Oh so well, but not at all

Each night, after the babies are all sleeping deeply in their beds, I tiptoe in and watch them slumber. I look at their little noses. Chubby cheeks. Pinkish purple eyelids. I make sure they are breathing. That their toes are covered by their favorite blankets.

And I think, at this moment, I know them best. I know their likes and dislikes. I know when they need a nap. A snack. A cuddle.

But, my omnipotent knowledge of them is fleeting. One day I will sneak into their rooms and recognize their faces but not really know them at all.

One day, I won't be the one they cry for when they are hurt, lonely, scared. One day, very soon, they will roll their eyes at me and call their friends. Soon after that they will barely glance at me as they skip out the door for their girlfriends' houses.

I know the babies that they are. I don't know the men they will become.

My greatest hope is that during this fleeting time I can make enough of an impression on them that even when they disregard me, the morals I have instilled in them linger.

I won't know their deepest secrets. They won't tell me. They will, odds are, hide them from me and confide in one another. I won't know their deepest fears. They will, odds are, hide them from everyone.

But I pray nightly that they know no matter the secret, I love them. And no matter the fear, I'll do everything in my power to keep that fear a fear and not a reality.

The Firemen

Some where, in this town, there are a group of heroes. In the fog of panic, I cannot remember their names.

On September 2, a completely hysterical Mama called 911. She yelped "My son is dying! Send SOMEONE! ANYONE!!"

A band of men later burst through the door and made a gray baby pink again.

Thank you, Big Burly Men.

I loved you then, I love you now, I'll love you always.

Mamas Don't Have It Easy!

Mornings? We don't do mornings.

The laws of Slothville:

1. Bed Time is BED TIME. Once Mama puts on your overnight diaper and jammies, brushes your teeth, puts you in bed, and sings you those ridiculous personalized Night Night songs, Mama is done. Capital D. Done.

2. No one old enough to call "Mama!! Moo Milk!" is young enough to have the request/demand answered during Sleepy Time. If I can go 8 hours without wine, you can go that long with no dairy products.

3. Any time before noon is an unholy hour, and Waffles won't be served. With or without peanut butter.

4. If it seems that the sun is high in the sky, but I come in your room and say "Not time for waking, time for more sleeping" it's in your best interests not to question me.

Isn't this boat big enough for all of us?

Noah's ark and the Stay at home Mom

What's the same? Noah had a BIG boat. It was full of tons of different animals. It was alone in a big old ocean.
There are LOTS of Mamas. There are lots of different types of Mamas. We are all trying to stay afloat.

So, why, why? can't we all just see that we are all in this big old ocean together and make the best of it? Why must some Mamas make other Mamas feel like crud?

Yeah, I get it. Your kids eat nothing but organic food and my kids survive on Hot Pockets. At least they all eat, right? (Well, sometimes.)

On the flip side, since we don't have a maid, my kids know how to clean up after themselves. Booyah.

I know that each Mama is different. Each Mama has the way they think is the way to be the best Mama. But just because another Mama co-sleeps and your kid does Cry It Out, does NOT make you, or her, better. It just makes you different.

So let's make a deal. Since we are in the same neighborhood/playgroup/wine club I won't let my kids draw on your kids with permanent marker if you won't let your kids make mine feel like dumbasses because they aren't bi-lingual. And I won't tease you about the fact that your roots are showing if you won't tease me about the fact that my butt is bigger than yours. Bless your heart.

As My Waist Gets Bigger, My Brain Gets Smaller

This morning Critter asked for Waff-Waffs (waffles) with peanut butter for breakfast. I got the peanut butter out of the pantry and a plate from the cabinet.

I then went over to the pantry and searched in vain for waffles. I pulled out peanut butter, pop tarts, chips, 15 pounds of hidden candy, canned goods, and a bottle of vinegar.

"Ugh!" I screeched after about 5 minutes of fruitless searching. "Where are the damn waff waffs?!?"

From behind me a little voice piped up "Damn waff waffs in refrigerator, Mama."

I Only Use My Broom For Flying

Does it make me a genius or a slacker that I've decided it's way better to dump Smudge's and Critter's left over nugget remains on the floor and let Siesta Bumpass lick them up instead of lugging out the broom and dust pan?

Things I've Learned This Week

1. Catahoula Hog Dogs (state dog of Louisiana, y'all) have a mad taste for dirty diapers, and can extract them from a locked Rubbermaid trash box on the porch like I just threw it out the flipping door.

