Pretty in Pink

It's almost time.  We will hit our 32 weeks on Friday.  On average, twins are born at 36 weeks.  Our house is coming together pretty quickly now, so I'm not worried.  The nursery is painted and assembled.  There is a little crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling and pink, flower night lights adorn the walls.  We've got a variety of bedsheets in both pink and yellow, decorative blankets (that will of course be removed once the cribs are occupied) and dozens of stuffed toys.  There are blackout blinds over the windows, hidden from view when they are up by a ruffly, pink (our colours are pink and chocolate brown) valence that matches the bed skirts on the crib.  We've got a second crib set up in our bedroom, where I can practice tripping over it in the middle of the night.

Physically, my wife is huge.  Her belly is round, with the curvature starting just under breasts.  These girls have decided to grow up instead of out.  At this stage, I hear my wife give surprised squeals (mixed with low groans) when the babies give her a kick with enough power to be visible on the surface of her skin.

Between my wife's physical appearance and everything baby scattered about each floor of our house, there is no shortage of visible cues that the girls are on their way...but to be honest, it's wasn't the preparations or my wife's quickly changing appearance that made our situation feel very real to me.  It was all the little clothes.  Just looking at them made me realize how small these girls are going to be. 

I did all the washing the other night.  I cleaned mountains of ducky decorated onesies, little pink sleepers and frilly princess dresses.  We've got matching hats, little booties and teeny, tiny gloves.  Everything is cottony soft.  And thanks to me each outfit was made even more adorable, because I shrunk them to half their original size.  I followed the directions, both my wife's and those listed on the garment labels, so I'm hoping that the shrinkage is only as was expected.  If, however, you encounter me on the street, pushing a giant stroller filled with babies dressed in shopping bags, know it's not because my wife is a bad mother, but because I am a bad housekeeper.

 Off to our week 32 ultrasound.  I'll say hi to the girls for everyone!

What has become of us?

This is not going to be my typical blog entry, no funny quips or observations about pregnancy.  In fact, what I have observed saddens me, truly. 

I had a meeting downtown yesterday.  I took the metro from the west end and then south along the Yonge line.  The meeting was in the afternoon, I was traveling at about 2:00.  There were not many on the train, everyone had a seat.  The meeting stretched long and I found myself returning home during rush hour, around 5:00.  Peek travel time starts in Toronto at about 4:00  and can last for several hours.  If you are unlucky you may find yourself standing on the platform as several trains pass you by, to laden with customers to even accept one more.  Typically, when I find myself needing to travel during the busiest hours, I don't bother to take a seat.  Even if one is available when I enter the train, I know that someone will get on further down the line that actually needs it, someone older, or carrying groceries or pregnant.  I find a comfortable place to stand, where I can hold on to a rail or lean against a bulkhead, where I hope that I can maintain at least a small amount of personal space.

It's summer, so it's not difficult to see when a woman is really pregnant.  There's no winter jacket that covers her baby bump.  She's not camouflaged by a long woolen scarf.  In fact, if she is as far a long as my wife, she's probably walking like she is trying to steal a large watermelon from the grocers, by hiding it in the waistband of her underpants.  She's breathing like there is very little oxygen in the train, and she might even be rubbing her belly and staring at it like there is no one else around. 

On my trip home there were no less than four of these very visible woman standing on the train.  Standing!  The train was filled with teenagers dully bobbing their heads to music that the rest of us could hear (yes I'm old!), several guys in suits finger bashing their blackberries, and a bunch of heavyset dudes giving off the same odor as the damp comic books they had their faces buried in.  I know everyone saw the same women I did, but not one of them offered up their seat.  I was angry and I was embarrassed.  Embarrassed for the men in their seats for this display of weakness.  I saw each of them glance up, take note of the women and then go right back to whatever they were doing.

What has happened to common decency?  What's changed to make us into a nation of individuals more concerned with ourselves rather than those that may need our help?

Then something happened that calmed me.  A young girl, she couldn't have been much older than 10, reached over and tapped one of the pregnant women on the arm.  In a very quiet voice she offered the woman her seat. 

So maybe all is not lost.  Maybe there are still decent people out there.  Maybe it's just that their small voices are hard to hear over the concussive waves of base pounding out of iphone stuffed ears, the clickity clack of texting and the trumpet farts of socially inept comic book guys.  I have to hope so for the sake of the babies I'm bringing into the world.

Nature's Way

At this point, I'm surprised each morning when I wake up and there are no children living in my house yet.  My wife is large, large enough that people have an involuntary reaction, eye's widen and mouths drop slightly, when they see her.  Complete strangers ask her when she is due, (I keep telling her to respond with "Due for what?") and little children run to their mothers to ask what the fat lady ate? 

Last week, we had gone to the movies, where, the women collecting the tickets stared after my wife long passed the point that we had waddled by.  Her brows furrowed and she gently chewed her lower lip in worry as my wife went into the theater.  It was the middle of the week, and a mid day show (the benefits of being off work).  The ticket collector was one of the few staff not working behind a refreshment counter, so it would be her responsibility to mop up the floor if my wife's water broke.  A waking nightmare of discarded sugary candies caught in a tidal wave of amniotic fluid, running down the sloping theater floor to engulf other patrons, surely filled her mind.  As we left the theater after the show, the same person thanked us for coming, but I'm pretty sure I heard her mumble "please don't come back" under her breath as well.

Grocery shopping, a task that my wife once again accompanies me on and will continue to do so as long as I insist on bringing home the wrong brand of tuna or vegetables not included on the meticulously created list she provided for me, always provides enjoyment.  During yesterday's outing, an employee operating one of the sample booths, ran most of the way across store to present my wife with one of her wares, a Disney, size 1 diaper.  Now, I know the woman was simply being nice, but the fact that she couldn't wait for us to come to her, exhibited her fear that we would have need of a diaper even before crossing the few aisles to her display.

