Do You See What I See?

How awesome would this be for a Christmas card? This is just one in a series I'd like to use....

Giving Thanks: An Open Letter to My Boys

Note: Time is relative and I have relatively very little of it. Apologies for my long absence from this blog....

Dear Andrew and Cooper -

Tomorrow we will celebrate your first Thanksgiving, but it will not be the one you will eventually learn about in school. (THAT Thanksgiving is a gross misrepresentation of American history but more on that when you are 2 or 3.) Instead, we will celebrate all the things we are grateful for, a ritual I once thought somewhat trite and cheesy but I guess motherhood makes a bad ass like me soft.

If you were old enough to do so, you'd be giving thanks for the family you were born into. We will have members from both sides with us tomorrow and the only fighting will be to see who gets to hold you the longest. Someday, you might be told that your family is weird or wrong. This is again a gross misrepresentation of reality: your family is different only in that you are loved by so many people.

Mommy (aka The Saint) will be thankful for all the joy you have brought to the household. We were happy before you came, but now we are complete (only not in a treacly, Jerry Maguire way). You made us a family and that is something Mommy has yearned for. She is also grateful for the new tv we will soon purchase because the family room is actually full now...with a family and all the stuff that comes along with the nuclear(ish) unit.

As for me, I am grateful for you for so many reasons:

• Thank you for reminding me that time is a truly precious commodity. Now that I have so little of it, I have learned to maximize every moment, especially the ones where you are both awake and happy.
• Thank you for the gift of patience. Those 3:00 am feedings have become some of the most quiet and peaceful moments of my day when I can actually remember them. And I have learned to take your cries in stride, even when you both melt down at the same time, because I know they will eventually turn back into coos and smiles. Eventually.
• Thank you for peeing on Pop-Pops a few weeks ago: I am glad I am not the only one who has made that mistake.
• Thank you for sleeping a little longer through the night. I have learned to be grateful for 3 solid hours of sleep but 4 sure does feel nice.
• Thank you for smiling when I come home from work every night. It makes going to work a little easier the next day when I know I have that to look forward to.
• Thank you for letting us take endless pictures of you. We are grateful you were born AFTER film became somewhat obsolete.
• Thank you for reminding both Mommy and me what is really important in life. We have both learned that a spotless house and a pristine yard aren't nearly as fulfilling as baby laughs and snuggle time.
• Even though I agreed to let Mommy put your Green Bay Packer outfits on tomorrow, thank you for secretly being Lions fans with me.

Love, Mama xoxo

Parenting: Theory vs. Practice - Part 1

As much as I LOVE television, the Saint and I both agreed that we would follow the latest research and not allow the twins to watch television before they were 2.

This promise lasted two months.

Actually, the first few months we were so busy being in loving awe of them, it never crossed our minds to park them in front of the tube. But The Saint went back to work on Wednesday and the promise came to a quick end.

Like three minutes after she left.

So, don't be surprised if you walk by and hear the faint but dreadfully annoying sounds of children's music streaming from our house.

The Backyardigans are our new best friends. They will always be followed by a healthy dose of '80's alternative.


- The 2nd Mommy

Dammit!

I can't find the blog post that was almost ready to go, so you only get the first line of it:

The house no longer smells of Desitin and despair.

You can fill in the rest for this week. Mama needs a break....


- The 2nd Mommy

Secret Confessions of a Second Mommy

I am bidding farewell to my beloved VW Convertible Beetle at the end of the month. While it is going to a good a home, I am not looking forward to parting with what has become a defining piece of me.

Or so I thought.

We bought a 2007 Buick Rendevouz a few weeks ago, a compromise I begrudgingly made. Hell had to freeze over, thaw out and then freeze again before I agreed to a minivan, the blazing badge of suburban motherhood. (I feared that our GPS would only take us to soccer fields and PTA meetings.) It's black, kind of sporty, has tinted back windows and in excellent condition.

As much as I want to hate it, I actually enjoy driving it.

I am no longer a tiny speck on the road. True, I enjoyed watching people punch each other when I drove by, but the Buick gives me real sense of power. Compared to the Beetle, I sit so high above the road I feel like I am flying a plane (sadly, The Saint refuses to wear a flight attendant uniform or serve me coffee while I am pilo-...driving).

And I no longer stick out. I blend, which means if someone cuts me off, I can tailgate, flip them off and then disappear in traffic. No more pretending to be a nice, peace-loving hippie chick. The bitch is back! But only when I am driving solo, of course. I would never do that with babies in the car.

I will wait until they are five and can truly appreciate the colorful language and high speeds.....

- The 2nd Mommy

I Like Captions

Here is a glimpse of why Andrew and Cooper will have baby books and photo albums that are actually somewhat entertaining: photo captions!




Andrew is bringing sexy back. Cooper isn't so sure.




Cooper is at that adorable stage where he will eat anything!




Every time a binky is used, an angel gets his wings.




Andrew, the cunning international pacifier thief, always waits for his victims to fall asleep before he strikes!




Cooper Claus!





Um, this Santa has had one too many...

-The 2nd Mommy

Life Has Changed - Part 1

New parents often like to talk about how much their life truly has changed since their little bundle(s) of joy arrived. They dither on about shifting priorities, new hopes and dreams, a new appreciation for the simple things in life, and various other bumper stickers and cliches.

Truth be told, I have had those moments as well. I love being a mom. I waited a long time to be a mom and I am savoring those precious moments that I know will end as soon as puberty hits. But motherhood isn't all rainbows and unicorns.

Rainbows need rain. And I assume even unicorns make a mess from time to time. Parenthood is not always a joyous, uplifting endeavor. It can be frustrating, agonizing and stressful.

So how am I really, truly different this week? Because I now consider this the best text message I have ever received:

Cooper finally pooped.

Hello, parenthood. It's nice to meet you.


- The 2nd Mommy

The Emotional Rollercoaster Called Motherhood

I am hoping it is the sleep deprivation but my emotions have been all over the place since the boys have arrived.

Generally speaking, I was once a pretty mellow kind of gal. A dear friend and former roomie (hi, Mo - miss you!) once declared that if I were any more laid back, I'd be horizontal. Sadly, I am just a basket of nerves now and horizontal is a position I am rarely in. Instead, I have been stuck in an emotional wasteland that I fear every mother must visit at some point in order to fully earn the title.

