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family

One.

by Myg on January 22, 2010

Doot and Bing, my darlings,

Today you’ve officially ended your first turn around the sun. Good for you! That wasn’t so hard, was it?

Every time I think of you two being “one” and your time on this rock measured in the length of years, I just choke up.  I know deep down that the next twelve years will sneak by me as fast as the last twelve months did and all I’ll be able to say is, well, heck. That was fast, wasn’t it?

I wonder sometimes how it all looks from your perspective, this being born thing, this growing up business. For months you were tucked safely away inside me, then one day, BLAM! You were thrust into the blaring light of day amidst screaming and crying and adoration and elation. And then swept up in this constant rhythm of doing, first breathing, eating, pooing, sleeping, crying then cooing, smiling, laughing, rolling over, holding your bottle, sitting up, and then babbling, crawling, eating finger foods, standing, using a cup, climbing, talking. It’s all happened so fast, it seems to me. But probably not to you. Nor will the next 12 years. They’ll feel like a lifetime to you and you will do so much in those years. And it will be a breath, a blink, to me.

Guys, I really don’t even know what I’m trying to say here. All I know is that last night, nearly all day yesterday, I cried at the thought of this day. I know, I know, you’re probably wondering what’s wrong with your mother, and I don’t have a simple answer for that. Everyone tells me it’s normal for mothers to cry when their babies have a birthday. I guess it’s just part of being a mom.

I want you to know that the tears don’t mean anything bad, though. Nothing is wrong. Everything, in fact, is just as it ought to be. You’re here. We all survived the first year of your twindom, and I’m sorry but there were days during those first months of your life when I just didn’t know how we were going to make it. But we did, and here you are – growing, doing,  becoming the people you were born to be, right in front of my very eyes. At least, when I can get the tears out of them I can see that. And that is as it should be. I wouldn’t, couldn’t ask for anything else.

Except maybe this.

As you continue to grow and explore this crazy rock on which we dwell, never forget that no matter what you do or who you become, I love you. You won’t always be my babies. In fact, you’re almost not that now. But you will always be the center of my everything, my hope for humanity projected forward into time.

So go on then, grow up.

One. from Myg on Vimeo.

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Because everyone can use a good laugh

by Myg on July 17, 2009

Bing’s giggle chat with Nana from Myg on Vimeo.

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Babies of 2009 Born to a Baby of 1969

by Myg on July 1, 2009

2009babies

This is a blog with a mission, being, to take some of the GAHfuckdamnohnoisthisokay? out of becoming a mom when you’re over 35, or in my case now, over 40.  I had infertility issues that kept me from getting pregnant when I was younger, and I was one of those hand wringers who would Google “pregnant over 35″ and just be dejected with the search results. Hardly anyone has anything good to say on the matter, or encouraging, or even maybe celebrating women who start their families later. It was all risk and warnings and that shit is just depressing.

But that’s not to say it isn’t real. Indeed, pregnancy for me was nearly every bit as hard and scary as they say it can be for women my age, especially bearing twins. I had pre-term contractions, pre-eclampsia, borderline anemia, a very tough delivery (which had nothing to do with my age, ahem). What they don’t tell you is, so fucking what?

See, I’m trying to cultivate a new and improved attitude about risk.  Now that I’ve taken certain risks and have gotten a certain unbelievably awesome payoff, I’m here to say that if your heart truly longs for a baby and you’re over 35, go on and get pregnant. DO IT. I could have had a worse result, yes. But you know what? I didn’t, and most women my age having babies don’t either. And look what I got to show for it:

Five months

Two beautiful kids, born totally healthy.

So here’s the whole truth about my over 39 year old twin-pregnancy experience. First, the bad.

  • My pregnancy was great until the third trimester, when my back started to hurt so bad I could hardly walk from my car to the house without pain, and when pre-term contractions and then pre-eclampsia kicked in. That period of time involved total bedrest, three hospitalizations and a lot of unfortunate Google searches. 
  • Being pregnant with twins caused more of that than my age. That said, women over 35 have a greater chance of multiple pregnancy. That’s not a bad thing, but it is harder.
  • I delivered five weeks early, due to pre-eclampsia. My delivery was tough, tough, tough. I delivered Doot vaginally and had to have an emergency C-Section for Bing. That had nothing to do with my age, or the pre-eclampsia. He had cord pro-lapse, which can be catastrophic. We were thankfully in good hands. If you’re a high-risk pregnancy, make sure you are too.
  • Speaking of high-risk pregnancy, if you get labeled this know it’s a blessing. You get much better prenatal care.
  • My recovery from delivery took awhile, and to be honest I thought I’d never feel right again. I was wrong, and knew it within about four weeks. Two weeks after giving birth I was much, much better. By a month, I was back to normal except for my weight and my tendonitis.
  • Oh, by the way, did you know you can get mindbendingly painful tendonitis in both wrists while pregnant, just from your hormones? I didn’t, and believe me, this was the most painful and inconvenient part of being pregnant and a new mother – worse than the sleep deprivation. No, there’s not much you can do for it but wait it out. It’s much better now at the five month mark, but it’s not gone.
  • Not a day goes by where I don’t do the math. When they’re 18 I’ll be 58. When they’re 25 I’ll be 65. When they’re 30 I’ll be 70. And so on. Every day I worry about being too old. Not now, of course. I feel young now. I daresay I look young, even younger than I am. But I don’t take terribly great care of myself and that has to change so I can age well and enjoy my kids well into their adult years. I don’t want them to have the worries of caring for older parents, well, ever. But then, I don’t want to die on them when they’re too young. And then, what’s too young? I’ll never, ever, ever be ready to let my parents go.  In any case, I don’t get to decide any of these things, and so they are not worth the worry. But I must tell you, I worry anyway.

Now for the good stuff that waiting got me, and may get you too.

  • Some things that would have really rattled my 30 year old self really don’t rattle me now. I have been called a very calm, confident parent, and I have to admit that I am.
  • I don’t ever wish I was out doing something else that I can’t do now because I have small kids. At my age, I’ve really spent a lot of time doing exactly what I wanted. I’m not worried about my career because it’s so well established I can pretty much write my ticket now.
  • Even though the economy is bad and money is tough, I know I can always make money if need be (see above).
  • My kids live in a nice home, in a great neighborhood with an excellent school district.
  • In my neighborhood, many, if not most of my friends are mothers and fathers who started their families after the age of 35 or at least continue to have kids over the age of 35.
  • I savor every moment I have with them, even at 3am, because at 40 I really know how fast it’s all going to go. I just didn’t have that perspective yet when I was 30.

In every other way except trying to lose weight, being 40 pretty much kicks ass. My head is clear. I feel powerful. I don’t take shit from anyone. I know what’s important. I thoroughly enjoy everything I have. So really, in that sense, it’s the perfect time in my life to bring my kids into the world.

Not because of the economy or the war or the environment or any external thing. It’s a good time because it’s the time it was possible, and really, it’s as good as any and better than some.

Little Miss Sunshine

 The author, born in 1969, but shown here somewhere around late 1970.

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This and that.

by Myg on June 1, 2009

Among the items that were significant enough in my consciousness to warrant a blog mention today are:

1. Is Doot beginning to teethe? Oh, please God please God no – not yet, not like this. Why am I concerned he may be? Intermittent screechiness accompanied by voracious gnawing on fingers and copious amounts of drool for about two days. Wait, let me answer before you ask. No, he’s not just hungry. No, he’s not running a fever. And no, I can’t feel any little tooth buds nor are his gums red or swollen or perceptibly sore to the touch. He’s got no symptoms of an ear infection, cold, or any other physical malady that I can tell. I guess that leaves infant schizophreniform as the only logical possibility aside from mo’fo TEETHING.

