Twins + singleton = losing count

Throughout the years, I’ve documented my ups and downs with bipolar/depression here. (I always feel the need to temper the word “bipolar” with the word “depression” because the former generally invokes visions of a manic person staying awake for a week while they paint the corners of their closets and then cry for three days. [Or maybe that's crystal meth?] I’ve been diagnosed with bipolar II, a milder form of bipolar disorder that consists of euphoric highs cycled with very deep, dark lows.) Unfortunately, it’s a constant part of my life. I don’t deal with it well. It’s uncomfortable. And perhaps the worst part is that I can feel it coming on.

When I’m in my euphoria, life is AWESOME. I’m happy, bubbly, expressive, fun, maybe a little wild (okay, maybe pretty wild. I try to blur out most of my teens years and 20′s because some of the stuff I did makes me cringe.). I convince myself that everything is okay and that my depressive bouts must be a distant memory — that this time, things will be different.

It never is. It never, ever is.

Since having Amaia, I’ve been mostly stable. Even as recent as a few weeks ago, I felt pretty great. Life was fulfilling and I had a positive and generally even-tempered outlook on things. The regular exercise must be helping, I told myself. Having a break while the girls are in school is really doing wonders, I thought.

But I kept looking over my shoulder, feeling that the next depressive low was just around the corner. Like I was just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Of course, the shoe dropped. It’s dropping now. I’m not doing well. Again. It’s not as bad as it was when it hit after the twins, but it’s not good. Every day, every hour, feels harder than the last. I’m holding onto my sanity by ever-thinning threads. I feel like some days are getting too much for me to handle. I need more help than I can possibly bring myself to ask for — because of course, asking for help makes me a fucking HORRIBLE mother, which intensifies the feelings of worthlessness, failure, guilt, and anxiety.

Interestingly, I noticed that the downward turn coincides with the return of my period — just as it did last time when my period came back after the twins. The hormones probably have a big impact and it makes me wonder how things will look after I finish nursing.

And speaking of nursing, the onset of a depressive episode reminds me of how long this rollercoaster has been going on — the pregnant-nursing-weaning-woops-pregnant-again-nursing-again-need-to-wean-soon rollercoaster, that is. I had only weaned the twins because I needed to get back on my medication (Lamictal), only to immediately get pregnant with Amaia as soon as I weaned.

I do NOT want to stop breastfeeding because of this FUCKING disorder. BUT. I can’t go on like this. I’m not a good mom like this. I am NOT a good mom like this.

I know there’s more to me than what I feel now. I know that I can love and feel good again. I know because I’ve felt it.

So I will eventually wean Amaia because I love her that much. I love all my kids that much.

The baby is now 9.5 months old and I’m getting close to being able to do that. I just need to hang in there for a few more months.

Well, hell! Amaia went and turned nine months old and I’m just now getting a chance to catch up. How is she doing?

Eating

As solids become more and more a part of Amaia’s everyday diet, she nurses less and my milk supply is taking a major hit.

Currently, she nurses 4-5 times a day and has 2-3 meals of baby food and other miscellaneous finger food, including puffs, Mum Mums, pieces of bread and fruit. She still chokes on some chunkier stuff, so we have to be careful. Meanwhile, as my milk supply drops, my letdown reflex takes longer and longer . . . which means the baby becomes impatient and upset, latching and unlatching over and over again . . . which in turns stresses me out . . . which consequently prohibits an ejection reflex at all. Sometimes, I get so stressed out by how long it takes for my milk to let down that I don’t have a let down at all, and we have to stop altogether. It’s all very upsetting.

Looking back at where the twins were at nine months, though, Amaia has the same eating habits. I’ve been taking Fenugreek just to be on the safe side. I’m also finding it helpful to have a little toy or other object handy to distract the baby while she nurses so that my milk has time to come in. She refuses to drink milk out of anything but the breast (or mixed with cereal), so I can’t even try pumping and feeding her from a cup or straw until we hit the one-year mark. I’m just trying to keep my patience and take it one nursing at a time.

Sleeping

Hallelujah, people! After eight months of interrupted sleep, I’m finally sleeping through the night! And so is the baby! I can’t tell you what a difference a full-night’s sleep makes on my perspective. The baby sleeps from 8pm to about 7:30am. She’s just as awesome as the girls were when they were babies — she just wakes up and mumbles and sings to herself until someone comes to get her.

