The Next Ones

I averaged about two seizures each year over the past ten years. But in less than a year now I've had five seizures. Yesterday I had the fifth one-- the second one since I had Teddy. It was absolutely and completely my own fault this time. I had forgotten to take my medicine. The time before yesterday was in August, and that was when my neurologist had me cut back on my dosage too quickly and I had one in our street with all three boys. Fortunately for that one Brian was just upstairs in our house and Calvin sprinted up to get him while Clark stayed with Teddy. Awesome kids.

Yesterday my dear friend Missy stayed with me after she was going to drop us all off because I had felt a sometimes-seizure-indicating tremor while we were out. So when I had the seizure I was not only safe at home, I was safe at home with Missy to take care of the FIVE children that were there. It inconveniently happened on a rare day that I was watching little Alex, who I used to watch all the time. I fell into a wall and got a black eye and bit my tongue all up.

I hate my situation so much. I have sole responsibility for the lives of my children and sometimes others' children too, and yet I can't always guarantee that I will be capable-- even conscious-- throughout my responsibility. I find myself wondering if having children was a smart decision. Every day they are in jeopardy because of my seizures. And then I get bummed out about it and sad and wonder if my seizures will get worse and worse or stay the same or get better. I'm sad that my seizures scare my kids and husband. And then my medication makes me spacey and I forget what I was worrying about. I know it could be much, much worse.

It's an odd and helpless feeling to have your own body fighting against you in this way-- I'm sure in any way.

One thing is for certain; I am blessed to have so many people who are willing to drop everything and help me when I need it.

My eye from yesterday

My knees from the street in August

Finally Cool with the Pool

The last couple summers the boys have been terrified of the pool. I wrote about their escapades here. They screamed at even the idea of us taking them to the pool. It was ridiculous and the only way I could cope with it without going crazy was to write about it and then laugh at what I wrote. Finally last fall I forced them to take a swim class at the community center. They screamed the entire first lesson, including the 20 minutes before class, since we were accidentally early. The old ladies in the early morning water aerobics class were mostly sympathetic... but probably also annoyed by the shrieks echoing off the sterile white walls. The second class was only a little better. I summed up their hatred and tiny tolerance for the water here.

The boys, terrified of a half-full wading pool when they were two...
even when I was in with them.

But since then they've had another round of swim classes this spring and will start another round this summer. They've made strides. I wouldn't call them giant strides, but they're still much better than the days of the Pool Wars.

One of the cool things about living in Reston is that there are 16 public swimming pools in town! It seems that they each have cool features- one even has a covered sandbox area. We've met some fabulous new friends through Blastball who are big fans of the pools. Jackson is about six months older than Cal and Clark and they are in love with him. Jackson's mom Carey is actually due to have her baby any day now too, so we take our combined three boys, ourselves, our ginormous bellies, and our bulging swim bags of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and squirt guns to the pool. We get looks. One guy said to us, "Did you two come here to deliver?" Which isn't a bad idea, actually...water births are totally in right now... ha.

Yes, we're here to deliver.

Now that they have Jackson to go to the pool with and are more comfortable around water, the boys love to go to the pool. We also have a pool at our condo clubhouse that they love to go to. Cal especially is into it. He'll even jump off the sides, as long as someone catches him and his head doesn't quite go underwater. He'll plug his nose and go under with help, but I'm pretty sure he doesn't at all understand the concept of holding his breath, so hopefully his swim teacher will help with that soon. Today at the pool the boys were racing around the kids' pool as if the four corners were bases and they were diving headfirst into each base. It was great. They got their heads wet more than they ever have, all in the name of baseball.

The pool is also a great place for me, being a pregnant whale at the moment. I can sit motionless on a chair while the boys play in the kiddie pools, and I'm virtually weightless in the water where I can hold the boys up right to my face, which I can't do out of the water right now. I can cool off instantly. I don't have to wear real clothes. It is glorious. I'm so happy that the boys are finally excited about the pool! Maybe I should root for Peapod to take his time so I can enjoy a few more weeks at the pool. Nah. I need this child out of me.

Pool hunks

Discovering goggles

Fountains in the kiddie area at one pool!

Pizza break!

Hearts and Seizures and Kidneys and Eyes

We have some medical updates and news as of late.

Heart: Awhile ago we learned that there is an elevated risk of cardiac problems for babies whose moms are on seizure medicine and who have seizures. So the doctors do a detailed heart scan at 22 weeks where they look at all the parts of the heart and the blood flow and use a lot of words whose meanings I don't know.

