Two and a half months in

Everyone is in bed except me. This solitude thing .... what is this?! I feel like I need to write something to memorialize this moment. (Also I sat down at the computer to shut it down and ended up on the internet ...)


Today the twins are 2.5 months old. Their personalities are truly blossoming. They coo (in very distinct ways), they smile, and I swear Dominic laughed in his sleep just this evening.


Things seem to have settled into a rhythm--a hit-or-miss rhythm, to be sure, but it's there. In the morning Keith gets up and gets Michael started on breakfast while I nurse however many babies are awake and change their diapers. Once everyone is fed and Keith leaves, the morning is often fairly calm. I read Michael books, usually with one baby or another on my lap. Or he plays with his markers and I respond to his demands of "Draw arrow!" with a baby on the other arm. I am at my best-rested to tackle and hairy moments that arise.

And then on the heels of the easiest time of day comes the hardest. Michael gets hungry. I get hungry. (Um, I get hungry a lot. Breastfeeding twins takes a lot of calories!) The babies get hungry and/or gassy. The timing of all this is impossible to manage. I get Michael set up with lunch and sit and eat with him, and/or nurse a baby.

If the fates are smiling then Michael is ready for his nap right after I've nursed both babies and they're dozy; if not, well, someone will be in tears at some point. (Lately Michael has been unhappy about taking a nap.) Once he's down, I might have a time where both babies are awake and interactive, and perhaps as long as half an hour when they're both asleep. In which case I can clean or *cough* watch Lark Rise to Candleford on Youtube. Or I may have to alternate holding babies all of naptime.

And then Michael wakes up and the countdown to Papa's return begins. ;)


I know it's just perspective that makes me think one baby is "easy," but I'm hoping I can carry some of that perspective into our next child's infancy, if God so blesses us! I don't mean that just in a stressed out way (although I often think it in times of stress!). For example, I can't tell you how often I've felt a pang of sadness because I have to put one baby down to tend to the other, even though they are staring up at me and smiling and ready to interact, or to cuddle up and sleep in my arms. I know with Michael I often found myself just wanting to put the baby down; and while now it can be frustrating that I almost always have to be holding a baby, it's also taught me that being able to hold your baby for an unbroken stretch of time is truly a gift. Time to yourself is important but at the same time I can get so caught up in the lack of it that it becomes a source of stress. I am learning (or trying to learn) how to lean into the day moment by moment rather than fighting against it.

Also? I've learned that I can do an awful lot while breastfeeding an infant. (Like drawing arrows with markers.) Praise God. :)

Sad Thoughts

I came home on Sunday to find an old-now-awkwardly-distant-but-still--very-dear-to-me friend had removed me from her Facebook. I was angry (I can't help it) and hurt and sad. We used to have the same values, but we don't anymore. We don't really talk anymore either, so our personal connection sort of evaporated. And if I put myself in her shoes, I can imagine her taking certain things I posted personally, perhaps even feeling attacked by them--which can happen so easily when you stop talking and only stalk one another's Facebook profile now and then. So I understand. But I wish ... I wish.

It's funny, because a month or so ago I felt that disconnection acutely, and I sent her a message saying hi, and she answered. And you know, I remembered writing in that message, "I love you." But in fact, when I went back to check, I didn't.

But I do. That is where the message came from. She had no way of knowing that I jolted out of bed at 1am thinking of her, praying for her, rushing to the computer to initiate some sort of connection.

Oh Facebook. The fact of the matter is she would have been long gone without this silly social networking site. But it would have been a drifting, rather than a conscious choice.

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Someone from my MFA program just posted about some amazing news relating to their novel, and I am pretty excited for them. And it made me think about my own writing, which I haven't been doing much of. Which is the problem. The not-thinking, and the not-writing.

And it left a sinking feeling in my stomach. Not a diminishment of happiness for my fellow-writer, because I am so happy for her and she is incredibly talented, and I knew and hoped she would be published soon. But I found myself thinking, that will never be me. It won't be me because I've barely written in eight months and even if I felt motivated enough to try I know the words are all stopped up and awkward because they have been for two years or more.

But typing that is like a wrench to my insides, so I know I am not resigned to "that will never be me." Not yet. It's a weird sort of hope, knowing that you won't ever be able to completely let go of something. Because if you don't turn it into hope then it's pretty depressing in its own right.

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And now the ol' navel is cleared of lint, so I shall stop examining it in public.