Captain of My Own Ark

I know exactly how Noah felt on his ark.  For those unfamiliar with the christian, old testement story of Noah, it's about a man who was warned of an impending flood of such magnitude, that would wipe out all life upon the planet.  Noah built an ark (boat) that was large enough to pen two of every animal on the earth.  When the flood waters receded  the animals were set free and allowed to repopulate the lands...except the unicorns, of which Noah had accidentally saved two males (the torrid, gay unicorn sex that occurred after the great flood caused all mention of the beasts to be stripped from the bible).  Anyway, I know what that ark must have sounded like at night...

Our evening routine is pretty straight forward right now.  We do a final day light feeding at around 8PM and then transition into our night time activities.  We dim or close the lights throughout the upper level of our house.  We swaddle the girls, tightly, and lie them in the crib in the bedroom.  The sound machine is turned on, beginning with a heart beat rhythm; the volume is turned all the way up.  Many new parents think the sound machine is a waste of money and elect to use a radio, tuned off channel so that it is producing static (white noise) instead.  I personally like the variety of the sound machine and actually use many of the settings.  We then close the bedroom door and leave the girls to calm down and begin to sleep.  For those that are thinking we are terrible parents for leaving the girls alone, unattended, we watch them through a video monitor (Summer brand with night vision).  That gives my wife and I a few moments to ourselves (and I mean moments).  When we return to the room the girls are usually asleep.  The sound machine is switched over to ocean waves, so we can pretend to be somewhere in the Caribbean.  That's when the fun begins.

Most experts recommend that your child sleep in your room until the age of 6 months.  That works fine for a singleton, or multiples if they have their own sleeping space.  Our girls are in a single crib next to our bed.  They'll stay there until they discover each other and start to do things, like suck each other's feet, or pull each other's hair.  For now though, they are in our room.  What the experts neglect to tell new parents is that babies are not quiet sleepers.  They make some of the weirdest noises I've ever heard.  The moment the lights go out and my head hits the pillow they start in with their animal imitations.  Primal grunts and snorts fill the darkness.  I've heard monkeys, birds and elephants.  One of them even makes this hyena sound, a laughing bark that is so distinct.  Whenever I hear the sounds starting up, I leap out of bed in an attempt to catch the boisterous party in the act.  I have of yet been able to do so.  By the time I am crib side both girls have arranged themselves into the picture of peace and quiet.  So back to bed I go.  I drift off to the sounds of the ocean, as well as animal cries of every sort (even of those romping unicorns!) and dream that I am the captain of my own ark.

It's Mostly Hushed Up

As I've said before, I want my writings to benefit those that maybe following along in my footsteps.  This is going to be another one of those entries that is aimed at dads-to-be (and the moms too).

Taking care of twins is hard.  Mine are about 2.5 weeks old now and since they arrived, I've been living in just two rooms of my house.  We walk from the bedroom, where we have had, if we are lucky, two hours sleep, to the nursery where we are trying to interpret baby screams into some useful course of action.  There are brief, foggy intervals in which I roam to other locations in my house, usually to nap on the couch, or for sustenance that will hopefully keep me running through the next baby crisis, or maybe even to do a little etc...I've written etc because my wife thinks it's more appropriate than saying personal hygiene or take a crap...but you all know what I mean (based on the statistics of my readership provided by blogger, chances are some of you are reading this on your iPhone while performing just such an act).

Anyway, as I was saying, taking care of twins is hard.  I'm sure taking care of one at a time is difficult too, though I don't see how, really.  If I only had one it would be so much easier...and there you have it.  If I only had one.  You start to say things like that to yourself and it makes you feel awful.  It makes you question your ability to cope with what is to come.  You consider life with only one child, when the two you actually have, are both screaming.  When you haven't had enough sleep or enough to eat, and you have no idea what else to do to calm your twins.  I haven't gone as far as to pick the one I'd keep.  In fact it's not even like that, it's not a this one or that one way of thinking.  It's just a daydream about the freedom of having only one child to worry about.

Worse of course is when everything is quiet.  The few moments in your house when everything is at peace and it's almost like it was "before".  You might even get a few minutes to watch TV or if you are like me (and I'm assuming you are because you are reading a blog) surf the social pages to see what your friends are up to.  That's when the question really hits you..."What have I done?"  I see all the fun my friends are having.  Doing all the things we used to do.  My wife and I had an awesome life before we had children.  That's why we waited so long to actually expand our family.  We travelled when we wanted to, sometimes just packing a bag and flying off to Europe last minute.  Honestly, we were living hedonistic lives, do anything you want any time you want kind of lives.  But something was missing.  We actively decided to have children.  It wasn't something we stumbled in to.  It was something we planned.  It was something we looked forward to it.  We were desperately disappointed each month when it hadn't happened yet.

