Simply Having a Wonderful Christmas Time

Let the Sun Shine

Sundays past, Bryan and I would hang around in the morning and split up the newspaper, grabbing our favorite parts-the Style section for me, the magazine crossword for him. We would drink coffee until we were caffeine restless and then go about our Sunday activities. These days, we still drink lots of coffee and we still get the New York Times weekender, but it often goes unopened from one weekend to the next and I am left wondering what the heck I did all week that I could not even get the paper out of the plastic.

My all time favorite column is called Modern Love. Each week features an essay regarding different kinds of relationships and the everyday things that may not be so everyday that shape how we interact with each other. I got to read last week’s column because I went into the city by train for a night out with my best friend (a lovely treat!). The essay was about the abnormality that is the long-term marriage and the author’s reflections on why, perhaps, he and his wife have been married for 35 years. “Obstacles become assets,” was the main theme. Days later I am still thinking about it. Fortitude can be found when you can weather the many storms that blow through your life. It is more than just buckling down and waiting for things to blow over-as I so often do, but instead tackling the things that make things uncomfortable. It is so much easier to reflect on this when I am not in the middle of a maelstrom and I so wish I could give the gift of this knowledge to the people in my life who her hurdling through some major hurdles right now. Because if you can come out the other side, the sustainble sunshine awaits.

Time may change me, but I can't trace time.

Last Day for the Park

We hosted playgroup for the first time today. Two moms came over and it was a really nice morning (nice sounds so dumb, but it was really nice.). I guess like any job, I am growing into this one. A year ago I was so stressed about all the things I didn’t know, as if I could have taken Baby 101 and got an A so that I could have been better prepared. Now I feel much more at home with the things I know and the many things I do not know. Nori and Charlie are these cool little people who are very patient with my on the job training and do not mind growing with me. Our music classes ended a couple of weeks ago, so we joined Gymboree. Charlie loves open play, while Nori likes the structure and performance of the class. Charlie climbs on everything and yells “Wee” while moving on anything with a decline. He is very generous with his kisses and hugs. Nori likes to play in one place for a while and check out everything that is going on. She will almost always give out kisses and hugs when she is asked for them but she prefers telling others what to do by wagging her index finger and singing, “No, no, no.” They both seem to share with the other children while they ironically are terrible at sharing with each other.

One of the moms who came over today was talking about programs for next September, since 2 1/2 is the age to begin little half day drop off classes. I felt my heart drop. Maybe I will be okay with them being in a class without me in a year, but right now I really like hanging out with them. Sure, it's much easier to do errands, etc., without them, and I know I will find something to do with the time, but I miss them when we are apart at the Gym for an hour and they are only a few feet away in the babysitting room!

And so it goes, I now understand how some of my more experienced mom friends mourn the passage of time while still marveling in the changes that their children make.

Brilliant Disguise

May the Force Be With You

Nonna and Ben walked Nori the whole way home from the parade.

I have no perspective on Nori and Charlie's size. For Halloween, I ordered costumes online and when they arrived I barely took them out of their packaging before deciding that they would be enormous. I was so sure that they would be too big that I had Bryan ask Sara to bring them costumes to wear to the Halloween parade held the week before Halloween. They looked adorable dressed as Cookie Monster and a Firefighter and Charlie's replacement costume earned him a shot in the driver's seat of the local fire truck. However, I was really stuck on having them dressed in theme, so I took a second look at the costumes, holding Charlie's up to my leg so that Bryan could confirm that they would never fit them. Bry's face, instead of registering agreement with my assessment, looked puzzled.

"I think that will fit him perfectly."

"No," I protested. "That would be impossible. There is no way he is this big."

He is, in fact, that big. Nori fit perfectly in her costume as well. We attended the rest of our Halloween events as Princess Lea and Luke Skywalker, receiving even more attention than usual.

When they were born, I really had no real idea of how small they were. I wasn't ever scared to hold them, cuddle them, change their diapers. The bath scared me a little, but it was a little awkward to bathe them in tupperware. I would shop for clothes in the Tampa Babies-r-Us, and even once we were home, and they would swim in the ensembles I chose. And now, on more than one occasion, I have bought things that fit them for a day, if at all. Some things have gone right back or to someone else without ever being worn. I spent a lot of energy wishing them to be bigger and now that they are "bigger," I can't seem to catch up. They have been disguised as three months younger (maybe more) than their actual age for so long and now they are closer to looking like other children their age. There is obvious comfort in that for me, but I still have not quite accepted it, like I wasn't sure it could happen.

