Baby Squared : chaos

(Not Exactly) A Walk in the Park

Roper — Wed, 13 May 2009 10:55:00 GMT

Over the last six months, things have gotten so much more manageable when it comes to going out in public places with girls. But every once in a while, I get a little cocky. And those gals put me right back in my place.

Mother's Day in Boston was a gorgeous day, sunny and breezy. After a morning of indulgent "me time" (I slept in, was brought Dunkin donuts and coffee for breakfast, read for awhile, went to the gym, then sat outside in the sunshine with a magazine) I wanted to spend a little quality mother-daughter time with my gals. I decided to take them into the city, to the Public Garden. It seemed like a terrific idea at the time. On my own with the girls (and their doll strollers) at a city park that also happens to be a major tourist attraction, on a beautiful Mother's Day? Sure! No problem! Piece of cake!

Yeah, well. Not exactly.

Things started off well. We got up and out of the Boston Common garage and across the street into the park without incident. First stop was the "Make Way for Ducklings" statues, mobbed with other small people and their parents, snapping photos. Elsa and Clio saw the other kids sitting on the ducks and figured they probably should do likewise. I snapped the obligatory photos.

Actually, during the course of our outing a lot of other people took photos of the girls, too. Or just grinned and commented and "aww"ed. They did look pretty cute, I guess, so purposely pushing around their twin Curious Georges in doll strollers. And Curious George is something of a Boston icon, so he fit in nicely with the ducklings, the swan boats, the skyline views, etc. (The Curious George books are published by Boston-based Houghton Mifflin and the authors were longtime Cambridge residents. Bit of trivia there for ya.)

We headed over to the lake next, to feed the ducks. The girls each had a bag of crumbled bread, which they attempted to fling into the water. Much of the time it didn't travel much farther than a few inches, owing to a strong headwind. But some pieces managed to make it in. I was feeling all cooler-than-thou because I let my girls go right onto the stone curb at the edge of the pond to throw their bread, while a mother nearby was freaking out anytime her daughter -- probably six or seven years old -- got within two feet. The water in the pond, at the shores, is about a foot deep so, while a fall would have been a messy proposition, it wouldn't have been life-threatening.

But my laid-back mom bravado quickly vanished when we attempted to go further into the park. While Elsa charged ahead at a breakneck speed with her stroller, Clio dawdled behind, stopping to point out the Swan Boats for me (here comes another one, Mommy!), stare up at trees, gape at a mounted policeman's horse, etc. In retrospect, she was probably also stalling to avoid the crowds we were headed toward: the bridge across the lake was like a freeway, more jammed with pedestrians than I've ever seen it before. Many of these people were attempting to take photos of each other standing against the rail, so the traffic periodically stopped and started and generally followed erratic and annoying patterns.

Meanwhile, I couldn't hold the girls' hands, because they were pushing their strollers. Until they decided they didn't want to do that anymore, so I got stuck holding both strollers, trying to maneuver my way through the crowds, while at the same time trying to keep Curious George and his twin brother from tumbling out onto the pavement. Meanwhile, Clio continued to dawdle and Elsa ran back and forth from one side of the bridge to the other -- totally oblivious to the other people there, several of whom almost tripped over her -- to see the Swan Boats go under on one side and back out the other. Trying to get the girls off the bridge onto the (only slightly less crowded) paths on the other side was like herding cats, and I had a few moments of sheer panic when I couldn't find one or the other of them for a few seconds.

Honestly, it was lousy judgement on my part. The doll strollers, the bridge, the crowded setting in general....I will not attempt something like this again on my own. At least not in the immediate future.

Once we were off the bridge, it was a little easier to keep the gals corraled, but not much. I tried to get them off the paths and onto the grass, where they'd be less likely to get tripped over by people. This was slightly better. Now instead of herding cats, it was like herding dogs. But I didn't feel like I really had things under control until we made it back across to Boston Common, where I quickly bought a couple of Italian ices for the girls and found us a shady patch of grass to sit in. Dealing with the slurping, spilling and stickiness that ensued was -- compared to the rest of our excursion -- a walk in the park.

The Reign of Clio

Roper — Sun, 21 Dec 2008 23:24:00 GMT

I am in need of some serious Babble reader advice, sympathy and/or commiseration here. We have the world's bossiest toddler living under our roof, and she's driving us bonkers. True, we have been basically trapped inside by snow for the past two-and-a-half days, so we're all feeling a little cabin-feverish. But this has been going on for some time: Clio has become incredibly high maintenance.