The act of being pregnant must also be the initiation into a club.  Whenever my wife passes by another member of this organization in public, both women stare at each other knowingly.  I'm pretty sure if they get close enough together they will high five one another or complete some kind of secret handshake.  This camaraderie goes further than just real, physical beings.  My wife sympathizes with TV or movie characters as well.  She'll place herself in the situation of whatever show she is watching, taking on the role of the mother.  Here's a bit of advice for the dads-to-be reading this blog, don't watch nature shows about baby animals and their mothers with your wife...inevitably many of the cute, fuzzy, helpless offspring will be eaten by something hungry and large.  I was happily sitting on the couch, watching Disney's African Cats, the other day, when my wife decided to join me.  The show is about a mommy lion and a mommy cheetah...not about a ravenous lion pack that rule Savannah by killing everything else or even about the fastest, animal, killing machine on earth (which is what I was watching)...no, it's about two mommies and their furry, little babies (which is what my wife was watching).  Spoiler alert...the mommy cheetah loses two of her cubs to hyenas.  The soft, mewing, mourning cries of the mama cheetah were mimicked perfectly by the mom-to-be next to me on the couch.  Dads, if you find yourself in this situation, you should at least pretend to cry, even if all you are able to do is turn your head away and rub at your eyes, do it.  Otherwise, your wife will think you are a cold, heartless, bastard, who can't possibly love her children as much as she does.  And for god sake, don't say something like "it's nature's way" or "the hyenas need to feed their families too".  Trust me, that will not help the situation.  At this stage of the game, pregnant women have a lot going on emotionally, the weeping can turn to rage or maniacal giggling in an instant.  I've learned from other nature programs, mimicry can save your life (I've also seen many shows in which prey creatures find a small hole dug into the earth, not wide enough for the predator to follow...you can try that if the mimicry fails).  Do whatever you need to do to appear sympathetic, to be heart broken by nature's cruelty, and in the eyes of your wife you will still be an adequate mate able to protect her babies...Second spoiler alert...the mommy lion receives a mortal wound while defending her cubs during the invasion of another pride.  The mommy was successful in saving her cubs, and repelling the invaders, but wounded so badly that she was unable to remain with her family.  She made lion arrangements with her sister to watch over her offspring, nuzzled her cubs for the last time then limped slowly away to find a sunny, soft place to die alone.  I have no idea how the show actually ended because the sobbing misery from wife drove me outdoors, where I spent the rest of the afternoon surrounding my house with thorned Savannah bushes sufficient for keeping out an invading lion pride...

mmmmmm...Soylent Green

"...is brought to you by Soylent red and Soylent yellow, high energy vegetable concentrates, and new, delicious, Soylent green. The miracle food of high-energy plankton gathered from the oceans of the world"

It's shocking, when I think about what my wife is going through to bring these new beings into the world.  She's actually cooking up two little people.  Our girls are what is known as Di Di twins.  This term is an abbreviation of Dichorionic-Diamniotic, meaning that they each have their own placenta and amniotic sack.  This worries me a little, they will already be used to having their own space, and if they take after their mother, they will enjoy their alone time as well (I'm not sure if it's alone time, or just not Brian time that my wife really enjoys).  After they are born, they are going to be sharing a room...actually for the first 6 months we'll all be sharing a room, with the girls snuggled up in the same crib.  I'm hoping the twins inherit their sleep gene (sorry for the technical term) from their mother.  I don't sleep well.  If they do take after me, then the snoring and loud snorting will keep them awake, or startle them into crying.  Not to worry though, my wife assures me that she'll stop the nightly cacophony when the girls arrive.

Like I said, with Di Di twins, they each have their own placenta.  The placenta is an extra organ that my wife developed and is basically the life support system of rocket ship mom.  No one has really spoken to us about the placenta, nor about what happens to it after the kids have escaped.  We've been told the basics I guess, it's considered medical waste and is either disposed of (typically incinerated) or sold to a cosmetics company.  Ya, cosmetics...it's used in many wrinkle creams or skin smoothers.  Right now some of you are recoiling in horror...why would anyone use discarded human tissue when they could use a neurotoxic protein like botulinum toxin (botox) on their face instead?

There are several cosmetics companies that advocate the magical properties of the placenta, and to be honest this is a belief upheld by many cultures around the world (most don't smear it on their faces though).  Many cultures adhere to strict burial ceremonies. 

In Cambodia the placenta is linked to the well-being and mental health of the mother.  It must be buried in the correct location and orientation and then covered with a spiked plant to protect if from evil spirits and dogs. 

Other cultures believe that the placenta is a living being that will do the newborn harm if not properly buried.   In the Aymara tradition of Bolivia the placenta is buried in a secret location to prevent it's spirit from reclaiming the life of the child.

Korean traditions include naming the placenta.  On the third day after delivery, a ritualistic cremation (the afterbirth along with rice husks) is performed and the ashes spread along a roadway to promote longevity of life for the baby.

Placentophagy is the practice of ingesting the placenta (hey...you've got it on your face, so no judging).  In China and Hong Kong the dried placenta is thought to be a healthful restorative and is used in some traditional Chinese medicines.

"It's people. Soylent Green is made out of people. They're making our food out of people. Next thing they'll be breeding us like cattle for food. You've gotta tell them. You've gotta tell them!"

I was actually introduced to this theory many years ago, when one of my friends (the first among us to become a dad) told me that he had kept the placenta, and had cooked it up with some onions.  He and his wife then ate it for dinner (I stopped eating at his house after that).  I don't know if it's all that common here in North America, but it is a growing practice.  There are many companies that offer services such as placental art, umbilical cord heart sculptures and a variety of methods for cooking or drying the afterbirth.

We've discussed it, and my wife is not interested in keeping the placenta.  I personally would be open to burying it and planting trees a top.  It is an amazing organ (two in our case) that will sustain my children up until the moment they are born, so I understand the reverence that some cultures have for it. 