2. When a Halloween party in the fancy pants neighborhood is "by invitation only" it won't make a crap bit of difference if you don't have your invitation because you locked your house key and your phone in the house. Even if your husband is playing bartender, you have 3 screaming kids under 2 years old on your hip, and you beg the minion of Satan at the door just to let you in so you can get the last remaining key from Hubsters and go home. Butt munches.

3. A 5 star welded-to-the-dang-door gate won't keep a 26 month old and a 13 month old in an 800 square foot playroom full of 30,000 bucks worth of toys if they know Mama is trying to pee in private in the bathroom down the hall.

4. 15 pounds of spit up on newborn clothes will immediately mold in the wash if you don't take them out before the buzzer stops alarming.

5. Trying to take 3 kids under 26 months trick or treating would drive anyone insane. Even if that anyone has 5 (!) other adults along to help.

6. There aren't enough wine boxes on the planet to make up for a night consisting of 7 minutes of sleep.

7. If someone could make up a Diet Coke IV, they'd be a fricking millionaire.

Doesn't everyone know paint has fiber?

I took all 3 babies to a paint your own pottery place today. It's become tradition to take each baby to make a birthday plate on their first birthday. It's also tradition to have a hand print and foot print plate made when each baby is a couple weeks old.

Since Moose was still in the NICU on his 2 week birthday he didn't get plate made until I took Smudge for his birthday one today.

Smudge got his prints done first and then we did Moose's. As the employee was finishing up helping paint Moose's hands and stamp them, Smudge made a bee line for a very precarious looking stack of sushi platters. I dumped Moose in his bucket and rescued my wallet from at least 200 bucks of "they break it, you buy it" dish ware.

I returned to find a now sleeping Moose with tan paint covering his lips and a tiny tan colored thumb stuck in the corner of his mouth.

Horrified, I yelped "Moose Goose! Paint is not for eating!" The pottery employee looked over and calmly said "At least paint has fiber! I mean, it's gritty like fiber. Well, at least the bottle says it's non toxic!"

This new information helped to greatly ease my mind as I spent the next 10 minutes trying to gently pick what is probably Chinese manufactured, lead based paint from Moose's little lips.

I love being a B-list celebrity!

Today was my first day all alone with all 3 babies. I decided that it would be a fabulous idea to take all three babies to Target. In the pouring rain.

My first encounter with celebrit-dumb was in the parking lot. I barely had Critter and Smudge in the cart before I noticed a couple (the wife very preggo) standing behind their SUV staring at me. As I pulled Moose out of the back seat the couple began hyperventilating and pointing in my direction. As I dropped Moose's bucket seat down the husband yelled across a dozen spaces "How far apart are your kids?!"

"These two are 13 months apart. These two are ten months apart." I considered explaining that Smudge and Moose were supposed to be about 11 and a half months apart before Moose made his early appearance, but I was soaking wet and in a hurry to be inside.

"Cool!" Hubby screamed. "We have a 4 year old and an 18 month old and we thought we had it bad!"

Um, thanks?

I nodded and smiled and turned to wheel the boys through the doors. As I did so a little blue haired lady stopped in the cross walk and pointed me out to her friend. "Are they ALL hers?" I heard her mock whisper. I would have tried to listen to the friend's answer, but there was an open mouthed guy holding the door open for me. Apparently I was such a novelty he didn't register the fact that it was an automatic door.

From there it only got better. Cashiers, managers, shoppers, and small children stopped mid aisle to point, nudge their co-shoppers, and just plain gawk.

At first I was embarassed. I attempted to push the cart with my left hand over my face so that A) I wouldn't be recognized and B) the onlookers would see that I am, in fact, married and not just the teen mom the PICU nurses pegged me for when Moose was first hospitalized.

But, then, I thought, "Meh, this IS kinda cool!" I decided to play it up. I went to the pharmacy section and made a huge production out of picking out condoms. "Ya think this'll work?" I asked the high school guy pretending not to see me. I then turned on the cute blonde girl studying the contraceptive film. "Don't use that!" I instructed sternly. I pointed to Smudge, "That's what I was using the night I conceived this one!" She turned a funny green color and stumbled away.