The worst pitstop on this journey is guilt. The boys are just over a month and I have already established residency in this state. The worst: when Cooper received a shot at the doctor's office this past week. I knew it would be awful because of the crying but I was not prepared for what happened when he stopped crying. He suddenly looked up at me with the biggest eyes and the saddest look on his face and I am pretty sure he asked, "Why, mama? Why have you forsaken me?" I have never felt so horrible in my life. Instead of a college fund, I am putting away money for their future therapist.

The paranoia is no picnic, either. Everything scares me now. We actually got a mosquito net (thanks, Hillary M.) for the stroller! We look like a rolling ad for an anti-malaria campaign. I feel like we are traveling through the DMZ in Vietnam every time we go out but I couldn't find a bulletproof canopy a la the Pope mobile, so the net will have to do.

And then there is the happy couple: doubt and fear, the constant companions of new mothers everywhere. The list is too long for this blog but the latest fear is centered around eating. One day, it seems like they are eating too much. Their heads have gotten so big that they actually look like floats for the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade (albeit the CUTEST floats ever). Andrew squeaks, sniffles and chortles so much during his feedings that it often feels like Baby Gollum at the other end of the bottle. I am waiting for him to grab it from my hands, caress it and start referring to it as my precioussssss. But other days, it seems like they are the tiniest creatures in the world and they have little to no interest in eating at their usual times, which also keep changing. We even tried to do an Excel spreadsheet to figure out a pattern but my not-so-beautiful mind couldn't figure it out.

And this just leads us right back to guilt. Apparently, we are on a roundabout of motherhood....


- The 2nd Mommy

One Month Down

We have survived our first month.

I used to laugh to myself when I heard new parents say this, wondering why they were so smug and pleased with themselves about surviving one single month with a child (or children) who were obviously going to be there a lot longer than that. My God, they hadn't even hit the hard parts yet (potty training, preschool, teen years, the sex talk, etc.) and already they were celebrating?!!??! One month isn't enough time to see how much therapy your kid is going to need down the road because you laughed at their decoupage ashtray! Your job hasn't even started yet, so why the hell are you patting yourself on the back??!

I was so naive. I now include you in my toast to the parents who do make it that first month with their sanity more or less intact.

Here is to learning how to survive and thrive on less sleep than you thought was humanly possible. The Saint and I no longer sleep; we take snaps (short sleep time + nap = snap). We are pleased to say that sleep deprivation has not gotten the best of us....except the other night when I thought the extra pillow in our bed was our third child and panicked when I realized I was sleeping on "him." Or the night I drove to Target and forgot how I got there, where I parked the car and what I went there for. Or the night I almost forgot to feed Cooper as we sat in the chair together staring blankly in the dark, the bottle limply dangly in my hand. Ok, sleep deprivation has not killed any of us.

Here is to mastering the art of the big blue poo sausage courtesy of the diaper genie. I can pack those plastic baggies so tight you can bounce a bottle off of them. I hope the folks digging through our trash the other night were impressed with my camouflaging skills and that they hit every single toxic diaper that was in there. Good luck getting the smell out of your truck if you accidentally loaded one up.

Here is to shifting priorities and understanding what is really important in life. There is nothing more zen than rocking a baby in total silence, just being there for this new little life. (Ok, I may have peeked at my iPad once or twice but not nearly as much as I used to.). Here is to finally understanding what it means to live in the now and enjoy the moment.

Here is to embracing the hardest job on earth and loving every second of it...

- The 2nd Mommy

Oh, The Places They Will Go

My Dad likes to tell the story of how he once was changing my diaper and had to lift my naked little body up to straighten out the clothes he was attempting to put on me. As he carefully cradled me, I shit in his hand (sorry, Mom: defecated in his metacarpals).

I thought of this the other night when one of the boys (it's so hard to tell which one at 3:00 am) launched a load of poo across the changing table and onto the lovely Dr. Seuss diaper caddy we got to keep us organized and supposedly prevent such occurrences. And then the book Oh, The Places You Will Go popped into my head but with a very different meaning. The following is a piece of what went through my mind:

You have been here for just 3 weeks
And already you've sprung some leaks.
You hit the shades, the wall and ceiling
You hit my nose and sent me reeling.
You hit your mouth and caught your breath
Which nearly scared my half to death.
But I am sure, as we both well know,
These are not the only places you will go.

I imagine the day will come
Where you will want to bare your bum
And stand upon the deck outside
To launch a stream at full stride.
Or when we're traveling in the car
To places that are distances quite far,
You will announce, after the rest area we just passed,
"Um, I don't think that was just gas."
These are but a few of the places you will go.

And I can tell you this for a fact,
Though the subject lacks in tact,
One day you will find yourself stuck in school
Where bodily functions just aren't cool
But trust me, sons: don't try to keep it in
Your pants are the worst place for urine.
(But sadly, this may be a place where you will go.)

I am sure you will go at least once in bed
(I hope it doesn't land on your brother's head.)
I bet you will go in a lake
Perhaps in a cup and a urinal cake.
If you ever travel with grandma in her car,
I know you'll go in a mayo jar
As this is a spot where all her grandchildren go.

But then one day that will come too fast
All of this will be in the past.
Pretty soon, this potty thing will be a breeze
And you will go with great ease.
Then shortly after, you will be grown.
It will be time for you to be on your own.
And though you think that you are too old
I will still want to know
About all the places where you go.



- The 2nd Mommy

Song of the New Parent

I am a new parent.

The first thing you will notice is I no longer have eyes but rather two puffy slits to see through. The word exhausted does not do justice to the way I feel because frankly, I feel nothing. I am in a perpetual haze of feeding, burping, soothing and cleaning. I drove to Target the other day and couldn't remember how I got there. A drunk driver in a Pinto with three raccoons would have been safer on the road.

I am a new parent.

Any sense of fashion has been totally discarded. If my shirt and pants are relatively spittle and pee free, then they are good enough to wear. If my teeth have been brushed in the past 72 hours, I am good to go. A shower now means jumping in some running water for three seconds and then getting dressed. If I get to dry off, that is a bonus. The fact that I simply haven't shaved my hair off should be taken as a good sign.

I am a new parent.

