He Can Walk!

Sometimes I am just so stinkin' proud of my kids.  They really make me want to gush.  Which I am about to do.  Sorry.  At least you were warned.  But sometimes, when you get past the snot and the screaming and the general mayhem, you realize they really are the most amazing little creatures.

Right now Michael is practically making me swoon because he walked across the backyard on Sunday.  I know, I know.  It doesn't sound like much.  But for him, this is HUGE.  Leon started pulling up Thanksgiving weekend, and he took his first step on Christmas.  I'm not sure when he started actually walking since that didn't coincide with a holiday, but it happened.  (It stinks to not be the first child.  And a twin.  No milestones will be remembered for these poor little guys.) 

But Michael never had any interest in the whole walking thing.  It wasn't that the tried and failed; he just didn't bother to try.  You could see what he was thinking.  Why walk when crawling works just fine?  (Plus there's the fact that he thinks he's a dog.)

Crawling was fine when it was cold and nasty out.  Crawling was great when all he had to do was maneuver inside the house.  But then it got warm outside.  Our big snow was the weekend of Valentine's Day (again with the holidays.  Sad, huh?) and the following weekend was gorgeous.  We finally had temperatures in the 60s - normal Wilmington winter.  So we headed outside.  On Saturday we played in the backyard.  Sunday the whole family headed to the beach.  Michael spent a lot of time watching his brother and sister run around the yard and on the beach.  You could just watch the wheels turn in Michael's head.  He had to get in on the fun.

So starting the next day, Michael put some serious effort into walking.  Every night after dinner he would spend 30 minutes walking in circles from the living room through the kitchen pushing various ride-on toys and walkers.  He was even willing to walk holding my fingers, something Leon always refused to do.  Michael was determined.  But then he started teething, and the poor little guy got nine teeth all at once.  Yes, NINE.  Then we were all struck by the stomach bug from hell that knocked us out of commission for four days.  Then Michael got better and his body could focus its efforts on getting all of his boulder size teeth through his gums.  That led to The Worst Night EVER.  Seriously.  I thought the night when we were all uber-sick with the stomach nasties was bad.  I ended up sleeping in the living room with the kids because I could at least hold down Gatorade, which meant I was way better off than Jeff.  And I had the kids all in one place because at bedtime Michael was still puking every 15 minutes and Ree wasn't doing much better.  Poor Leon didn't know what was going on, but it was just easier to have him with us.  But we made it through that night.  And it was still better than The Worst Night EVER.

On the WNE, Michael would SCREAM for an hour and a half, pass out for another hour and a half or so, and then wake up and do it all over again.  And nothing would console him.  His body laughed at ibuprofen and Orajel.  He had no interest in teethers or cold wash cloths.  He was so miserable he was even turning down popsicles.  At 4:00 a.m. I had him in the sling and was jiggling him up and down while rocking him side to side and watching an Elmo DVD.  And he was still miserable.  And so was I.  As though we hadn't been through enough, I had the flu and was running a fever and just wanted to crawl in bed for, oh, about two weeks, and Michael, of course, only wanted Mommy to take care of him.

But we survived that too.  And the following night, Michael slept for 13 hours straight.  Just passed out.  I don't know if he even changed positions during the night.  And when he woke up, he was a beautiful butterfly.  Wait.  Sorry.  Too much Very Hungry Caterpillar.  But when he woke up, his teeth had all broken through the gums, which seems to be the worst part, and he was free to work on walking.

And that's what he did.  Over the last week, he has walked and walked and walked until he was able to walk across a room.  On Saturday we went outside, and he watched everyone else run and play, but he still wasn't ready to try his balance on the grass.  But on Sunday, he took off and walked about six feet from the kids' picnic table in the yard to the patio.  And he was so proud of himself!  He did it!  He was playing like all the other kids!  He just beamed.  And so did I.

Free Stuff

Man, the internet is a time waster.  I have been waiting all day, for two days actually, to get online and bitch and moan about our past couple of weeks.  I finally had free time (yes, really!) and energy (yes, really!) tonight to do it.  I even got access to the computer.  (Yes, we only have one computer at home.  I know it's hard to imagine, but it's true.  And I'm married to someone who legitimately needs it to work at night.  Crazy!)

So I get online, but before I could actually get to my blogger account, I got completely sidetracked by a link Jeff had bookmarked.  It was entitled The Best Birthday Freebies.  How could I resist?  So I clicked on it.  It turned out to be all I had hoped for and more.  Links to all sorts of wonderful places that want to give me free stuff on my birthday.  And on Jeff and the kids' birthday.  I thought I did well with free birthday stuff this year.  Ree and I had a girls' day in which we had free lunch at Moe's, followed by free ice cream at Cold Stone, and free shopping at World Market.  But these links will help me take it to a whole new level!  That level most likely being obesity.  But what fun I'll have along the way!

So now it is already time for me to get ready for bed and I have yet to complain about the past few weeks.  But it's coming my friends, it's coming.  In all of its gory glory.  And oh have there been some gory moments!  (Just a hint: five people simultaneously sick with a stomach bug combined with one dog who ate a blanket and a second dog obsessed with eating yard waste.  Imagine the possibilities!)

For now you have been saved by my obsession with all things free.  Aren't you lucky?

Lessons at Indian Hospital About Births

This post has nothing (and everything) to do with the kids.  This lovely little gem from the NY Times so epitomizes many of my thoughts toward birth.  For those who don't know, I am a big fan of midwives and had midwifery care throughout most of my pregnancy with the boys.  My midwives worked in conjunction with an OB/GYN practice, and once things got complicated, the doctors insisted I be under their care.

