Stronger

I think somebody has put toddler Miracle Gro in my kids' juice, because their physical developmental seems to have grown at an exponential rate this summer. On the outside things are about the same; they look a little older but are pretty much the same half-pint tikes they were four months ago. Yet, their physical strength and coordination, verbal skills, and sense of independence has exploded onto the scene in a way that has me scrutinizing the ingredients on their daily vitamin to make sure they're not ingesting some kind of baby steroid, which would be a disaster, because we all saw what PEDs (performance enhancing drugs) did to Barry Bonds' cranium, and I just don't think Ben's noggin could handle any kind of artificial growth enhancement.

All summer I've been noticing a slow uptick in Bemma's skills--they're running farther and faster, they're conquering new parts of the playground, Emma's putting choke holds on Ben, Ben's tackling Emma, they're jumping from higher platforms with more graceful landings, they can shoot a basketball from a few feet away, they can run and kick a soccer ball, and they can hike up to the park above our house, a trek that once seemed impossible--but this morning I took them on a 'nature walk' at Lacamas Lake and I was struck by their progression.

We haven't had many 'nature walks' this summer because of the ridiculous amount of mosquitoes that like to treat Bemma like their own personal buffet, but this past spring I took Bemma to the trail at least once a week. We watched ants, beetles, and centipedes scurry through the twigs and rocks, dodged runners, hid from the big dogs, marched with leaves and on the rare occasion we even witnessed a bunny. We'd usually make it anywhere from .5-1.0 miles round trip and the final .25 was usually the 'daddy caravan' segment of the journey when weary Bemma begged to be carried back to the car. When we began the ritual I was very pleased with how far the kids could go and was especially impressed by their running stride (they naturally have a 'barefoot stride').

It was a great time that came to a crashing halt on our first warm June day when the mosquitoes rose from the lake brush and descended upon us like an attacking horde; before we realized what was happening they were on us, and by the time we scooped Bemma up and deposited them back in the safety of our Hyundai Tucson, little red bumps were beginning to show and the torturous itch was beginning to burn. In that moment I decided the mosquitoes could have the trail for the summer and we'd find somewhere new to explore.

And that's what we did. All summer we avoided the trail, and then today, as our August 29th started off cloudy and 52 degrees--which is a travesty I won't even begin to lament--I wagered that the mosquitoes must have decreased in number and ferocity and we returned to the trail.

Bemma hit the trail running...literally. A lady was beginning her run as we were beginning our 'nature walk' and Bemma ran with her for a few yards before settling into a nice hiking rhythm. After 1.0 mile of round trip walking, hopping, running and walking-stick-gathering, I figured they'd be ready for a rest and a snack. Nope. They wanted to throw rocks into the lake like the big boy who was doing it on the trail. So we found a safe spot and they threw rocks and wood chips into the lake. Surely they were ready for a break now, right? Not quite. They wanted to go check out the Canadian Geese and then throw some more rocks into a mini-valley that ran through the grass.

At that point I coaxed them into eating a vegan oatmeal raisin cookie and drinking some water. After the quick pit stop they were throwing their water bottles into the mini-valley and then going in after them, all the while trying to avoid the thorn bush at the bottom. At that point I was more than tired and ready to go home, but I also wanted to see how much gas Bemma had left in their tank, so I directed them to the playground.

I took a seat and watched as my duo raced over the playground like the brightly colored wooden pieces kids push around the metal wires at Doctor's offices. I realized that in a little over two months my children had increased their 'playing stamina' at least three fold, probably more. This revelation filled me with wonder, thankfulness, and pride. The marathoner in me knows the joy that comes with conquering a physical obstacle that had previously seemed unattainable. As Bemma roamed, I recognized that same joy in their playful mutterings, peaceful smiles and confident movements. Where once there were babies who babbled and toddlers who toppled, there are now children, little people pushing the limits of their development each and every day, and I feel honored to facilitate and observe.