2. Wednesday morning we’re leaving to go visit my mom and my beloved-but-not-seen-enough-family-from-out-west! And some family from close by who I never see too, still beloved, but just on the same side of lazy as we are. Said reunion is taking place at my mom’s farm in Virginia. I’m truly edge of my seat excited to have everyone meet the brothers. But man, if that teething thing is really starting, it could turn the baby drama up to a whole new level. Imagine 15 members of an Italian-American family and their dogs all under one roof for six days. If you can’t imagine it, imagine the Sopranos in the country without semi-automatics or peach everything interior design. I’m bracing myself for lots of unsolicited parenting tips. My plan? I’m going to smile politely and pretend I’m interested. My problem? Things never go the way I plan them. (And if you’re related to me and reading this now, of course, of course I don’t mean you. I mean those other relatives who always give unsolicited advice. You know the ones.)

3. This list isn’t in order of any kind of importantness (which, for the record, isn’t really a word. I know that.)

4. [REDACTED]

5. My job, the one I was leaving? It got funded for another year when nobody was looking. In a state where the economic downturn has struck so hard that full time state employees are forced to take unpaid furloughs in lieu of layoffs, how does one accidentally get a state funded grant for $50k?

6. Sometimes I think Flash™ wants to make me its bitch.

7. I will never, ever lose the additional 30 lbs I want need to lose as long as Obama allows peanut butter cookies to roam free. And that goes for ice cream and snack chips too. All kinds of snack chips. Snack chips FTW™!

8. Four days as a new mom with very short hair and my internal Stacy and Clinton™ say, “FAIL.” They don’t like how it looks. Of course, they also convinced me to buy that hot pink sweater with the short poofy sleeves that makes me look like a middle aged cheerleader on a date with the gout. So, I’m not saying in the abstract my hair actually looks bad. But I am saying that somehow that lack of hair really points out the excess of flesh in my midsection. Okay, in my ass, arms and thighs too. Don’t know how. Haircuts are magic I guess.

9. [REDACTED]

10. And the cutest thing in the world is this:

IMG_1204

and various variations of this:

IMG_1211

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The Courage of Mothers

by Myg on May 8, 2009

Ah, this post is hard to write as it’s making me all emotional. But mother’s day is coming and I want you to know something about my own mom.

Mom and me, circa 1974

(That’s me and my mom, in a friend’s wedding, somewhere in the neighborhood of 1974.)

I want you to know that she is, in all seriousness, the bravest woman I know. No exaggeration.

You see, everything we fear as mothers, my mom has faced. My brother, her firstborn, was born completely healthy but at 6 months got an infection that, due to medical negligence, turned into a catastrophic disease that left him severely brain damaged. For the rest of his life he was unable to do even little things like roll over or smile.

Richie_April_68_1

His care was so intensive that when she found out she was pregnant with me, a mere six months after my brother’s problems began, people worried. Who could deal with both a newborn baby and a very sick 18 month old? Her friends, and some family thought there was no way she could handle it.

Clearly, they didn’t know my mother.

Over the years I have tried to understand how my brother’s disability may have affected my mom. Now that I am a new mom, I can just begin to understand her nightmare.

I look at my 15 week old boys and see them healthy, growing, developing normally. Every small advance they make I celebrate like a Princeton Ph.D. Sometimes I do catch myself pondering all the many things that can go wrong along the way, but I can’t let myself think of it. The reality – that very bad things happen to very good babies -  is too real for me. And if you’re already paying attention, then worrying won’t do a damned thing about it.

So when I need an extra dose of courage, (which is daily, no wait, several times a day) I look to Mom. She faced the worst and lived to tell about it. And beyond that, when she was in the thick of her nightmare, she opened herself up to the possibility of facing more fear and heartache by having me. But I guess she also opened up something else.

Like the possibility of being a kickass grandmother to two beautiful boys.

me and mom

Happy Mother’s Day to my beautiful Mom.

The bravest woman I know.

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Shower

by Myg on November 11, 2008

Let me begin this way:

I am an ass.