I then ventured over to the diaper section. Nothing like terrifying new Mamas to make a slightly older Mama feel better, right? "Those leak. Bad." I told the woman comparing Pampers to Huggies. "Get Luvs. They are way cheaper and don't leave a wet spot in the crib." She, at least, seemed grateful for my expertise.

As I was patrolling the Fisher Price lane looking for my next victim a nice lady scooted up to me. "Hey, did you leave your keys over in the Pharmacy?" she asked in the kindest tone. I looked down into the diaper bag and saw no keys. "Maybe..." I ventured, getting ready to start searching all over the cart. "I found them!" She excitedly informed me. "I turned them into Customer Service!"

"Thanks" I wailed, the new mama/post partum hormones taking over. I turned to head to the front of the store. "Wait!" I called as I turned back around. "How in the world did you know I was the one who lost the keys??"

"You are the most frazzled looking person I've seen here. I just figured it was you" she answered.

Cool. I really am Lindsey Lohan. So much for my conceit.

Why are men so hard?

No pun intended, you Dirty Mind People!

Wait, that's me, too.

Any way...

David and I are currently in an argument about the silliest thing: iPhone or Droid?

I want an iPhone because I'm stubborn as all get out and I love my iTouch. David wants me to get a Droid for many SOLID reasons. It's cheaper from the start (we already have Verizon so there is no activation fee, we are eligible for a new phone discount), it's cheaper per month (unlimited data plan, my main callers are on Verizon so I have free mobile to mobile calling), the 3G network is better with Verizon.

Simple, right?

Not so much. Because this is a win-lose situation. There is no compromise. It's one or the other. I want one, he wants another. And David is the King of Compromise. He doesn't want to tick me off. And I want what I want.

A nice wife would just go with the better (read: Verizon) choice. But I'm not nice. I'm stubborn and selfish and impatient. If he would simply put that size 14 foot down, the argument would be over. I'm a size 6. I couldn't win.

Yet, I'm being a pain in the tookus anyway. Why? Because it's late, I'm stressed, and, well, let's face it, I can.

If he were to come out here right this second and say "Droid or nothing!" I already know my choice. Heck, if he were to come out here and say "Anne, make the call!" I still wouldn't hesitate. So why am I being stubborn? Oh, yeah. Because it's late. I'm stresed. And, yep, because I can.

I'm such a silly child. And David is a compassionate person. So who will win? Odds are, it'll be me. And then he will be resentful and I'll be guilty.

Maybe it's a lose-lose situation.

I'm just... d.o.n.e. with not having the final say. Every time I tell the nurses/doctors at the hospital what I want done with Moose they pat me on the head and do what they want anyway. I truly realize I'm only making things worse by arguing over this phone thing, but, dang it! I want to WIN something. Anything. I want to put my smaller than average hoof down and have someone say "Ok. What you want goes!"

Plus, I love those iPhone apps.

Bouncing is what Tiggers do best!

Earlier tonight I was writing a post to a Mama's Group I am fortunate (and unfortunately) a part of. We are all mothers who were to have babies in May of 2008. We didn't have those babies, but now we have one another.

In the aftermath of writing a "woe is me" post in our group forum, about Moose still being hospitalized and Critter and Smudge being without me most of every day, I realized just how lucky I really am.

Though I struggled, and still do, with my initial loss, I gained so much. If it weren't for Oscar, I wouldn't have the support group I do now. I wouldn't have Critter, Smudge, or Moose. If everything in my life hadn't played out exactly how it did, I wouldn't have the life that I have right this moment. And my life at this moment is pretty flipping awesome.

I have babies born 13 months and 10 months apart. How many Mamas can say that?

I have a group of friends who know where I'm coming from. They validate me and challenge me and chat with me when my country is asleep.

As stressful as these last few weeks have been, I know me, and I know that one day I'm going to look back and wish I were here again.

I want to hold on to each second of every day. There is a chance that I'll never again be this burdened or this blessed.

A Friend Asked Me How Moose Was Doing...

My Response Changed Everything

(This is a copy of the message I sent back to her after she sent me a message asking of Moose's condition. While working through my response I had a moment of insight that will hopefully stay with me forever. )

At this point I have no idea how long Moose will be at the hospital. They can't send him home until someone discovers what's behind the episodes, but so far the doctors haven't done anything but make guesses. They keep sending in specialists to observe him and run tests and studies, but the tests are only showing that he's having episodes. They are pretty sure that it's not his heart, lungs, tummy, or swallowing reflex. The speech specialist told me today that she's recommending to his pediatric team that an ENT come look at him tomorrow.

