Posts Tagged ‘really good ideas’

I am speechless, and that doesn’t happen often.

November 2, 2009

Reading the story of a funky, big hearted lady about to give birth to her baby, who was a lovingly donated embryo – from another blogger!! People amaze me.

So does this video, which I shamelessly ripped off of her website. It made me cry cry cry…happy and sad tears.

When people are united by those things we all want – love, acceptance, hope – how powerful we are both as individuals and as a community.

I really recommend you taking the next three minutes to watch this. Love is stronger than fear.

Can’t figure out how to embed this into this entry. Any help is appreciated!


Advice for parents-to-be of twins.

September 25, 2009

Six weeks in, and all I can say is: relax.

While you may have imagined two babies screaming non-stop, or two little angels gurgling away – or probably something in between, you didn’t imagine it correctly. How could you? Don’t blame yourself. There you were, mammoth and pregnant, and all the cute little socks and fancy prams were gorgeous – but was it really possible to imagine two little people would be in those socks?

We were very anti-pacifier. We didn’t know about the glory of vibrating bouncers (buy two now). We were hardcore about breastfeeding.

Six weeks in, and our babies aren’t very into pacifiers…but the thing is, sometimes they are. And it helps. You’ve got one baby on your lap, feeding it and possibly holding the bottle in place with your mouth while your other hand tries helplessly to mop up the rivers of milk flowing down the side of a little face and pooling into the crevices of the neck. And let me tell you, formula does not smell nice when it has been allowed to fester in fat folds.

So your upper body is busy. You have also, of course, wedged one foot into the frame of a bouncy chair holding the non-feeding baby – because while the vibrations are great, when a baby is really hungry you might as well have placed them on a bed of spikes. You are trying to get a good, strong rhythm of bouncing going ….while not disturbing the delicate balance of bottle-in-your-mouth. Your other foot is probably sockless, while you use your toes to grip a muslin, soft book, or other toy and lift it carefully. Your aim is to somehow fling the book up at your own face, so that you can stop wiping the milk river for a minute and hold the book in front of Baby Two, who is still merrily howling away, in increasing levels of high pitched agony.

You may decide to stop feeding the first baby and give the second a nibble. You may keep switching back and forth. One thing you can be sure of, while you are engaged in this mental dance of Who Shall I Feed And How Should I Do It, you will not wind the babies enough. They will spit up. All over their fresh outfits. (For this reason, ALWAYS have a muslin draped over those expensive vibrating bouncy chairs, because otherwise you need to sponge clean and it leave it empty while it dries. This is not good. An empty chair is a wasted chair). If you do manage to get the worst of the burps out, and somehow also manage to fully feed both babies (who will be inclined to pass out once they have eaten a certain amount, what with you ignoring them to feed their twin), there is no doubt one or both will get the hiccups.

Hiccups make the least burpy baby on earth dribble. And sometimes you just sit there and watch the spit-up cake their cheeks, necks, clothes – because you are locked into some crazy ass feeding position with the other twin.

All of this is trial and error. Most of the time your babies will be really, really happy. They are possibly at their happiest on completely opposite schedules, as they get all one-on-one time….and you, of course, literally never get a second of time to yourself. Being pregnant with twins is excellent training, because that constant feeling of needing to pee? It gets you used to it, which is a good thing because you will have to have a bladder of steel if you want to keep the baby cycle going.

Of course, you are free to leave the babies both screaming while you take the time to pee, with an added luxury of wiping.

Put handwash by every sink. Invest in a thick, non-smelly lotion for every sink, too. While your hands will be cleaned and sterilised to within an inch of their lives, your knuckles start looking like you are an eighty-year-old woman who has made her living by taking in other people’s washing.

Relax. If the chairs work, they work. If the pacifiers do – and you are against them, ease up on the guilt. Life with two newborns is about flexibility, love, a sense of humour, and being honest with yourself. Because you will be tired, you will be snappy, you will feel a guilty relief when you shut the door to the bathroom and excuse yourself from motherhood for an hour – shoving the baby duties onto your equally tired partner. Every baby is different, every adult is different, and every family is different.