She wants to play with Play Doh now. She wants more milk now. She wants to watch the Baby Animal Songs DVD ("Baby ee-o") for the 4th time that day. She wants me to read Chickaboom to her for the 5th. But mostly, she orders us to hold her. We try to oblige when we can, but it's just not always possible. Making breakfast, going to the bathroom, playing with your other child, etc. are all fairly tricky when you've got a 26-lb. person in your arms. Unfortunately, Clio is also very specific about how and where she wants to be held: standing up vs. sitting down, with mommy vs. daddy, in the kitchen or in the living room. And she most definitely doesn't like to share a lap with Elsa. (I wonder if, in fact, this is all directly related to being a twin -- a sense of competition or jealousy, a need to have her individual desires met...)

When Clio doesn't get what she wants, she cries and yells and screams. If it gets really out of hand, we'll put her up in her crib for a while to chill out, but the effects are typically short-lived. Soon enough, she's yelling "Picka up! Picka up!" or "sitty mommy" (sit with mommy) again. We try to explain that Mommy/Daddy is doing something else and can't pick her up right now. We tell her she's a big girl who needs to walk / play / etc. by herself sometimes. We talk about taking turns so we can play with Elsa, too. We promise to pick her up later. We try to distract her with toys or books or milk or non-lethal kitchen utensils. We try pretty much everything. It works maybe 25% of the time.

My children are adorable and delightful and I love being their mother. But I have to admit: this is a tough phase. When faced with long stretches of time at home with the girls, both Alastair and I are finding it a real struggle. We want to give Clio the sense of control and closeness she's obviously craving, but we have another daughter who also needs our attention and has wants of her own (though usually not voiced as insistently, thank God). There are also meals to be cooked and dishes to be washed and phone calls to be made. We can't spend all our time bowing to the whims of Queen Clio. (Aside: Ooh! What a cool name for a queen!)

As a result of this, we're finding ourselves turning more frequently to videos and TV, since it's one of the few things that can keep both girls calm and contented for more than two minutes at a time. But I don't feel great about it. What I would really like is for Clio to be able to play on her own or with Elsa for even just ten minutes at a stretch without needing me to pick her up or put her on my lap in the middle of it. I would like her to be a little more flexible when it comes to what she does, where, and when. I would also like world peace and for someone to invent a car that runs on water.

Is there any hope? Or is this just typical 2-year old behavior that we'll have to weather as best we can?

Meanwhile, it's still snowing out there.

Twins = Bubonic plague?

Roper — Wed, 11 Jun 2008 00:15:00 GMT

I recently read this article in Boston Magazine, and it really bummed me out. The author, Julie Suratt, a mother of twins herself, notes that Massachusetts has the nation's highest twin birth rate, then says, "I have to wonder if this deluge of doubles is a good thing for their parents—or for our area as a whole. I adore my boys and wouldn't trade them for the world. But I would no more wish multiples on a couple than I would bubonic plague." Yikes!

Now, I realize she's exaggerating for the sake of impact with the bubonic plague thing. Being funny and all that -- I've tried it myself a few times. But the tone of the whole article is decidedly negative, and really rather whiney, in my opinion. Many of Suratt's complaints about the difficulties of raising twins could easily apply to raising any two (or more) children close in age. And to hear her kvetch about the cost of twin supplies and gear -- as someone from my MOT club noted -- you'd think she'd never heard of a yard sale, Craig's list, borrowing from friends or, God forbid, making due with less (I count three double strollers on her list...) And didn't anyone give the poor woman a baby shower?

"Our tally for diapers (at least 20 a day) and formula (16 bottles a day) for the first year was about $5,000. Add to that the clothing, furniture, and gear (to wit: double stroller, double jogger, double snap-n-go stroller, two highchairs, two playpens, two infant car seats, two toddler car seats, two cribs, two swings, two bouncy seats, two baby Bjorns…), and we probably spent $15,000."

(And, man, she must have had crazy-poopy babies to go through 10+ diapers per kid per day! I don't think we ever used that many, even in the earliest months.)

A big part of the article is spent discussing the role that assisted reproductcive technology (ART) plays in the burgeoning Mass. twin population, and the burden that twins pose on the healthcare system, due to premature births, complications, etc. The author makes a reasonable point in suggesting that fertility clinics educate their patients more fully about the chances of multiples with ART, encourage the transfer of only one embryo in IVF when possible, even if it means lower success rates for the clinic. But the fact is, infertile couples want success, too. Many try multiple IVFs to no avail. Implanting multiple embryos is done with the hope that even just ONE will develop into a pregnancy. Is it wrong for a couple to try for that? Has Suratt considered how painful and frustrating it is to face month after month, year after year, of failed attempts to conceive? (She conceived twins "naturally" as they say, without any ART.)

