Two years on....

My baby is grown.  He is a little boy.  Running,  chatting,  sprouting an ever bigger personality.  It’s a wonderful time, but my mind has not caught up.  I still see him as my little cuddly bundle.  It's only when I see 6 month-olds that I realise how far away we are from baby-hood.  He can still be my sweet baby, crawling up into my lap for snuggles from mom at those times when he needs a little recharge.  The he's up and off, going about his grown up business.

As I look back, I've learned a lot.  Also, I can't think of what life is about, if not this little family that we have.  What did I ever do before?  I wonder even, what was important to me before? It's like looking back into another existence, another lifetime.  I've learned about children, obviously, but I've learned more about people, life, relationships and myself.  

Seeing this tender life come up, I'm constantly reminded that the most important thing - the only important thing! -  in life is love.  How much time I wasted worrying about the pregnancy, how to feed him, what stuff we would provide him.  Now that I have had a chance to get to know him, to see what a child really needs, I worry less about the periphery stuff.  I want to give him whatever he wants, if I can.  But I know the most valuable thing I can give is love.  Whatever life has dealt us and whatever it will bring, love is what he will measure his life by.

And two years on, Noah is still in my heart.  I feel like I want to share that I still cry, almost daily.  Sometimes just a silent tear or two whenever his memory feels near to me.  I don't fight it.  I see it as part of my special role as his mother.  I will cry for him forever, missing him with every fibre of my body, like a pain.  I possibly miss him more as I see Ethan's personality grow.  I wonder.   I 'what if'.  I get angry.  I cry for his pain.   But that's the role I accept out of the love I have for him. 

Yesterday, after some celebrations, presents and cake, Thom and I found a quiet moment to light a candle and think about that day two years ago.  Two years ago, when we met our two little boys.  We just sat in the silence, watching the candle flame flicker, holding hands and letting the joy and sadness sweep through us for a while.  Wishing it could have been different and yet thankful.  Complete in happiness and broken in painful grief.  Two years on, and it amazes me how there can be two such different feelings at the same time; how I can hold such sadness and such joy. 

What's in a name

Naming a baby.  Pretty big deal, right?  The name is like a gift, a wish, a legacy.  There is also the asshole-factor to consider.  This is the certain, sad knowledge that some people are mean and will look for ways to pick on someone with a name this is unusual or rhymes with anything embarrassing  toilet related or sexual.  So you want a name that conveys the idea of the kind of person you imagine or wish your child to be, as well as help them out in avoiding unnecessary bullying.

We had a list of possibles leading up to the big day.  There were some that I kept on the list despite Thom's disapproval   I thought, 'We'll see on the day, and if I think the name is right, he might be too elated to care'.  I'm sneaky, eh?

much earlier days

As my readers will know, that day was a tough day for all, but especially for my two little guys.  As I laid in the recovery room, numb from the waist down, Thom rushed away to go see them on the Special Care Unit.  He reported back with photos of Twin 1 and 2 and we named them.  I knew that one had enormous difficulties breathing, while the other had a slightly easier time.  One of Thom's photos showed a little body with tubes and needles attached to every limb, hand and foot.  The other had less.  Assuming that the one with more equipment was the twin who suffered greater injury, I named him Ethan, meaning 'strong'.  The other I called Noah, meaning 'comfort'.  I wanted the one who suffered to be strong and the other was a great comfort for me and Thom when he was briefly passed to us after delivery. It just seemed right.  

It was only later that I discovered Noah was the one who needed strength.  In the following weeks, as we battled the tribulations that came to our new little family, I would often blame myself for naming them the wrong way around.  I thought, if only I had named Noah differently, he might have lived.  I guess I was searching for some reason to why this had happened and grasping at any solution I could think of to make it better.    

In naming them I had intended to give them the character of the name.  Hoped that something of the meaning of the name would sink into them and carry them through that dark time.  Ethan did indeed turn out to be strong.  He very quickly started letting the nurses know who was running the show by pulling out his feeding tube and cannulars, as if demanding to be released from hospital.  He even urinated all over the consultant's suit as we waited to be discharged.  

Despite my initial regret, he did end up with the right name.  What I want to share today is that I am starting to think that Noah had the right name, too.  Undoubtedly, Noah's death changed us.  Although it is impossible to know how we would feel and be if he stayed with us, Thom and I are consistently trying to be in the present in the short time we have together in this life.  In those last hours with him, we promised Noah to love Ethan, appreciate life and never forget.  Noah taught us so much in his short life.  