Be creative. Try new things and don’t be afraid to mess up. You learn a lot from getting vomited on and peed on at the same time, believe me. (Want to know how to stop your baby boy from peeing everywhere? Let me know. I AM THE MASTER.)

People (and the endless books) will tell you that everything is definite. You must form a routine for twins immediately. You must use black out curtains. You must do this, you musn’t do that. I’ve found that if you just use a bit of common sense and match things to fit your lifestyle and personality, you’ll probably be just fine.

I have spent the first six weeks quite happily, and messily, mucking along. Feeding on demand, completely following each baby’s lead, etc. While no book advises this and says it causes mothers huge amounts of stress, things have been okay. Really okay.

But in the spirit of flexibility and longer stretches of sleep at night, things may be changing soon. In the meantime, we are sleeping them in the same cot (you win a prize of honour or horror, depending on who you listen to), feeding on demand, having playtimes whenever it can be assumed they won’t vomit, talking loads to them, having them sleep on us during the day when we feel like it, etc. We even have them sleep in rooms that are not pitch black…shudder, horror. Things are fine.

This is my last week with Mil here. Next week I’m completely on my own the whole week. You may see less of me in this blog, but rest assured I am probably wearing very comfortable pants, my hair pulled back into messy buns, and I am spending a lot of time kissing little cheeks.

If you are expecting twins, you can expect to be surprised a lot – by how capable you are, by how tired you are, by how special it all is. You can also expect to spend a lot of time thanking various deities that you did not have triplets.

Love to all.

Baby racing. (Yesterday, their 2 week birthday and official due date.)

August 26, 2009


one, two, three, four, come on baby, say you love me. five, six, seven ti-imes.

June 14, 2009


Not last night but the night before (ten thousand pirates came knockin’ at my door) I was sitting on the toilet in a rage. No, not at poop this time. I don’t know what did it, but we were sniping at each other and I swear on all that is holy (Mexican food, blank journals, the smell of rain) that TMD went ‘meh meh meh’ in the other room. You know, like a child goes ‘nah nah nah nah naaaaaaaaaaaah nah.’

I went apeshit. I was crying, and TMD came into the bathroom trying to comfort me. I screamed at her to stay the hell away from me, as I would punch her. She didn’t take me seriously and kept advancing. I held my hand palm out and growled, ‘Seriously. Back the fuck away from me. How DARE you “meh meh meh” me.’

I collapsed into another pile of sobs. When she came closer, I swatted at her with the ten page baby ‘magazine’ I was holding (more of a glorified leaflet). I hit her two times on the side with this piece of paper, before breaking into hysterical crying.

A small part of me knew this was colossally insane and pointless, and perhaps laughable. A larger part of me wanted to squash her like a fly. This was my first true bout with anger this pregnancy, as opposed to just crying and feeling sorry for myself on occasion.

Hormones rock.


Last night I was itching like a fucking maniac everywhere. Not just my painfully thin bump skin, but backs of legs, under boobs, head, front of legs, feet, arms, lower back, ass, eyeballs. Everywhere. I couldn’t stop itching (and crying and yelling, alternatively). TMD was quite worried and said I should get ‘that enzyme test.’ Because apparently when you’re pregnant, it’s normal to have an itchy bump. But itching elsewhere? Can be a sign of an enzyme problem that is easily correctable but needs to be diagnosed by a blood test. Think it has relatively serious consequences if not treated, but couldn’t swear to that.

Much less itchy this morning, thank fuck.

You know what I think it is? Suffocation. My skin wants, needs, air. That belly bra, while superb, is sort of like wearing a swimsuit under your clothes all the time. (Thanks to TMD for that particularly asphixiated image.) And if I’m not wearing that, at night I have a belly band on….though have stopped doing this as feel all buttoned up and Victorian.