I have no idea what day it is. I thought Irene was a new singer a la Adele or the late Amy Winehouse. I am amazed at how much time I wasted when I was not a parent. If I had that time back, I could write a novel, scale Mt. Everest and become a mixed martial arts champ before 6:00 pm. Now I am lucky if I get to use the bathroom with the door closed.

I am a new parent.

I have never been so happy nor loved anyone this fiercely. I have never been so excited to have someone grab my finger or make mewing noises whilst I feed him. I have never simply just sat in silence and soaked in another being for hours on end. I am happy to unplug for an entire day if it means I get to see a 30 second smile.

I am a new parent. And each day gets better and better.

Today, I even got to finish -


- The 2nd Mommy

They're Here!

The twins have arrived and already I see why people were laughing at us while we were pregnant and making all of our grand plans about parenthood.

So far, not many of them have been working out so well.

For example, I was certain the sleep deprivation warnings were a bit overstated. Sure, I was expecting to get a lot less sleep than usual. I was not expecting the type of sleep we would be getting. I thought sleep deprivation meant four hours at night, not four hours over a 24-36 period broken into intervals of 20-45 minutes of dead sleep. The worst part is that I often wake up thinking I have left the babies somewhere unattended. I would saw off my right arm with one of the twins' tiny talon-like nails right now for even three consecutive hours of sleep. I suppose that will come when they are in college. Maybe.

I also thought I knew how to change a diaper already but wrong again. Andrew has peed in his eye, on the window shade, and on the bookshelf across the room. Cooper hit me in my nose. I scoffed at the idea of Pee-pee tee pees but now I am kicking myself for not getting them. By the end of the night, I expect my green lantern shirt will actually be yellow.

And I also thought I was pretty tough. I didn't cry when they were born because I was too excited to see them. But since that time, I have probably cried more than John Boehner at a Tea Party convention. Who knew that two little peanuts could worm their way into my heart so quickly.




- The 2nd Mommy

A Prayer/Meditation/Wish from The Other Mother

Dear Goddess, Lord, Allah, Buddah, Ganesha, Gaia and all others in the global religious pantheon:

Today, our lives change forever. It has been a long journey and yet we are just getting started. It is both the beginning and the end. It is not a dot but rather a dot, dot, dot. Blah, blah, blah - you're all omniscient, you get the picture.

Today, I ask/implore/beseech you to watch over The Saint closely. Let the medical staff be alert, focused and ready to offer their best care to her. Please keep her as pain free as possible. Let the delivery be safe but swift. If she can keep control of her bodily functions, I am sure she'd appreciate it but I don't want to overstep. Most importantly, please return her to me healthy and ready for the next segment of our lives as a family of four. (Somebody has to start making healthy meals again.)

Please also watch over Cooper and Andrew. May they be slippery enough to slide out easily but not so slippery that the doctor drops them. Let them be healthy, happy, smart and cute, pretty much in that order but an equal abundance of all. Please do not let them poo right when the doctor holds them up for I will surely laugh long and hard. I suspect this would not go over well with The Saint.

Finally, please hold me up in the palms of your hands. Literally. I am scared shitless right now and seriously afraid I am going to pass out at any moment. I don't like needles, so I am thinking witnessing major surgery is not going to go over well. Please let me keep my breakfast down and my head up.

Amen/Blessings/Shalom/Asalamalakum/Peace Out






- The 2nd Mommy

Is it Just Me....

... or does this shelf with hooks make it look like we are expecting two baby Hefs?





I know, not much of a post today but I wanted to give my friend Liz a nice mental image for the weekend.

Anyway, Friday is the big day and my brain is in overdrive. I have a post ready for Friday but after that, the blog will go down to once a week posts. And I think that is being pretty optimistic.

I will be shooting for every Wednesday. Forgive me if I fall behind...

- The 2nd Mommy

Exercises in Mommyhood

I recently decided to get some mommy practice in and the best way to do this seemed obvious: bake some chocolate cookies.

I know, it seems cliche, overly traditional and perhaps a tad sexist to conflate cookie baking and motherhood but I have such fond memories of making cookies with my grandma that I want to carry on the tradition with my boys. Of course, the problem has already been discussed: I am not so Betty Crocker-ish in the kitchen. But armed with this awareness, I confidently sent The Saint off to nap and began the task.

I started by carefully reading the directions and gathering all the necessary ingredients. This proved to be a wise choice as I realized we were out of baking soda. I almost used baking powder but thought better of it....okay, I briefly woke The Saint up and asked if the 2 were interchangeable but the point is I averted a major disaster. I dashed off to my Mom's to borrow some, dumping a few tablespoons into a plastic baggie. I did get some strange looks from the neighbors when I walked out of my parents' house with a white powder in a little plastic bag but I will let them deal with that when they get home. (Perhaps deal isn't the best word choice - please ignore that if you are in the law enforcement field.)

After carefully combining all the ingredients per the instructions, I was ready to bake. That is when I hit the second snag: according to the recipe, I was supposed to use "rounded tablespoons" to dish out the dough in order to make 5 dozen cookies.

FIVE DOZEN COOKIES???!!? I didn't have time to sit around and wait for five dozen cookies. So I made an adjustment: I used an ice cream scooper to dish the dough out, so the cookies looked like this:




I thought this would simply save time and make for a bigger, and thus more delicious, cookie. But as I should have learned by now, directions are there for a reason.

At first, all seemed fine: the smoke alarm wasn't ringing, I hadn't burned myself yet and The Saint was sound asleep. Then it was time to take the first batch out. I was hoping to see a nice, big cookie dotted with chips. Instead, I saw big blobs of chips dotted with a little bit of dough. They looked like this:




I am not sure how they taste yet because I ate a good chunk of the cookie dough, which led to another snag in the process that I will keep to myself. Let's just say it's a good thing we have two bathrooms in our house.

Good thing the boys missed this one. These are not the kinds of memories I was hoping to create.

- The 2nd Mommy

It's Real

The twins will be here next Friday.

No matter how many times I say it, I still can't believe it. There is a podcast/website called The Longest Shortest Time that is all about early motherhood but I think the title could also refer to pregnancy.

The past two years have been a series of waiting games: waiting for ovulation, waiting to see if The Saint's plumbing was primed for a baby, waiting to see if the pee stick showed a plus sign (really wish I had bought stock in EPT), waiting for the nurse or the doctor or the ultrasound tech, waiting....well, you get the picture. I felt like I did when I was 5 on Christmas Eve, anxiously awaiting the hour I could rouse my parents and open our Christmas gifts. (Sadly, it was never 3:30 am like I thought it should be. I suspect karma will soon be biting me in the ass for all of those Christmas mornings.)