In the aftermath, as we have tried to figure out what caused the problem that lead to Noah's death, the possibility of a placental abruption has been thrown into doubt.  It could be a placental failure or a rare occurrence where the cord becomes trapped and constricted.  But in any case, he suffered more, and it seems to me, absorbed a lot of the trauma, leaving Ethan more protected.  I felt I knew some of their personalities in the womb.  Noah seemed rambuncious, energetic but also caring towards Ethan.  Ethan moved less and seemed to prefer to snuggle, curled up at the bottom.  But when he did move, Noah responded, like he was playing with his brother.

So, as Ethan moved from strength to strength, fulfilling his name, I also became more aware of how Noah had fulfilled his.  Comforting his brother in their most terrible time.  Giving us the time he had with us to appreciate his beauty.  The lessons he taught about love will continue to give hope and comfort to Thom, Ethan and I.  And most comforting is that as long as I carry the love he taught me, he will never be far from my heart.

Attack of the birth nazis

Having a baby is difficult for lots of reasons.  Time, energy, relationship changes, surrendering your body to forces beyond your control, watching it morph into not much more than a blobby baby capsule.  Not to mention the next phase of your life approaching - being a parent.

If God was a woman, she would have helped us out a little with a lot of these things.  But she might also gifted us with temporary deafness while pregnant.  It would certainly solve the bothersome issue of highly opinionated people that see a bump as justification to indoctrinate you.  I'm not referring to the general advice and strange suggestions that find their way to you from all corners of the planet.  Oh no, this deafness would be intended to help protect us from the apostles of the perfect child birth.  The ones who believe in one way, one correct form of birth, outside of which you and your offspring are doomed to an unnatural life.  A life cursed with poor health, depression, screwed up kids, a lack of hormone-induced motherly love and, most of all, the lifelong guilt of knowing that you chose this all by yourself.

I'm referring to the birth guilt squad, which broadly come in two polarised types - the medical ones and the natural ones.  If you are pregnant or have been pregnant, you may have had the misfortune of having your head bashed in by them.  They normally start with something quite disarming, like, 'It's an individual choice, but....' lulling you into thinking that you will be allowed respect for your individual choice.  But in their soft tones, it slowly dawns on you that they are trying to convert you.

Those of the medical squad would have you believe that home birth will result in certain death, of either your or baby.  And that only a dangerous fool would shun the white lab coats, scrubs and antiseptic hallways of hospital.  Reading between the lines, they sound a bit like: 'Only a real child-hater could take their life into their own hands by turning down the miracle of modern medicine'.

Those of the natural persuasion aim to convert you to the idea that hospitals are bad for you, bad for baby.  That medical interventions are meant to harm you and if you take advantage of them it means you don't trust your body.  You will have sinned against nature and the wonderful gift of childbirth nature has given you.  Consequently, you will suffer, your baby will suffer.  You can sniff these types out once you have the experience.  Just follow the stench of smugness.  

Birth is certainly a magical thing.  Our bodies are designed to do this amazing thing, equipped with all the mechanics and instincts to bring brand-new people into the world.  Doubtless, we as a species would have died out long ago if we were not capable of giving birth with nothing more than cold compress and the encouragement of a wise old woman or a grunting caveman husband.  It is a frightening and painful experience, but one that we can trust our bodies to handle.  These are the arguments of the natural-birth squad, and I must say that I agree that all this is true.

It gets twisted and nauseating when the implication becomes that those who choose some kind of medical intervention are somehow giving up faith in their bodies and abilities.  Backed  up with suspect statistics about going to hospital resulting in a higher rate of 'unnecessary' medical care, along with the assumption that modern medical procedures interrupt natural hormonal responses that encourage bonding between baby and mother, the guilt gets slapped on thick and fast.  Somehow I doubt that our ancestors enjoyed idyllic births, un-tainted by the scourge of modern medicine. 

What is the reality?  According to the World Health Organisation, the reality is that 1500 women die everyday from childbirth or childbirth related complications, almost all preventable.  Things like pre-eclampsia, heamorraging or obstructed labour.  And even when the mother survives, the babies themselves can fare much worse. Click here to check out what the WHO says about maternal mortality  The truth is that most women the world over have no choice but natural childbirth.  And while modern medicine may cast a cynical eye on the natural abilities of a woman's body and steel will, unfortunately natural childbirth isn't the blissful, magical rite of being a woman that the natural-birth squad would have us believe.  The reality is that until modern times, pregnancy and childbirth were dangerous times for women and infants alike.