I'm hoping to do a 50k trail run in 2011. If Ben and Emma keep developing on this curve they might not only be joining me, they could be my pacers...but only if there's a chance to see bunnies and throw rocks into the lake.

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BTW: The picture is from the 'blue park' and was taken by Aunt Tracy last week. I didn't have any pictures from today, but I think this one does a good job conveying the meaning.

First Fair

Cows are big!

I experienced that first hand last week when Nora and I took Bemma to the Clark County fair with their pal Macy and our good friend Kristy. We live in a semi-rural area and many of our drives are choreographed around farms that have a few roaming cows. The
four-legged grazers give Bemma something to marvel at as Barney's melodies fill the car and burrow deep into my subconscious (seriously, every time I run, do the dishes, eat, use the bathroom, wash the car, check the mail, etc., I have one of that purple monster's songs rattling through my head..."look both ways when you cross the street...").

My role is usually that of a spotter, identifying the cows and then providing direction as to which side of the car Bemma can direct their focus, although they have a great cow radar and have memorized each spot at which the cows should be located. As the spotter, and usually the driver, I haven't taken a lot of time to really appreciate the sheer mass of a cow until I was at the fair, standing within a few feet of one. Suddenly that grazing giant didn't seem serene and his black and white spots seemed like some kind of psychoanalytical puzzle designed to distract me long enough to gobble up Ben's right arm and slowly digest it in one of his four stomachs. I was wary of the cow, and I'm pretty sure he was wary of me, but Ben thought it was great.

And don't even get me started on the sheep. Those are some creepy animals whose noises sound nothing like the innocent, "Baa," Old MacDonald would lead us to believe. As we walked past their bleating cries and pitch black eyes that looked at nothing--and yet everything--I felt the maze of pens closing in on me, and when Emma said, "Bye, Bye", with her sad lower lip protruding, I gladly scooped her up and retreated.

To my relief, the bunnies were soft and harmless, and the chicks were so cute I wanted to put one in my shirt pocket to take home, but I refuse to accept that a full grown chicken is an animal to be trusted. Chickens are shiftier than a mobster at an FBI gala. The way they claw the ground and peck the air makes them look like they're about to burst, ready to cross over from sanity to insanity. It's like they just watched the colonel stroll by with a bucket of finger lickin' goodness and they were pretty sure that extra crispy wing looked a lot like their uncle Freddy who vanished without a word from the farm last week.

And on that note, I found it either very ironic or well-planned, and a little bit messed up, that the stall of beef cows opened onto a huge sign of a giant burger. Maybe it's the budding vegan in me, but really? I mean it's one thing to eat the cows, but do we have to make them look at a picture of it all day long? I'm just saying...

Even though I'm apparently suffering some kind of PTSD from the fair (seriously, my unsettled feelings about farm animals has tumbled out of me while writing this blog) Bemma seemed to love all the animals. When they saw the cows they reacted a lot like I would if I'd seen Ken Griffey Jr. or Michael Jordan when I was 12. I would've jumped up and down, shouted an exclamation, and peed my pants a little. That's pretty much what they did when they got to stand next to a cow.

As you might be able to infer, the farm animals were the biggest hit for Bemma, but they also got to ride on a Tea Cup and Emma and Macy rode on the carousel. Ben is still building up his courage for that one, but I think he's watched Emma ride it enough times with no ill consequences that maybe he'll be excited to ride the "horsey" the next time the opportunity presents itself.

Our stay was short (only a couple of hours), the rides were overpriced (they always are), and I'm pretty sure I will never be able to visit a real life animal farm, but going to the fair was a great day.

I'm realizing more and more that it's local events and features -- the fairs, the farmer's market (Vancouver and Camas), library events, movies and concerts in the parks, the parks themselves, and countless other things -- that are the bright patches on the quilts of Bemma's childhood. I'm so grateful that we live a community that values these things. In an economy where budgets are being scoured as carefully as job postings, these events provide some much needed relief and allows parents like me to give their kids a memorable summer.

