The Great Mouse Invasion: 2007

Remember how cute this was? Well, like I mentioned before, it's cute when they're outside the house. When they come inside...it's WAR. And now, we are at war with the mice. Our first line of defense?

Them what has claws.

Domino tries to earn his keep.

My! What big paws you have!

Today's catch was in my linen closet. In my bedroom.

The first two pictures* are from Tuesday, in the kitchen. Domino has it, although I'm not necessarily convinced that he caught it originally. Kaboom the Coward was actually seen to capture a mouse and bring it back to his lair on Monday night. His lair? Beneath my bed. In the middle of the night, we were up late nursing the twins when Kaboom came running in with something in his mouth, ran under the bed and then chased it around for awhile.

Great! He's brought a mouse into my bedroom? Time until the mouse escapes? Less than 5 minutes. We figured they'd work that out on their own or we'd find a dead mouse in the morning. No such luck. Instead, I caught Domino in the kitchen with one. Was the the same mouse? I could only hope.

Wait, let me back up a little.

We found mice in the garage. Not a big surprise, but still technically outside the house. Then we found them in the boiler room in the basement, eating bags of spaghetti and that's what led us to leave the door open for the cats to get them. Unfortunately, that resulted in this trauma, which led us to shut the door and consider poison. Mom then mentioned seeing mouse poop in the cupboard that held the catfood which then led to clearing out the cupboard and under the sink (yet more mouse poop) to the tune of continual swearing from Eric. He takes the mouse invasion personally. Mom thinks it means we're going to have a hard winter. I don't know about that, but it does mean that we're about to have a killing spree on mice. Eric cleared out both cupboards and we left the doors open to allow the cats access to any mice bold enough to pop out at night. The very first night we did that is when Kaboom brought the first one up.

Now we have two ex-mice.

Eric has purchased poison and laid it down in the garage and in the boiler room. Traps seemed crueler, somehow. Live traps are beyond our capacity to deal with right now (Remember? Twins? Yeah.). Now we'll see who has the upper hand in The Great Mouse Invasion: 2007.



* Oh come on! Of course I had to photograph it!

The Breastfeeding Rant

We took the twins in for their first pediatric appointment last Wednesday and then for a growth check this Monday. Things are looking good for the Hatchet Twins!

At the hospital, they were born at 6 lb 12 oz for Logan and then 6 lb 14 oz for Emma. Over the course of their 4 day stay, while I was swimming in colostrum but not yet milk (until the 3rd day) they dropped weight rapidly. The ped got upset when Logan lost his 12 oz and said it was time to start supplementing. They also began showing signs of jaundice. Solution to jaundice? Supplement.

Or produce more milk.

There, you see, is the problem. The breasts never received the telegram from the uterus that there were two on board, so there wasn't enough milk for two. Nice going, breasts! You're so fired!

We started off with donor milk while at the hospital and pulled their weights up to 6 lb 3 oz and 6 lb 5 oz before we left. This included several crying jags over feeling worthless, betrayed by a body part, being in searing pain and sitting through 1.5 hour long nursing sessions in order to get more milk in faster. We went home with 8 oz of donor milk that were gone by the end of Monday night. The next day, Eric went out and bought formula since there still wasn't enough milk for two. One and a half, maybe, but not two.

By Wednesday I was (Surprise!) an emotional and physical wreck. Every time the twins would latch on to nurse, my body would dump adrenaline into my system in response to the pain. Somehow I don't think this was assisting my milk let down reflex. I can't quite get them to open really wide and this after talking to 3 or 4 different lactation consultants who seemed to see nothing wrong while I was in the hospital. So it's probably just the break in period. At the pediatrician's, the twins weighed in at 6 lb 8 oz each. Hurray! The ped told me I had 2 weeks to have them return to their birth weight and not to tear myself apart doing it faster.

Then she took a good look at me, sat down and gave me The Chat. I think she may have saved my life, if not just my sanity and breast tissue.

She suggested a moderate position on breastfeeding. Feed each baby for 30 minutes on "their" breast (switching up once a day so no one develops side preferences) and then if they're still hungry, supplement. The breast tissue will produce more milk through the regular emptying and filling than it will through 1.5 hour marathon sessions. Also, those sessions serve to tire out the babies, since nursing takes work on the part of the infants. It would also help my breasts to recuperate. The twins, you see, have sucked the chrome off my bumpers and it's Pain City around here.