Walkin on Sunshine

Charlie has started to walk. This video is from about a week ago, so he has improved from these first few steps. He has no fear, as he careens from one object to another, across our lawn, or through the middle of the circle of our music class. He especially likes when we say "ready, set,..." and then he finishes with a loud "go!" We are working on capturing this as a video.

These Shoes Were Made for Walkin

Nori has been walking for about two weeks now. She really stepped it up after a full day with her cousin Tyler, who runs rather than walks. So, we bought some new walking shoes a couple of days ago and Nori is very proud of her kicks. Since the walking started, she has been a little helper, especially if it involves Charlie. I am not sure if Charlie appreciates her assistance in eating pretzels, playing with toys, or getting his diaper changed, but I think he knows she means well even if she is a little aggressive in her tactics. Charlie has taken a few steps but we are still a little ways away from actual walking. Everyone says to appreciate their immobility while it lasts but I have to say I really like walking Nori and I can't wait to see Charlie wobbling around too.

Giving Peace a Chance

I belong to a Mom's group that posts a monthly calendar filled with activities and get togethers. We attend at least one activity a month, but a lot of the activities are more appropriate for children two and up. This month featured a mommy and me yoga demo class and an email went around prior to class encouraging everyone to come, even with little ones. So, the day came, and Nori and Charlie went down for their naps early and woke up refreshed just in time to get to class. I thought it was meant to be.


There is nothing zen about me walking up a flight of steps with a baby in each arm, but I tried my best to stifle my labored breathing while attempting to gracefully take off my shoes and glide into the studio and onto my mat without landing with an extra 26 pounds of baby thud. Miss Jamie, our instructor, smiled and welcomed us, wrote our names down on post-its and placed them at the end of our mat. Nori and Charlie sat quietly holding on to my cross legged knees, but their observation period did not last very long. We began class with Ohms and then played a name game. Miss Jamie rolled a ball and each child said their name and their favorite animal when the ball came to them. Charlie got the ball first and threw it behind his head and said, "hi!" I retrieved the ball and handed to Nori, who held it as tight as she could, smiling coyly at all the eyes on her.



Then we began to play some games that took the children through some basic yoga poses. As children moved around the room, Charlie took the opportunity to crawl onto every other child's mat and collect all the post it notes, prompting at least one child to sob, "He took my name." Once we remedied the crying, the children went back to their mats to lie down for a quiet pose on their backs. Charlie crawled on to the little boy next to us in order to inspect how his Spiderman shirt lit up. He only let up his investigation when another child was brought behind a nearby curtain to use the bathroom. Before I could uncross my legs, Nori and Charlie were just about under the curtain. It took some coaxing to get them out and leave the potty trained child in peace, but we were able to persuade them using little cotton balls that the children were picking up with their toes and placing into a cup. After tasting a few of the balls, Charlie crawled around and began emptying the cups that the children had worked their toes so hard to fill. More sobbing ensued. Finally, class ended, with a slightly frazzled Miss Jamie rubbing lavender oil on the feet of each child. All except for Charlie, who is allergic to lavender.

I have always said that Yoga is not a competitive sport and it seems it is not a family activity either. At least not for now. Maybe it will be "meant to be" next year.

Namaste

“Let your movement be directed by your breath,” a mantra murmured by Yoga instructors and one of the few directions I find impossible to follow. I am always inhaling when everyone else is exhaling, drinking in as much air as I can and then quickly expelling it audibly into the room as if I am constantly sighing. Even with my frustration with my uneven breath, I was dedicated to my Yoga “practice,” as they call it, prior to motherhood, making sure I attended at least one hour and half class weekly, not letting my cardio obsession rule my physical fitness program. I knew it was good for me, even though I sometimes felt like a fraud because I could not embrace the entire practice the way I thought I should. I was supposed to “quiet my mind” and just focus on the task at hand. I tried, I really did, but my mind swirled around each twist. I used my outward breath as a disguise for muttering my to-do list aloud. I thought about what kind of shake I would get after class, how much time I would use for school work and could I possibly squeeze in a manicure that day. On heavier days I would only be able to think about all the thingsI could not do. But, even with all that mind clutter, I was able to have many successful practices, feeling strong and accomplished as I left the studio, triumphantly swinging my Yoga mat bag over my arm, sipping on my protein shake.