As far as napping goes, she will no longer doze off in a bouncy seat, so she only takes a morning nap if we’re in the car for longer than 10 minutes in the morning. She always takes a really super awesome three-hour nap in the afternoon from about 1pm – 4pm. It’s heavenly.

Sizes

Though she fits into 9-12 month, Amaia’s on the long side so I have her in 12 month onesies. Her waist and hips are small, though, so she can fit into smaller pants (though I personally believe they use freakishly gigantic babies for pants models — those things are HUGE, right???). She’s in a size 3 diaper. I’m guessing she’s around 17 pounds, but we haven’t had her nine-month appointment yet so I’m not sure. I’m pretty certain she’s lighter than the twins were at this age, though.

Personality

I think this photo says it all about Amaia’s personality:

I’m telling you, this baby is so freaking happy. She smiles and smiles, laughs, talks to herself, sings, dances to music, gleefully kicks her feet and waves her hands. Overall, she’s just a really pleasant, observant, enjoyable baby. She LOVES little kids, especially little girls and, more than anything, her big sisters. She gets pretty freaked out with aggressive little boys, though.

Something noticeable with Amaia is that she’s incredibly attached to me. She often gets really upset if she sees me leave a room. Come dinner time, no one will do but Ama. As soon as I get home from the gym in the evenings, I pretty much have to tote her around until she goes to bed, or else she’ll just whine and cry.

Milestones

Amaia is still just scooting, not crawling. I can’t help but compare to the twins, who were pulling to a stand and trying to stand independently already by now, but I know that Amaia is just doing things her way. She’s a far more sociable baby than the twins were, so it’s just a matter of her individual demeanor.

She has four teeth so far — the bottom two center ones and, oddly, the top center and left incisor. The second top center tooth and right incisor are at the point of breaking through, too. Thankfully, she hasn’t used her teeth while nursing.

Still no hair to speak of. Poor kid.

This month, she also went in a swing for the first time. She LOVED it!

Remember this guy?

Creepy voice aside, I think that, after two decades of seeing his commercials, I’m finally going to call his ass.

You see, Althea has artistic abilities. We first noticed it when we gave the girls Magna Doodles (are they still called that, or am I just old?) about a year ago. While Elise had the typical two-year-old reaction of using it as a step stool, Althea started drawing circles. Lots of them. All surprisingly round and of varying sizes.

“Well,” I thought. “Ain’t she one circle-drawing fool.”

Circles soon became drawings of Muno from Yo Gabba Gabba. From there, she began doing faces. Here’s a portrait of me. Apparently I have airborne hair (or is that a halo?) and a bad case of acne — at least one of which is accurate on any given day.

Some of the things she draws are pretty awesome. One day, she ran over to me saying “Cat! Kramer!” She dragged me over to her Magna Doodle to show me this picture she drew of Kramer, our cat:

Pretty close. She even remembered to put a tail on him. Either that, or he’s shitting upwards.

One day, she asked me to add teeth on a smiley face she’d drawn. Then, she disappeared. When she came back, she was holding this:

This is a portrait of her Grandma and Grandpa (my in-laws). Notice that Grandma (the top one) has teeth and is even wearing glasses like Real Grandma. Grandpa, on the other hand, didn’t fare so well this time. I guess even genius artistry has its limits.

While this type of artwork makes me throw a few more bucks in her college fund, there are some endeavors that are just plain disturbing. Such as:

Fuuuuck. I really can’t think of a moment that has made me feel like a worse mother than this. It pretty much makes you want to call a child psychologist, right?

And a few days ago, I walked into the garage to find this bit of artistry on her easel:

I do believe that’s Mr. Hankey, the Christmas Poo. Hey, at least he’s smiling.

I’m pregnant and in hard labor, wandering the campus of the University of Florida at night and looking for a hospital where I can give birth to my baby. I’m certain I’m at the point of needing to push, but every time I look at my stomach, it’s nearly flat. I’m concerned that the baby is gone, but she kicks me violently in the ribs to remind me she’s still there.