Am I informed about breastfeeding? Yes, yes I am. And I'm here to tell you that breastfeeding twins is not like feeding a singleton, only "more so".

With a singleton, you have a recovery period while they (presumably) sleep in between nursing sessions. You can also split the nursing between both breasts - 15 (20? 30?) minutes on one, then 15 on the other. I don't have that luxury. Two breasts, two nursing, full term, full sized twins means each one has to get their own breast. This also means that until I get them to stop biting me and can nurse tandem, that my nursing sessions drag out longer and I get even less of the down time (and sleep!) between sessions than you do with only one child.

I nursed Caitlin for 13 months, after which she was over it and we bid our nursing days a fond farewell. It wasn't without its measure of pain and suffering, blocked ducts, swelling and engorgement. Oh and an attempted mutiny at 5.5 months because I was back at work and bottles were so much easier than nursing. She expected me to pump and fill bottles for her instead of nursing directly. We fought it out over a weekend and I triumphed: back to nursing and off bottles for the time being.

What I noticed in the very beginning of our nursing career was this: 3 days of suffering, waiting for my milk to come in while Caitlin cried with hunger and chewed me up. Finally, my milk came in with a vengeance and there was milk everywhere. The breasts didn't know how much to produce, so they were set to Firehose for Caitlin.

Six years later, they still don't know how much to produce, but the Firehose setting for one isn't enough for two. I'm supplementing about 3 out of 12 feedings for each twin (Yes, that does mean 24 total feedings a day.) and this will continue until my breasts finally catch up and get with the program. Yes, I am pissed off that my body that worked so hard to produce two healthy babies would let me down in the milk production department.

And the guilt? The guilt sucks.

Let me try to put it differently for you. You know what cutting is, right? Well, after following that link, you do now!

I cut myself every day, because I feel like I'm a bad mother.
I cut myself every day, on the breasts, because I feel like I'm a bad mother.
I cut myself every day, 24 times a day, on the nipples, because I feel like I'm a bad mother.
I cut myself every day, 24 times a day, on the nipples, with a grater, because I feel like I'm a bad mother.

This is what we do to ourselves and call it breastfeeding. All of the literature tells you that it doesn't hurt if "you're doing it right". I dare you to then find anyone who has ever done it correctly, right off the bat. Nipples are made of very sensitive material and they've never worked a hard day in their lives until suddenly a newborn is let loose on them. If you somehow think that won't hurt, you're smoking something the rest of us probably want. After several weeks it will get better. I know it will - it did last time and does to everyone that can persevere long enough to make it past the breaking point.

Err...break in period. Roughly 6 weeks, if I remember correctly. However, it's the longest 6 weeks you'll ever spend thinking about one body part and wondering whether you're going insane or not. You're doing it for the good of your child(ren), but that doesn't mean it makes it any easier to get through.

Suddenly puts formula use into perspective, doesn't it?

Not everyone can breastfeed. Not everyone wants to. Not everyone should have to, either.

We are, all of us, individuals. Some of us want to have kids, some don't. Some find it easy to get pregnant, some don't. Some find it easy to give birth vaginally and without drugs and some don't. This being the case, if we can agree that those statements are true, why can't we also accept that not everyone can breastfeed? Sometimes it's because of lack of information, lack of desire, fear of pain, the need for prescription drugs, illness, lack of milk production, etc. Any way you look at it, those women that aren't breastfeeding? They have their reasons and those reasons are their own.

Formula is a tool. Right now, it's a tool that I'm using.

If you have twins, let me know how you did it. Did you breastfeed? Did you supplement? How long did you go and do you have any advice on making it through the first 6 weeks?

Oh and in case you're wondering, at yesterday's doctor appointment, the twins were past their birth weights as of Day 12: Logan at 6 lb 15 oz, Emma at 7 lb 3 oz. Things are getting better. Each day it hurts a little less. Each day I produce a little more milk. Each day the twins open their piranha mouths a little wider. Each day we seem to use a little less formula. Each day the twins get a little cuter and plumper.

I'm taking it one day at a time.

But I still want to log a grievance with Mother Nature.

So if you are planning on nursing, I recommend you take a class or two and get a good book on the topic and try to take it easy on yourself.

Gains and Losses

As of last Monday.

Losses:

• Two placentas
• A fair amount of blood (so they told me).
• My ankles, as of 9/27.
  
• My giant belly.
  
• The original skin on my nipples (OW!). Lots of crying over this. Lots.
  