It is a fact that people who go to hospital for birth end up with more medical interventions than those who give birth at home, but that statistic is not proof that the interventions were unnecessary.  Even in the developed world, some statistics indicate that home birth, while carrying a decreased risk of intervention, do carry a significantly higher rate of neonatal mortality; about twice as high as hospital births.  Additionally, around 40% of home births end up being transferred to hospital because of complications. Click to view article on Science-Based Medicine.

As for myself, prior to 12 weeks, I was prepared to give birth in my front room with nothing more than a stick of incense and some hypno-birthing mind tricks.  Then we learned that we had stumbled upon  the two-for-one special.  Twins: a whole new ball game.  The risks of death or injury in birth of twins is four times greater than a singleton pregnancy.  I guess my response, my guilt, comes from wishing for a different birth.  I want to keep things as natural as I can.  But the goal is not to prove that I am a woman or that I trust my body.  Right now, the goal is for all three of us to emerge from the experience alive.  When I have said this to various birth nazis that have crossed my path, it has been taken as proof of my fear.  Fear of the pain, of birth or of my own abilities.  One such encounter saw me up against a fellow pregnant woman explaining to me that risks of twin birth were fictitious, hospital was bad but 'If hospital is your safe place, then you should go there'.  As if being in your 'safe place' will prevent the multitude of risks that are common in birthing identical twins.

What I honestly feel is that it isn't that important where or how I give birth.  This middle-ground attitude doesn't save me and I still fall foul of birth nazis on both sides.   Not having a strong opinion on this highly contentious issue seems almost as bad as actively choosing to harm my unborn.

For me, the issue is not how or where a woman gives birth, but that she have every opportunity to go through this natural process with the greatest likelihood that both she and her baby survive.  The medical proponents and the natural birth squad each have their emotionally laden arguments.  But for the individual pregnant woman, this is a choice devoid of moral issues.

Until we evolve pregnancy-related deafness, the birth nazis will plague us, I suppose.  I wish I had known about them sooner so I could develop a stock response, like an equally patronising pat on the head and a 'there-there, calm down, dear'.  Ah well, as it is I must stick to my own mind, stay flexible and remember that no particular birth makes you a better person, parent or mother.  

Looking back: love, fate and magic

Recently, our PC had some problems.  Thankfully it was under warranty and fixing it was a simple case of sending it off by courier.  A week later it arrived back like new.  Like new in every sense, including all out our stuff wiped and completely gone.  We were smart and backed up all our data before sending it off, so no big loss.  Just a few hours of my time devoted to putting it all back on.

It started off feeling like an annoying task, but I found myself caught up in nostalgia as I re-loaded the photos.  Photos of Thom and I before we were dating.  Before were married.  Before we were expecting.  Before we knew we were expecting two!  Blame it on the hormones if you will, but it made me well up a bit.

It is amazing and humbling thinking about the twists and turns that life takes.  It doesn't seem like years ago that I was working behind a bar, trying to earn a little bit while going to graduate school.  Thom came in for a beer, stinking like an old onion and dressed in high-vis straight from work.  I imagine he would have choked on his beer if someone would have told us our future then.  And I would have probably called the police to help eject the deranged wierdo from the pub.

How things have changed!  We became friends at first, and later dated.  We had tons of fun.  I loved the way we could make a fun night out of nothing.  Or the way we would dance like idiots.  Or even the way we would both want to slope off from the crowds at the same time.  He became my man, best friend and partner.  But even then I could not have predicted that I would be sitting here now, having just seen our twins at a scan today.  Him in the kitchen fixing the taps and me tapping away about our journey through parenthood on the compter.  Even when we started dating, this senario would have seemed strange and domestic.  But here we are.

I'll let you in on a secret:  Earlier in my life, I never wanted children.  I was always told by others, mostly older women, that one day my biological clock would kick in and I would change.  I did change, but not because of some hormonal ticking time bomb.  I had always been very clear on my reasons for not wanting to join the ranks of the pro-creators.  From a young age, I did too much thinking for my own sanity.  That and some unfortunate experiences made the world seemed a cruel place.  People treated each other badly and there seemed no limit to the imaginative ways human beings could find to hurt others.  It didn't seem like the place to bring innocent children into.

Now, it sounds like a bit of screwed up logic.  Things shifted for me.  Not suddenly, but slowly.  It's hard to outline here exactly how the transformation happened.  Little things, I suppose.  Stopping to appreciate life and what a gift it really is.  Love helps, of course.  I remember one evening, stewing about not doing well enough in some area of my life and sharing my angst with Thom.  I couldn't sleep and in the darkness my worries poured out like flood waters.  I remember the shadowy outline of his face in the night.  He waited until I was done exhausting every paranoid corner of my little worry prison and then in a calm, low tone explained his perspective.  How every person is a miracle, not when they do things, but just the fact that they are alive is amazing.  For that reason, everyone is valuable and worthy of love.