Last week they did the scan of the baby's heart and everything checked out normal. It took the technician 30 minutes to complete the scan because Peapod wouldn't hold still. That kid is constantly moving. He must be taking notes from his brothers or something because he was flipping around in there like a gymnast and driving the technician crazy. She suggested we name him Speedy, which will definitely be worth considering, based on the boys other name suggestions. Which have been, among others:

Zamboni
Lasagna
Slapshot
Gorilla
Kevin Bacon
Fred
Balcony
Alcohol

So all is good on the pregnancy front, aside from the fact that I'm ready to hold this child in my arms, as I so eloquently wrote about here.

Seizures: I haven't had any since my last one about a month ago that scared us. I wrote about it here. A huge blessing has been that my wonderful mother-in-law has been coming over four mornings a week to just be here for two hours before she goes to work. I hadn't thought of her as a possibility because she works full time, but she works across the street from us and can come over and be here for roughly the first two hours I'm awake. This is huge! The boys love having her here and she has been able to get all kinds of cross-stitching done on her grandchildren stocking projects.

When the baby comes we will try to have something else in place for the other one day a week when she can't make it, but what a huge relief it is to have her come over! It gives us, especially Brian, peace of mind to know that if his pregnant wife has a seizure, she isn't alone in the house with 3 year-olds.

Kidney: On another medical issue that came up a couple weeks ago is that we found Clark has an abnormality with one of his ureters (tubes in between kidneys and bladder) which seems to be causing him occasional pain. The urologist doesn't think his back pain (which he complains about when he needs to go to the bathroom, but not every time) is related to the abnormality so he sent us back to the pediatrician to check out everything else again. Nothing else seems wrong so we are now documenting every time he complains of pain. Apparently the abnormality with the ureter doesn't normally cause any pain unless there is a much more serious problem, which results in all sorts of horrible symptoms such as projectile vomiting. Anyway, we will most likely be taking Clark in for some pretty invasive tests (think catheters) soon to find out if there's something else wrong.

Eye: As far as Cal's eye, everything seems to be fine since his alignment surgery in the fall.  He still patched four hours every day. He will actually see his eye doctor for a vision test this Friday and we think he may need a new prescription-- which is hopefully because his vision is still getting stronger!

So, there's the medical news of the household in case any of you were wondering...

Just for fun- Cal and the green wig

Chasing the Maternal Glow

This probably sounds bad, but I’m so done with being pregnant. I feel like I’m supposed to love this time—that I should be bathing everyone I’m around in my maternal glow— laughing in slow motion while my fingertips caress the gentle slope of my belly and my luxurious copper locks of hair fly gently on the perfectly-calibrated wind. I feel like I’m supposed to be this walking symbol of life and motherhood and all that is virtuous and right and fertile in the world. Like everything around me should be smooth and soft and set in sepia tones. Don’t get me wrong, I’d love to be that way. But if you think you see my maternal glow, I assure you that it is in fact the three rosy patches of acne that I’ve had since week four. If you think my hair is glossier, you might be right— the boys have been sick, so it’s not unlikely that their boogers have added to my sheen. And there’s nothing gentle or sloping about my belly—this thing is large and in charge. 

I know this time in my life will be over soon enough and I won’t give these limitations another thought, but I’m so ready to run and play with the boys without hurting, and to throw a ball as hard as I can without it twisting my ab muscles in knots. To walk without my back hurting. To lift the boys up. To be able to walk up three flights of stairs at a normal pace instead of at the pace of a small, distracted, crippled snail. To not have to pee every couple minutes or feel like I’ll pass out if I don’t eat every hour. All of those things will fade to grey. But for now they are bolded and in all CAPS and right in my face. A lot like the current state of my maternal bossoms.

I feel like such a fussy baby when I read what I’ve written, but it also feels good to say it. I know that when I see little Peapod’s face and hold his tiny body it will all be worth it, but right now it just feels like it’s taking forever and I miss my other body. Also, did I mention that I think I’m just about as heavy at 22 weeks as I was with the boys at this time? My body seriously needs to chill out. It’s not a competition, and there is only one human in there this time. Get over yourself. Everyone knows you can carry twins. You don’t have to try to do it again. I do not want to give birth to a 13 pounder—which is about what the boys weighed combined.

Okay, I’m done whining. Besides, I have to go pee.

This is me and my maternal glow holding up the toaster.
This is, however, from when I was 30 weeks pregnant with the boys.
I noticed that I don't have pictures of myself from this time...

The Way It Is

Last Sunday I had another seizure. It’s the second one I’ve had while pregnant this time. I fell straight down on my abdomen from a standing position. I fell partially on Calvin, and my coffee splattered all over the carpet. Fortunately, Brian was right there since it was Sunday. He called his mom to watch the boys while we went to the emergency room to have the baby checked out.