And now, the moment is almost here and I can't believe it. There suddenly seems to be so many things I wanted to do that I didn't get to. The stack of parenting books have only been half read. There is still no space in the kitchen for baby dishes and other eating accessories. The high chairs are still in the box because I haven't had a chance to learn how to build an addition onto the back of the house to accommodate all the gear we have received in preparation for the babies. I still haven't mastered the swaddle technique without cheating and using Velcro or duct tape. Where did the time go?!!!??

Our days are now punctuated by sobering realizations that the two of us will soon be the four of us. At times, I wonder if this is what the Last Supper felt like. One life is about to end for us but another one is about to begin. Part of me will miss the life that is ending.

Fortunately, a much bigger part of me is eager to start the new one....


- The 2nd Mommy

Lessons in Humility, Part 2

Oh, how the humility continues to rain down upon me. As you recall from last time, my lack of any actual skills has me a tad worried about impending motherhood.

Cleaning is another area I apparently lack in. My mother has been helping us clean the house ever since we moved in. At first, I thought she was just being nice. But lately, her offers are becoming more persistent. She keeps looking around the house and begging me to pick a date when she can come over and dust, vacuum and mop. The sad thing is that I have done all of that....ok, most of that.....ok, I have vacuumed. Recently. Fairly recently.....whatever. Mom, I know you are reading this: I will see you tomorrow at noon.

Unfortunately, the lack of cleaning skills isn't confined to just the inside the house. The Saint has been all about power washing the house ever since we bought it. She wanted to spruce up the appearance by adding new light fixtures as well. Both tasks have taken on a new sense of urgency because, God forbid, we bring those babies home to a house with some dirt on it and ugly light fixtures. After being cramped in what is surely an impeccable womb for 9 months, how gauche would it be to come home to such a hot mess?

Of course, these tasks required both knowledge and tools that I did not have, making me feel doubly inadequate. Enter LG and CB with their big truck of equipment and their big brains filled with all the knowledge needed to wash the house, change out the outdoor lights and install a ceiling fan in the nursery for good measure (and yep, they're gay).

When I started thinking about all of this, I felt pretty stupid looking at the laundry list of things I couldn't do. But looking at all the people who have come to our rescue makes me feel pretty good about all the wonderful friendships we have cultivated throughout the years. Who else can say they had five showers?!?!!! Perhaps we have had the one necessity for parenthood all along:

We have our village. (Or in our case, our Village People.)


- The 2nd Mommy

Parenthood and Home Ownership: A Lesson in Humility, Part 1

When The Saint and I bought our house almost 2 years ago, there were a number of updates we wanted to make. Thanks to some extra income and some very awesome and handy friends, we tackled quite a few of those chores.

This was the first inkling I had that I have absolutely zero life skills. If zombies attack, I will be among the first to go. If we fall off the grid, you will find me in the fetal position clutching the dead tv. I probably would have died before the age of 12 if I had been born in the 19th century.

At first, when we just bought the house, I wasn't too concerned since the first sign of my unhandiness came when L and C decided we needed something to go with the doormat they bought for our housewarming gift: a new deck. One that they built for us in their spare time over the course of a few weeks. My contribution? I hammered in approximately 4 nails, 3 of which I completely messed up. (If you look closely, you will spot 3 nails angled or twisted into the wood.)

This lack of skill was easy to brush off as L and C are super humans; I know better than to measure myself against them and besides, carpentry stuff takes years to master. Who has that kind of time? You have to start really early and I didn't have that opportunity when I was younger, ergo not my fault.

But then we got pregnant and The Saint started to panic. Suddenly, our lovely home was really a crumbling shack. This baby death trap needed work done and it needed to be done yesterday! And so the parade of handy, talented friends began, each one reminding me that I better pray I never lose my day job.

First came my Dad, the painting wizard who knocked out 2 rooms in less than a day. It would have taken me about a week, a case of Jack Daniels and several boxes of Kleenex to mop away the tears of frustration. The one room I did paint on my own took me an entire weekend and I still needed to call my Dad in to do the trim because I was too impatient to even try it. My contribution? I "made" dinner, which was a pizza I had delivered while my Dad was busy upstairs.

Once the painting was done, we decided to put down trim in the nursery as there were holes large enough to house a family of four between the floor boards and the walls. Unfortunately, this involved more hammering and cutting with a miter saw, which I still don't understand how to use. Fortunately, LBC came to the rescue with her truckload of fancy tools for just such a job (and she's straight!) My contribution? I made cosmos throughout the day, a role usually reserved for housewives from the '50's.

Then came the nursery furniture assembly, which took a small army to complete: LB, MD, KOY, and my Dad (again) all had a hand in helping me assemble furniture that came with directions written by an MIT grad for another MIT grad. Thanks to them, the job was done without any nervous breakdowns on my part. My contribution? I sometimes handed the tools to them when I knew which one they were talking about.

I wish I could say that was all but there is more....




- The 2nd Mommy

What I Have Learned Thus Far

Several people have generously suggested that I turn these musings into a book. While I appreciate the compliment, I can assure all of you that I have neither the patience nor the extended narrative arc necessary for a book. But if I could do it, here are some fragments of what would appear.

These are some of the things I have learned during this pregnancy:

There is not one but two kinds of ultrasounds. I always thought an ultrasound consisted of waving a magic wand over the belly to produce an x-ray like picture of the baby (or in our case, babies) inside. But there is also an internal ultrasound, the one our dear friend has labeled the dildo cam. And that's exactly what it is: a camera that goes inside the pregnant woman via the....um....babies' exit door from the womb. But the important lesson I learned: never make the ultrasound technician laugh when she is using the dildo cam. It seemed really funny to bend down next to The Saint's belly during this procedure and yell, "Ouch! My eye!!!!" However, The Saint was not amused.

Arguing with a pregnant woman is like reasoning with a drunk person. While The Saint has been a real trooper throughout the pregnancy, there have been moments where reason simply took a hiatus. Case in point: The Saint wanted to start packing our hospital bag.....in early June. This would have been a good two months before we even had the chance to give birth. Fashions trends could have come and gone in that time period. I know that I am now in a different size altogether. But when preggers got something in her head, there was no arguing. So our bag has been packed, repacked and re-repacked for the past 7 weeks. And counting.