• An only child.
• Any time to spend with my oldest daughter. Crying jags ensued.
  
• Two fetuses.
• By last Monday: 20 lbs. Today: 35 lbs.
  

Gains:

• Two babies.
• An eldest daughter, a son and a youngest daughter.
• Incredible pain from gas. I'd just been through a c-section and wasn't in any pain at all, so long as I was laying down. Once I got up to move around, I was in serious pain from the gas that had built up in my gut from 24 hours of no food. Fortunately, it seems to have passed as of this past Wednesday.
  
• The meaning of the term "referred pain". The gut pain from gas transferred to my lower right back. I felt like I was dying. The incision? No pain whatsoever. The gas pain caused me to break down crying at least twice.
  
• A huge appreciation for 3 hours of sleep at one time.
• Nightmares - since I wasn't sleeping for longer than 1.5 hours for the last 3 months, I never seemed to sleep deeply enough to dream. Once I slid over into 2-3 hours of sleep, nightmares came flying back. Nasty, horrible ones, too. Rather not have gained this one.
  
• Rockstar boobs. Well, for me. Misty's breasts would snicker at mine.
  
• Boobs of Fire! Somehow the incredible amount of nursing is causing my breasts to feel like they're burning while nursing. It's as if I can feel the chemical/physical reaction happening inside my breasts to produce the milk.
  
• My ankles returned by 10/3 and brought the tendons, bones and veins in my feet back with them. Looks like I might be able to fit my old shoes again.
  
• I can see my feet again when I look straight down!
• I can bend from the waist again. On Wednesday, I bent over and clipped my own toenails! Yes, we're celebrating the little victories around here.
• Any and all "free time". Now it's all nursing, all the time. Thank goodness my mom is here or we'd never eat. As it is, it's very hard to eat or drink with my hands filled with nursing babies.

And now for a little levity

The Mom Song.



I know I've been singing parts of it. How about you?

Happy Belated Birthday, Sierra!

I knew that yesterday was Thursday and felt pretty good about that fact. What I didn't know was that it was the fourth!

So happy birthday! Many, many more! Thanks again for your event photography - you've got mad skilz, girl!

Logan and Emma: The Birth Story

One week ago, last Thursday.

Caitlin gets in her last belly hug the night before becoming a big sister.

Day Zero had finally arrived. Both Eric and I woke well before our alarm went off. He from the excitement and nerves, I because of the usual uterus clenching need to pee. Well, at least it was useful as an alarm clock!

I was only allowed a small bit of water to take my thyroid medication and nothing else. Having to smell the breakfast that Eric made for himself and Sierra (our personal event photographer) was just short of torture. We were packed, ready and eager to go. I admit to feeling a wee bit fearful in the car. This was it: The Big Day. The day on which our happy little family of three suddenly increases 200% to a happy, exhausted family of five. Driving off into the dawning light, we headed to the hospital for our 5:30 am appointment.

At the hospital they didn't know why we were there so early.

At the hospital.

Normally everyone shows up at 6 am. They shunted us into a side triage room to await processing and there we sat. I changed into the lovely rear-exposing gown that was just big enough to cover my enormous girth and levered myself up onto the exam table. When our intake staff arrived, he apologized because apparently we were supposed to be there at 5:30, but they're so used to everyone else being 30 minutes late that they thought that that was the correct time. Then we settled in for some twin monitoring - the same non-stress test that I'd gone through three times before.

Searching for Emma.

As usual, they had problems acquiring Emma, but I wasn't worried since I'd felt her just recently and it wasn't like she could escape any other way!

The problem started when they tried to insert my IV line in my arm. I had rubbed the lidocaine lotion that Caitlin had received from the allergist onto the back of my hands, anticipating the insertion of an IV line there. I thought I was so smart and that this way I wouldn't have to feel it. Um...no. Turns out they wanted to insert it into my left forearm, so not only did I have to feel it, the guy couldn't get the vein and had to call in reinforcements. Unfortunately, I have a horror of needles and all this needling around was causing me to feel lightheaded and nauseous. They wouldn't let me have any water to help remove the feeling because they were worried I'd throw up during surgery (As it turns out, I showed them! I threw up during surgery anyway!). So instead I tried yoga breathing exercises and that helped a little.

Holding hands.