I couldn’t believe it. I’ve averaged one seizure per year for the past four years or so, and I just had one three months ago. I honestly didn’t think I’d have another one until next fall. Silly to think I could predict my own unpredictable neurological misfires.

I discovered, on returning back home from the hospital (Peapod was fine- moving all over like crazy on the sonogram), that I had forgotten my medicine the night before. That was a huge relief. I thought I’d remembered it. I can’t tell you how many times in my seizure-medicine-taking life I’ve forgotten my meds and been fine. But the only two times I’ve forgotten them while being pregnant this time, I’ve had a seizure within 10 hours of missing the dose.

Now our minds are spinning—I think especially Brian’s because he watched the seizure. What will we do with a newborn? The boys will not be able to pry me off a baby if I fall on it. They can’t turn off a pan with scorching pancakes on the stove or pick up a baby out of a bath. They can call for help on their phone, but that’s about it at this point. Fortunately we've been blessed as a family to get through this far with no horrible accident surrounding my seizures. But if something did happen we could never forgive ourselves. We feel that we need to make better arrangements. And now we are trying to figure out what in the world to do.

My seizures always have occurred within the first hour and a half to two hours of waking up. Basically I just need an alive, awake adult in my house every weekday morning for two hours. Let me tell you how this makes me feel: utterly useless. I hate that I need it, but I’m trying to swallow my pride and do what I need to do to take care of my family. There are other options we’re also looking into, but the least life-changing one would be to simply have someone come babysit me- a 32 year-old adult- every weekday morning; keep me from hurting my own children, should I have a seizure. It's grim and it makes me sad. But that's the way it is. I know it could be much worse.    

Any and all other ideas for how to face this are certainly welcome. 

Dawnee Fell Over

It had been a little over a year since my last seizure. I guess I was about due. I forgot to take my meds last Sunday night but remembered first thing Monday morning and took them. But it was too late and the meds didn't help. I had all three kids at home and didn't feel a tremor or anything coming on. Just nothing.

It was the usual super-confusion afterward, as I tried to desperately remember what day it was, what was happening, etc. I remember waking up on the floor and seeing Calvin hiding behind a box. He was patched and didn't have his glasses on-- which means that he couldn't see much of anything. I wonder in what order everything happened, but I'll never know. Did he willingly take his glasses off so he didn't have to watch me? Who knows. I asked the boys if I had a seizure, and they kept saying no, that everything was fine. I quickly got on Gtalk and told Brian and I emailed Alex's dad right away too. I don't have any memory of doing either of those things, but thanks to technology, it's all here.

The transcript to Brian was:

me: yey, i had seix;ure. Ca yuoiu copme home?

Brian: Okay. Will do.

me: THanks.

Brian: ARe you okay?

me: yeah i just feel very uconfused.

The email I wrote to Alex's dad was titled "siexuree." And its contents were:

"Is had a seizure this morning. Plaease come and get Alex wen you can. I'm so sorry. Everyne is fine."

Even though it's a little creepy, it's pretty comforting to know that I'm aware of what happens, even though I have no memory of being aware. And apparently spelling goes out the window when my brain freaks out. Understandable.

So, anyway, I seem to have pulled myself up, noticed a smoking pan on the stove and proceeded to finish cooking French toast for the kids, set them up to the table and served breakfast. Brian came home and I slept most of the day. The seizure headaches and post seizure confusion are intense. It was great to have Brian so close that he could be here so quickly.

Last year the boys talked about my seizure. But this year they will not, and I find it curious. Last year afterward they kept saying, "Mommy, you had a seizure," but this year they seem to have either genuinely not witnessed it (which just seems impossible) or they are choosing to deny it.

But, Alex is not in denial. In fact, she has the most insight of anyone into what happened. She's been telling her parents that "Dawnee fell over," "Dawnee knocked over a chair," "Dawnee was shaking." She even did the motions.

I worry about the boys and how they will handle my seizures. I can't imagine what it would be like to witness my mom having a seizure. I like to think it will make them stronger. Maybe it will make them creative.



I thought what Cal drew tonight fit well with the topic.

That's So Weird: On Being Dogs and Trains

One thing I hate thinking about as the boys get older is what kids can do to other kids with their words. I’ve seen it primarily as a teacher, but I also remember it from growing up. Kids can be so cruel and I’m leery of what they might say to my boys, especially because of Cal’s eye. I want to teach them to be strong and self-confident enough to handle the jabs and teases that come from just being around other kids.