The world does not stop just because we are preparing for babies' arrival. I have been busy preparing not one but two nurseries, one upstairs and one downstairs. We are finally at a point where we can take a break and what happens? The basement floods. On both sides. This meant a fun and exciting trip to Home Depot for a shop vac at 8:30 pm. Then the cleanup began with The Saint feeling sad because she couldn't help. And again, this is why she is The Saint: who else would feel guilty about not being able to suck up sewage? Frankly, I would have been laughing.

But I guess that's why she is the pregnant one...


- The 2nd Mommy

The 3rd Trimester: Practice Parenting for The Partner

It turns out that nature has a plan for the non-pregnant parent as well:

The third trimester.

This has been the tough part of the pregnancy but I think I know why. I believe this is the time where the pregnant one begins to mimic a lot of the behaviors of the impending bundle of joy.

For example, a normal sleeping pattern is no longer possible during the third trimester. On top of the itchy PUPPP rash from hell, The Saint has a belly full of babies who like to do scenes from A Chorus Line at exactly 11:00 pm every night. Their encores usually follow at 2:00 am and again 2-3 hours later. Heads up, co-parents: you do NOT get to sleep in blissful ignorance of this little performance. Our job is to massage, hand hold or simply commiserate. And when 8:00 am rolls around, we let her sleep while we prepare breakfast because that's how it's going to be when the kiddos arrive. Babies don't care if their parents are well rested; they have needs and it's our job to meet them. The (lack of) sleep training in the third trimester is a good bootcamp to prep us for this.

Another development in the third trimester is that going out starts to become a real chore. The Saint is not as mobile now that she is lugging around over 10 pounds and 34 inches of baby. Any trip out requires the type of planning that typically goes into a tactical airstrike. We have to determine how long we will be gone, what to eat before we go, whether or not we need to eat while we are out, etc. We also have to plan for any possible spills, mishaps or accidents that could occur while we are out, depending on what we are doing. No matter where we are going, we now have to bring supplies of some sort. For the third trimester, this means packing Benadryl, hydrocortisone cream, at least one snack, a change of clothes (I am not allowed to explain that one - puzzle it out yourself, Nancy Drew), something to read and a pillow. Ultimately, this means we often just stay at home because it's too big of a hassle to figure this all out. From what I understand, this is parenting in a nutshell.

The third trimester is when the center of my life stopped being me. The Saint has my full time attention now. If life were a prison, I am now her bitch. Perhaps this is the biggest shift of all that preps us co-parents for what is about to happen. Suddenly, giving up my car, forgoing a new iPad, and shifting my priorities no longer seems like a sacrifice. Instead, it means I am about to live the dream.

It means I am becoming a parent.

(Okay, getting rid of the car stings a little but I really am excited for my boys to get here....)


- The 2nd Mommy

Gardening: Literal Nesting?

As much as I once hated all domestic duties, there is one time-sucking chore I absolutely loathed:

Yard work.

All things gardening fell to The Saint. For some reason, she found it relaxing to plant, weed, water, etc. My only contribution was mowing the lawn, which is a lot like vacuuming and therefore something I can manage. Gardening was the only task I took over with some resentment and angst. But why such disdain for what many view as an enjoyable hobby?

First and foremost, it's outside and, as you can see by the translucent hue of my legs, I am not an outdoorsy kind of gal. For me, the outside is simply a means to an end, the middle ground I must travel to get from inside Point A to inside Point B. Mother Nature simply can't compete with central air, indoor plumbing and cable.

On top of that, The Saint is a perfectionist when it comes to the yard. When planting flowers in their beds, a fraction of an inch apparently makes all the difference in the world. And if a flower isn't thriving after a week, then it's time to experiment with light and shade by moving it all over and conducting MIT-like tests to see where the maximum amount of each is in the yard. This attention to such minute detail is really not my forte.

Then there is my complete lack of knowledge of the fauna and flora of earth. Not too long ago, I couldn't tell you the difference between a weed and a tomato plant if you held a garden hose to my in the dead of winter. Couple this with my philosophy of Darwinism in the garden (if a flower can't survive without water but a weed can, then I guess the weed wins - so be it), and you can only imagine what the yard would look if it were left entirely up to me.

Fortunately, it's not solely up to me. I do recognize the fact that the appearance of the lawn somehow relates to The Saint's sense of well being in the world, so I am making the effort to keep up. Initially, that effort meant calling my sister and her family and begging them to help me get the yard in order earlier this spring. While I hate to admit that my niece (6) and nephew (11) were more knowledgeable and better workers, the necessary work got done and The Saint was actually happy with it.

So imagine my surprise last week when I correctly noted that the hydrangeas looked a little droopy and, despite the 105 degree heat index, I should probably water them. On my own, with no prompting from The Saint, I proceeded to water the entire yard. Sure, the lawn still looks like burnt straw and the potted flowers have seen better days, but this is still significant because I recognized the need for action and I took it. All.On.My.Own.

Now if I can just keep The Saint from looking outside for just a few more days....



- The 2nd Mommy

Holy Crap: I'M NESTING!!!

I am not the most domestic person in the world. Not too long ago, dusting was a quarterly chore, my meals consisted of sandwiches and cereal, and I thought nothing of putting chocolate Slim Fast on my Cocoa Puffs if I ran out of milk. (This happened more than you might think.) Even my nephew, who was around 4 at the time, noticed my lack of housekeeping skills when he offhandedly remarked "You sure don't do a lot around here, do you?" (Yes, the biting witticisms run in the family.)

Of course, that was a long time ago and gradual changes have occurred. For example, I am queen of laundry in our household; The Saint is not allowed to touch the laundry, pregnant or not, because I have perfected my system. My cooking catalog has also expanded beyond pop tarts and cereal. I am pretty handy on the grill and can make some pretty tasty dishes, like caprese salad, fried egg sandwiches and.....uh....ok, well it's more like a postcard than a catalog but the change is significant.

Still, I have never been a fan of keeping up the house. But when The Saint got preggers, I knew I had to step up my game. I am not trying to toot my horn because the house is far from perfect (if you see a closed door, please do not open it - this includes the bathroom) but I think I have been doing ok.