In the face of such logic, but also love, my worries dried up and I lay there in the darkness, stunned that I had never before realised this most basic truth.  I had been moving towards a more accepting view of myself and others, but that moment cemented something.

So my eventual choice to have children was not motivated out of some primal, hormonal urge.  I think it was more beautiful than that.  My choice was a sign of the greater shifts in my life towards being more compassionate, more open and more able to love and be loved.

I often think about the twists and turns of fate, the miracle of nature that we are having not just a baby, but twins.  In my quiet moments, I think about the lessons life has taught me and the gifts it's laid in my path along the way.  I'm thankful for learning about love.  I'm thankful for that stinky man who stumbled into my pub.  And in my most goofy, gooey moments, I think about that love like a little bit of magic that couldn't help but make not just one, but two amazing little people.

As if there were any doubt, it is confirmed: real women have twins

Okay, so now I'm gonna sing my own praises a little bit.  Hell, I am about to embark on a double tap of diaper duties for the next few years, so indulge me. 

I was more than pleased to read an article today in the evening standard on the commute home:  women who have twins are stronger and live longer. click here to read the article  Not only are us twin-mums stronger but they have other superpowers such as greater reproductive life-spans and they take less time to recover between pregnancies.  Hopefully they have an extra set of arms or selective deafness, too, although these valuable traits were not discussed in the article.  

Not only great news, but something I've been telling myself, possibly in blind hope, for a while.  Terrifying as the prospect of two babies was at that first scan, it seems do-able.  Shortly after the first scan I spoke to a friend and co-worker who was just about to return to us from her maternity leave.  Her words stayed with me: Life only gives you what you can handle. 

At first I focused on the superficial truth of what she said.  Physically, I was ready.  Toned, aerobically trained and mentally prepped for endurance.  In the best shape of my life, to be honest.  I told myself, if anyone can do this, you can. 

But undoubtedly twins pose more than simply physical challenges to their mothers.  And despite my cockiness here, I am susceptible to my moments of freaking out, just like anybody else.   After reading the article and enjoying a little moment of smugness, I wondered if women who have twins are superhuman or if they become superhuman through the challenge of having twins.  After all, physical limits of the human body are regularly tested and exceeded according to the demands of the environment.  Aside from the physical, mentally and emotionally, we are possibly even more resilient and adaptable.

 The words of my friend hold a truth not because I am physically stronger or more resilient than others.  What makes them true is that everyone is made to adjust to even the greatest of life's curve-balls.  We even become better for it.  You can't make a diamond without a lot of pressure. 

Either way, something tells me it's definatly going to be al right.  This article helps to remind me to appreciate my strength and maybe even look out for my hidden superpowers.  But even better, it reminds me that life's greatest challenges are what make us. 

Twin-tastic!

Today was the day.  The first scan.  Nervous questions circulating in our brains leading up to this  day whipped up into a worry-cyclone by yesterday evening.  Would the baby be healthy?  How far along am I really?  Are all the body parts present and accounted for?  

Thom and I ate comfort food of beef chilli and big chunky chips in front of the TV, each in the silent knowledge that the other was wrestling their own anxieties.  A few friends sent supportive texts.  One read: 'Good luck tomorrow.  Hope everything is in pairs (except the head of course) :-)xx'.

My friend has flexed a pretty impressive and eerie 6th sense about me from the beginning of the pregnancy.  Before the missed period, before the test, he told me there was something strange with me.  I laughed it off then, but his extra-sensory perception was proved right.  After that and a few other incidents of him sensing all things pregnancy-related from a distance,  I could have seen the prophetic potential in his text.  Because today, to our extreme surprise, we indeed saw two of everything on the ultrasound screen.  Two hands, two legs, two feet.....on each baby.

So here they are, the two amazing little babies that were waiting inside to be discovered.  They were active, flipping and reaching for each other, giving the ultrasound operator a job to measure their length and check their age. They are 12 weeks and 6 days today, on the day we saw them for the first time.

The  next stage of this adventure is mapped.  There are 4 of us.  Thom has been browsing double-buggies on eBay and training courses that might propel his career into a twin-worthy wage bracket.  I have been imagining their little bodies, snuggled up and entwined, keeping each other company until we say 'hello' face-to-face.  Under the jittery excitement, there is fear, but I've decided that 'scary' is not a word I can use to describe things I have yet to live through.  Also, this news warrants an extra piece of pizza.  After all, I am eating for three.