Nor is my wife at all interested in ingesting the afterbirth.  She didn't specify her reason, but I think it might be because we will have two of them, and there is no way she could finish one all by herself.  Regardless of her reasoning, she did say "NO!" to it's consumption, but I have not yet showed her this delicious and refreshing sounding recipe:

The Placenta Smoothie (immediately postpartum)

• Supplies Needed:
• Placenta
• Sharp knife
• Blender
• Yogurt (your favorite flavor) or Orange Juice  
• Frozen fruit (your favorites – try to include Vit C rich fruits and some red/purple fruits)

Directions: Cut off one or two 2-inch cubes of placenta. Place them, raw, into the blender. Add your base of choice (either yogurt or orange juice) and your frozen fruits of choice. Blend until smooth. Serve in a tall glass. The dark fruits will disguise the color of the placenta and the taste is just like any other fresh smoothie. It is a great way to start your postpartum recovery and it reduces immediate postpartum blood loss.


Our babies are due in August, and if the summer weather so far is any indication of what is come then it's going to a scorching month.  I encourage everyone to stop by for a visit, enjoy a bbq or a sweet frozen slushy drink...

Week 30

Week 30 and all is progressing well.

I've been photographing my wife every two weeks, and looking through the images there has been some drastic changes.  Her circumference went from party balloon (we started shooting at week 20) to beach ball.  Her belly seems to be getting rounder each day, and her belly button can't possibly hold on much longer.  I'm sort of expecting an audible pop when it finally goes.  I've been told, that should she become an "outty" rather than an "inny", that post birth, as she shrinks down, her belly button will once again invert.  That too, will be interesting to see.  I can understand why it would pop out, but have no idea why it would right itself afterward.

With each week my wife experiences new pain.  She constantly refers to the sensation as a stretching or tearing feeling, which causes me worry each time.  She's also had frequent rib pain on her left side (from passed ultrasounds we know that's where the twins are resting their feet).  At our last doctor's appointment (it went well, no change in cervical length) my wife described the location of the pains to ultrasound tech.  The tech told us that it all sounded fairly typical.  She then went on to relate a story of another patient that she had been working with, whose twin B was up so high, that it had to be pulled out from behind the patient's heart during delivery!

It's funny, because a lot of people have birthing stories, and when they find out that my wife is pregnant, they want to share each horrific detail with me.  The stories are rarely about a smooth delivery, and they almost never do anything to calm a mom-to-be.  When women talk about these things it's like war stories.  They show off their pain like a badge of honour, competing with each other over who endured the worst.

"I was in labour for 24 hours, and only dilated to 9 cm.  They ended up having to do a c-section and because of the initial drugs, as well as the additional drugs I required for the section, I retained water for weeks afterwards...so much so that my skin split."

"My baby was pushed up against my spine/bladder/lungs/stomach..."

"...kicked me so hard it broke my ribs..."

"Brian, when your uncle Mel was born he was so big, that when your great grandmother's water broke on the way to the hospital, his arm popped out as well.  They had to go the rest of the way with that arm dangling free."

"That's nothing...when I had my baby I had to walk up hill, in a snow storm, to get to the hospital.  It was closed when I got there.  I delivered my own baby and then walked up hill to get back home again..."


So here's to hoping that when I blog up our delivery experience, the only thing I have to tell you is that everyone showed up healthy and happy and that everyone is doing just fine...

If you are interested in seeing the images from week 20 through to week 30, they are located on flickr here:  http://www.flickr.com/photos/briansinasac/sets/72157629813234842/

What's in a Name?

What's in a name?  That which we call a rose
By any other name would still smell as sweet.

I don't know if that's true.  We assume a lot based on what something is called.  How many of us would like to eat a crapsicle on a warm summer day?  Would we even give it a chance to touch our lips or would we reject it outright without ever having found out that it tastes exactly like chocolate ice cream?  It matters, the name, if we make assumptions about that object, based strictly on what it has been christened.  

The first thing I bought when I found out my wife was pregnant was a baby names book.  Even though this information is more readily available on the internet, there is just something about flipping through and highlighting names in a book that can really drive a couple to argue.  I purchased a book entitled "60,001+ best baby names".  There were others with 100,000 names, but that just seemed a little excessive.  To be honest, out of the 60,001+ names, maybe 500 are actually something most people would consider saddling their babies with, unless they think names like Edamame or Asphalt are acceptable.  To really drive home the point that we, as a society, make assumptions based on names, the first section of this book is simply categories.  Each category is given a title like "Future Landscapers", and then goes on to list names for children that will surely grow up to be exactly that.  You might be thinking, that's ridiculous, but how many Geeves do you know that are not butlers?

My wife and I want names that are easy to pronounce, that are not so popular that four other kids in the class have the same one, but no so unique that the child is mocked, and and the name shouldn't have fifteen different spellings either.  When we thought we were having boys it was difficult, there just seemed to be so many more awesome girl names.  We finally decided on Gavin and William (who's going to mock a little willy?).  Those names went out the door after our anatomy scan came back penis free (we also immediately rejected the feminized versions, Gavina and Willamina).  Back to the easy girl names...I had a list and my wife had a list...none of the names matched.  I was able to nasty rhyme each of the names on my wife's list, and she was able to google image search a "skank" for the names on mine.  In my defense, anything you type into Google will lead to boobs.  Which reminds me, I have to figure out a way to destroy the internet before my babies are old enough to type.

Even after we had come up with a list of potentials, there was still plenty to consider.  There is, of course, meaning behind words, and names are no different.  One of the names on our list originally meant "bitter".  Could I do that to my child?  Would the whole world immediately decide that my daughter was angry, or for that matter, anything but sweet?   Further, we had to consider nicknames, and even how a chosen name sounds in another language.  For example, my name is Brian.  When a francophone says my name it very often sounds like "brillant" (in English that means brilliant).  My wife's francophone name pronunciation, though hilarious, just infuriates her...so I can't tell you. 