After much futzing around with monitors everyone was satisfied that the twins were still in there. Just then, Caitlin, Grammy and Grampy Jim came in to say good morning and then my doctor came by to admire the enormousness of my belly one last time, congratulate everyone all around and me in particular for doing an excellent job gestating.

Monitoring while Caitlin tells jokes.

Brownie points for the doc for being the same one that delivered Caitlin six years ago and making much of her. Then it was time for The Big Talk with the anesthesiologist.

The Big Talk.

I don't remember what all he said, but it boiled down to We're going to fill you full of drugs, cut you open and pop out your kids. At any point if you feel funny, holler out. Or if you feel anything. You know, sharp-like.

Caitlin reads nonchalantly while I listen to drug talk.

He was very nice and very understanding, because my fear was kicking in right about then. Surprise! I don't like knives, either, and here I was deliberately putting myself under The Knife for elective surgery.

Just so you know, I won't ever be a good candidate for elective or cosmetic surgery. I'm going to tote my wrinkles, bags and sags around until they come up with nanobot technology. Ain't no way I'm going to have surgery again, unless it's a dire emergency. Unh uh!

He was very sweet when he mentioned alternatives and I said that I didn't see that I had any choices. He said, actually you do. We could do the spinal as planned, do a general anesthetic , induce me or let me go home until I go into labor on my own. Knowing the likelihood of my going into labor on my own or being induced would just put me back into the emergency c-section category, I opted for the spinal. I figured a general was out because then I'd just miss everything. So, clearly decided on our plans, I signed my life away on the dotted line and we got ready to go.

Ready to go.

They hooked me up to a drip bag and I asked if I could go pee one last time. The nurse pointed out that they were just going to catheterize me anyway once the spinal was put in, but I insisted. So I got my last pee in on my own terms. Not quite as romantic a notion as either the last meal (Brasserie Ten-Ten in Boulder - Hunter Chicken with Bread Pudding for dessert) or a last cigarette, but it would have to do.

I shuffled into the quite cold and very brightly lit operating room and immediately noticed a tray of threatening looking stainless steel implements.

Implements.

I immediately looked away. I figured that I didn't really need to see a tray full of torturous looking instruments. It wasn't going to help my nerves any. The doc talked to me one last time in her scrubs and face shield (Perhaps she was concerned that the twins would blow out of there as soon as she made the first incision. Told you I was about to burst!). My last minute pep talk.

Pep talk.

Then more discussion with the anesthesiologist about just exactly what he was doing back there and how my feet would feel warm first and then I'd get a tingling sensation all the way up to my diaphragm. This would lead me to believe that I wasn't able to take a deep breath, but not to worry.

Um...what?!

Exactly as planned, I began shaking with fear and I could feel my breathing accelerate. Eric held my hands tightly and I tried not to cry.

This is what fear looks like.

Sorry gang, I'm really not a super hero. In a few moments I commented wonderingly on how my feet really were feeling warm and then they were laying me down on the bed. Looking up at the ceiling, there were light panel covers that were painted with a cloudscape and were unfortunately very reflective. We'd been warned about them, but now I was looking up at my belly. The linea nigra was very obviously on display and I determined right then that I'd need to look elsewhere and completely ignored what those masked people were doing behind the blue curtain.

Blue curtain.

They laid out my arms in the oh-so-appropriate crucify-me pose and clipped all manner of blood pressure and heart rate monitors to my assorted limbs.

Crucify me.

Eric took up his position, seated to my left, Sierra was on duty standing just behind me and to the right. She was given permission to move around very carefully, since the room would be filled with people. There would be my surgical team, two teams for the babies and the anesthesiology team. Something like 10 or so people, but I never saw all of them to count heads.

I had the same reaction to the spinal as I'd had to the epidural: I immediately tried to throw up. I'd warned them ahead of time, too, but they wanted to wait and see.

Now here's a funny thing about vomiting while immobilized: it's really hard to do. Can't get a big breath, can't control your own diaphragm anymore and yet your stomach insists that it needs to part company with your last drink of water. Poor Eric had to do the emesis bucket duty. I started hyperventilating in slow motion and again asked if perhaps I might have a bit of Valium. I had asked before entering the operating room (Oh ho! Nervous patients are so funny!), but they told me not until the kiddies were out. Darn that "passing the placenta" action! So instead I turned to Eric and an inane conversation about gardening jobs I needed him to do.