But now I am freaking out.

Last week, I decided we need to get a new vacuum cleaner. The one we had was ok but kind of old and didn't work that great. {Look - I am avoiding the easy sucking joke here!} I decided to upgrade and get a Dyson. The old me would have spent the money on a new iPad 2 but I was actually excited about the Dyson. I literally put it together as soon as I walked in the door. And then? I vacuumed....the entire house. And I was giddy! The only thing missing was a strand of pearls and a pair of heels, which I still cannot wear. I am encouraging my niece and nephew to eat chips, cookie and popcorn all over the house so I can really test the Dyson next week. OMG - Is this what moms get excited about??!!?

And that was just the tip of the iceberg.

Yesterday, I bought space saver bags, the kind you can stick your bed in, suck out all the air and store it in your shirt pocket. I decided the guest room had too much "wasted space" (a phrase that once referred to me in the kitchen) and it needed tidying up. So I spent the hottest friggin' day of the year in the room that gets the least amount of air doing just that. And I loved it! Those bags are amazing! I am going back and buying about six more tomorrow so that I can do the entire house! Don't be surprised if you open up the fridge and find our couch! I can't wait to see how much storage space I can create over the weekend because....

Seriously, what is wrong with me??!!? Maybe a minivan isn't out of the question....


Tune in next week to hear about what's happening outside the house. Yep, I'm gardening, too....


- The 2nd Mommy

The Heat Has Gotten to Me

Let me start by saying The Saint, though she hates that I am calling her that, was an apropos pseudonym for my partner. I heard stories from friends and family about what to expect from pregnant women: raging hormones, wild mood swings, whacky cravings, bizarre bodily mishaps, etc. But The Saint has been a real trooper throughout.

For the most part.

Of course, there have been a few tiny bumps along the way, most notably the ones that just appeared all over her belly, legs and arms the past few days and itch like crazy. Here are a few of my favorite episodes:

Shortly after Christmas, and very early into the pregnancy, The Saint's sister-in-law posted on her Facebook wall that the kids LOVED the Zhu Zhu pets The Saint bought for them, referring to them as "kiddy crack." This triggered a waterfall of tears from The Saint. Confused, I gently asked (because I am not stupid and know better than to laugh, mock or freak out) what was wrong. Her response? "I almost didn't buy them and am just so glad that I did because they like them so much...." And that was all I understood.

This was almost as funny as watching the U.S. women's soccer team play Brazil in the World Cup quarterfinals. I am not allowed, under the strictest orders from The Saint, to reprint what was said during the game. Let's just say that if a sailor and one of the Osbornes had a child who was now an adult, he/she would have blushed at the string of profanities that came out of The Saint's mouth that day. The halo needed quite a bit of polishing after that game.

Of course, that episode was definitely more funny than what is now known as "The Capri Pants" episode. Several months ago, The Saint woke up around 1:30 am in a MOOD. For whatever reason, she realized that I had not gotten to the laundry that day, probably because I overbooked and was trying to keep up with 8 million other things. But in the laundry, crumpled at the bottom of what she thought was a teeming, stinky heap, lay her magical Capri pants. And these pants were truly magical because no other pants would suffice. This realization triggered an onslaught of bitter, angry tears and I was transformed into the evil hellhound who stood between her and those pants. So at 1:45 am, I did what any sane person would do: I did laundry. By the time she woke up, the magical Capri pants were clean, dry and pressed. The only thing crumpled in a heap was an exhausted me.

But today took the cake. As I mentioned earlier, The Saint has a terribly itchy rash. This requires lots and lots of lotion, at various states of undress and at some inconvenient times. Sadly, The Saint cannot reach all the places that require lotion, which is not a big deal as I am more than happy to help. But The Saint still has her dignity and there are times where she does not want my help, like when she has had a meal that did not quite agree with her. And this is what happened today. She disappeared into the bathroom for what seemed like an awfully long time. Suddenly, I heard a bang and ran to her. As I approached, she let out a frenzied warning: DON'T COME IN HERE!!! IT SMELLS LIKE POOP AND COCOA BUTTER!!!!

And that, my friends, is a good way to sum up this pregnancy: a little poop and a lot of cocoa butter....

This installment of The 2nd Mommy was brought to you by The Saint's Catholic guilt. Catholic Guilt: the feeling that keeps you permanently grounded, whether you need it or not.


- The 2nd Mommy

Thoughts About the Haters

The Saint and I have been truly impressed with how well family, friends and total strangers have reacted to the news that we are starting a family. We expected a lot of resistance and tsk-tsking but folks have been very open and accepting.

Well, most people have been good.

Of course, we have heard stories of negative reactions from some friends and family. (Funny how none of them have the guts to say it to our face.) It has been the run of the mill kind of stuff that we expected but it still irritates me how incredibly stupid people can be! Seriously, people, did you not see The Kids Are All Right? last year? This should not be a shocking turn of events.

Here are some of my favorites:

Those poor boys won't have a male role model without a father. (Right. Because we don't know any men. By the way, when was the last time you saw your kids? Oh, that's right - they hate you because you were never around for them. I wanted to call and point out the irony to you but I am willing to bet you don't know what the word means.)

They will probably turn out gay, too. (Hooray for us if they do! I will finally have someone to help me pick out jeans that are actually comfortable and flattering. And our home will be stunning and meticulous. Perhaps our parents or the millions of other straight parents who raised gay kids can give us some pointers on how we can arrange that.)

What a shame the Saint didn't outgrow this phase - she probably just didn't find the right man yet. (Or perhaps you are not gay because you haven't found the right man yet. Yeah - it sounds equally ridiculous when you say it, fucktard. I often wonder how you don't trip over your knuckles when you're walking.)

To be fair, those who shared these stories with us completely shut down the naysayers in a much more positive and informative way, one that left the haters very quiet and embarrassed. For that, I am eternally grateful as that is the only way we will all be equal one day. But haters be warned: hold your tongues or guard your throat when you're I am near.

When the willfully ignorant spew hatred, I have a penchant for punching them under their chins....