I attempted to resume my practice while we were in Tampa, on my own, off the balcony of our rented furnished apartment. I only managed to squeak out one solo session, but it felt good and I was eager to get back into a schedule once we returned home and began our new life. I was excited yet nervous for the first class back. I was not sure how much strength I had lost, or how my flexibility had become almost rigid from my time away. Instead, I had trouble with other things, right from the moment we sat cross-legged and prepared for the practice. I just could not “quiet my mind,” nor fill it with mundane lists. I tried to push through but my muscles barking during a downward dog could not silence the new noise in my head. My mind flew away into darkness during pigeon pose and screamed during eagle. I left that first class early, unable to lose myself in the breath, and did not return to the yoga studio for months.

More recently, I have begun to incorporate Yoga back in to my life. I remember now what I love about it. It is a balance of strength and stretch. That, perhaps, is my murmured mantra. I needed to be reminded of that today and maybe everyday. Awareness, authenticity, generosity and gratitude have always been the things that I have strived for but are often the things that get lost in the messiness of my mind. “Let your inhale match your exhale,” the instructor coaxes in her spiritual librarian voice, reminding me that finding balance does not come easy, but it is worth the practice.

Vacation

So we chose Aruba for our first family vacation. I thought it best to document it here so that I could use it as a reference point for the next few years if Nori and Charlie claim "we never take them anywhere." This vacation should hold weight as an answer for the next 10 years at least. We had many moments of joy: Nori letting the mini waves touch her nose, playing baby tag with Tyler in our generously shared two bedroom suite, Charlie groping the female passengers in first class. The kids waved like celebrities from their stroller during our daily walks and lounged in the pool as Bryan pushed them on their blow up rafts. Vacation, however, had never been so much work for Bryan and me.

Baby I'm Amazed

We are about to celebrate our 18-month birthday. In some ways I thought we would be farther along in our development (and when I say “we” I mean all of us-Bry, me, Nori and Charlie) but we have grown in ways I never thought possible. I wait anxiously for them to take their first steps (I include Bryan here again) as they wait patiently for me to catch on to their wants and needs. Our second summer, but in some ways it always feels like the first (fill in the blank).

Nori babbles and sings a language that is mostly made up of variations on the words, “baby” and “daddy.” I think she lives in a musical where we all resemble Muppets. I like living there with her as often as I can. She is well on her way to being a triple threat and suddenly the mothers on Toddlers and Tiaras don’t look so crazy to me anymore. She has also taken to mirroring my mannerisms, like lifting her hands and arms as if to say, “I don’t know,” and pointing to things in books as she reads. She gives great hugs and she gives kisses with her forehead.

Charlie’s response to “what does the tiger say,” is as authentic as if I were watching the Discovery Channel. He can also vocalize a snake and Nori’s need scream. He can fit shapes into puzzles and turn the television off and on. He enjoys watching Sports Center with Bryan in the morning and reading Good Night Moon with me at night. He also loyally applauds for Nori when she accomplishes something and for me when I sing Twinkle Twinkles Little Star. He gives great hugs too, especially to all the moms in our weekly music class.

Every sing-song “hi,” and every wave “bye-bye,” feels like a miracle to me. When I feel a tiny hand using my leg for balance or a head resting on my shoulder breathing baby breath into my ear I think, “I can’t believe you are mine.” A hundred sleepless nights are trumped by one smile. Amazing.

The Ole' Grey Mare Just Ain't What She Used to Be

The official badge of motherhood did not come on the day my children were born. Nor did I feel thoroughly vetted when I joined a mom’s group, a mom’s workout group, and the online “circle of moms.” I thought I caught a glimpse of myself as “mommy,” in the Whole Foods front window once, pushing a stroller, dirty hair pulled back with an almost stylish headscarf and a distinct spot of throw-up on the lapel of my rumbled blouse. No, “motherhood” as my vocation did not come the day I resigned from the teaching position I held for almost 10 years. Instead, it came today in a package from Victoria’s Secret that contained my first “swim skirt.” I fought the anti-bikini for years, even though I knew it would save me from the unsightly hair that escapes the light of a bathroom but waves like a line of car dealership flags in the beach breeze. But now, I need to embrace my new swimming costume. I have always been a firm believer in exercise and healthy living as a means to look and be healthy. Truthfully, I have never felt better in my life and I am really satisfied with my new fitness schedule. However, they say that having children changes everything forever. That is certainly true for many aspects of my life but none more than the parts of my body that were the largest that they could ever be during my pregnancy. Lord only knows what would have happened to me if I had gone even close to full term. I would have needed to wear a full-on wetsuit to the beach, never mind a Lycra mini. So, I will be satisfied in my beach dress. At least the throw-up will wash right off in the water.