After much debate we came up with names, that is, until last night when my wife told me she no longer liked one of them.  We hadn't told anyone the names we had decided on, but I'm going to do so now.  They were (and maybe still are, but after yesterday's late night discussion I have no idea):

Fiona Alexandra
Leila Simone (I preferred Layla)

There are of course issues with these names as well.  If you do a Google image search of Fiona you'll mostly get Shrek's wife (although in most of those images she is wearing clothes, so bonus).  Of course with Leila/Layla there's the whole "Lay" thing.  "Layla's getting laid tonight".

By putting in print the above names, I'm not asking for opinions, or alternatives.  I can pretty much assure you that for whichever alternative you give, I will be able to come up with an insulting rhyme, and my wife will be able to direct you to skank images on the internet. 

In their early years children will have to endure mockery, whether it be their names, their manner of dress, their accent, whatever.  Many will curse their parents for the names they were given, for a wide variety of reasons...I'm the only one in my class with that name...or...my name rhymes with "poo" (yes, we considered naming one of the girls Shabadoo for a brief period).  As the years pass everyone becomes comfortable with their moniker, and if not, at least by that time they will be old enough to legally change it.  

Out for a Stroll

My intention with this blog was to write posts that were helpful to those in similar circumstance to my own.  Looking back, I've been mostly exploring my day-to-day experiences or a random thought.  I'd like to switch tracks today and cover a topic that expecting couples will surely discuss before the kids arrive..strollers.

My wife and I shopped harder for our stroller than we did for our first car (my father gave me my first car, a used 1979 Ford LTD in forest green.  It was larger than my current house).  Before we actually get into stroller specifics, I want to warn you, that baby stuff is expensive.  The second you add the word "twin" to babies, it gets even more expensive.  Don't even look at the price tag until after you've decided what's best for your baby.  Lot's of couples buy their strollers second hand, in fact, the couple having triplets in our prenatal class, found all three of their strollers on the internet...yep, three strollers, a triple, a double and single.  If one of them was going out on their own, that person uses the triple.  If they were going out together, than each parent would push around some of their babies, utilizing both the double and single at the same time.  We opted for new.  In fact, the strollers, cribs and car seats are really the only things that I had to have new.  I'm planning on using the heck out of the stroller so I want to make sure I get the most mileage out of it.

There are a million things to consider when trying to pick your stroller.  I'm not going to cover some of the most obvious, like 5 point harnessing and a good, sturdy frame, but will focus on the thought process we used in making our decision.

First choice, tandem or side-by-side?  The tandem strollers are those long, inline jobs.  Most are highly configurable, allowing you to have your babies face you, face away from you or face each other. They are narrow and will fit through all doorways and even up those single file escalators in the metro.  Our tandem stroller of choice was the Baby Jogger City Select (which is not designed in any way for running), but a lot of the couples in our prenatal class had purchased the Graco.  I wasn't a fan of the tandem design.  I didn't like the handling to be honest.  The front seat felt really distant, making interaction with that child difficult.  Something I questioned immediately was how to choose which of my babies would be placed up front, far away from her father's love, and which I would squish into the back seat, playing second fiddle to her obviously more loved sister?  That was the deal breaker for me, that and the phallic design of these models reminded me of the old idea concerning men with big cars.  Could choosing a tandem stroller indicate compensation for physical failings?  I don't know, you'll have to ask the guy with the small penis, pushing the tandem stroller, filled with kids he is saddling with inferiority complexes.

We decided on a side-by-side.  Again, there are several models, but most are not really configurable.  If you are considering this type of stroller, make sure to ask about seat positions, specifically the angle of seating.  Unless the seats can be set flat, as in the your child is lying flat on her back, they are not recommended for newborns.  We were looking at the City Jogger Mini, the City Jogger GT (neither of which are designed for jogging), the Bob Revolution, the Mountain Buggy Duo and the Bugaboo Donkey.

The Donkey is really a "look at me" stroller.  It comes with a a hefty price tag of about $1500.  It's listed as a double stroller, but that doesn't make it a twin stroller.  In my opinion it was designed with two children of varied ages in mind.  (It can actually be configured for one child, twins, or one older and one younger child).  The twin setup takes two car seats or two bassinets.  Your twins will outgrow those chairs very quickly, but for those first 6 months everyone will be looking at you with barely contained envy/jealousy of your wealth.  Just a heads up, the new show off stroller is the Uppababy, about which I heard the stroller salesman proclaim "You won't see anyone from THIS neighborhood in anything but an Uppababy!"

We rejected the Mountain Buggy Duo because it didn't fold nearly as neatly as the other options.  We drive a small car, a Toyota Matrix.  With two semi permanent car seats in the back, our trunk has to hold a double stroller, pack-and-play, a million diapers, wipes and changes of clothes.  Folding up nicely was high on our list of priorities.

The City Jogger Mini seemed like a good option.  It folded down very compact and with a single motion.  It is light weight, so my wife would easily be able to load it into the trunk by herself.  It's narrow enough to get through most doorways (less than 30 inches wide).  The smaller profile made my wife feel less obtrusive, making it ideal for a trip to the store or stroll along a busy sidewalk.  We ultimately rejected this stroller, however, because of the wheels.  Instead of a single wheel or even pair of independent wheels, this model has two sets of double wheels in the front.  We had concerns that the double wheels would clog with snow or bog down in sand/gravel.  Writing about it now, those don't seem like terribly large concerns. This stroller is about urban mobility.  It's important to purchase the stroller for exactly what you are going to use it for.  You might need to buy more than one for your various activities, but at least your children will be safe and you will be comfortable.