Was also thinking about my vagina. On December 3, 2008 I had egg collection – from that point, for over three months, I had to take pessaries. These are messy and dribbly, and you’d better believe I wore knickers and pantyliners the whole time. I don’t know if there was a brief interlude of being underpantless after that, but I suspect not as by then the whole pissing myself everytime I moved would have kicked in. Or at least the nice white discharge that pregnancy brings (an interesting smell, but I suppose you don’t need to know that).

So my vagina’s last happy month was last November. That is a long time for round-the-clock cootchie covering, let me tell you. Also my new giant fat lady underwear means half my stomach is covered all the time, whether I wear belly bras or not…fuck, I’m getting itchy just thinking about this.

My arms generally don’t itch – and I wear tank tops every day. Surprise, surprise. Last night I also pulled my underwear down and the tank top up, allowing The Bump to have full access to the arctic gale the fan creates. (Arctic to TMD, a hot gentle breeze to me).

I think I am just ‘the most’ at bedtime. The most uncomfortable, the most sensitive to every crinkle in the sheets/pillows, the most frustrated, the most tearful, the most sure I will never sleep again. The most tired, in other words. Because we all know I am also THE MOST pregnant.

I am getting uncomfortable now. Like big ass pregnant lady uncomfortable, not to be mixed up with the other various ‘discomforts’ I experience. Me a big, biiiiiiiiiig girl.

Want to post pics I took yesterday, but am terrified of various viruses this computer has getting onto my memory card. Stay tuned.


In the theme of triplets, had lotsa movement in all four corners of the bump/globe yesterday. TMD pointed out that the babies are very big now, so that could explain it.

If there was a bump decorating contest, I would quite like a very realistic portion of the globe to be painted on mine. Wouldn’t that be awesome?

No flair exist in the following categories: hormones, mood swing, mood swings, PMS. Why the fuck not?? Oh, wait, it’s me. No flair will come up for any of my searches. This is Facebook saying MEH MEH MEH to me, isn’t it.

Love makes the world go round.

April 15, 2009

I’m becoming some sort of lesbian families connection point. A hub, if you will. Okay, okay – that’s a bit optimistic, but still. A friend of a friend has gotten in touch and we are emailing back and forth. She and her partner are thinking about trying to conceive…and they live right by where TMD works.

Hopefully we will also yank M & N into some bizarre lesbian hoedown when they become pregnant. So that’s two lezzie fams.

I also texted some woman who apparently lives around the corner today, essentially trying to convey a sense of coolness while basically asking, ‘Will you be our friend?’ I hope she replies. I am finding a cozy warm spot for random lesbians who are now contacting me with all sorts of conception questions, so perhaps that goodwill will also extend the other direction?

As I now have all this time off work, I am finding some crazy motivation to start up some Lesbian Mummies Club in my area. Stay posted for that.

In other news, I’ve also emailed a non-lesbian (well, I suppose she could be gay, actually) from my local twins club. I think I’m going to go along to a meeting so I can meet other twin mummies. Also going to join the national association for people with multiples today, as soon as I haul my lazy ass off the couch and get my debit card.

Please understand, it’s not like I am anti-straight moms. No, not at all. But lesbian families face a whole host of issues foreign to your average heterosexual couple. But I love you straighties, rest assured.

Good names are hard to find.

March 14, 2009

No, we aren’t sharing possible baby names until the babies are here and named. However, we have spent the bulk of today discussing names.

We found a groovy website that has the name and then the meaning. Some of the meanings sound so …so… something that I have suggested we just skip the names and name the babies the meanings. Who knows. This time next year we could be the proud parents of little Wolf Counsel and Decision Protector.


Part two.

January 22, 2009

When I moved from the bedroom to the lounge this morning, I had to carry my Important Things in a novel way, thanks to the crutches.

Yes, I shoved my chapstick, phone, and giant tupperware box full of crackers (AKA nausea-fighters) deep into my underwear. And this seemed perfectly normal and reasonable.

Pulling the trigger. (or: go on, congratulate me) (and: the shot was completed only 4 minutes late)

December 2, 2008

Dude, what the fuck. I wish we had just videotaped The Final Shot, just so you could see how cracked up we look. I had been lying on the couch in a stupor for about an hour beforehand, thisclose to falling asleep – and terrified of doing so because we would miss our 10:30 appointment with our little science experiment.