- The 2nd Mommy

Another Letter to My Boys

Dear Spud and Sprout -

It occurs to me that you may need to know a few things to make your transition from womb to world a bit smoother. Here are a few tips to keep in mind:

You have been tap dancing on Mommy's bladder, head butting her in the ribs, and dictating when and what she can eat for the past few months. She never got the golden second trimester; instead, she got kidney stones (although she did enjoy the morphine). You might want to sleep for a few days when you get out just to give her a little break. Plan on going on lots of long walks or rides with me while she recovers. Mommy is a Saint....unless she is tired or hungry. That's when the three of us need to pull together and get her back on track. Or play it smart and just get out of her way.

I am sorry that only Mommy is going to breastfeed you. I know I could have tried and I seriously considered it, especially after I found out I could burn 500 calories a day! But I suspect my milk would be either curdled, khulua, or caffeinated, none of which you would enjoy. I promise I will help her every time and do everything else. We both agreed that if one of us is up, then we will all be up. (We'll see how long this will last.)

Please do not repeat any of the words Mommy said during the U.S. women's quarterfinal soccer match against Brazil when it is time to start talking. It was a real nail biter and some of those calls really were bullsh-... silly.

No rush on the walking thing. I finally convinced Mommy you really don't need shoes until you actually use your feet for something other than an attached pacifier.

Feel free to sleep in as often as you'd like, especially on the weekends, but not when you start school. (I bet all of the parents who read this just fell to the floor laughing hysterically. It's like winning the lottery: it could happen....)

Santa adds an extra present for every long nap you take.

Looking forward to more chats with you very soon but please stay in there just a little bit longer.

Love,

O'Mo

p.s. I am test driving different names for what you can call me. O'Mo seemed like a neat shortened version of other mother. However, I am now picturing Dick Van Dyke saying it in the voice he used for Mary Poppins and it sounds like a Cockney slur....



- The 2nd Mommy

What Does It Take to Put a Nursery Together?

2 Cribs: $300 and 5 hours (Yes, that left over screw, bolt and piece of wood was important. And it really is righty tighty, lefty loosey.)

1 Changing Table/Dresser: $250 and 3 hours (It turns out, you really do have to follow the steps in order. And it is still righty tighty, lefty loosey.)

6 pictures: $145 and 1 hour (When it comes to hanging pictures, a millimeter is very important and apparently a lot higher than one might think.)

1 rug: $130 and 4 months to choose (Sometimes, negotiating with The Saint is a sloooooooooow process.)

2 newborn wardrobes: $$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$ and counting (Seriously, they have more clothes than we do and they are not even here yet!!!!)

1 realization that most of the nursery will be outgrown and outdated in roughly 1 year: F&@KING PRICELESS!


- The 2nd Mommy

What Would I Do?

The other day I was looking at my blog stats (because I am shallow, obsessive and conceited) and realized I had 12 followers. My first thought?

Oh my God! I am just like Jesus when he first started out!

I know, I know: how blasphemous! How disrespectful! How dare I compare myself to the Lord and Saviour! Like a good lapsed Catholic, I immediately felt guilty for thinking such a thing.

But I couldn't help noticing other similarities:

We both wear Birkenstocks. (Okay, mine are Birks but I am sure JC would have worn them as well if they had them back in the day.)

We both have been ostracized for our beliefs. (Ironically, me in the name of Him. Probably not vice versa.)

Our mothers were totally awesome and our fathers were above all others (His literally, mine more figuratively).

But the big one? Though we don't have biological ties per se, we love our children unconditionally because they do belong to us regardless of what anyone says. Say what you will, but that gives me great comfort as I await the arrival of my little ones.

Now if I could just learn how to turn water into wine....


- The 2nd Mommy

Our Coping Mechanism

A lot of people have asked us some variation of THE question. Sometimes it is explicit, said in a moment of unbridled shock and awe. Often, it is implicit, thinly veiled by what they consider a more polite and appropriate question. Once in awhile, it is unspoken and simply a look, a fleeting thought that quickly prances across their face like your gay cousin Steve at your sister's wedding reception when the deejay played "We are Family" by Sister Sledge. THE question?

How the hell are you going to handle two boys?

I get it. We're old, we're gay chicks and we're not well acquainted with certain parts that come with our little bundles of joy. Even I have pondered this question late at night when The Saint is sound asleep and I am trying really hard not to Nyquil myself to sleep for the 8th night in a row. But we have found our coping mechanism:

TLC.

For those who think I just got all gooey, snap out of it because I don't mean tender loving care. I am talking about Discovery's The Learning Channel, specifically a wonderful show called Make Room for Multiples. The premise of the show is simple: 30 minutes in the life of a family preparing for and then bringing home their newborn multiples. Often, it is about twins, but there have been shows about triplets and quadruplets. These are the shows that we live for.

First, the families profiled are usually heterosexual, and more often than not, the dads are pretty useless. (But big props to Discovery because they did feature a lesbian couple a few days ago: you just earned our unwavering support.) Sure, they love their babies and seem genuinely excited about their arrival. A few have even teared up during the delivery but I think one of them did so because his wife was crushing his hand during labor. However, once they get home, the dads often have to be given very specific instructions of what to do and they almost always look completely lost. This gives us great joy because we are very much on the same page when it comes to running our household. We also both grew up around kids and know how to feed, change, bathe and generally keep little ones alive. Our partnership is a truly equal one, so married folks have nothing on us. The show is an excellent reminder of this.

Second, the families profiled almost always have other kids, often very young ones. In fact, the lesbian couple they profiled had three-year-old triplets and were getting ready for a set of twins! WTF?!?! One segment of the show showed ONE of the mothers taking all FIVE kids grocery shopping. Again: WTF?!??! The Saint knows that I am not venturing out alone with the boys until they are at least 16 and can drive me to the grocery store. And I would never ask nor expect her to take the boys out on her own if she felt uncomfortable doing so. Bottom line: if folks can handle 3, 4 or 5+ kids (and we are talking folks on a reality show), we should be able to manage 2.

Finally, many of the featured families have very little help, at least none that we ever see. But The Saint and I are rallying the troops and we are not afraid to bring in reinforcements! With age comes wisdom, and we are wise enough to know that we cannot do this alone. Grandma and Grandpa are on standby, aunt Cool One already has a plan of what needs to be done now and when the time arrives, and friends have been forewarned that if they want to hold the babies, they also have to feed/burp/change/clean the babies (or us) as well.

But most importantly (and this something we have never seen on the show), our liquor cabinet is stocked and ready to go. And we are not afraid to use it.