I did notice a substantial difference in the type of care I received once under the care of the physicians.  When I'd had a regular check-up with the midwives, they came in and chatted with me.  They made sure I was really okay, physically and emotionally.  We discussed my pregnancy and what to really expect along the way.  They were my advocates and wanted to make sure I had the birth I wanted, even with twins.  I knew all of them personally.  They knew the name of my husband and child, and I knew theirs.  When a new midwife joined the practice, she spent 20 minutes with me one day getting to know me and sharing about herself, so that if she attended my birth she wouldn't be a stranger.

While under the care of the physicians, my appointments dropped from 20-30 minutes with the practitioner to 5-10 minutes.  The doctors listed for fetal heartbeats, just like the midwives, and that was just about it.  They would ask if I was having any problems.  They didn't ask any probing questions.  Many of the physicians in the practice are renowned surgeons, and while I'm sure they are experts in an operating room, that is the last place I wanted to be when I ushered two new little people into the world.  They didn't want to even discuss that I wanted to deliver naturally.  They just assumed I wanted a c-section.

I was so frustrated that I am fairly certain this is why I delivered the way I did.  The mind-body connection can be powerful, and I'm pretty sure some part of my brain figured out there was only one (crazy!) way to get the boys into the world without a c-section.

Following my delivery, my midwives followed up with me even though I was no longer "their" patient.  They visited me in the hospital, and that new midwife who had taken the time to get to know me was the one who sat with me for half an hour the day I was discharged and my babies weren't.  The midwife I knew best followed up with me, calling me at home and checking on things.  As an added bonus, they were also lactation consultants, so I could get advice on feeding twins from women I already knew well. 

For those who couldn't care less about the birth process, just read the financial figures.  This model of healthcare could save billions per year.  That ought to cover a good chunk of the proposed healthcare reform...

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/03/07/health/07birth.html?pagewanted=1&emc=eta1

Today

I like to think that I handle stressful situations fairly well.  I feel like I am good at staying cool in a crisis.  I survived three years and four summers running afterschool programs and camps for elementary aged kids.  I even delivered my own baby in the back of my car!  But every now and then I have moments in which the brain just stops.  This evening at dinner was one of them.

The past couple of weeks have just been insane.  As a result, the kids have not been getting as much attention as they need.  Yesterday I tried to make it up to Ree with a girls' day that turned into a bit of a disaster.  (But that's a whole other story.)  This morning, it was Leon's turn for mommy-time.  We were out of just about everything in the house, which required a trip to Walmart.  Leon was thrilled.  As I put him in his car seat, he excitedly asked, "Bye bye?" and I confirmed that we were going on an adventure together.  He was all smiles as we pulled out of the driveway.

While we were driving, I noticed that Leon was awfully quiet, but I thought it was just the fact that he got the window seat.  Normally, he sits in the middle as is flanked by his siblings, but when he's the only one in the car, he gets the "good" seat.  Then, right before we got to Walmart, I heard a choking noise.  Not good.  Thankfully this is the part of the day I handled well.

I glanced back, not that I could see anything over the monstrous seats in the Pilot.  I kept calling his name, and he responded before too long.  Okay.  He was alright.  But there were still a lot of coughing, choking noises.  Quickly pulled over into a hotel parking lot.  Ran around to Leon and found that the poor little guy had thrown up his breakfast all over himself.  Thankfully, at the last minute as we were leaving, I grabbed a blanket to place over Leon, and it seemed to have taken the brunt of it.  Also, luckily, as we were leaving, I grabbed the diaper bag which had an extra onesie for him to wear.  While I was changing Leon, I noticed he had gotten his pants too, and I didn't have a pair of pants for him, but I did have a lovely pair of pink floral leggings belonging to Ree, so he got to wear those.  By the time I got Leon cleaned up, he seemed to be feeling better.  I assumed he was just carsick having spent over 45 minutes eating breakfast and we went on our shopping adventure.

Shopping was fairly uneventful, as was most of the day.  When Leon got up from his afternoon nap, he had diarrhea.  It kept up, and so I held him while the rest of us ate dinner.  Well, actually Ree was not eating with us (I have lots of catching up on story telling to do), but Michael, Jeff, and I were eating.  While we were eating, Leon started getting really squirmy.  I thought that he was asking to get down.  This is the part of the day when my brain shut down.

As I was putting Leon down, his little body cleaned out just about everything he had consumed in the past day.  Instead of doing something practical like taking the poor little guy to a sink or toilet, I just stood there, holding him, watching him puke.  I vaguely recall my brain taking inventory and noting that, yup, I was seeing everything he had consumed.  (Must be the auditor in me!)  He stopped for a second, and it occurred to me that Leon had covered himself, the chair, the floor, and me.  Eww.

Again, you think I would've moved toward a bathroom, but I just stood there, everything dripping.  And that's when the poor little guy got sick again.  And again.

It finally occurred to me to do something.  I headed towards our bathroom thinking Leon and I could shower together.  That was a good thought, especially since we have a hand held shower head which would let me easily spray us down.  An even better thought would've been to take our clothes off and close the shower curtain before taking down the shower head and turning on the water.  So there we were, covered in puke, wearing our clothes and sopping wet.  Oops.

Eventually, I got us cleaned up.  After the kids went to bed, I got the bathroom cleaned up too.  (It actually looks better than it has in weeks.)  I also eventually got something to stay in Leon's belly.  Thankfully, the little guy is still nursing, and after we were all nice and clean (at least relatively speaking), he and I cuddled up on the couch and he filled his belly.  Breastmilk, among other properties, happens to be a natural form of Pedialyte, and so far it's working its magic.  Here's hoping it stays that way...and the rest of us don't get this ick...