No I'm not kidding! To escape the fear and avoid looking up at the reflective ceiling and to calm myself down I started talking to Eric about gardening chores that I would need him to do. I couldn't talk about the twins because that just caused me to get more emotional, not less. Excited they were coming? Sure I was! It was heavily dampened by fear. Now gardening I could talk about, focus on and not freak out over. Eric, being in a tight spot had to promise that he would handle everything I laid out. Don't think I won't hold him to it, either. Be glad I didn't ask him to do any major renovations! I might have been scared, but I wasn't out of my head! Instead we tensely chatted about moving a couple of ornamental grasses, reinstalling a sprinkler line, planting out the dozens and dozens of perennials that I didn't sell this summer and so on.

In the background there were voices telling us what they were doing. I was doggedly ignoring them until they got to "Here comes Logan!".

Here's Logan!

I heard Sierra shooting away like the paparazzi in training that she was. Strange, alien sucking noises were heard and then the first indignant cry. Let me translate for you:

Logan: What the hell?! Hey! Hey! What are you doing?! I was happy in there! It's cold! What are you -- glarrgh! Ahhh! Too bright! Arrgh! No flashy-thingies!

Tagging, weighing, measuring, pissing off.

Then there was some level of commentary about how big, how cute, how perfect, so proud, doing really well, yadda yadda yadda. A few tears of relief slid down my left cheek as I watched Eric react. They cleaned him up and brought him around for me to see and Eric to hold.

My first way-too-close peek at Baby A, aka Logan. So this is who has been pummeling my cervix!

Eric greets Logan.
Showing me that Logan is a hairy beast, as I expected.

During that time the cry of "Here comes Emma!" went up.

Here's Emma!

Repeat indignant cries in a slightly different pitch. I think she threatened to sicc her lawyer on them for indecent exposure or something.

"They're muppets!", I exclaimed at one point. Last time I claimed Caitlin was just a recording.

Showing me Emma, who also has a lot of hair.

Hatting the Emma.

Same commentary and general awe over my body's amazing ability to produce two full term sized babies at one time.

Logan was weighed in at 6 lb 12 oz, 19" at 8:26 am while Emma came in at 6 lb 14 oz, 20" at 8:28 am.

Two babies! What was I thinking?! Oh wait, my ovaries are the culprits - they're wacky.

I had thought that I'd be able to breathe better once all that weight was removed, but I think the spinal masked it. Instead, I was relieved that it was now all over for the stitching up and the healing. That part would take far longer than the popping out of the babies, of course. General commentary about the shape of my uterus ensued. Apparently it was snapping back into shape quickly. It was probably feeling relieved, too.

At some point in there Eric was handed Logan and allowed to take him out to the waiting family members in the waiting room. The cast of characters included: Caitlin, my mom, my brother, Eric's mom, Grampy Jim, Eric's dad, and Jenni (Eric's sister). I don't think anyone else was there, let me know if I missed anyone!

The photographic records show that Jenni snagged Logan from Eric quicker than anyone could blink. She's got fast hands, that one. (Note to self: never challenge her to a duel.)

Jenni Fast Hands. Fastest Auntly Hands in the West. See that? Her hands are blurred in the photo!

Meet the grandmas.

Grandparents three.
Introducing Caitlin to Logan.

At some point later, Eric collected the tagged and banded Emma and similarly introduced her to the adoring masses. I believe the photographic records show a similar sleight of hand on Jenni's part again.

I'm not sure what all was happening to me during this time period. For all I know they popped in some of that longed for anti-anxiety medication at long last. I believe they started pain killers, anticipating the pain that would hit after the spinal wore off. I also started to get terribly itchy, another side effect of the anesthetic and it turns out that it's terribly hard to give your face a good scratch when you're a) under an oxygen mask and b) drugged to the gills. They pumped some of that in there. I still had the shakes that were caused by all of the adrenaline my system was pumping into me in response to the trauma. I had them last time, too. You're not necessarily cold but warm blankets do seem to help.

Eventually they put all of my bits back where they belonged, removing all of the fetal infrastructure as they went. I had Eric make sure to ask them to check for a third baby and any scaffolding that Emma and Logan may have left laying around in their attempts to build additions on to my uterus. I think I heard my surgical team snickering at me. See? A few good drugs and I can maintain my sense of humor almost anywhere! Fortunately for us there was no evidence of a triplet.

Phew!

When finally finished with my suddenly deflated body, they wheeled me out, through the maddening crowds and over to recovery. We had to stop for pictures (I look like hell - what can I tell you? Surgery is unbecoming.) and for the announcement song that they play when they introduce new babies into the newborn wing. Brahm's Lullaby. Played twice.

