me a chance to ease into the excitement of taking care of all three children by myself when Ellie goes back full-time tomorrow.

The night was rockier than the day. Ellie went from having virtually no pages during normal waking hours, to getting virtually no sleep while she answered pages at all hours of the night. This left me to care for all three kids by myself while trying to sleep. Abbie remained a sleeping superstar, staying silent in her room until past 8am this morning. The twins though may be going through a growth spurt, a growth spurt that doesn’t involve sleeping. Three nights ago they went four hours between feedings overnight, and I thought I could do the Happy Dance of Perpetually Lengthened Overnight Feedings. Two nights ago they reverted back to their three-hour overnight schedule. Last night they slipped closer to two-and-a-half hours between feedings, and weren’t too pleased when I set them down after each feedings. When they woke up at 3:30 for the 4am feeding, I think I ignored their complaints for too long because I didn’t realize I’d fallen asleep yet after the 1am feeding.

So I’m tired today, Ellie’s tired today, and the kids are at their usual level of refreshedness. We recovered by taking turns napping and resting our brains with VH1’s mindless programming. When Ellie goes back full-time tomorrow, I’ll be alone, but at least she’ll be back to help out overnight. Hopefully the kids go back to that four-hour routine, or at least stick to three.

The "e" "ah" Show

Abbie still isn’t talking yet. I’m not worried yet; it’ll come, and if it doesn’t then we may survive the next 18 years with only one phone line.

We’re working on vowel sounds. I’m trying to make her say words, but instead making her say the whole word or some approximation like nana, I’m settling for the vowel sounds, or just the first vowel sound. If she wants to play ball, I want to hear “aw.” That’s not a problem since she’s been whining in “aw” and “ah” since birth. If she wants milk, I want to hear “ih.” That’s more of a problem, but eventually she accidentally belts out the sound while complaining. If she wants to eat something off my dinner plate, I make her say “e.” That one is a major problem since she still can’t say “e” on command. She can say “e” when she stops thinking during non-verbal activities such as stacking blocks or ripping apart books, but ask her to do it and all we hear are the “aw” and “ah” complaints.

Tonight during dinner, Abbie really wanted some broccoli off my plate. As charming as it is to have a toddler who loves broccoli to the point of being willing to rip the plate from your hands to get it, I wasn’t about to just give her some without making her earn it. Before every bite I took, I asked her to say “e,” and every time she said “ah.” I’d ingest, grab another chunk, and repeat the process. Our “e” “ah” dance continued through my entire plate, and not once did she make an “e.” I finally gave her my last piece because I can’t deny a broccoli-loving toddler forever.

I grabbed a bowl of ice cream for dessert thinking its sweetness would lure an “e” out of her. Again we did the “e” “ah” tango, but she never made an “e” sound. That’s unfortunate because it was cookies & cream, and I think she would have liked it.

Later that night the three oldest members of our family sat on the couch for family time, defined as “watching football while Abbie climbs over us.” We started a call and response routine where someone makes a sound, and the others imitate. When Abbie makes the sound, we end up with kiss sounds and inhaled squeaks, sounds with limited English language applications, but may come in handy for communicating with the indigenous peoples of whatever eastern-hemisphere country she decides to hike across while taking a year off from college. When mommy and daddy make the sound, they’re more useful noises. Mommy tried making her say “e,” and I think we had a breakthrough. Abbie didn’t say “e” in the sense that she could actually use it in language, but she did make a high-pitched squeal on command, the kind of “e” a really small computer like an iPod would make if you were teaching it to talk. It’s not perfect, but it’s progress. Next time she makes that sound on command, I’ll give her some of my ice cream, even if it’s mint chocolate chip.

Calendar Girl

January in our household always means two things: Eating leftover Christmas candy all month long, and buying clearanced calendars. Thanks to Ellie’s dairy-free and lactation-friendly diet, I’m hitting the candy hard with a little help from Abbie. The calendar part we took care of this week.

Earlier in the week, I took Abbie to the mall to buy my calendars. I always buy two calendars: First, a large wall calendar suitable for writing appointments and important events on it so at the end of every day I can look at it and see where I was supposed be that day; second a page-a-day desk calendar to place next to my computer, providing me with a daily dose of humor and scratch paper. I like to buy a wall calendar with pictures of American Eskimos, our dog’s breed. Yes, they make such a specialized calendar for the dozen people in Des Moines who own the breed, but they can be harder to find than the Bears’ playoff hopes.

With a good idea of what I wanted, I hoped I could pop into the calendar kiosk, find my calendars, and pop out before Abbie had a chance to pull too many calendars off the shelves. I found my page-a-day calendar, Simpsons trivia, fairly easily since it was prominently displayed like all calendars are that appeal to the key calendar-buying demographic. My wall calendar took significantly more effort since it was buried in the racks behind thousands of Labrador and Retriever calendars. To find one, I had to flip through a couple calendars, redirect Abbie away from the racks, flip through a few more, redirect a calendar from Abbie’s mouth, flip through a little more, and redirect Abbie again, this time from running away to the Great American Cookie Co. before pulling out my calendar.

The checkout line was another obstacle. You might think a cashier who does nothing but ring up calendars all day would be fairly proficient at it by the time the new year rolls around, perhaps even establishing a system to most efficiently move customers through the line. You’d be wrong. The cashier viewed each calendar the way that a caveman would view Tickle Me Elmo, with a little curiosity, a little suspicion, and a little fear. She carefully inspected each calendar before ringing it up, possibly to verify that it wouldn’t hurt her, or possibly to verify that it wasn’t the last copy of the one she wanted to buy. Meanwhile, Abbie was growing increasingly fidgety, then increasingly whiny, then increasingly screamy. I’m able to block her protestations, but the surrounding customers doubtlessly wondered what kind of sadistic father would subject his toddler to a calendar kiosk.

I eventually bought my calendars. I had hoped to do a little more shopping, but Abbie drained me to the point where I just went home. Later this week, Ellie took Abbie back to the calendar kiosk. She needed a Far Side weekly planner, though I’m not sure if she needed the weekly planner or the Far Side comics. I assumed Abbie would be a terror for Ellie as well, but she informed me that Abbie was surprisingly well behaved. She acted so cute, the cashier gave her a puppy mini-wall calendar, which Abbie flips through like a book. I shrugged at the difference, and went back to my Christmas candy. Only two more bags left in the freezer.

Ian + Tory = Abbie

I’ve read multiple books* on parenting, giving me a decent idea of what to expect from raising multiple children. Near as I can tell, one of the most important things to remember is never compare your children. Every child is a unique individual with his or her unique talents suitable for reaching out into the world, and comparing them can make one child feel inadequate or miss an innate talent while busily trying to catch up to a sibling. Of course, the twins keep me holed up in home, limiting my human interaction to my family. I have to compare somebody, so until they let me out of the house, I’m comparing my kids to each other.

Today, the twins are the same gestational age as Abbie was when she was born, 38-and-a-half weeks. Their behaviors are an odd mix of preemie, newborn, and two-month-old behaviors. They still sleep like preemies, falling asleep while they suck on the bottle. They sleep the rest of the day like newborns, which is to say not nearly as long as I’d like. They have the head control of two-month-olds; heck, they have the head control of three-month-olds, able to lift and turn and help daddy out a bit when he doesn’t support their heads like he should. As of right now though, I consider them to be newborns, which means I can compare them to what Abbie did when she was their age.

Abbie was a very demanding baby. Twins are supposed to be doubly demanding, but so far they’re no worse combined than Abbie was by herself. Maybe it’s just because I have experience now. Maybe it’s because I know what to expect. Maybe it’s because Ellie is able to help out now instead of being stuck in the hospital having her gall bladder removed right after giving birth to Abbie. Whatever the reason, I’m enjoying this more than I did with Abbie.

The best example of this is sleep. Abbie slept in two-hour shifts around the clock as a newborn. If you consider that it takes an hour to wake up, feed a baby, and fall back asleep, I didn’t sleep for more than an hour at a time for a couple weeks. The twins reliably give me three hours between feedings at night. It takes a little longer to feed them, plus I can’t trade feeding duty with Ellie, but I’m still way ahead on my sleep total.

Then there’s my ability to set them down. Abbie had four modes at birth: Sleeping, eating, being held, or screaming. If we set her down while she was still awake, we would incur her wrath, and it would be vicious. The twins I can set down on the floor, and they’re content to just look around at our home’s squalor. That’s good because holding two babies simultaneously while chasing after a toddler who’s intent on climbing on the kitchen table to find new breakable objects to hurl would be impossible. Now when I hear Abbie do something she’s not supposed to do, or worse yet stop hearing Abbie do anything, a sign that she’s really found something she’s not supposed to do, I can leave the twins on the floor and go scold Abbie for grabbing whatever it is she found to stick in her mouth. Of course the parenting books say you shouldn’t leave infants unsupervised, but as long as I’m breaking the no comparing rule, I figure why not break another rule.

* One-and-a-quarter.

"...But they wouldn't let us make the metal sign..."

We had our pictures professionally taken today. This is noteworthy because it’s our second car trip outside the house as a complete family. The first trip was on Christmas night to look at lights. Otherwise we’ve spent our lives going out in shifts, one parent plus Abbie, or huddled in the house trying to prevent the world’s germs from afflicting the twins and keeping the twins from afflicting the world.

Our appointment was at noon. The optimal time for pictures would be 10:30am, right after the twins eat so they’re at their drowsy best, and early enough that the world’s irritation haven’t yet crushed Abbie into a whining ball of frustration in desperate need of a nap. Ellie goes back to work in less than a week though, and we don’t have the luxury of waiting for optimal.

Leaving the house with all of our children simultaneously is an ordeal, especially when we’re trying to make everybody look picture worthy. We had a lot to do to prepare and should have started early, like Monday night; we needed to dress the twins, dress Abbie, console Abbie after hurting her feelings by making her change outfits in the middle of the day, pack alternate outfits, change the twins after they spit up on their first outfits, find the shoe that Abbie removed somewhere in the house, change the twins again after a diaper leaked, put Abbie’s coat on, warmly pack the twins in their car seats, change Abbie’s poopy diaper, and maybe if we have time make ourselves look presentable.

We drove to our nearest mall department store-based photography studio and arrived precisely at noon, a miracle on par with turning water to wine or thwarting an onsides kickoff recovery by a phantom offsides call. The session began smoothly as Ellie prepared the twins and I kept Abbie occupied with toys in the waiting area. The first few photos with just the kids also went smoothly as the photographer managed to take their picture in the split second when Abbie was smiling and the twins were both gasping for air between wails. Things grew a little rockier when we tried to just take a picture of Ellie and I. The twins were locked in their car seats and weren’t a problem as long as you don’t consider them screaming the whole time a problem. We had no way to strap Abbie down though, and she took advantage of our immobility by trying to shop for televisions while we sat. Eventually I remembered the milk I brought, and she happily sucked away on her sippy cup as the photographer quickly snapped some shots.

With all pictures taken, all we had to do was decided which poses and which sizes of pictures we wanted, and we could take our grumpy children home. This being a mall department store-based photography studio though, we had to sit through their sales pitch of upgrading our pictures with little luxuries like a sepia effect or a rush delivery so we get our pictures before the twins start school. You might think that wailing twin newborns and a toddler who insists on playing with expensive photography equipment would compel the photographer to skip or at least hurry through the upgrade sales pitch, but you’d be wrong.

With all poses ordered, we could finally leave. The twins ceased screaming and fell asleep after a few minutes in the car. The experience even drained Abbie as she fell asleep in her high chair after lunch. With everyone asleep, it was enough to make me forget how much trouble they were to get out of the house. Then the twins woke up hungry.

King of the Diaper Mountain

I estimate that we have over 1000 diapers for the twins in our home, in sizes newborn to size 2. I also estimate that we go through about 100 diapers per week, giving us enough diapers to last through about mid-March. That’s almost two entire months after they start sleeping through the night. I hope.

Many of those diapers were gifts, but I bought most of them. I purchased four 168-count boxes of size 1 diapers weeks ago before the twins were born when I saw an outstanding sale at Toys R Us. Their generic brand was two for $30. That’s less than 9-cents per diaper. Of course much of that savings will be offset by the price of detergent I’ll need to clean their outfits when those cheap diapers leak, but at least I can feel smart for now. The rest of my purchases are assorted small packages I collected with coupons about to expire because I’d rather trip over stacks of diapers for weeks than see a perfectly good coupon wasted.

The rest of our diapers came as gifts. Many of those are left from baby shower gifts when we mistakenly felt we had everything needed to raise twins and asked for mostly diapers as gifts. Those shower gifts are almost all newborn size, and should keep them dry until they’re big enough for my cheap diapers. After the twins came, we received half a dozen gifts of preemie size diapers from friends, family, and the hospital,* but those are all gone now. That’s just as well since those are only rated up to five pounds, and both kids are over six already.

The biggest gift came about a week ago. One of Ellie’s coworkers was cleaning out their closet, and found a goldmine of diapers too small to fit their daughter. They stuffed them into a giant box and delivered them as a Christmas present to our door. They gave us about 400 diapers. They’re good diapers too, Pampers Swaddlers, not those generic diapers that only cheapskates buy.

* They gave us two packages. I think it was part of their “get a free package of diapers for every $100,000 you spend” promotion.

Abbie Versus the Twins

Before the twins came, I was concerned about how Abbie would react. Would she be the greatest big sister in the world, fetching vital items for me like diapers, milk, and my newspaper? Would she transform into a 28-pound ball of jealousy, happy to hurt the twins just to get our attention? Learn to cook some meals? Run away from home?

It turns out the correct answer is none of the above. She mostly ignores us, oblivious to the change in her life. I guess that’s what I should have expected from someone incapable of parallel play, but I was hoping for something more dramatic. I even bought her a doll with a bottle so she could take care of her baby just like we take care of ours, feeding it just like us, changing it just like us, dragging it across the floor in a manner vaguely similar to us. Instead it sits in the bottom of her toy chest which is in no way similar to the way we take care of the twins no matter how badly we want them to quit crying and just go to sleep.

It’s not like she doesn’t acknowledge the twins, though. While we hold the babies, she likes to point to their heads, which is cute. Then she likes to poke them in the forehead hard enough to leave a mark, which is less cute. Then she likes to drag her fingers, and with them her fingernails, across the forehead, which tells us that she needs to recognize that she can do some damage. She’s inadvertently sat and stepped on a baby while attempting to grab something important, like the telephone or her parent’s attention. She learned the sign for baby so she can tell us that she sees a baby, or possibly to tell us that she wants to be treated like a baby.

Beyond that, she doesn’t seem to notice the twins. The twins’ toys and things she does notice, which shouldn’t be a surprise since most of their objects belonged to her. The activity gym does a good job of attracting her. Since the twins can’t do anything more interactive than stare at it right now though, I don’t care what she does with it as long as she doesn’t step on anybody laying underneath it. Abbie seems especially drawn to the swing. That’s annoying since she never liked the thing when she was still small enough to fit in it, but it makes sense seeing that she can finally reach the mobile dangling beguilingly above the seat.

Most infuriating is her love of burp clothes. The twins spit up a lot. Generally whatever comes out of the bottle and doesn’t immediately dribble down their chins eventually comes back up. This is an improvement over Abbie whose stomach when she was that age could manufacture its own milk to spit up along with the bottle’s contents. We need to keep a burp cloth on our shoulders at all times, but Abbie, who still uses her burp clothes for gnawing, is pretty sure that all burp clothes belong to her. If she sees one on a shoulder, she will take it. We tried distracting her with spare burp cloths, hoping she would take them and leave our burp cloth in shoulder-protecting position. She would take the extraneous burp cloth, and continue grabbing the shoulder-mounted burp cloth. Now we keep a stockpile of burp clothes hidden when we feed, or just accept the inevitable milk stains on our shoulders. Maybe in the future I can train her to fetch us a needed burp cloth.

Five Years of Bliss, More or Less

Yesterday was New Year’s Eve. Yesterday was also our fifth wedding anniversary. The fifth anniversary is the wooden anniversary, which I commemorated by giving Ellie a card, which is made from paper, which is like being made from wood. So how does a couple with newborn twins at home celebrate New Year’s and their wedding anniversary? With two wild childless nights on the town before returning home by 7pm.

Our first night out was Friday night. Ellie had an aunt in town who insisted on watching the kids for us while we left the house. We agreed, but only after insisting that we would leave the house when the twins went down for a nap and would return before they awoke because no one should be forced to care for all three of our children simultaneously by themselves without extensive training unless it’s punishment for some crime, and that crime should be at least a felony.

Our first stop was one of the town’s finer* restaurants, Ted’s Coney Island. If you think we just ate hot dogs and fries for our anniversary, you’re mistaken; we ate gyros and onion rings. The place serves a chicken gyro-type sandwich that’s one of Ellie’s favorite dishes, but we hadn’t eaten there in a couple years since the restaurant’s cuisine is not toddler friendly. Afterwards we went to the mall for window-shopping and to share a giant cookie, and then we returned home by our 7pm curfew, completing our middle-school caliber date.

The aunt left yesterday morning without any major trauma. That night a friend insisted on watching the kids while we went out on an actual anniversary celebration, and we repeated the deal of only if we can return before the twins wake. Since this was our genuine anniversary dinner, we went to a genuine sit-down restaurant, China One International Buffet, which is a sit-down restaurant except for when you stand in the buffet line to get your food. This is an excellent place to bring a toddler since 1) they have many things for them to eat and more importantly 2) they eat free, but we wanted to enjoy a night out alone, and this was the closest we could come to a nice restaurant while staying within budgetary and time constraints.

After gorging ourselves on all-you-can-eat Chinese food, we returned home to find that everyone had been well behaved, except for Tory who insisted on eating before we returned. That was no big deal though, as we put him back on schedule for his final feeding of the night.

With all the kids down and midnight approaching, Ellie and I took the advice of the card I gave her. We turned the lights down low, snuggled together, and dozed. We celebrated the New Year during the twins 2am feeding.

* Here “fine” means “quick and not too expensive.”