Finally, I find a building that looks enough like a hospital. I find a bed, where I lie on my back and discover my stomach is indeed flat. The baby kicks me so hard that I writhe in pain. Soon, though, I realize I am no longer in labor. Instead, a giant python head pushes against my stomach from the inside. Through my skin, the snake tries to bite my hand as I scream and swat at it in terror.

This was the dream I had last night as I slipped in and out of consciousness, tossing and turning with anticipation of the twins’ first day of preschool.

My completely unqualified interpretation of this dream shows a great amount of anxiety over major milestones (birth, baby, school). There’s a conflict between feeling I have a baby, then fearing it’s gone, then realizing it’s actually trying to escape (and apparently eat me alive), but that my own skin is holding it back. Also, I have a fear of a giant, vicious snake taking residence in my abdomen.

I woke up extra early this morning to get everything in order. Chris came with me to drop the girls off. We took them to their classroom and kissed them good-bye. Althea was immediately distracted with drawing, but Elise saw us leaving and took off down the hall after us. The teacher nabbed her and we gave her one last kiss before she went back to the classroom, crying and howling.

I stood in the lobby, watching the girls on the cameras and hearing Elise howling at the top of her lungs. Then, I left.

The errands I’d planned to keep myself busy for three hours took exactly 25 minutes. So, I got a coffee at Starbucks and sat in the van with the sleeping baby. An unusual morning storm pounded water all around us. I checked my email on my phone. I listened to the rain.

Since I had no other plans, Amaia and I went back home. It was eerily quiet as we walked in. The vestiges of Althea and Elise’s presence were all around: a toy vacuum cleaner on the couch, an overturned basket of toys scattered on the carpet, toast crumbs fallen on the kitchen floor. My mind flashed forward 15 years, when the girls leave the house and the noises and the messes are gone.

I nursed the baby. I checked my email. I watched the rain clear up.

Chris and I were the first parents back at the school to pick up the kids. The building had calmed from that morning. The fear-filled cries of dozens of confused children were gone. In the lobby, I watched the video stream of the girls’ classroom. The kids were seated in a semi-circle around the teacher. Althea and Elise both were model students, singing and imitating the teacher. My heart swelled.

Our first day of preschool was pretty great.

I’m so excited.

I’m so sad.

It hit me that what I’m saddest about is that the girls are going to do all these awesome, amazing, fun things, but I won’t be there to see it all happen. I don’t mind that I don’t teach them everything, and I don’t need to participate in everything they do, but I just want to be there to see it. Until now, I’ve always been the storyteller of their lives. Now, they’ll tell stories of their own.

For the past few weeks, I’ve been having some serious shit going on with my hormones. My hair finally stopped falling out in clumps since having Amaia (EIGHT MONTHS ago), but then I started breaking out like a teenager in  heat. And not in silly little whiteheads. No, I’m talking gigantic, flaming-red balls of yellow-filled pustules. My face is oilier than a frying pan. It’s totally disgusting.

Then, the scale started creeping up.

Then, I started wanting to eat everything in the refrigerator.

Then, I got a familiar pain in my uterus.

I just realized all that made it sound like I was pregnant again. I’m not.

I’m freaking ovulating again and I’m going to get my first post-partum period. Dammit. I got off period-free for eight months this time. It was 9 1/2 months with the twins.

But that’s not all. I’ve written before about how I get some extremely intense ovulation pain (called mittelschmerz), so I know exactly when it happens and which side the egg comes from.

Well, this time, I ovulated from both ovaries.

Yes, there are two eggs floating around my fallopians as we speak. Chris has been ordered to keep his penis as far away from me as possible for the next few days because if I so much as look at Mr. Happy Pants, I’ll end up pregnant with twins again.

Look at this pile of stuff.

Does any of it look familiar? Like school supplies, perhaps?

That’s because, starting next Tuesday, the twins are off to the great big world of school.

It’s not like a for-reals school. We’re too broke for that at this point. It’s just a Parents’ Morning Out program at a local church, so it’s only three hours a day, two days a week for now.

Still, this is a big step for us. If you’ve followed my blog for a while, you know that, aside from a short, part-time stint back at work in early 2009, I haven’t been away from my kids in nearly three whole years. The program they’re going to has a real cirriculum, rules to follow, goals to achieve. There’s a freaking parent’s manual for me to read.