Hello! I look like a popped balloon and feel about as good.

Later Eric asked if they could have played Also sprach Zarathustra, but no dice. [Fun fact: This is the song we had them play for our introduction as Man & Wife at our reception when we came sweeping into the hall. Just the first 2 minutes. Eric, he's wacky that way.]

Once in recovery, they allowed Caitlin in to see me right away, along with Grammy and Grampy and that's when everything starts getting blurry for me. All of the clarity of the previous acts is wiped out, replaced by a streaming slow motion video of my life in between blinks.

Blink: Talking to Caitlin, being congratulated and I think kissed? by Grammy. Photos being taken by Jim.
Blink: Kissed by my mom. Big smile. Relief.
Blink: Jenni enters with a huge grin and a bouquet of flowers for Caitlin? Bright yellow, very happy looking flowers.
Blink: Herb, my father-in-law, enters. Says something. Probably congratulatory.
Blink: Itchy. So itchy! More stuff added to my drip.
Blink: Eric nearby. Offers me baby, still shaking too much to hold one, I think. Sierra beaming and thrilled. Still has hold of my camera. Warned her thoroughly to never put it down. Very important. More pictures taken.
Blink: Nurse hands me baby to nurse.
Blink: Nurse hands me another baby to nurse. At the same time. Who are these people? Ooh! I think I see tiny hands. Those are some long fingers. Very cuuu....
Blink: Being relocated to my own room with family. Must have teleported there, don't remember the trip.
Blink: Finally being allowed ice chips. Thank goodness. I inhale them.

This effect continues for the rest of the day. At some point everyone leaves to go celebrate elsewhere, leaving Eric and the twins with me. I began to think longingly about food but am told NO FOOD or WATER until I pass gas. What the hell?! Totally feeling ripped off I continue sucking down ice chips and plotting my revenge. Suddenly I'm vomiting again, still no fun, except this time I have ice chips to hurl. Somehow no one has told my nurses that they should have emesis buckets standing by and there's much running about looking for tissues and buckets while I try to not vomit all over myself. Now I'm told no water or food until I stop throwing up. I feel totally put out and pissed off. If they think the constantly changing IV drips are any replacement for actual water in my mouth, they're insane. I've just spent the last 9 months eating almost everything in sight and now I'm placed on a starvation diet until I can stop throwing up.

Well phoo.

At some point much later in the day I exclaim that I've passed gas and by golly I'm gonna get some Jello! I am determined and press the Nurse Call button. They aren't near as impressed by my super human farting skills as I am and the nurse that comes in to check on me also joins the No Eating Until No Vomiting bandwagon. I think dire thoughts about maternity ward nurses. I am, however, finally allowed a little water with my ice chips.

Life continues apace. Well, slowly apace. The fog begins to burn off. I watch the sun set, just as I had watched the sun rise over the first day of life of my twins. I'm still a little scared but I think...I think we'll be just fine.

Just you watch and see.

Mount Eric.

Emma.

Caitlin bonds with Logan who shows her his tongue. Cute, no?

Logan. Ahhhn!

Note: I will be adding photos as the twins allow me time to edit. This was typed while Emma napped on my chest. Logan is napping on mom.

Updated to add: two days to add photos! Whew! Much nursing and snoozing babies during each installment. Enjoy!

Today is Delurking Day!

Well, it is according to some of these blogger gals who seem to know what they're talking about. I mean, they created a button for it!

So delurk and say hello and I'll get a real post out real soon. You know, once I've nursed the twins, slept, nursed the twins, eaten, nursed the twins, edited a few hundred photos, nursed the twins....




Oh and don't worry if you've missed it, you can drop me a line tomorrow, too. I won't tell!

A little commentary on beauty ideals

Remember this video? Dove: Evolution.

Now they have a new video called Dove: Onslaught. It's very cool, you should check it out.


Note that this time it's about protecting our daughters from the onslaught of media projected imagery about how women should appear in the ideal world. The question that always gets me is the mirror: what is this imagery also doing to our sons? Girls and women are clearly affected by the constant yammering about how women should appear. However, I would posit that men are also negatively impacted by the media's focus on women, age and sex.

Everyone loses.

The real question is this: how do we stop it or fix it? For my part, I'm working steadily on Caitlin and her attitude towards her body and self. It has also caused me to change the way that I talk about my own weight and body image.