That left us with the City Jogger GT and the Bob Revolution.  I really liked both of these strollers.  They are designed for all terrain travel...you laugh now, but when the zombies come and my family is able to cross country and you can't, you'll be sorry.  The GT is very similar to the Mini, except there is only a single wheel in the front, and all the wheels are larger than that of the Mini.  It also has an adjustable handle grip in case dad is 4 foot 10 and mom is 7 foot 2.  It weighs slightly more than the Mini as well.  The Bob is a running stroller.  It handled smoothly, the suspension was great, and the tires were big and sturdy.  My wife and I both run and we plan on doing so with the babies as soon as we are able (about 8 months to a year).  The Bob is heavy though, and won't fit through some doors unless you've unpacked your kids and folded it up.  As well, the slings in the Bob won't recline fully, making it useful only after the twins are older than three months.  My wife was worried about weight of the Bob and when collapsed, it is larger than the GT.  We placed both strollers in our trunk (separately of course), and the Bob did poke up slightly over the backseats.  That fact was a deal breaker for my wife.  She has an irrational fear that the stroller will come flying over the backseat and crush our babies.  I tried to explain to her that the larger stroller was less likely to fit through the small space between the backseat headrests and the car roof, but she would have none of it.

I think ultimately we'll buy both the City Jogger GT and the Bob (we already ordered the GT). We'll hold off on the Bob purchase for about a year.  We've purchased a double snap and go for quick trips to the store, and we'll eventually need something in which we can pull the twins behind our bicycles, as well as a Maclaren (an ultra lightweight stroller for older kids)...5 strollers*.

I frequently stop double stroller pushers on the street and ask them how they like what they are using.  No one has ever told me that they think they made the wrong choice.  So choose the stroller that best suits your lifestyle and get's you and your twins out of the house as often as possible.

 *...Maybe I can reduce that number by one if instead of the Bob we pick up a Chariot.  The Chariot converts from stroller, to a runner, to a skier, to a hiker, to a biker, all for a gabillion dollars.

Gender Roles and Outdated Family Models

I've been doing my best to read as much as I can about raising twins.  Actually, I've been reading about pregnancy and carrying twins as well.  Most of these books are written by women, for women.  But I've ignored the "I Am Mom" message and tried to focus on the ideas rather than the words.  I've read only one book, so far, that focused on being a dad.  The book was titled, "So You Are Going To Be A Dad".  I should have checked the publishing date before I tossed it.  I'm pretty sure it was written between wooly mammoth hunts, by the light of a roaring fire, deep inside a cave.  It frequently repeated the idea, that after the children were born, life as we knew it, was over.  And though that statement is in fact true, it never made it sound appealing.  It was written in such a way, that made me, as a father-to-be, feel I was giving up everything rather than gaining anything.  The author actually stated that it wasn't until his third child, that he realized he should be taking his turn with night feedings.  With his first child he didn't help at all, but he felt bad about how tired his wife looked.  With his second child, he woke up when his wife did, but found that wasn't the solution either.  It was just leaving them both exhausted.  Finally, with his third child, he came to the conclusion that he should let his wife sleep through a feeding, and handle the bottle, the changing and play time by himself.  I was a little shocked when I read that.  I don't understand how a man can be so inattentive, or worse, uncaring about his family.  I didn't think that there were men still like that...at least, not until I started to attend our prenatal class.

My wife and I took a course designed for families expecting multiples.  I don't know if it was because of our circumstance, but we didn't cover a lot of the things I expected to.  We never sat on the floor and practiced breathing techniques for example.  Instead, one evening, our instructor turned on a CD of a baby screaming and had us practice changing, dressing and swaddling a doll.  I think it was supposed to prepare us for a simultaneous melt down of the twins...I'm fully expecting evenings in which everyone in my household will be lying on the floor and crying together, so that exercise was good preparation.  I, along with most of the other guys, did our best.  But there was one father-to-be who treated each activity with disdain.  On the first night when the men of the group were asked to say something about their wives and children, he just rolled his eyes and waved off the question.  When asked to dress and swaddle a doll, he stuffed both its legs through a single pant leg and then rolled it in the blanket like a burrito.  In one exercise, we were divided into two groups, men and women.  We were asked to come up with an hourly schedule for the sixth day at home with our twins.  His suggestion was the gym at 7AM and then a full day of work.  As we filled in our timeline with tasks like, feed the babies, or do the dishes he made snide comments about "cramping his style".  Here was a man that most of those daddy books are written for, a clueless neanderthal, self-centered and oblivious of others.  I honestly felt sorry for his wife and kids-to-be.


Clearly delineated gender roles, in my mind, is an idea that died in the 1950s.  I don't understand why so many of the parenting books I've read, are written just for mom, or just for dad.  Out of the eight couples that attended our prenatal class only one of them appeared to still be carrying about that outdated family model.  When I was a child, my mother and father both worked (as an emergency nurse my mother often took evening shifts to ensure that there was always someone home with us).  They both cooked and did housework.  Growing up, I think I saw my father standing behind the ironing board more regularly than I did my mother.  I don't know why there are not more parenting books written with that lifestyle in mind.  They should leave out the labels, the "mother" and the "father".  Write about parents...write about the people that are going to work together to bring up their children.  That's how my parents did it, as a team, they still are, and they raised one amazing child as well as my brother.  

No Rest for the Wicked

I've never been one to require a lot of sleep, I can get by on about five to six hours a night...but I'm normally running at a deficit.  As weeks wear on I usually hit a point when I crash.  I fall asleep on the couch at about 7PM and I sleep through until the next morning.  Even so, I prefer not to sleep, or so I thought.  Lately I've been getting far less than I require.  I'm up every couple of hours for night feedings or to help a cranky sleeper roll on to her side.  The worst part of it is...the twins aren't even in the picture yet.