Thank you, TLC. We so have this one in the bag.....




- The 2nd Mommy

What to Really Expect When You're Expecting

I have hit information overload.

I consider myself a relatively smart person. As such, I believe in thoroughly preparing myself for the joys, sorrows and everything in between of motherhood by doing lots of research. My god, I teach composition for a living, so I know how this works. It turns out, there really is such a thing as too much information.

We have been reading quite a few baby books over the past few months. We attended all the parenting classes offered at our local hospital where I was the big dork who took volumes of notes. I even mocked those who dared to laugh at me during class. (Well, not to their face but those bitches smoking on break got a severe beat down in my head on the way home.) I have been on websites, talked to other parents and watched plenty of television shows about babies. And what can I tell you today about raising a child?

Don't shake the baby.

That's it. I am sitting here trying to remember something, anything useful and that's all I got.

So, what should you really expect when you are expecting, based on my expectations compared to my reality? (Catchy book title, no?)

You can expect everyone and their mother to come at you with every tidbit of info they have on parenting, good and bad. Sometimes, it is in the spirit of helping out a newbie. Often, it is simply sheer glee that someone else will soon be suffering as well. As the due date approaches, you will forget all of it.

You can expect to vacillate between total confidence ("Hell, if that dumbass at Olive Garden with the screaming spawns of Satan can do it without killing her kids, I can surely do this!") and utter terror ("Holy shit, what if they both turn out to be serial killers or Republicans?!??!")

You can expect at least 100 different answers to any given question you have.

You can expect to be completely overwhelmed the first four or five times you walk into Babies R Us. Just turn around and walk out. Go back when you are ready.

You can expect to curse Babies R Us every time you run in for a quick "one or two things" and walk out $200 and 2 hours later.

You can expect to curse yourself for not buying Babies R Us stock years ago.

But mostly, you can expect to let go of your expectations and enjoy the ride. Otherwise, you can expect a lot of sleepless nights before the babies even get here.


- The 2nd Mommy

An Open Letter to My Boys

Dear Frik and Frak:

Your due date is fast approaching and as it gets closer, I am realizing that we have a lot to do to get ready. But I think we need to get a few things clear first:

1. You are going to be loved beyond belief but please do not get a Jesus complex. Even though we might treat you like the second coming, it does not mean you really are.

2. Yes, you do have two mommies and no, not everyone does. People may tease you for this but you can ignore them. They are probably jealous because they know we are the most awesome parents ever. If the teasing persists, tell them that they were an accident and that you were planned for, which automatically makes you a better person as a bottle of tequila and a Dave Matthews concert had no role in your conception. Then kick them in the shins (but don't get caught and don't let Mommy know I said that).

3. You are going to be hugged and kissed on a daily basis. We both love you unconditionally and nothing will change that. This does not mean we are doormats. While I am not a fan of spanking, I will, in the immortal words of Will Smith, "touch that butt when you get out of line." True dat.

4. The color of your nursery is Monster Bile, not Daffodil Yellow. I don't know why the paint can downstairs says that.

Ok, great. Now hurry up and finish baking because we can't wait to meet you....

Love,

Your Other Mother



- The 2nd Mommy

There Are No Timeouts in Pregnancy

I feel bad, both literally and figuratively, which does not make for a very happy household. It is summer, a bit muggy and The Saint is getting uncomfortable as the twins have apparently set up a beach volleyball court in her uterus (don't even ask where they got the sand - we don't know). I want to do everything I can to make her comfortable and keep this a relatively easy pregnancy but we have encountered a big problem:

I am sick with a summer cold of epic proportions.

Actually, I think it might be the Bubonic Plague or something similar because I can't shake it. Yesterday was the worst: it felt like an elephant was sitting on my head, using its trunk to burrow deep inside my brain and shoot a gross substance I won't even begin to describe out of my nose. All.Damn.Day.

But The Saint is still pregnant and I want to take care of her. I did manage to make dinner last night but it was not the chicken dinner I know she wanted. Instead, we had scrambled eggs and toast since I figured this was a good substitute: if you can't have chicken, have something laid by a chicken. (And I know there is a good joke there, but this damn cold medicine has me all fogged up.)

While the eggs were good, and more than enough for me, I know it wasn't enough for The Saint and the two chorus line members in her belly. It also doesn't help that there was a sea of wadded up Kleenex on the living room floor driving her nuts but I wouldn't let her pick them up, lest she become infected as well. So I begrudgingly got up every hour or so to make what felt like a 30 mile trek to the garbage can to throw the little cotton germ bombs away, shuffling and snuffling the entire time.

The Saint was growing impatient but trying hard not to show it. This irritated me because I know she was right: I should have gone to the doctor by now. We spent a partially silent night together, complete with an exciting trip to the local drugstore for more cotton germ receptacles, something I am sure we will long for in the very near future. But now I am worried because if there are no timeouts during pregnancy...

...what does that mean for motherhood?


- The 2nd Mommy

It Begins

Two years ago, at what most doctors politely call "advanced maternal age," my partner (the Saint) and I (the Prof) decided it was time to start a family. After 8 inseminations, 1 miscarriage, and a big chunk of change (seriously, why the f#ck does sperm cost so much!???!!! It's not oil and it's pretty easy to obtain...), we finally succeeded.

In fact, one could say we became fertility overachievers: we're expecting twins.




I know what some of you are thinking: We? Why the hell is she saying we're pregnant? Are they BOTH having babies? No, we are not that stupid. I say "we" because these babies will be ours but I am not doing the hard stuff, hence the pseudonym for my partner: the Saint. And thus is the plight of the other mother.

You see, a lesbian couple and a hetero couple are two entirely different breed(er)s. Dads never have to answer the question, "So, why aren't you the one who got pregnant?" This is a tough one to answer because it is often loaded with judgement. If I am in a particularly crappy mood and the scorn of the question is palpable, I lie and say I have ovarian cysts that may or may not be malignant, which usually shuts the asker right up.

But if the question is sincere and asked by a friend, I tell the truth: I am scared to death of pregnancy and have never had any desire to push a child out of my nether regions. I paid attention during that fifth grade sex ed class; I saw how babies are born and decided right then and there that I wasn't ever going to do anything that might produce a baby.

Hmmmm, perhaps it worked a little too well....







- The 2nd Mommy