The problem with him being in a teaching hospital is that there are SO MANY people working with him. Each one has a different theory and a different way they want things done. For example, the pediatric team wants him on oxygen while he's being tube fed every meal. The speech therapists want him hooked up to recording monitors with no oxygen while he's bottle fed. So each time he sees a specialist they do things their way but as soon as they leave the nurses return back to the pediatric team's orders.

While the speech therapist was in to see him today she had me feed him a bottle of high calorie formula mixed with rice (to make it thicker). I did everything exactly how she instructed while she stood behind me and watched, and he had several de-sats and turned a pale gray color once. So I'm perfectly happy with him being tube fed because I am d.o.n.e. with seeing him turn that color. DONE.

Unfortunately the family, who has taken turn taking days off to stay with the big boys, now have no time left. Starting tonight David and I are going to have to take turns sleeping at home with the big boys, then I'm going to have to be home with the big boys during the day while everyone is at work, and in the afternoons and evenings my mother-in-law will watch the big boys when she's done with school so that I can go to be with Moose.

My mom thinks I should put Critter and Smudge into daycare until Moose is home, but David doesn't want to. He has a point. Day care is expensive, and I can be home with them during the day since Moose has nurses, but it bothers me to think of Moose all alone in his room. What if he's fussy but the nurses don't hear him? Or his diapee is wet and no one notices?

This was a lot easier when he was in the NICU. First, we couldn't stay bedside since they didn't allow it, so I didn't feel guilty for not being there 24/7. All the babies were in one room in open cribs so as soon as they made a noise their nurse could hear them.

Second, when he was in the NICU, it was more of a "he's coming home soon" mentality because every day he was, for the most part, better than the day before. It felt like each day was bringing us closer to going home. And I just assumed that once he was home he would be fine.

Now I have a sick baby who I could be with, but can't because of childcare. The mentality now is "I have a sick baby who needs me but I can't always be there and who knows when he's coming home?" It's like we're stuck in a holding pattern with no clue as to an end date. Plus, I no longer feel secure in the hospital's decision that he's "ok" So even when they do finally send him home, that first sense of security is completely gone.

It's a lot more stressful this time around. In the NICU I felt safe that if he had any problems there were trained professionals right there and they would make him all better. After the episode, when that EMT told me all those huge men were terrified they were going to loose Moose, I realize that even with the best training and equipment, sometimes there just isn't anything anyone can do.

I keep praying and praying for Moose to grow up to be healthy, happy, and a Christian. Almost non stop. I say the same prayer when I wake up, brush my teeth, take a shower, eat, sit and stare at him... you get the point. And every once in a while I'll add for God to give me a sense of peace. And yet I'm always wound up, sad for Moose, sad for the big babies, and spend nearly every waking minute either in tears or close to it. Driving home I passed a homeless man on the street corner and just bawled about how his life must be and wondering how his life came to be that way and wondering where his Mama is and what happened to her... I'm a puddle of mess.

And yesterday I made the mistake of reading adoption blogs while I sat with Moose. All those stories from the birthmoms had me bawling bedside all day. I know his nurses must think I need to be transferred to the mental health wing.

Tonight is my first night home alone with the big boys in, I don't know, months? David is sleeping at the hospital with Moose since I've got to be here tomorrow while everyone else is at work. I haven't spent the night alone as the only adult in the house since February. And now not only am I the only adult, one of my little penguins isn't here with me. I feel lonely and sad and worried.

Boy, am I a bucket of cheer or what? But now once I've started, there is just so much pouring out of me. You're going to need a day and a half and a babysitter for the kids just to read through this PM.

Counting up the days Moose has been alive (40) and how many he's spent in the hospital (30) absolutely floored me. He's spent 75% of his life in a crib hooked up to monitors being poked and prodded. And with each day the percentage gets higher. Not to mention, I've spent 30 of 40 days separated from my baby. He's grown from a preemie size to a newborn size and I haven't been able to dress him in any of the cutey little tiny preemie outfits we were given. Which is silly, I know. He's growing, right? I should be nothing but thankful. And I am, believe me, I am. But I still feel like I'm missing out. I'm missing his day to day life. I'm not the one to decide when to feed him. I'm not allowed to dress him in the sweet little outfits I have for him. I'm not allowed to take him out and show him off (not that I'd have been doing a ton of that with a preemie ;) )I can't even walk him up and down the hospital hallways or snuggle him on the sofa because of the monitor leads.

I'm torn between feeling blessed and feeling... not slighted. Not unlucky. Not ungrateful. Well, maybe a little ungrateful. He's safe where he is. There are people all over the country (and world- Thanks Tori and Cristina! :) ) I'm grateful for all that. I just wish he were healthy. And, for the most part, he is. He's growing and gaining weight. His apnea episodes are worrying, but since the first, they haven't been too bad.

And, since I'm this far in to pouring out my heart, I may as well add that I'm feeling guilty as Hell, too. I taught Critter to say "Out Moose!" for crying out loud. I would say over and over how done I was with being preggo. I felt, in my heart, that I didn't care if he came early. I just didn't realize the problems associated with him being half baked. God gave me what I wanted. Turns out I shouldn't have asked for it.

Just like when I was preggo with Oscar. I kept thinking, "ugh, I'm so not ready to be pregnant. I wish I could just put Oscar in a jar and have him later, when I'm ready." Yup. I really thought that. And then I lost Oscar and realized what a curse getting what you want can be. You think I'd have learned my lesson, huh?

On the other hand, if I hadn't had Moose the minute, and I do mean minute, as his APGAR was barely a 1, I'd have lost him. It's good he came early. It's a miracle that that day fell into place the way it did. If any of the things that happened that day had not happened, or had been off by even a few minutes, Moose wouldn't have survived. And if I'd had Oscar, I wouldn't have Critter, and by extension Smudge or Moose. So maybe in the case of Oscar, getting what my heart desired wasn't a bad thing.

Ohhhh, so, maybe this thing with Moose won't be such a bad thing??? Or, something will happen to Moose and I'll go off the deep end. Is it just me, or does the anticipation for what will happen a real stress inducer?

I just have to keep reminding myself of the Bible verse "Who by worry can add a single hour to their life?"
Whoa. When I just checked to get the exact verse number for that I came across this verse:

Matthew 6:24 - Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.

Ok. Well. Maybe I wasn't replying to your PM just to let you know about Moose. Maybe I was meant to reply to your PM so that I could say what I've been to scared to say and to find that verse to help me when I'm feeling anxious.

I told you I'd been praying for peace :D

On that note, if you've read this far you've probably been reading for a while and Ainsley may have a dirty diapee and Caleb may be wanting a snack and Emily may be finally wanting to tell you about her day at school, so I'll sign off.

Thanks Becca!! Your reply to me not only cleared up my blog question, it also helped me not to go crazy :) I love Base Camp.

A Miracle Moose

We've had a rough couple of days. Last night our newest addition had an apnea episode that left him gray and unresponsive. Fortunately, I was at my in-laws. My FIL is calm under pressure and the neighbor is an ER nurse. These two things saved Moose's life, as I was a total wreck, unable to perform any task other than hopping up and down and screaming "He's dead!!! Moose is dead!"

15 minutes and 8 scared, large EMT men later, Moose was vomiting all his aspirated formula. 24 hours later Moose is safely nestled in the PICU and I'm a nervous fricking wreck.

Thank you large and scared EMT men. Because of you, my youngest son is alive and doing well. Thank you Lisa for running up the street and doing CPR until the large and scared EMT men stormed the house. Thank you FIL for taking Moose from me.

Thank you God for encouraging me to go to the in-laws house when all I wanted to do was go home, put the babies down, and nap myself.

Too Many Mouths To Feed

Since I have 3 babies under two, a husband who works 80+ hours a week, a dog, and a Beta fish, I had pretty much figured that, for the time being, I was DONE with adding new mouths to the family trough.

Turns out the fire ants had a different plan.

Sure, they started out innocently enough, only nibbling at our toes when we stood in the yard for more than .00009 seconds, but then the little biters moved onto our porch. At first I wasn't too concerned. I do have AMDRO; both the "hotels" and spray.

However, they were not to be deterred. The lure of Critter's PB&J crusts and Smudge's Cheerios was a siren song that brought them directly past the french doors and into the kitchen. From there they moved into Siesta's food bag, my pantry, and David's laundry that he swore he'd "put away in just a minute!"

I think the fact that his underwear was full of our new friends may help the laundry situation...