At this point, my wife is as large as a nine month pregnant woman of a singleton (this from her doctor during our last appointment).  She doesn't sleep more than two hours before she needs to either change to a more comfortable position or get up to use the washroom because one of the girls is using her bladder like a bean bag chair.  In either case, she can't do it alone.  Swinging her legs over the side of the bed and sitting up is a two person job requiring scaffolding and a construction crane to be erected... 

Between roll overs and pee breaks my wife often wakes hungry.  And though I try to convince her that she should eat one of the baby books she keeps next to the bed, or some of the foliage off one of the bedroom plants, that just seems to make her angry (which is even worse for me because she can't just turn over and give me a swat.  I actually have to get out of bed and walk around to her side so that she can punch me in the arm.)  I end up zombie walking downstairs to the refrigerator to pour a huge glass of milk, knowing full well that this amount of liquid in her squished bladder is going to equate to another bathroom trip in few hours.

We've had a king sized bed since the day we moved in together.  If anyone was to ask me how large a king sized bed is, I honestly would not be able to answer.  Based on the amount cottony real estate that I get to use, however, I'd have to guess that they are not designed for two people to share.  Now that she is pregnant, I've lost a good portion, of even that meager space, to her pillow fort.  There are pillows shaped like wedges of cheese, pillows so soft that they must be filled with baby ducks, and pillows especially designed for hugging and cuddling.  That huggy pillow is the worst.  At night I hear it whispering to her, trying to convince her that I'm really not necessary at all and that she would be far happier if it was just to two of them.  I never sleep with my back to that pillow.  Never!

It's all good practice though.  I doubt I'll ever sleep a whole night through again.  When the girls arrive, they'll spend the first six months in our room.  I sleep very lightly but I've been warned that babies are noisy sleepers.  Once they are out of our room, and in the nursery, I'll spend the next several years protecting them from the monsters in their closet (which, I'll inform the children, I only keep in there because they are to vicious to allow free roam of the house).  The years after that, will surely be devoted to nightly vigilance in the front window.  I'll be waiting with my hands hovering over the porch light switch, ready to flick it on the moment romeo leans in for his good night kiss...and so help me, if either of my little girls even thinks about dating a huggy pillow...

 

Pregnancy Weight Gain

It's true, I'm getting fat.  It's not sympathy weight gain, as some would suggest.  The cause has a more simple explanation.  Cravings!  Cravings are the culprit.  Oh no, these are not my cravings...they are my wife's.  And it's not pickles and ice cream or anything strange like that.  It's meat.

My wife was a vegetarian for many years.  She didn't start out that way.  Nope...before we were married we would go out for gourmet burgers, or enjoy a bbq'd steak...she tricked me you see.  It wasn't until after we were married, not until she knew I wasn't going anywhere, that she sprung the "I'm a vegetarian" thing on me.  I heard sobbing noises coming from the kitchen one evening, it was her turn to cook, and when I walked in she looked at me passed tear soaked cheeks and cried "I don't want to cut the chicken."  Now to be fair, she was studying dietetics at the time, and had just finished a course (or at least a class) in the ethical treatment of animals...but come on...meat is so good!  And that was it, no meat for 10 years.  Her veggie change over affected us both to some degree.  I ate much less meat.  In fact, it was typically only when going to a restaurant that I actually ate meat (and then, only if it was not a vegetarian restaurant).  That all changed when she became with child.

Even in the earliest stages of pregnancy, my wife had cravings for animal parts.  I don't want to call it meat, because the first thing she desperately wanted was a bologna (baloney) sandwich.  She hadn't had meat in 10 years, and suddenly she wanted the liquefied waste products, lips, beaks, fat, and butt holes, of various animals, squeezed into a plastic tube then solidified, sliced thin and slapped between wonder bread...with ketchup.  NO!  Not simply out of principle did I say no, there is a real threat of listeria in all deli meats, which can be harmful to the fetus...but still...NO!  That didn't stop her from bringing home everything else from the butcher. 

We've always split the chores around the house I cook, and she does the shopping.  I can't stand going shopping, and I can't stand her cooking (love you sweetie, you are the best at everything else in the world), so it's win win for me.  But sending a pregnant woman with cravings to the grocery store, is not the best idea.  She would come home with several pounds of bacon, hand it to me and say "this is what I want for dinner."  Awesome, right?  Bacon makes everything better.  Before I met my wife I almost married bacon.  So, where's the problem?  The issue is that my wife only eats a little of something, and then she's done with it.  She's not a fan of leftovers (unless it's mashed potatoes...then you have to watch your fingers).  So when I finish cooking 4 pounds of bacon, and she finishes off the the couple of slices that she needs to fulfill her craving, I'm left eating the rest of it.

When you combine an all bacon diet with a reduction in exercise (it's hard to get to the gym when you spend every moment doing baby stuff) you get...well, fat.  I'm not to worried about it though.  I'm sure once the twins are born I'll have plenty of time for long runs and hard workouts.  I'll be back to run weight in no time.

A Shortened Fuse

Something I didn't mention in my last post, is my wife's shortened fuse.  I'm not talking about mood swings or anything emotional, I'm talking about her cervix.  I don't know if there is anyone reading this blog who doesn't know what a cervix is (actually I don't know if anyone is reading this blog at all), but you can think of it as a baby escape hatch.  During pregnancy the cervix is fully closed/blocked up.  The shape of the cervix, as well as it's length are measured periodically throughout the pregnancy.  A shortening of the cervix is often a strong predictor of preterm labour.  Now just because my wife has been diagnosed with a shortened cervix doesn't necessarily mean labour is imminent.  I am, however, keeping my eyes open for indications that the babies are coming...for example I search the bed each morning for a mucus plug...that's right boys a mucus plug.  I have no idea what it's going to look like, but I'm pretty sure I'll know it when I find it.

Our obstetrician has really been hands off during the middle portion of this pregnancy.  Where many of the moms in our prenatal class have had numerous ultrasounds (many once every two weeks), our doctor has ordered only two, one at 19 weeks, which was our anatomy scan, and the next at 28 weeks.  At the first ultrasound, my wife's cervix measured 3.7 cm, and at second, it was 1.45 cm.  Measurements are of the closed length.  Our doctor still doesn't seem overly concerned.  In fact he basically said there is nothing he can do.  He was worried that preventative steps, such as a cerclage, may actually bring on labour.  And really, he informed us, the cervix may have been shortening during the entire length of time between ultrasounds.  Hmmmm...I wonder if that would have been good data to have?

As soon as we found out we were having twins we joined several support groups.  I'd recommend this to everyone.  When it comes to pregnancy, anything you look up on the internet becomes extremely frightening, it's all terrible...in fact, for the purpose of this post, I just did a google search on "shortening cervix" with awesomely, sickening results...If I could make another recommendation to those who have just found out they are pregnant, STAY OFF THE INTERNET!  If you've got questions, post them to those support groups you joined after reading my first recommendation.  My wife did so as soon as she was diagnosed.  We immediately had several responses.  One woman told us that at 23 weeks her cervix was not only shortened, it was dilated to 2 cm, escape hatch blown, abandon ship, abandon ship!  With bed rest, however, she carried her twins full term.  All I've got to do, is convince my wife to stay off her feet and let me take care of everything...she get's to be the overseer, and boss me about.  How will I ever convince her to take on this role?


So basically, what it boils down to is that my babies may come today, or they may come in 8 weeks.  For now, I'll keep my fingers crossed and my eyes open for any unclaimed mucus plugs.

28 Weeks, 3 Days

When it comes to gestation, we humans don't have it that bad.  (as a male I can actually say I have it pretty good)  Elephants carry their young for 22 months, the longest of any land dwelling animal.  Today we hit 28 weeks and 3 days, a period of time that would make an elephant roll it's eyes, but seems infinitely long to my wife and I .  If my wife was actually to carry to full term, 40 weeks for humans, she'd have 81 days to go.  With twins however, it's very unlikely.  On average, twins are delivered at 36 weeks.  That might not sound like a terribly large difference in time, but a lot of growth actually takes place during that last month.  The longer they can stay in there, the better.

At our last ultrasound, just a few days ago, the tech once again completed several detailed measurements.  They use femur length as well as skull and stomach circumference, to determine the babies' growth.  We are well within acceptable parameters.  Actually, the twins measured in the 60th and 80th percentile, 50th obviously being the average.  That put them at about 2.5 and 2.7 pounds.  Ideally they'll be up in the 5 pound range when they make their debut.  We were also informed of their orientation.  Twin A, the label given to the fetus closest to the cervix, is head down (vertex), whereas twin B is way up high and lying transverse.  That means she's lying horizontally and in the perfect position to donkey kick my wife in the ribs (one of her favorite games to play).  With multiples the best orientation for birth is vertex/vertex.  When a woman learns that her multiples are in any other orientation, she has a decision to make, natural or cesarean birth.  Unlike a singleton, which is delivered in the "Delivery Room", multiples are always delivered in the "Operating Room" (or in the backseat of a cab on the way to the hospital).  The reason for this, is that should a woman choose to give birth naturally, complications can arise with the second delivery, making an emergency cesarean necessary.  When we first were married (actually we discussed it long before that but whatever) my wife told me that she would not have children until the Star Trek transporter was invented and they could beam the baby out of her and directly into the crib.  Just as a side note, she probably said Star Wars instead of Star Trek (she's seen neither), nor would she have used the word beam, but instead would have made the Wayne's World flashback noise to indicate teleporter operation...  Anyway, it's a tough choice for women to make.  I've had big poops that made me cry, so natural child birth can't be a lot of fun.  And in our prenatal class we watched a video of a multiple cesarean birth.  The doctor just kept reaching in and pulling out babies like a magician pulling rabbits out of a hat.  I'm pretty sure he presented each one with a flourish and shouted "taa daaa" as well.  And though that scenario sounds like it could be a lot of fun, the recovery time after a cesarean is much longer than with natural child birth (not considering any additional complications).  Even if a mom of multiples chooses a natural birth, complications with twin B often require an emergency intervention, so you end up delivering the first naturally, and the second through cesarean...the best of both worlds!

My wife, all pregnant women for that matter, are brave, far braver than me certainly.  Regardless of which path a woman chooses for delivery, it's going to involve pain.  They know that before they get pregnant, and yet they still propagate our species.  I understand (theoretically) what my wife is facing to expand our family, and though I can't really face it with her, I'm going to do everything I can to make it as easy as possible for her.  I am so very proud of her...

Elephant Pink

Ballerina Gown, Poetic Princess, Palace Rose, Autumn Red, Strawberry Sorbet, Ribbon Pink...Elephant Pink...There is now a room in my home with walls the colour of a fruity milkshake. 

It's funny really, we've come full circle.  It started many months ago with two little pink lines on a pee stick and culminated today in a pink walled room, piled high with mountains of pink clothing.  We are certain, now, that we are having two little girls...but we weren't always so positive.

We were lucky, being an older couple having twins, we were considered high risk.  That doesn't sound lucky, but as a high risk pregnancy our doctor ordered frequent ultrasounds, weekly if I remember correctly.  I attended every one of them with my wife, watching closely over the tech's shoulder, trying to interpret the various blobs displayed on the monochromatic screen.  The very first ultrasound was interesting.  The tech simply stated "I see two babies."  There was no preamble, simply "I see two babies..."  I looked at my wife and she was looking back at me.  She held up her hand displaying the typically accepted sign for peace (a state of mind I was not feeling at that moment) and mouthed "Two?"  I swallowed and said aloud, "Two?"...The weeks and ultrasounds that followed continued to yield the same results, strange little blob things that the techs assured me were twins.  But slowly, with each subsequent visit, those rorschach images took form, until eventually I could to make out arms, legs, heads...and what was that I could see in the 3D ultrasound?  "Would you like to know the gender of the babies?" the tech asked.  We answered in the affirmative and the tech pointed out my son's penis.  10 weeks old, with a body the size of a large fava bean, and penis that reached his knees!  His brother was a little more bashful but the tech said with some certainty that he too, was male.

We spent the following weeks digging through baby name books in search of boy names.  For some reason our prior lists were female heavy...girl names were so much easier.  But eventually we settled on Gavin and William (or possibly Liam, but never Billy).

Week 19 was our anatomy scan.  It's a long process in which the tech looks carefully at the babies, measuring the progress of all their internal organs and external digits.  Two, textbook perfect little girls she told us.  Little girls?  What?!?  Had their penises stopped growing, or worse were they floating around in amniotic fluid like some discarded bathtub toy?  My wife had been a vegetarian for years prior to getting pregnant, had the massive amount of estrogen rich tofu she had ingested simply caused the little things to pop off?  Oh my God, I too, had been eating a lot of tofu...was my penis in danger?  "Little boys you mean...the last tech told us they were little boys."  She looked at me and confirmed (90% sure she said) that they were little girls.  Apparently, with previous scans, it had been far to early to determine gender.

I am in no way disappointed, two boys, two girls, one of each I didn't and don't care which combination.  Everyone healthy and safe is all I want.  And I'm making a promise, right here in writing that I will love them and protect them for as long as I am able...

How it all Began...

My wife and I are expecting twins...so this first post probably does not go back as far as it should, it's not really how it all began.  I think in subsequent postings I'll go back further, to our decision to expand our family, but for now lets just look at last week, when the stay-at-home portion of my adventures first came about.

The decision to become a stay-at-home dad is a difficult one, or at least it can be.  Some of us make the decision based on economics, others because of their own personal desires, and others don't have a say in it at all.  Regardless of the why, however, men are held to a different standard than women when it comes to family life (not necessarily by our spouse, but by ourselves and other men for certain).  Now, some of you are thinking, lots of dads stay at home...like my brothers friend, what's his name...he stays home.  Come on, things are not like they were...modern, sensitive men raise their children.  They change diapers and wear specially designed shirts with baby bottles attached to the chest so they can fully experience breast feeding.  They openly cry at the romantic climax of the film (that they choose for date night) when the lead actor finally proves to the lead actress that "it was her...it was always her."  I know that right now, each one of you is shaking your head, the women thinking yes, that's the man I want, and the men thinking, where can I get one of those shirts, and how am I going to do all that and still provide for my family?  Regardless of how far we've come as a society here in North America, men still think in terms of providing.  Men cut the grass and take out the garbage (providing clean shelter), keep burglars out of the house (providing security) and bring home a paycheck (providing the literal and proverbial bacon).  We feel terrible if the lawn looks ragged, like a coward if we are not rushing downstairs in the dead of night, baseball bat in hand, and like a loser if we are not earning money.  So like I said, the decision to become a stay-at-home dad is a difficult one.

Even before my wife got pregnant, when we first decided to expand our family, we discussed the stay at home options.  We both have careers we enjoy.  My wife works for the government doing something complicated that I have no understanding or ability to describe (she does not work for CSIS nor the ministry of magic), and I am an animator.  I work in film, TV and video game animation, always on contract, and always someplace new.  There is no real stability in my work, short term contracts, with typically substandard benefits, and the pay is normally half of what my wife brings in.  But I love what I do...so do most other animators, which is why we do it.  When discussing our hopefully soon to be expanding family, my wife and I came to an agreement, she would take advantage of the excellent maternity benefits offered by her employer over the first year, and I would finish whatever contract I was on and stay home for the second year.  The thought of not working was frightening, a year gap in my resume along with softening of my ability to animate would, I feared, make it difficult to return...but, as long as I worked on my own stuff at night, between feedings and scrubbing baby poop off my fingers, it could surely be done.  And really...that was years away, first my wife had to get pregnant, then she had nine months of carrying most of our family around with her, and then she was going to stay home for a year once they arrived...I still had two and a half to three years to concentrate on work.

I was thinking about that deal last Friday on the subway on my way home from work.   We still had 2 months before the twins, two girls, arrived.  A mother and daughter got on the at the station after I had.  The mother had a worried look on her face, and she was holding a few tissues to her daughter's lips.  They sat across from me...all my work possessions were boxed on my lap...the layoff notice on top.  You've finished all your shots, they told me, as production winds down we need to reduce staff, blah, blah, blah...my wife was ecstatic when I called her, that means you can work on the nursery and that you'll be around well after the twins are born.  We won't be restricted to just the couple of weeks they were going to give you as vacation...we can get through the really tough months together.  Maybe you don't have to go back to work at all!  (can you hear the echo?)  I looked at the mother and daughter, the little girl was leaning, eyes closed against her mom.  Then the she made a face, which was accompanied by little gurgle noises, her tongue came part way out with each dry heave...the mother looked around, I could see the fear in her eyes as she pressed the few tissues she had to her daughter's  mouth.  Looking over my possessions I had to decide between the plastic bag in which I kept my terribly wet, gym shower flip-flops or the plastic bag in which I kept my workout clothing (10 km at the gym that morning).  Dumping the still soaked clothing I handed the bag over to the mother, she snatched it away and held it up over her daughter's mouth and nose.  The girl vomited, I'm guessing as much from the lingering smell of my gym clothes as from whatever bug she had contracted.  The liquid spewed in multiple directions, it's flow directed by the numerous holes in bag, in a much wider pattern than I would have expected had she not had a bag at all.  I got off at the next stop.  The decision to stay home had been taken out of my hands...now I just got to work on the dad part, and though I'm scared, I'm looking forward to every moment of it.