The "What have I done?" question is not something that stays at the forefront of my mind; nor is the "What if we only had one?" question.  But the fact that those thoughts ever surface make me feel terrible.  Make me question my ability to be a good dad.  I kept it hushed up, hidden from everyone else.  I was embarrassed to mention it to anyone.  Whomever I told, would call child services and have my babies taken from me.  I eventually confided in another recently made father of twins, and he in turn confided in me.  Surely it wasn't just the two of us holding this terrible secret.  I asked a few more people.  Everyone (even the parents of singletons, with there easier, almost laxidasical lives...what if I did only have one?) admitted to having the same thoughts.  The last person I spoke with was my wife.  I asked here while we were feeding the girls.  The whole house was quiet.  I asked "Do you ever think...what the hell have we done?".  I saw the relief in her face and she answered with "or what if we only had one?"

So to the new parents reading this blog, or for those soon to be new parents, don't be ashamed of those doubts that creep in.  Everyone has them, just no one is talking about it.

It's Slipping In!

It's not like we've seen on TV and in the movies.  It must have once been though.  Mom in the delivery room doing all the work, and dad pacing in the waiting room with other expectant fathers; cigars if the doctor says it's a boy, and disappointment if it's a girl.  Depending on how important he was, maybe dad wasn't even at the hospital during the birth.  He may have been at work waiting for that teletype from Japan...or something (I don't even know what a teletype is, but it was important enough at one time to make you miss your child's birth).  He'd get a phone call after the delivery informing him he was now a father.  I think that was the 50s.  I'm glad that has changed.  I, of course, was thrilled to see both my little beauties enter the world.  Was overjoyed to actually be allowed in the OR while all the action went down.  That's different too.  The girls were born in an operating room, and it wasn't a surprise that we were having twins.  My grandmother told me that when her twins were born, the doctor caught the first one, the second yelled "Surprise!" as she tumbled out and hit the floor.

After they made their debut, the girls stayed in our room while my wife healed.  Family came to visit the girls directly, not view them lying in a nursery with dozens of other babies.  We had 3 days in the hospital, which I guess isn't bad seeing as how some mothers were discharged the same day they came in.  If my wife had given birth in the 50s she would have lounged in the hospital for 2 weeks, leaving me to eat TV dinners and de-lint my own fedora at home alone (or if Mad Men is to be believed, with my busty secretary).  Honestly, I think the 50s have us beat there.  Not the parents segregation part of it, but the time in convalescent care.  My wife would have loved to take more time in the hospital while nurses swarmed and fussed over her babies.  Throwing us all together right away and forcing mom and dad to take care of newborns when mom can't even sit upright was really, really hard.  Health care cut backs, I guess.  Nurses only came by if we pushed the panic button, which was not to be used for such things as diaper changes or re-swaddling.

Breastfeeding...that's changed.  Well, changed, then changed again.  Women have breasts.  For a long time they were used to feed babies.  There were no books or classes or lactation consultants.  You were on your own, maybe with a goat or cow if for some reason your milk never came in.  Later, science stepped in.  Formula became the rage and breasts (which were relabelled tits for marketing reasons) became the jiggling, bouncy, play things of the free love era.  Now, once again, breastfeeding is being touted as the best method for feeding the little ones.  There are posters scattered throughout the maternity ward claiming that breast milk increases immunity to disease, cancer, improves IQ and strength...basically creates little super humans.  But there is a catch.  It's no longer as simple as lifting an infant to your chest.  There are hundreds of books, seminars, and classes.  Lactation consultants come to the hospital bed to mash and squeeze mommy's breasts before slamming baby's face in to the battered flesh.  Information is so confused on this subject that each consultation we've had (always with a different lactation expert) leads us in a new direction.  Burp, don't burp, sit the baby upright, make sure the baby is reclined comfortably, football hold, cross-craddle, tandem feeding, mommy should use pillows, no pillows, hand pump the breast while feeding, only kneed the breast when the baby is not suckling, hand pumping upsets the baby...so much information just leaves mommy's head spinning and baby frustrated.  There's a lot of pressure for everyone involved.  Many women who wish to breastfeed are unable to do so and feel this sense of failure at being unable to provide the best brain-boosting, super human creating option for their babies.  So I have no idea whether this is a good change or a bad change, and I have no idea what information to believe.  All I know is we need to feed our babies and we are going to do it however we can.

There is one thing that I think everyone can agree is an improvement in childcare; the thermometer.  I had to take one of the twin's temperature the other night.  I have a digital ear thermometer for this purpose.  I placed the soft tip of the instrument in the baby's ear and in 1 second, I had a temperature measurement.  When I was a child we had 2 kinds of thermometers:  oral and rectal.  Oh god, how I hope there actually was two types...The only reliable method, as far as hospitals were concerned, of taking a temperature was rectally and my mother, as an emergency nurse who followed the hospital code.  There were very few "stay at home from school sick days" for me.  If I complained about not feeling well, my mom shoved a lubed glass rod up my butt.  This occurred long after I was an infant.  I remember being old enough to yell "It's slipping in!"  To which my mother would reply calmly, "No it's not, I've got it."  It didn't matter how firmly her grasp was though, I could feel my bottom gobbling up that glass rod, dragging it deeper into my core where it could properly measure my temperature.  There was a benefit to that torture...I rarely get sick now, and won't complain about not feeling well unless I am very close to death. 