Now, some history.

If you’ve read much of this blog before, then you may already know that I had IVF in order to get pregnant, and maybe you know that’s because I have blocked fallopian tubes after an ectopic pregnancy (naturally conceived) I had last year. You might even know that I’ve been trying to get pregnant since January 2005.

And you may recall me saying that infertility sucks balls.  Before infertility, I was the kind of person who’d look at someone undergoing treatment like IVF and say, “there are so many kids already born who need homes – why would anyone go through IVF?” Oh yes, I did say that. And I meant it, working with a lot of homeless kids in shelters at the time. I mentally stab myself in the leg with a fork for that now.

So. For the past 3+ years I have been as avoidant of any baby-related social event as I could be. I was extra specially hyper avoidant of the dreaded friend/extended family member’s baby shower. Just. Couldn’t. Do. It.

Because I have an ego, early in my pregnancy I’d made an announcement to those I thought needed to hear it – no baby shower! I did not want to ask my family and friends to participate in an event I had willfully (maybe even spitefully) ignored for the last 3+ years of my life. I just couldn’t face those people or look at how poorly I’d handled my feelings over being infertile in the social context. So more avoidance had been my plan.

How was I going to get the hundreds, or perhaps thousands of dollars worth of gear I was going to need? Hell, I thought these babies would be more like puppies. A cardboard box and some sheets would do, right? They don’t do anything but eat and sleep for awhile – how much could they possibly need? (Hey, I might be 39 years old but what did do I know about babies?)

Six weeks ago or so, someone let it slip that a surprise shower was in the works. I won’t say who. Actually, no less than five someones let it slip. I was told out of kindness, so I would be able to either stop it or prepare myself for it. When I found out, I cried. I was angry, frustrated, a little humiliated and damn it, here was another thing about this pregnancy that felt out of control.

Then I mentally slapped myself. Because I suddenly understood clearly that this baby shower wasn’t about me, and this was something I was going to have to get used to if I was going to be a Mom.

See, the masterminds of the dreaded affair were my stepmother and her daughter, my stepsister, “A”.  A  has been battling cancer for almost five years.  She’s been recovering most recently from lung surgery ever since April.  She is still on oxygen and has dialysis three days a week (from the damage previous cancer treatment has done to her kidneys).

There is nothing – nothing – like a loved one’s cancer to make you understand what is and what is not a big deal in life. My ego? SO not a big deal. Even though I couldn’t see that at first, my stepmom could. And she understood that my babies needed stuff, and that I was going to need help no matter how reluctant I am to admit it or accept it.

While my stepmom was booking the restaurant and paying the bills, A was in charge of all the details – from the invitations to the decorations to the shower games.  She put that shower at the center of her free time for over a month, painting custom made centerpieces and hand rolling adorable little favors between dialysis and schlepping into the city for experimental chemo treatment. “I loved doing it,” she said. I know she did, too.

If that realization wasn’t humbling enough, all of my extended family came out. All of them – even those whose RSVPs I never returned when they had showers of their own, to whom I’d never bothered to send a card or gift of acknowledgment of any kind when their own kids were born. They were all there and they outfitted my two kids better than NASA equips the shuttle.

I told you I am an ass. Did you think I was kidding?

To top it all off, would you believe that it was A’s best day since her surgery in April? She didn’t use her oxygen for most of the event, despite the fact that she was running around, handling gifts and guests and wait staff.  I haven’t seen her with that kind of energy since before her operation.

When I stood up to thank everyone, I cried.  I’ve done my share of crying over the last few years, but somehow these pregnancy tears are different. Yeah, I still get those snot filled migraine styled headaches when it goes on for too long. But I’m not in mental anquish when the tears come.

I think I’m just experiencing the literal awesomeness of what the whole thing means.

You know, the life cycle and the continuation of our very existence. The way love in a family can transcend any one member’s social transgressions and promote the healing of a bitter past and maybe thensome.  

That kind of thing.

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