I'm getting excited for the Puyallup fair, but I'll be sure to bring a decoy Ben and a decoy Emma in case the cows or sheep try and get too frisky. And the next time we drive by a cow I will pause Barney out of respect for the giant creature and his four stomachs.

Timeline Part Two: The NICU

NICU: Neonatal Intensive Care Unit

We were so relieved that Ben and Emma made it to 34 weeks gestation, and were born healthy, that their time in the NICU didn't feel as scary or overwhelming as I'd imagined. For one thing, they were very healthy compared with some of the babies they shared the unit with, which provided us with perspective on just how fortunate we were. For another thing, since Bemma weren't in dire physical condition -- outside of a little jaundice and CPAP for Emma they were mostly taking time to rest, eat, and repeat -- the three weeks they spent ripening became a magical slice of time when Nora healed and rested, we got to know our babies, we received newborn handling instructions from some of the best nurses in the country, and, most surprisingly, Nora and I got to spend a lot of hours together over lunch and coffee while the babies slept.

At first it felt weird to ever leave the babies bedside, but, after much prompting from the wise sages in scrubs, we finally believed that having some time together away from the hospital while the babies slept was not only allowed, it was possibly the best way to renew our spirits and charge our batteries for what we had coming the moment the NICU staff decided to give us the keys to newborn parenthood.

Our days developed a lovely pattern. We'd wake early, gather clothes for Bemma, and make the trek to the hospital in time for the 9am feeding. After vigorously scrubbing ourselves at the entrance, so as not to infect the vulnerable babies, we'd scurry to the corner of the unit our little ones were tucked into.

We'd always make sure the night nurse told the day nurse that we were going to be there so that we could participate in the entire ritual. First, we'd say happy good mornings to the little faces we'd never forget but were still getting to know. Next we'd unwrap them from their cocoon of swaddling blankets and change their tiny diapers, which made me feel like a giant with tree stumps for fingers. Finally we'd re-clothe and swaddle our bundles and offer them a bottle, measured by the milliliter. Under careful observation from the nurse, we'd place Bemma in the 'feeding position' with the left arm supporting the body and the left hand supporting the head. With the right hand we'd tilt the bottle to just the right angle so as to optimize food intake, but minimize gas bubbles. And then we'd hope, plead and pray for twins to eat, and erupt in hushed exultation if even a handful of milliliters had made the journey from bottle to belly.

After 30-45 minutes the nurse would call 'time' and we'd have to return our bundles to the bed and watch as the remainder of their bottle was shuttled through a tube that ran into their nose, through their pharynx, down their esophagus and into their stomach. We'd watch with awe as our little angels fluttered in and out of dozing and then gave in to their desperate need for sleep.

To recap the events up to that point, we arrived at the bedside by 9am. Changed diapers from 9-9:30ish and fed from 9:30-10:15ish. (That illustrates another thing about premature babies. Everything happens in slow motion). The next ritual would commence at high noon, so it was at this time that Nora would usually rest in a chair next to the babies and I'd go for a run. I'd race back in time for the noon changing and feeding, after which we'd usually go have lunch and be sure to return by 3pm to perform the ritual yet again. After the 3pm, there would be some afternoon napping with the babies, a little snack and, BAM, it'd be 6pm, time to do it again. At the 6pm, we'd have to hustle because they closed the NICU to visitors from 7-8pm. At that point, after a long day of drinking in our new babies and time spent together, Nora and I would return home, unpack our belongings, eat some food, lay out some clothes for Bemma for the next day and then get some rest, excited to do it all the next day.

I know the 6am, 12pm, 3pm, and 6pm feeding rituals may sound like the same activity over and over again, but they were anything but that. Each time we changed a diaper, held our babies, wrapped them in blankets, touched their toes, fed them, stared at them while they slept, or burped them, was in of itself a spectacular and exciting moment, like taking the first steps on the moon repeatedly throughout the course of a day. I never would've guessed that living in a newborn's world could be so exciting.