I didn't actually have IVF myself; I got pregnant through a combination of ovulation drugs and an IUI. The chances of multiple pregnancy in this type of procedure are actually higher than with IVF, but the process is much less involved and much less expensive. With my particular issue (polycystic ovaries) my insurance and the clinic I went to wouldn't have let me go straight to IVF -- a much costlier and more involved process -- without trying IUI first. (My fertility doc was, in fact, the one mentioned in the article.)

Would the author have had me lobby to go straight to IVF -- one embryo, of course, to avoid the risk of twins -- and pose a greater burden on the healthcare system? Or would she say, "why don't you just adopt?" -- the phrase that makes anyone who's dealt with infertility feel instantly homicidal toward the sayer? ("Just adopt." Uh huh. Hey, if your spouse dies, why don't you "just remarry"? If your wedding ring is stolen, why don't you "just replace it"? If you lose your job, why don't you "just move somewhere else and get a new one?")

Suratt also complains that twins are taking up too many spots in daycare and preschool, but that's just silly when you consider the fact that the overall birth rate in Massachusetts has actually declined over the past 15 years. (Thank you, Mass Department of Public Health.)

I'm not denying that twins pose unique and often formidable challenges both to parents and to society as a whole. And it sounds like the author had a particularly difficult experience, with the premature birth of her boys, and her struggle with post-partum depression. I sympathize, and I know that everyone has different experiences in becoming a parent. I just worry that articles like this perpetuate a belief that twins are some kind of, well, plague on society. (Would anyone dare say that the pre- and post-natal care that keeps more disabled babies alive today than in the past is a bad thing because it's a burden on parents and taxpayers?)

Anyway, I didn't mean to spend a whole post critiquing an article by a fellow MOT who is most likely a very nice and reasonable person, and whose article was probably sensationalized and negative-ized by her editors for the sake of controversy. But I guess I did. So to end on a bloggier and more positive note: any expectant twin moms who are reading this and freaking out -- or any twin moms who are feeling overwhelmed by the challenges (which certainly exist!) of raising twins -- I hope you'll check out my post from last year on the top five reasons why twins rule. (And add your own items to the list.)

Embracing Chaos

Roper — Thu, 15 Nov 2007 14:36:00 GMT

I have always drawn a great deal of satisfaction from decorating and ordering the spaces I inhabit. As a child, my room was my sanctuary, and I loved being in it, door closed, among my books and games and knickknacks, all arranged just so. My favorite book was "Molly Moves Out," a story about a bunny who leaves her home full of messy, pain-in-the-ass siblings and gets her own little house. Total fantasy fodder! My sophomore year of college, my dorm room was described in an article in the campus paper on people who "decorated" their dorm rooms. I've always loved setting up my desk or office at work. And in each of the various places Alastair and I have lived together, we've enjoyed nesting and organizing and decorating -- never spending a lot on new decor, but finding ways to make the hodge-podge of stuff we've acquired over the years "work."

We bought our first house -- the one we currently live in -- almost two years ago, while in the midst of trying to get pregnant. In fact, while we were painting and sanding and cleaning our new "baby," I was doing my first (unsuccessful) round of fertility drugs. A few months later, our house was starting to really feel like a home, and I was pregnant with twins. I remember at one point in my third trimester, sitting (no doubt uncomfortably) on the couch, admiring the very adult-looking space we'd created for ourselves: Shelves full of books, lovely hardwood floors, various exotic knicknacks and framed artwork. Antique furniture in the dining area. Curtains I'd made on the windows. It was lovely, and it was neat, and I knew that soon, it would be history. I didn't know if I'd be able to cope with the change gracefully. (My world! My beautiful world!)

Flash forward a year, and, as predicted, our house is overrun with baby-ness. There's a Jumperoo in the corner of the living room, a ball house thingy by the window, an entire shelf of our bookshelves cleared for the girls' toys and books, and various plush and plastic doodads scattered around the floor at any given time. The sideboard in the dining room is a changing table. The dining room table is a catchall for stray bits of baby clothing, bibs, a box of Cheerios. Two giant white highchairs that vaguely resemble Star Wars stormtroopers take up a whole corner of the room. Our knicknacks and magazines and framed photos have been relegated to higher shelves, safe from little hands. The neat, sophisticated order of our home is, indeed, a thing of the past. And you know what? It really doesn't bother me.

Sure, in the evening after the girls are in bed, we like to straighten up a little -- pick toys up off the floor, wipe the errant flakes of rice cereal off the dining room table, put baby shoes and hats stripped off after a walk back where they belong. But we can't erase the evidence of the babies completely, nor do we want to. Their toys and books and clothes and feeding paraphenalia are part of the whole messy, tiring, chaotic, ridiculous joy of having these two in our lives. What can we do but relax and embrace it?