When your 2 or 3 year old turns to you suddenly and asks you in all seriousness if you think that she's fat, it's time to check what you're saying around her. That was my wakeup call.

What are you doing?

Love is...

Starting off on a brand new adventure with the one you love. Even though you're terrified.

Sierra, this photograph made me cry. Thank you so much for being with us and for taking all the pictures.

Gang: It's going to take me awhile to work my way through them and add them to the Big Birth Post, but I'll get there. Be patient, grasshoppers!

the twins are here!

i am so excited! the twins are here!i love them to much!


-- This post brought to you by Caitlin

Would you like some pictures?

In lieu of actual time for commentary, here are photos that my MIL, Linda (the Prime Squealer), took.
Eric with first man out: Logan. 8:26 am MST.
Emma, out second at 8:28 am MST.

He looks awfully chipper, doesn't he?
Eric sitting in the recovery room with the twins.

Yin and Yang.

Eric and all the kids. We officially have some children.
My SIL, Jenni (the Secondary Squealer), my nephew Axl and the twins.
Jenni meets Logan.So tired! So swollen! I went in unswollen, left swollen. Funny, that.

Logan, trying to determine if he's going to like the car seat or the ride home. Surprise! He didn't.
Emma, crashed out even before the trip started.

Just so you know, this took about 3-4 hours to complete, including time paused to nurse hungry piglets. Breastfeeding is going to be an enormous rant post all to itself. One day.

We're Home!

Just in time for cat Trauma!

Mom's been staying at the house to watch over the cats while we've been in the hospital for the past four days. Kaboom, as I may have previously mentioned, is a total chickenshit so mom has only seen him rarely. However, right after we got home she mentioned that she hasn't seen him since Saturday.

Exhausted-happy to be home feeling immediately vanished as Eric goes on a hunt for the cat. After searching everywhere, Eric looks in the back room where we had previously seen and heard signs of mice (mice outside house=cute, mouse inside house = instant death sentence). We has been leaving the door to the boiler room open to encourage the cats, (remember those?) to hunt the mice. Those fuzzy freeloaders need to earn their keep somehow. Unfortunately the boiler room is not finished, but backs to the bathroom which is.

After thoroughly searching the house, Eric saw a glimpse of Kaboom through the unfinished wall jammed behind the metal bathtub, unmoving and unresponsive to calls.

Panic set in. We immediately went with the notion that we were going to have to smash through the wall and tile, ripping out the bathtub to reach him. Whatever it takes to get the cat out. Eric rushed to the hardware store and bought a wrecking bar while I called two friends known for their home demolishing skills and/or tool possession while crying with fear.

Eric rushed back in clutching a 36" solid steel wrecking bar (also doubling as a home defense device) and went into the basement bathroom. After several solid (and extremely loud) thwacks to the grout in front of the tub, fear overcame friction and Kaboom came shooting out from inside the unfinished wall.

He appears to be just fine, although perhaps mentally scarred for life. Boiler room is shut. Further plans for immanent demise of mice are forthcoming.

What? Did you expect an update about babies? They're OK too.

Trapped under twins!

"I'm sure she'll post a long post tomorrow." he said.

It's very sweet when your own husband has you confused with a super hero. [grin]

Right now I'm laying propped up in the hospital bed typing one handed while Emma nurses, so this will be short. She and Logan have developed psychic powers such that one always knows when the other is hogging all the colostrum. He will inevitably wake up within moments of her finishing or starting and then the cycle starts all over. I'm working on tandem nursing but damn! if there aren't just times you'd really like to have that second hand for simple things like eating, drinking or scratching your own ear.

I'm picky that way.

Thank you all for the cheers. You made me smile once I came out of the drug fog. I've got a lot to tell you, gory details as well as sappy asides, but until my milk comes in and knocks the two out for a reliable length of time I'll have to keep my posts short.

The twins are doing very well and are working unceasingly at trying to bring up breastmilk. Apparently they got the memo on how good it is, but not the one that mentions that it takes about 72 hours to come in. Even if you are an over-achieving twin, the breasts you rely on are slackers.

Whoops! Logan is playing my song. Catch ya later!

Photographic Proof

Hatchet Husband here again. I know that like bigfoot and the loch ness monster, the Hatchet twins are thought many to be mythical.

However, I now bring you photographic proof of their existence!

Logan:



Emma: