Sad Girl Song

Kids are weird.  You'd think they'd prefer to watch Seasame Street over anything else, but let Tula decide between Big Bird and a Jessie J video and she'll always choose the latter.

That's right, this little gem.  #goodparenting

And when my sister and I were little all we wanted to listen to was Susan Vega's, Luka.  Which is essentially a song about abuse.  But we loved it.  We made out dad pop the tape in and we'd sing every word at full-off-key volume.  I have no idea why.  Maybe it's because it was dramatic and we could really get into it and pretend we were feeling it.  I longed for some sort of drama when I was kid.  My parents didn't beat me, no one did drugs or stole things, we weren't even adopted.  So boring.







And then Addie came along and she's the exact same way.  She always picks the sad or mean princess to imitate (which makes me want to throw away every princess movie ever! why can't there be a princess movie where the princess just shares toys and cleans her room?  make that romantic why don't ya!).  We watch a lot more Rio these days.  There are no princesses in Rio.

Anyway, so Addie loved Sinead O'Conner when she was littler and demanded to watch the Nothing Compares to You video every day.  She appropriately dubbed it "The Sad Girl Song".  'Cause Sinead be super sad in that.

I mean look at that beautiful sad face.  She's hard not to watch.








So, to follow suit, the boys absolutely love sad songs.  Especially when sung by their dad.  They can't get enough of him and I can't get enough of those smiling faces.

Seriously.  Love.

All The Things You Never Wanted To Know

You know you're a mom when you stand around talking about how many times you've peed your pants lately.  And those of you moms who don't pee when laughing or doing jumping jacks, I'm gonna go ahead and guess you only had one baby so your precious urethra is still strong a virile, like a teenager's.  Sometimes I wonder why my lover and I don't have as much romance as we used to and then I realize it's because I shout things like, "Oh my god honey, can you bring me some underwear?" and not because I'm being sexy.

Speaking of things that sounds sexy, but turns out is not...

The other night the boys slept from 8:30 until 6:15!!! This never happens, and I was thrilled I got so much sleep, until I realized my boobs were so big and heavy I could barely breathe.  I cannot even explain the pain of having not nursed in 8 hours.  It's like turning on a hose full blast and then plugging the hole with your thumb so it can't come out, and it just backs up in there stretching the hose and making it wish it was dead. It's probably sitting there in the grass composing a goodbye letter to it's hose mom in it's head, like, "Remember when you first taught me to water . . . " and then pleading with the thumb guy to release it and it'll tell him whatever he wants, offering up secrets about the neighbors and who really ate the tomato plant and then finally pleading for him to just end it all and kill him because the pain is too much.  Much like how a lot of college guys tried to explain blue balls to me.

And to that I say - f you sir.  Blue balls is nothing like needing to breastfeed babies.  You know why?  BECAUSE YOU CAN HANDLE BLUE BALLS YOURSELF you lazy b-hole!  I cannot nurse myself no matter how hard I try (and believe me, I did), and I know they make these things called breast pumps, but I don't have one right now so I was stuck there at 6 in the morning dying a slow, painful boob-death.  I considered asking Josh to help me out and then realized there'd be no coming back from that.

So, anyway, I was in serious pain and of course it took a million years to change the babies diapers and I was leaking everywhere, which you think should make things a little less painful, but it doesn't it just triggers another letdown, so now I'm even more engorged, and soaking wet in my own breast milk.  So, the boys are finally all changed and swaddled back up, and Josh leaves to go to the bathroom so I can do my thing and stop crying, and I rip off my shirt and bra to put on dry ones and of course then my boobs start shooting milk out of them like teeny tiny milk rocket sprayers, and it looks like I've decided to hose down the bed and the babies with a fresh coat of mother natures precious bo jango juice, and before I can get a bra or shirt back on, Josh comes out and sees me sitting cross legged on the bed, stretch marked and droopy skin flapping everywhere as I struggle, pretty much totally naked, holding two screaming babies and trying to stop the spray of milk with their heads, hoping at least some of it might make it in their mouths.  He freezes and just stares and  that's the moment I realize - we are really in love.

Because no one, I mean no one, can see you like that, just shrug, and come back to bed and rub your back while you groan with what I can only describe as incredibly painful ecstasy when the boys finally start eating and relieve the explosive pressure.

Best feeling ever.

So, now that you know all of that!  Here's some pictures of what sort of cuteness makes that sort of torture bearable if not downright fun.

My mom made these hats for the boys.  So ridiculously darling! 

Getting some outside use.  That scary bear-owl hybrid was not made by my mom.

The girls have hats too.  

She should really start an etsy store.  Anyone want a hat?  

Close up.

I don't know how I haven't eaten their faces off yet.

So much love.

Jams And Juice

Tula is talking up a storm lately, and she's practicing all the time.  Yesterday during nap time, she was so chatty she kept Addie awake while she yelled:

"Mommy, Daddy NO WAY."

*brief pause*

"Babies!  Dollies!  Babies dollies? Uhm. . . nnnnnnnnnnnnnnn-o."

*pause. ruckus.  am assuming she's knocking down the dry wall*

"Change you? Acky.  Gwoss!"

*was not drywall.  she ripped her changing pad off the changing table and is pretending to change her own dirty diaper*

"Witch.  Sophia witch.  Addie?  WITCH."

*no response from Addie who is smartly ignoring the screaming lunatic*

"Addie?  Blankie.  Addie blankie?  NO!  Mommy, Daddy blankie.  No way!"

*loud rustling. sounds vaguely like she's playing with packing peanuts.  still not sure what that noise was.  would not put it past her to have hidden a crate of packing peanuts for play somewhere in her crib*

"NIGH NIGH!"

*and she's out*

Oh man she's hysterical.

Also, we've been having GLORIOUS weather.  Like flip flops and tank tops.  It's making everyone happy even the babies!

Still have to wear bear suits even with the warm weather.  Because they're babies.  And because the bear suits ARE SO CUTE.

I mean, stop.  That's too much.

(Also, Hammer Time.)

Addie is thrilled to be in Target with her helmet on.

\

You never know when the cart might tip over.  Always be safe.

\

They love jams and juice.

(Jams and Juice is the name of my hip hop album)

8 Weeks Old Today!

And the boys celebrated by dressing up.

Love. It. So. Much.

They've started to be awake more, which is wonderful because stuff like this happens - 

The elusive double smile!  

Usually they only give this to the ceiling fan, but clearly they wanted me to have the best morning ever!

Those moments are amazing, and make up for the times they're both screaming at me and pooping on me and screaming at me some more and oh yes, more pooping on me.

Even with all that, they really are wonderful babies.  They are cuddly and darling and gaining weight, and really at 8 weeks old that's about the gist of it.  I tried to get them to teach me chess but Luke was all, "Aaahh cooo," and I was like "I can't understand you with that pacifier in your mouth." And Henry was all, "Galbarggah," and I was all "A pawn cannot do that. Wait a minute, do you even know what you're talking about?" And then Luke puked in his own ear and I was like, "Ok, well now you're making no sense."  And Henry started crying like a baby and so I threw up my hands, "Ok fellas, let's call it a night.  This is getting us nowhere."

Babies.  They don't know how to play chess AT ALL.

Labor And Delivery Part 2

So, where were we?

Oh, yes.  Dr. Positive About Everything broke my water.

I call her that because when we found out we were having twins, she was like, "How great!  You'll be fine!" and then when we found out it was two boys she was all, "I have two boys!  Boys are fantastic!  You'll be fine!" and when we found out Baby B was breech she was like, "No problem!  I'll just reach up in there and guide him out.  Easy.  You'll be fine!"

I don't know about you but the thought of a grown woman's arm all up in your uterus doesn't seem easy or fine at all.  It seems about as easy and fine as getting a tattoo on your eyeball.  But because Dr. Positive About Everything is so wonderfully positive about everything, and I catch enthusiasm like kindergartners catch lice, I was all, "Oh great!  You'll just reach up there?  HOW FUN!  This will be no problem!" and then I bounced out of the office like she just told me ice cream is now a food group.

(And that's why I love my doctor. Because I needed someone positive like that when I was about to have four kids under four. I needed all the positivity I could get. And I also needed someone totally cool with the fact that she may or may not be entering my body with half of hers. I dont know where you're from, but in my neck of the woods if a person is going to have instruments and body parts in my hoo-ha I want her to not be angry about it!)

Most people reacted with total horror when I told them the plan, but I was enthusiastic remember? So, I was all, "No, no it's fine.  Because of the guiding. . . she's just gonna . . . guide him . . . it'll be . . . there's gonna be a gentle guide. . . there will be guiding."


Anyway!  We stayed positive.

And then my water broke, and I could tell immediately my body was ready.  And still I was positive. And they started the smallest amount of pitocin. Ten minutes later they brought in the anesthesiologist (oh my god I just spelled that correctly without spell check! I kept waiting for it to be squiggly underlined in red, but no! my day is made.) because even though I was totally against an epidural, my doctor and everyone I talked to gently pressured me into getting one.  You know.  Because of the guiding.

So, I got the dreaded epidural from the nicest man ever.  Seriously, he was so calm and reassuring I almost asked him to stay and talk me through some Walking Dead episodes, because that shit is scary.

During that whole thing I started having some painful contractions but nothing serious.  We were told now was the time to rest.  Perhaps I should take a nap.  Maybe Josh would like some coffee.  Just sit back and wait, this is the easy part they said.  So, that's what we did.  Josh left to get some coffee, the nurse left to do something, and I sat in bed wondering if I should go get my book.

And then, one minute after everyone left me I started having horrible, the-babies-are-coming contractions about thirty seconds apart, and guess what wasn't working???

MY EPIDURAL.

Josh heard me screaming from down the hall and came running (because he's my wonderful), and then I started yelling, "Get the nurse I'm going to push!" so he headed out and I screamed, "DON'T LEAVE ME!" so he grabbed my hand and I growled, "GO GET THE NURSE I NEED TO PUSH!" and he started to leave and I yelled, "HOLD MY HAND!!!" and then "OH GOD GET THE DOCTOR!"

Somehow he pried himself loose from my death grip and ran into the hall and the nurse and the doctor came back in with him, and then everything went into hyper drive.

I just want to take a little break to let you all know, from the time I had the epidural to the time both babies were out was twenty nine minutes.

TWENTY NINE MINUTES.

FOR TWO BABIES.

So, everyone is flailing around, people are helping that aren't even supposed to help, someone who was just volunteering ended up helping push my bed down the hall, everyone is running around, the anesthesiologist comes in and start pushing meds as fast as he can, meanwhile I'm like, "I have to push I'm sorry!"

I just kept saying I'm sorry because I get very apologetic when I'm in labor apparently.

And then we're out of my room about five whole seconds, on our way to the OR when I realize this is it, it's happening. And time slows down and I have about seven hundred separate thoughts:  I'm in the hallway and I'm about the have the babies.  No one is even going to know because I'm covered in a sheet.  Everyone, including that woman delivering meals is about to see me poop.  What if they just come tumbling out, I'll have to catch one.  Josh needs to let go of my hand so I can catch this baby because he's falling out.  I'll have to find a way to clamp the cord myself, and check the placenta.  Maybe I'll save it and bury it and plant a tree on top.  How will I swaddle him, I don't have any blankets?  What's the apgar scale again?  Shit, I should have paid more attention in school.  I can't even remember what the capital of Delaware is.  My boys will know all the capitals.  And where foreign places are.  I have no idea where all the foreign lands are.  Maybe once I chew this cord and make a papoose from some sticks I'll move to a foreign country.  Turks or maybe Caicos.  This fucking hurts so fucking bad why won't anyone get this fucking baby out of me.  Dover!  Oh my gosh the capital of Delaware is Dover!  Am not totally useless after all!  Oh, I'm so alone and apparently I am under the impression because I'm not in a room I will have to do everything myself and that clearly doesn't make sense but no one needs me to make sense right now because

OH MY GOD THE HEAD IS OUT SOMEBODY HELP ME!

And that's how Luke came out.

In the hallway.

Eh, it wasn't that big of a deal Mom.  I mean, so I couldn't wait to join you, look how cute I am.

Fine.  You're right.  You can be born wherever you like little Luke.  I love you so much!

Coming soon: Part 3.  Henry shows up!

And By "Tomorrow" I Mean Tomorrow-Tomorrow

It's either stay up and write Part II or go get in bed in my completely quiet, dark house and drink some wine and read my book for five minutes before falling asleep with donut crumbs stuck all over me.

Guess which one is winning?

In the meantime, please enjoy this photo of Tula.

Decisions were made.  She was not thrilled with herself after she chose to smear instead of eat the cupcake.

And this one of Adeline.

Valentine's Day darling.

More

Part two of the Labor and Delivery Saga coming tomorrow, I promise!

But for now, here's just some pictures of the twins being super cute.  They're 7 weeks old already!  I mean, shut the front door.  I just had them!  But also they've been here forever.  They are chunky and darling and snuggly and best friends.  

Whenever I lay them down on the couch together, they always wind up linking arms or holding hands.  

IT'S LIKE THEY KNOW THEY'RE PRECIOUS.  

Henry giving me a huge smile!  Made my day.

About to eat his face off.

Luke gets so busy talking he doesn't know whether he's telling me a story or laughing.  He's such a card.

STOP!  I want to eat you!

Adeline is very helpful when I'm burping the babes.  She's all up in our biz all the time.  I love it.