I was reminded of what peers can do today at storytime. There’s a train table by the little stage at the bookstore and after storytime was over there were was one fairly old kid there—maybe 8 or 9—and another one a little younger who seemed to be taking lessons on everything the older kid did and said. Clark started playing at the table. He picked up a little bus and started pushing it around on the train tracks. To his follower and everyone in the children’s section, the older boy loudly mocked, “Look! That kid is pushing the bus on the tracks. He thinks it’s a train! That’s so weird!” This made his follower laugh.

I don’t think Clark even heard them, but I did. I had two thoughts: that kid is a big dumb jerk and way too big for the train table, and: if Clark is getting made fun of for this pretending, he will have way more to endure since he is constantly pretending. Both thoughts made me sad and made me want to keep the boys away from all kids for as long as possible, but of course that isn’t possible or even healthy.

After that incident that disturbed me, the boys and I made our way over to our clubhouse to pick up our pool passes. Some readers may remember that the boys have a sordid past with the pool and with large bodies of water in general, but today they just wanted to stare at the pool and the people in the pool and talk about them. On the way home I turned around to see both boys on their feet and hands. “Look mom, we’re dogs!” They yelled. Almost the entire way home from the clubhouse, minus when we crossed the streets, they were dogs. They named themselves Doo-doo and Wah-wah, and at various times on the walk, needed to be scratched.

As we got to our building they climbed the stairs like dogs and we stopped at our two favorite neighbors’ homes to show them that they were dogs. Mysteriously, the dogs’ names changed twice more as they introduced themselves to both neighbors, who played along wonderfully (Thank goodness one of them is a first grade teacher and the other one has grandkids). Inside I played along by making the dogs peanut butter and jelly dog biscuits and string cheese bones and letting them eat on the floor. I even held the cup while Cal tried to lap up his water.

I know playing this way isn’t bad, in fact I love all their pretending and I love pretending along with them, but I hope their wild imaginations don’t make them targets for mean jokes down the road. I have no idea how to combat that, other than teaching them not worry about what other people say. But I don’t know exactly how to teach that either. I am infinitely thankful that they have each other to stick up for in this journey of childhood; to be dogs together and to drive buses on train tracks. 

Doo-doo and Wah-wah scamper home.

Wah-wah gobbles up his biscuits while Doo-doo contemplates his.

Is Santa Coming?

I don’t know what to do about Santa. Who knew that the fat guy in red would ever pose a problem for me? I grew up not believing for a moment that Santa was real. My parents didn’t want to lie to my siblings and me, or to substitute the man in the red suit for the baby in the manger. I don't feel scarred by never believing. Brian grew up believing in Santa for awhile, but eventually caught on. He doesn’t even remember when he realized that Santa was his parents, so he clearly was not traumatized by the revelation like some kids are. He remembers that the magic of it was exciting for awhile, but is inclined, as I am, not to lie to our boys about Santa. A friendly man in line at the coffee shop the other day asked the boys who was coming soon (they didn't answer, just kept counting the chocolate milks) and then asked me slyly, "Well Mom, is Santa coming?" I didn't mean to, but I basically unloaded on him what Brian and I have been talking about when it comes to Santa. He had no idea the answer to his question would take so long.

Things to consider:

Enchantment: The magic of it does seem like it could be fun. Looking into the sky and searching for a sleigh and a really nice old man using flying reindeer to bring you what you want must be amazing. I don't want to cheat my kids of childhood fantasies, but on the other hand, I remember being completely enchanted by books I read as a child even though I knew they were fiction. I mean, knowing that Gilbert Blythe wasn't real didn't stop me from wanting to kiss him. I simply can’t bear the thought of having 10 year-olds who still believe in Santa and to whom we will have to one day admit we’ve been lying their entire lives. I’ve read what other parents have written about being in that exact position and how paralyzing it is. What else might we be lying about to them? 

Cookies and Carrots and Elves: I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t tell my boys to leave cookies for Santa and carrots for his reindeer. I couldn’t tell them that an elf is watching to see if they are good and report to Santa. It would eat at my conscience. No way. It was nothing that my parents told me and so it seems so unnatural and silly to me. For me, it would be like telling them with a straight face that Curious George is sitting on the toilet taking a poop in front of them even though they can’t see him. Which would probably make them want to beat me up, by the way.