School's Out Forever

My moments of writing in my head have obviously not equalled my moments of actual writing. To start, I am an official "stay at home mom." My request for a second year of leave was denied making an inevitable decision come sooner than later. I attended the annual End of Year Luau with the babies and the after graduation celebration without them looking for a sense of closure. I think I found it while cleaning out my classroom-which had really already been cleaned out by my replacement. I have moments when I miss the structure, camaraderie and mindfulness of teaching (especially when reminded anonymously that I have not written in 44 days, thank you very much) but for the most part, I am relieved. My baby mayhem moments can be dramatic but most of my days are filled with a sense of peace.

I could have used a reminder of that inner calm this week when faced with monster mayhem during our forays at the beach. Charlie's teething was crazy- and my usually sweet, happy boy was a non-sleeping, clingy, crying mess. Finally, after a four hour afternoon nap at the close of our travels, Charlie was his old self again. I stressed to him how much he was missed and I think he will try to keep that teething thing in check for our next trip. Even with the fussiness we managed to have a day on the beach and our first ride on a carousel.

We had our three month early intervention evaluation in June which included a cognitive evaluation. Nori and Charlie did well and so far our fears of delays have been put at bay. Charlie still sees a physical therapist once a month (down from once a week) but it may not be needed much longer. We are on the verge of walking and any attempts we make to baby proof are circumvented by our very clever children. I guess I really didn't need a cognitive evaluation done after all!

Our summer days have been pretty full-playdates, a trip to the Point Pleasant Aquarium, the Monmouth Racetrack, the local beaches-and I do not see us slowing down. I may not be making lesson plans for High School English anymore, but I still cannot help but to make plans.

Wiggle it, Just a Little Bit

Too Fast, Too Funny

Post -Op Party

The valve might be fixed but the attitude...

Closer to the Heart

On May 20th of last year, we returned home after being away for 101 days. This year on May 20th, we left home, but only to be away for three days. Nori’s PDA valve never closed on its own, so we went to the Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia for the “catheterization” as they called it.

We set up base camp at Bryan’s parents’ house. Nonna attentively filled her home with all the things she knew we would need but would never request such as a crib for each baby, all their specific brand (I can be a little brand specific) baby products, and, of course, 7 different kinds of milk: Whole organic milk for Nori, Lactaid whole milk for Charlie, half and half for Bryan and Skim Plus for me, as well as the milk Nonna and Poppy normally drink. I love that Nonna silently subscribes to my nuttiness (literally nutty, what with my love of whole grain goodness) without making me ask for anything, as if the asking would reveal the self-verification of my craziness. Sure, I could have lived without Skim Plus for three days, but Nonna knew it would make each difficult day a little bit easier if I could pour my milk on Blueberry Khashi and in my coffee. It did.

Charlie stayed and received the royal treatment while Bryan and I shuttled Nori back and forth to the hospital. On the first day, Nori had preliminary testing: blood work, a brief physical, and an Echocardiogram. The staff at CHOP was amazing-clearly a staff that specializes in children. The only part that went a little long was the echo, but Nori was a pro, leaning back on a pillow, dressed only in her diaper, watching Elmo and eating cheese and waffles, six leads coming from her chest, while the tech rubbed her belly with jelly and an echo wand. Later on, she did not even make a peep, really not a sound, when her blood was drawn. She stared at her blood going in to the vial and gave the phlebotomist a look that said, “Bring it on.” That night Bryan and I were treated to a night out to dinner followed by ice cream-a much needed date night.

The next day we arrived at CHOP at 7:30 am. Nori went in at 9:00 am (I cried, she didn’t) and was done by 12:00pm. She had to lie flat for a few hours to rest and then we left the hospital by 5:00. We arrived back at Nonna and Poppy’s by 7:00, where Nori promptly hopped out of her car seat and began playing. Bryan and I were spent, but she was ready to go-what with the five hours of lying down and all. Amazing.

So yet another health hurdle conquered. Where do we get off being so blessed? I am working on ways to express my gratitude but nothing seems comparable to the gifts I am given.