So my glasses are all crooked, my eyes are red, I’m so tired I’m shaking. TMD is all serious and scared. She has cleared off the end of our (new!) table. I begin to lay things out – two vials of powder, one vial of liquid, two needles, one syringe, the SHARPS container…She says, ‘Let’s just stop for a minute. I’m going to take a picture, otherwise I know you will be sad.’ Sensing the innate wisdom in this, I pause and smile obligingly.

My hands were shaking as I tried to suck up liquids from various vials, flick needles, bead medications. I think the final vial we were in a position of TMD holding the tiny glass vial in the air, tilted – so I could suck up the medicine while also being able to see how much was left in the jar through the 2 mm area where the label did not cover.

I have to say, that was the absolute best shot of the entire treatment. Not just because it was the last, although that was awesome, but because it didn’t really hurt at all. Nada. And it was a whole lotta shot, let me tell you.

So. My tummy gets a brief recovery period from the endless needles. Somehow I don’t think I can enjoy this, since I am so bloated and pained that every time I sneeze I have to yell, ‘Oh JESUS, the PAIN,’ afterwards.

Now. Did you know I was raised Catholic? My whole family is very into superstition and omens. Here is my brief foray into it.

I called my mom to tell her I’d finished the shot. This was also a novel experience since I would never call her on a weeknight. With the time difference I’m usually asleep before she would get home. While I’m in (the baby’s) the spare room, TMD runs in and says, ‘Oh my god! Look what the calender says on Monday. It’s the Immaculate Conception!’

My mother says, ‘What is she saying?’

‘December 8. The immaculate conception.’  I raise an eyebrow at TMD, who is so tired she has burst through the wall of Crazy and is clutching the calender and dancing around chanting, ‘The immaculate conception! Ha! That’s brilliant!’

My mother says, ‘I’ll tell you what else is December 8.’


‘Mass at 7 pm. I was just writing it on the calender.’

Now, this is creepy coincidental. We certainly do not go out of our way to buy calenders that showcase events in Jesus’ life, though one or two seem to come standard. And as TMD points out, we’ve never taken note of the immaculate conception before. And TMD and my mother both looking at December 8 at the exact same time, on opposite sides of the globe?

And you know why this is special?

Because if the embryos go back in on Saturday, there is a very real chance they would be implanting – thus making me properly pregnant – on December 8. Semi-immaculately, you could argue.

If you aren’t stunned by this amazing and shining coincidence, then you need to stay awake for 20 hours, play with impossibly small vials of medication that are VERY IMPORTANT, inject yourself, and then read this again. I guarantee it will gain some sort of significance then.

A test of the public awareness system.

December 1, 2008

Is that ribbon big enough to remind you that it’s World AIDS Day today?

I’m sending out warm, squishy vibes to those I know with HIV/AIDS. And to everyone, take five minutes in your lunch break today to google AIDS and see what you can learn. Even if you think you understand the mechanics of transmission, available treatments, statistics – there are loads of projects around the world struggling to inform and educate the public. Give them props today, as well as all the committed individuals behind those red ribbon organisations.

Truly truly truly outrageous.

November 13, 2008

Yes! Sucking in when sticking and blowing out when injecting is the miracle combo. Truly delicious.

I know people are grossed out by needles and such, but I have to say that I look forward to 8:30 pm and my date with the couch in the spare room.

My face is colossally fucked up though – I blame the birth control pill. I’ve got a fair amount of those zits that know the ones, they are bordering on being boils. The bark is worse than the bite, but TMD still has fun lining them up and joking about the constellations she could make.

I bet my mother comments on them within 30 minutes. It will be a joy to blame the hormones.

Okay. This entry is three minutes long, and it’s about 5 hours too early to be writing at all. Off to the airport!

When we return, that motherfucking plumber is going to be here, thanks to my aggressive texts saying how disappointed I am. Welcome to our new flat, this is our third roommate, Mr. Incompetent.