It’s Still Magical: I loved Christmas growing up. For my family though, the magic and mystery of the season did not come from Santa and his elves, but from the gifts that we bought each other in secret and whispered about together, the kind things we did and made for others around us, the baking we did together, and of course celebrating the miracle of Christ’s birth all those years ago. We always got boxes of gifts and baked goods from my grandparents in Minnesota, and gifts from other distant family members. My grandparents who lived near us always gave us great gifts and came over for dinner. I remember lying underneath our thin, probably crooked Christmas trees (cut from the woods behind our house) every year looking up at the lights and ornaments and wondering about the gifts under the tree. Wondering who had given me what. Wondering how my brother would react when he saw what I bought him. Wondering what it might have been like all those years ago for the shepherds keeping watch over their sheep and that little couple in the stable. My sister and I hung snowflakes from our ceiling with fishing line and put lights up in our room. We fell asleep every night for a month listening to Christmas carols and plotting how we were going to pull off surprising Mom and Dad with something nice. Christmas Eve was always exciting. After our extended family left, we tried to fall asleep. We would hear Mom and Dad whispering and giggling as they filled our stockings, and we would squeeze our eyes tight as we willed ourselves to sleep, wondering what little things Mom had been hiding all year (and where?!) would appear in our stockings. It was a magical season, just not elf and reindeer powered.

Please Don’t Hate Us: I know that this decision would have social repercussions. How many of our friends and relatives will Cal or Clark offend if they blurt out to their children that Santa is not real? I don’t remember that my siblings or I ever did that. We knew Santa was pretend, but we didn’t shout it from the rooftops. I just don’t quite know how to delicately handle the situation.

Finding Middle Ground: The boys just a few weeks ago discovered Santa. “Who is that silly man?” Clark asked me. I told him it was Santa and he didn’t ask any questions. I don’t think we will actively tell them Santa isn’t real, but we aren’t going to make a big deal of it. As for now, they know that people give each other Christmas gifts—we’ve had a few gift exchanges with friends and with my brother. They have helped make Christmas gifts for friends and relatives. They know that the gifts under the tree are from us and Grandma and Papa and Gammy and Poppy. They know that Christmas is Jesus’ birthday. Why complicate things and create what could be a problem down the road? Instead I guess we’re basically ignoring the jolly old fellow for now and hoping that other elements of Christmas prove more memorable for the boys. 

As the man at the coffee shop said, while grasping for his double cappuccino on the way out the door and undoubtedly regretting having engaged me in conversation, "It's a big decision." 

Thoughts? I would love any input and/or advice you might have. Leave a comment! What is your experience as a child and/or parent? What have you told your kids? What do you plan to tell your kids? Why? Will you disown us if our boys tell your kids that Santa is pretend? I’d really love to know.

Santa-killer out.

Talk about seasonal magic: The boys eat their first-ever candy canes.

This is me one toothless Christmas before we moved to the woods
and cut our own trees.
I seem pretty well-adjusted, right?

First Ocean

Woah. Big.

Last weekend we took a trip to Virginia Beach to visit my sister-in-law and her kids and then stopped in Richmond to see my aunt and uncle. It was a nice trip and the boys, aside from Cal coughing so hard he threw up one time, were amazing little travelers. It is always so fun to introduce the boys to new things, but especially really cool, important things. Like say, the ocean. They saw the ocean for the first time last weekend. It must be amazing to look at that for the first time. I remember the first time I saw the Atlantic Ocean was when I was 18. And I hadn’t seen the Pacific Ocean that many times either. The beach there in downtown Virginia Beach was the very same spot I first looked at the Atlantic Ocean too. 

The boys have a Baby Einstein video about water, which includes some shots of the ocean, but as was evident from a trip to a farm a few months ago, they had very little idea of what the ocean is. We were walking on a path in between two fenced off areas where there was a big puddle that also took up some of one of the pastures. Cal pointed and excitedly said, “Ocean!”

Last Saturday, as we left the stroller by the boardwalk and started hiking across the expanse of sand toward the beach, the boys were terrified. Though they like sand, they hated it on their feet. They didn’t want anything to do with the water, even though their older cousin was frolicking with abandon in the waves and Brian and I were wading. We had to carry them there and then they begged to go back and look for ceiling fans they believed to be in a building we had walked by on the way. We directed their attention at everything individually- the seagulls and the boats, the kids, the sand, etc. 

Eventually they started liking the sand. They threw it up in the air and got it in their hair, their eyes, each other’s hair and eyes. Made for a messy bathtub when we got back, but I was glad they finally warmed up to the giant awesomeness that is Ocean. Enjoy my first-ever blog photo story.

This is so not cool. What do I do?

Help me, Dad!

Why are you doing this to us?

We don't care, Mom.

Noooooo.

Daddy hugs make it a little better.

Go see ceiling fans!

Oh! A bird!

A boat!

So this is like sandbox sand?

Sandals off = huge progress

I like this sand, Cal!

Upside-down sand

Flying sand!

Yipee!

Happy boy A

Happy boy B

I love the ocean!

First ocean day brother hug!