Oh god. I have to cooperate with other adults who are going to be in charge of my kids, critiquing and disciplining and expecting things of them — all out of my control. I’m not going to last a week with these people, am I.

Still, I’m really, really excited — for them and for me.

I think it’s the perfect time to give them more room to explore their budding personalities and talents. For instance, Elise can identify every letter in the alphabet in any context, including many lower-case letters. And Althea can make drawings that like actual things.

Althea brought this drawing to me and said, "Cat!" She is two-and-a-half years old. A budding artist, I'm telling you.

They want to imitate everything — theme songs to shows they watch, words to books we read. They want to “help” me in the kitchen, which generally consists of emptying everything out of the pantry and arranging it on the counter. You know, so I can easily access every single ingredient I could possibly need for any recipe ever invented.

My little kitchen helpers. Thanks, girls. Thanks a lot. No, really.

So, it’s probably better that they start learning to imitate good things, like saying “yes ma’am” and “no, thank you,” rather than how to correctly use the terms “Jesus Christ” and “son of a bitch.” Because that’s apparently all they’ve learned from us so far.

As for me, I could really use a little space. As fiercely attached to the twins as I am, I also realize that it’s only a matter of time before they’ll be off to VPK (that’s voluntary pre-kindergarten, which is state-sponsored in Florida. I will never turn down free.). I need time to be able to run errands during the week, an impossible task with three kids of these ages in tow. I would also like time to foster new relationships with moms and babies of Amaia’s age group.

I’m also the only idiot mom in my group of friends who doesn’t have their twins in some sort of day program.

I feel emotionally ready for this. I know I’ll bawl my eyes out when the first day actually comes, but I still feel like this is a good thing to try and a good time to try it.

After all, it’s not really that much of a break. I still have them the other 162 hours a week. Oh, and an eight-month-old baby to tote around.

Baby girl randomly slept through the night and woke up knowing how to army crawl.

She is almost 8 months old. Elise was scooting at 6 months. On the one hand, I couldn’t help but compare and wonder how long it would take Amaia to catch up. On the other hand? Well, I have twin almost-three-year-olds. I have been very appreciative of Amaia’s lack of mobility.

Sigh. Her babyhood is going far too fast for me.

Leave it to us to accidentally potty train our kids.

A few weeks ago after taking the girls swimming, Chris discovered that if we left them pants-less, they would quite happily go to the potty all by themselves. We figured it was a fluke until it happened several times in a row. I decided that perhaps we could sorta kinda halfheartedly try to maybe potty train them on weekends when Chris was around to help.

But then, Althea started asking to go potty. She would actually stop herself from peeing in her diaper and go running to the bathroom. And then Elise didn’t want to poop in her pants. And then they started wearing panties at home. And then I took them on some errands wearing panties (them, not me. I just went ahead and accidentally tinkled in my drawers when I coughed, as usual.).

For a playdate the other day, I put them both in Pull-Ups. Since I hadn’t taken them out for more than 30 minutes without diapers, I fully expected them to just do their business in the Pull-Ups as they would in a diaper. But during lunch at McDonald’s, Althea started squirming in her chair.

“Pee-pee, little bit. Use bathroom. Pee-pee. Use bathroom.” **translated from original toddler Spanish using Rosetta Stone**

“Uh. You have to use the bathroom?” I asked incredulously.

“Bitch, did you not just hear me? I’m pissing myself and would like to use the restroom. Christ.” **she didn’t really say that**

Crap. I hadn’t planned on this shit actually working.

Luckily, our friend had a foldable potty seat — which Althea used to pee twice and Elise used to pee AND poop. Yes, my two-and-a-half year old daughter crapped in a McDonald’s public restroom. Not even I would do that, and I have absolutely no germ phobia.

So does this qualify as being on the road to the twins being potty trained? I don’t understand how this happened, especially considering that, in response to our horribly failed attempt at potty training just a few months ago, Elise left for me this as a gift of thanks:

Yes, that is human excrement on the carpet. (Actually, I’ve been dying for a good excuse to share that with you guys. You’re welcome.)

So now what do I do? I have no idea how I’m going to pull this off in public on a daily basis, what with there being two potty-training toddlers and having the baby and all. And we still have a long way to go, of course. At home, the twins still come running bare-bottomed and dripping urine  out of the bathroom screaming “I DID IT!!! I DID IT!!!”

But there’s no way we’re going back now. Do you have any idea how much we’re saving on diapers???

My house is messy.

My house is messy and it drives me absolutely batshit. Trust me, I’m no neat freak. However, I believe that one’s surroundings reflect and affect one’s inner state of being. When I lived alone, I was meticulous about keeping my apartment clean. I used to IRON MY SHEETS. No joke. When Chris and I moved in together, I relaxed some but still cleaned on a fairly regular basis.

But with three kids, it’s an impossible task to keep the house picked up. Oh sure, I scrub the bathrooms now and then, but as far actual tidiness goes, there is none in this house to speak of. There’s just too much shit. The countertops, the floors, the couches, the tables . . . No vertical surface is safe.

I took this video one afternoon when I looked around for the first time that day and realized that there was barely room to walk.

Holy crap, Amaia is six months old??!? How did this happen?

As with the twins, I’ll document basic baby facts here about Amaia’s growth and development. Sorry, not the most thrilling post!

Eating

After a rocky start that included mastitis, thrush, and an inexplicable constant loss of suction during nursing, Amaia is now breastfeeding like a natural. She nurses five to seven times a day, still waking once in the night to feed.

A few days ago, I stocked up on organic baby foods and gave her a first taste of pureed apples. She was six months old and showing all the signs of being ready: sits assisted, no tongue-thrust reflex, very interested in what we’re eating and drinking. The result? Zero interest.

After three failed attempts at apples, I reverted to the basics: cereal thinned with breastmilk, figuring that the familiar taste of milk might make her more amenable to the solid food experience.

Aaaaand that would be a no. Mostly, she just purses her lips shut so tightly, I can’t even get the spoon in.

Schedule

Amaia has a lovely routine:

7/7:30am: Wake, eat

Sometime between 10-11am: Cat nap wherever she is, eat

1pm: Eat, sleep

4:30/5pm: Wake, eat

8:30pm: Eat, sleep

3am: Eat, sleep

Yes, you read that right: She naps for 3-4 hours straight in the afternoon. The twins still nap for about three hours in the afternoon as well. This gives me an extremely welcomed break most days, which allows me to exercise or watch TV.

Milestones

This is where I can’t help but compare Amaia to the twins. She is not nearly as advanced as the twins were. Elise and Althea were rolling all over the place by five months old. Elise started scooting at six months and both twins were practicing sitting up by now. In contrast, Amaia just started rolling from back to belly at five months and is just now rolling more regularly and in her sleep. Though she sits assisted, Amaia is nowhere near sitting on her own.

One thing she does seem to be interested in, though, is pulling her knees under her body and rotating around a lot. Girlfriend’s got some scheming ideas going on.

Now that she is rolling onto her belly during sleep, she has outgrown the bassinet in our room. It’s really time to get her in the crib at night, but the thought of having to leave the bed and trudge to her room to nurse at 3am makes me want to weep. How did I do this with the twins???

Sizes

At her six-month well check today, Amaia was just shy of 15 pounds and was 26.5 inches long. She’s in the 75th percentile for height and below the 50th for weight. She’s moving on to size 3 diapers and is in 6-9 month clothes.

Though our current pediatrician and I discussed sizes and growth charts with the twins early on, I think we’ve really come to understand each other and he gets my confidence in my ability to nourish my kids. I can’t tell you what a relief it is to have a supportive doctor who takes the time to look at the baby’s overall growth pattern, as well as the size of the parents, rather than just the percentage on a chart.

Personality

Okay, there’s going to be some comparison here too.

Elise and Althea are serious kids. In unfamiliar situations and with new people, they are reluctant, quiet and sometimes lack self-confidence. They are extremely attuned to people’s energy and will react accordingly. They are happy kids but, in general, they’ve never been particularly quick to smile.

Amaia, on the other hand, is what my mother-in-law calls a Personality Plus. This baby is HAPPY. She smiles and squeals and laughs at strangers. When her sisters pay her even the slightest attention, she lights up like a thousand candles. Indeed, she LOVES LOVES LOVES her sisters and all little kids. She’s very friendly and outgoing — much different from the twins.

I mean, seriously. Look at this baby. That is sheer JOY.