Can't Find My Way Home

May 19, 2009

Today was the memorial service for my friend Jennifer Hoffman. It feels strange to refer to her that way since she has always been just Jen for as long as I have known her. Her battle with cancer, one she had been winning for seven years, came to a bitter fight Easter weekend and ended on April 21, 2009. She was my high school friend, part of a group of us, fiercely loyal and true. Most of us stayed geographically close, but Jen ventured to Phoenix. I would see her yearly as Bryan’s business trips would take us there, but I have missed my annual visits for the past two years. I am not going to say that I regret not seeing her during these last two years of her life because 1), I never thought she would die and 2) she never thought she would either. Our last dinner together ended with a toast with chocolate martinis-her request-a strange one since she was always calorie conscience. She was radiant with accomplishment, having just run the Rock and Roll Marathon that day, and bursting with love, sitting beside her fiancé, whom I met for the first time that night. I like remembering her that way, sitting across from me, eyes happy and lazy with alcohol, smiling ear to ear. Six months later, I texted her from New Orleans because the group I was with had just ordered a round of chocolate martini’s and I could not drink mine without toasting her.

One month after that, I emailed her from Santa Fe, New Mexico, where she and Greg were married that past spring. She said to have a chocolate martini for her and that her cancer was back.

I thought today’s service would bring closure but somehow it just made things feel so real, so sad. I said to one of my closest friends that sometimes the benefit of having experienced deep grief is that it somehow prepares you to survive future grief. It does not make it easier, but somehow it helps the perspective.

I miss her in a way I didn’t expect to. The song (Eric Clapton, I think), "Can’t Find My Way Home," must have been on a mix tape in Jen’s blue Toyata, circa 1989. Anytime I hear it I think of her. The lyrics to the song seem a little ironic now. Jen was never too wasted to find her way home, she just found home in other places, something I admire about her. She held the key.

Jen’s blog (laceupyourgloves. blogspot.com) inspired me and her comments enriched my writing. I thought she should have a shout out in Nori and Charlie’s blog because her spirit helped us through those rough first months and continues to remind me about the things that really matter.

We Like to Move it Move it

Easter

Nori and Charlie's Christening April 19, 2009

Heavy Hand-me-Downs

My clothing must have memory. I just sorted through my maternity clothes, meticulously choosing pieces for my newly pregnant friend. I came down from the attic to calm a naptime nightmare from Nori and decided to take a break and make some lunch. I suddenly found myself crying at the kitchen counter, completely confounded at the source of my emotional breakdown. After a little reflection, I realized what it was.

The crated clothing was a chronology of my pregnancy and the months that followed. There was the box of clothing I thought I would never wear because how could I possibly get that big. Then the box of things that fit for the first three months, that I remember looking at, month-four, thinking I would not be able to even get it over my head. Next was the pile of bed rest loungewear; part pajama, part perinatologist prêt a Porte. Then there was the box of things I wore for the three months after the babies were born. In the haze that accompanies a dream that one might have had days ago, I see myself in the Tampa Old Navy, purchasing maternity pants, in denial, perhaps, that I as no longer pregnant. I may have even told the check out girl that my due date was May 13. I needed clothes that would fit the Florida climate and me. Both seemed to not fit me well at all. I wore the same three pairs of pants in rotation for 96 days. It did not matter what I wore because I covered up each day in yellow pliable plastic, protecting my babies from the contamination that may come from my clothes. Now these clothes are contaminated with those memories.

I stopped myself from running back up in the attic and throwing these clothes away, maybe even setting them on fire to destroy their history. Maybe they needed a new memory. Maybe if these clothes experienced a happy pregnancy some of their sadness would be wiped away. The promise of a new life from my friend is a reason to spring clean, to start a fresh and to reassign the sad things to a different place.
Nori is going to CHOP next week to have her PDA valve repaired. (This could also be a trigger for my weeping state!) According to the cardiologist, this is a routine same-day surgery. Being in a hospital with Nori is not a routine that I would like to get into again.

Don't Ask Me About Her

Please do not ask me about the octuplet mom, whose name I do not dare stain this page with for fear that someone googling her will be led to me and anyone interested in her need not apply here. It has been the Whole Foods shopper or passer-byer on the street question of the month: “Not whose eyes do they have,” or “how old are they.” No, it is instead, “Ohh, twins, how sweet! How about that octpulet mom, huh?” Before and while pregnant I struggled with joining the sorority of women made mothers through science. I did not want to be identified with the fertilely challenged, mostly because I hated being a part of the desperation and sadness that so often hung over the silent waiting room of the NJ Reproductive Science Center. We sat, inches from one another, all there for the same reason, eyes glued with shame and embarrassment to the latest issue of US Weekly or The Star thinking, “Hey at least I’m not as messed up as Brittany.” Really, what I was thinking was, “How could that single brain cell star become a mother and I can’t!?” After becoming pregnant with multiples, I played out the many times I would be asked by total strangers if I conceived using IVF, rehearsing ways to answer with poise and grace. I was not over exaggerating how many times this would actually happen, even with just two babies.