After three weeks, the babies got the nod from the docs, and the nurses handed us the keys to our babies. We accepted them with glee, hearts bursting to take the training wheels off of our parenthood. 24 hours and no sleep later we were ready to re-install those training wheels and move back into the cozy confines of the NICU. Our magical slice of time had officially been consumed by life with twin newborns.

Stay tuned for a chronicle of the newborn months...

Timeline

Since the first positive pregnancy test, my feelings regarding life with Bemma have fluctuated like a teenage girl picking her favorite 'Twilight' character. As I've mentioned in earlier posts, I always loved them, but my enthusiasm for all they required ebbed and flowed, tides pulled by the moons of sleepless nights, adorable smiles, exploding diapers, first words, endless words, and so on, and so forth.

I'm going to jot down a rough time line of my life with Bemma so far. Its not exact, and it's based on my alternating sleep-deprived and caffeine-injected memory, so the stories and the children involved may blur...kind of like their names. Bemma. :)

This blog is the first in a series of the 'Timeline' blogs, so if you like it, there's more to come. If you don't, well, I don't really know what to tell you.


Pregnancy

The entire pregnancy was an emotionally, and--for Nora-- physically grueling ordeal. It was a snail-paced gauntlet of nausea, stress, a shrinking cervix, and bed rest, mixed with moments of pure ecstasy when Emma would make her presence known by shoving her foot through Nora's abdomen and Ben would show up on the ultrasound as an accommodating roommate, folded in half and pushed to the very bottom of the womb as Emma enjoyed her bigger umbilical cord and penthouse view.

Mostly, the pregnancy was very hard on both Nora and I, but we pushed through because those little peas in the pod were growing and revealing their personalities, and we wanted to do everything possible to make sure they got a chance to express themselves. There were a lot of doctors, a lot of doughnuts and a lot of prayer. I must say that Nora handled it all beautifully, proving herself a selfless mother long before she'd even held Bemma in her arms. When I think back on that time I don't remember her complaining. I just remember her on the couch, face set and spirit determined that she would do anything, everything to make sure she got her chance to get to know her children.

Meanwhile, I felt helpless.


Birth

It seems that I'm horrible at anticipating how I will react to the biggest moments of my life. The days I graduated from high school and college, the day I proposed to Nora, and my wedding day all felt entirely different than I;d imagined they would. In many ways they exceeded my imagination and for the most part I reacted much different emotionally than I'd guessed.

For example, I always thought I'd be one of those guys that couldn't stop crying when he saw his future wife walking down the aisle, and that I'd blubber through the vows. But on my wedding day, as Nora floated gracefully down the aisle, I felt no urge to cry. I found myself flooded in peace and could do nothing but smile. I saw my lover, my friend, my life-partner making her way to join me and felt an overwhelming and simple reassurance, peace wrapped in joy...with a heaping side of excitement for the honeymoon to come...

Likewise, I thought I would rain buckets of joyful tears upon seeing my children, especially after the hard road of Nora's pregnancy. But on that beautiful April evening at 8:28 and 8:29, respectively, I found myself in the company of the same peace I'd met on my wedding night. As I held my son, and then my daughter, covered in the birth goo only a parent can find adorable, I didn't want to cry. I just wanted the world to stop spinning so I could drink in my children and be refreshed by their cooling presence after the desert of fear Nora and I had wandered. I wanted just a moment to get to know the serene little man that Benjamin was and marvel at Emma's bright red afro and fierce cry. As I took big gulps of their presence relief and thanksgiving washed away my fear and I realized that the tears I'd anticipated for so long were nowhere to be found. I felt the purest happiness I've ever known. I was still, at peace with the Universe, my family intact.

In the next blog I'll reminisce on our time in the NICU and the early weeks...oh, the early weeks...