But lately, octo-mom has entered the question line-up. A poster woman for the shame, embarrassment and desperation I so wanted to not be associated with. “I am not like her!” I want to scream. Especially because I do not believe she questions her fate the way I do. I won’t say it happens daily, but I often think that the course my pregnancy took was the result of trying to go around mother nature, that perhaps God needs to test me more because I was not meant to be a mother. Then that mania creeps into other things like, “Why buy organic and think holistically about my children when their whole existence is chemically induced?” But I move on and buy the organic bananas because I think they taste better anyway, and I answer each stranger with, “Whew, she really has her hands full,” as I push my double stroller through the door, arms heavy with re-usable bags and a light heart free of shame and embarrassment because regardless of my fate, I believe, that overall, in my way, I am blessed.

Stand By Me

Happy St. Patrick's Day

Happy Birthday

Gotta Have Faith

On Monday night Bryan and I attended Baptism class at St. James. We chose this church with the hope that its proximity to our house would encourage our attendance, which we learned, is tracked through an envelope system. Not much has changed since I last attended a religion class. Our instructor was the classic CCD teacher. Wearing a lumpy winter white sweater, adorned with a religious pin above her heart, and a beneficent smile that surely could be cracked by a classroom full of rammy confirmation students, she handed out some typed and possibly mimeographed information about the baptism process. She also handed out a colorful brochure while going over the agenda for the class, which would conclude with a video. I turned more optimistic due to the graphics on the brochure and the fact that she used the word “video” rather than “film strip.” I chose a table for us front and center so that I would be forced to pay attention, but right before we began a girl we went to college with walked in. We waved her over to sit with us, so all I really wanted to do was chat with her rather than listen to the lesson. So really, not much has changed about me since my last religion class.

The teacher began with a metaphor (my favorite!) about baptism, saying that there is a difference between a stop sign and a brick wall. I naturally finished the metaphor in my head before she finished her explanation, seeing the baptism as the stop sign, a moment to give pause and reflect on your faith and the brick wall as not having faith at all. Once I came up from my literary head I heard our instructor say, “So baptism is that brick wall. You can chose to go through a stop sign, but you can’t go through a brick wall. That’s it, you’re done.” Hmm.

I became awash with religious memories. My grandmother pinching my sister’s lip with a sewing needle for talking during the televised mass one inclement Sunday comes to mind. So does Sister Mary Grace condemning all those who tuned in to “An Officer and a Gentleman,” on HBO the preceding weekend before CCD class as sinners. I did not need to hear my mom gossiping breathlessly about the film on the phone to a friend to know that she was probably a sinner. That’s the way I like her.

Nori and Charlie will be baptized. Somehow they will navigate the terrain between faith and fundamentalism to be good people. I have faith in that for sure. In the meantime, we say our prayers each day. Yesterday’s was, “teach me faith and caring, teach me wisdom, teach me sharing. Raise me up and make me strong. Be with me the whole day long.” Hopefully, with God and me beside Nori all day long, she will get that whole sharing thing.

January 12, 2009

Some days I feel so comfortable in this new skin. It’s like a favorite sweatshirt or a great pair of boots. But, some days, I feel like I am wearing someone else’s clothes. They fit, but I am acutely aware that they are not really mine. After a while though, too long borrowed clothes become part of my wardrobe and I cannot remember that they were once borrowed at all. Perhaps we are almost there.

I am getting used to the attention we get out in public but some days I am not ready for it. Strangers, like paparazzi, fire questions like camera flashes. I have to gear up for it as we exit the car, ready to do a press conference on my beautiful babies at a moments notice. They smile reassuringly from their car seats, allowing me to represent them the best that I can.
Almost one year ago I began my official bed rest. One month from now, one year ago, the babies were born. It feels like a hundred years ago or maybe just one day ago. I look back on it and search for meaning, more lessons. “Hope is the thing with wings that perches in the soul.” For some reason that quote has been rattling around my head for the past few days. I think back to a year ago and revise it as “Hope is the thing to cling to when all else has flown away.” Without it I would have blown apart. And it was more than a hope that everything would be okay, because I knew that some things would never be okay. It was/is more of a hope that it would not all be in vain. One smile from my superstars and I know that it is not.