Basic Life Choices

 I'm not sure what time my day begins.  There's no real start or end to a day currently.  I rarely get outside, so I can't judge the time, as normal people do, on the position of the sun.  Each of my "days" is a simple cycle of waking and feeding my new twin digestive tubes.  It's been recommended over and over, that the girls should be on a feeding schedule in which feeding occurs in a block of roughly 3 hours.  There are 8 blocks in any given 24 hour period.  At least one and half hours of each block is actually spent preparing, feeding, cleaning, and calming the girls.  If all goes really well, I will have the 1.5 hours remaining in the block to do something else.  Theoretically, that leaves the parents of twins (I don't say multiples because I have no idea how people with triplets+ possibly survive) some really basic life choices.  Do I sleep for 1.5 hours?  I've been trying to choose this option at least 4 times a day, preferably consecutive blocks.  That of course doesn't lead to consecutive hours of sleep, but does give me 6 hours of interrupted snooze time to recharge.  Next is personal hygiene, and fuel consumption.  Food usually wins out.  I'm surprised how hungry I get when all I'm doing in toting around little 6 pound bundles.  I might be burning more calories simply because I'm getting so little sleep.  I do my best to brush my teeth sometimes, and showering is a rarity...even before I had kids shaving was something I only did in passing, so no real loss there.  I haven't had the chance to shave my head, which I did every three weeks previously, as of yet.  It's growing in, nice and patchy and salt/pepper.  When I was a kid I had nightmares about my parents dying, not of an accident, simply of old age.  They were ancient...must have been in their early to mid 30s at the time.  I remember crying during the late night hours, lamenting about their approaching death.  If my kids have inherited my childhood fear of mortality, they are going to flip out when they see their furry faced, white haired, out of shape (I can't workout or run because the girls demand so much time...thanks for hastening my death ladies) daddy.  Anyway...showering has fallen pretty low on the priority list.  Even further down is clean clothing.  I tried at first.  Cleaned my self up, fresh clothing, smelling good, just to have one end of a new digestive tracks spew some foul smelling, liquidy mush all over me.  It was such a regular occurrence that I asked my father to make a run to the store to buy me a dozen oversized white t-shirts.  I just leave the pile at the door of the nursery and throw one on when I cross the threshold.  I asked for white, because based on some of the patterns the girls are able to produced, we may very well have birthed the next Jackson Pollock.  (One of a kind butt painted t-shirts will be available for purchase in the lobby.)  Way, way, way down on the list is personal time, activities like writing this blog, or watching TV.  It's taken me about 6 feeding blocks to get this far...and I don't really go back and read what I wrote, so this may be terribly incoherent, rambling jibberish.

So basically my life comes down to this:

1.  Feed babies

          then pick one (in order of my own personal importance):

2.  1.5 hours of unsatisfying sleep

3.  Use the bathroom

4.  Eat

6.  Personal hygiene

7.  Change my clothes

8.  Personal growth

9.  Personal grooming

Now there are some of you out there thinking, "hey, living life in 3 hour segments, 1.5 of which is your job and the other is do whatever you want time...that's not so bad."  Well during many of those 3 hour blocks, work time bleeds into personal time.  The girls don't just eat and pass out (well not always).  Often times eating is followed by a period of alertness.  So my actual personal time is influenced by the "fussy factor".  It's simple mathematics* really.

The girls have 2 states, alert (A) or asleep (S).  At any given moment they will fall into one of these to states of being.  Therefore:

Fiona    Emilia      Result

    S          S         Both girls asleep, 1.5 hours of personal time

    A          S        One twin alert, loss of personal time

    S          A        One twin alert, loss of personal time

    A          A       Both alert, complete loss of personal time, edge of insanity, no bathroom break

So as you can see, there is a 75% chance that some or all the time that the parent's of twins have for personal growth will be stolen away from them by their offspring.

So when you have a chance to visit with the parents of multiples, try to ignore their stained clothing, and fetid body aroma...they probably haven't used the bathroom in days.

*This is in no way an accurate mathematical solution to determining the probability of my girls being in a state of wakefulness.    

Baby Cute

The word "baby" is synonymous with "cute". If one is baby faced, they are young, fresh and cute looking, Who amongst us can look at baby feet or hands without an "Aww! How cute." escaping us? And big baby eyes...come on! So you'd think that "baby fart" would be right up there. All the benefits of "baby" with all the comic genius of "farts". Well, you know what? They aren't cute and they most certainly not funny at all...they are the trumpeting herald of abominable foulness!

Sure, I laughed the first time I heard one of my daughters toot. My wife giggled from her hospital bed at the funny little sound; something like an over ripen tomato being thrown against a wall. But the matronly amongst us went straight faced and the nurse on shift just turned and fled the room. I should have recognized the look on some of the faces. It was one that I'd seen many times before in old monster movies...the look that the villagers get when they have to choose a sacrifice to appease the creature terrorizing their island. But I didn't catch it...I only had eyes for my babies.

We had been told in our pre-natal class to open just one of the tabs, and peer through the opening to verify the condition of the diaper before beginning a change. Truly, I was not ready for the horror of that first peek. I now understand the definition of "pant load". I instantly feared that the garment had been designed to small to contain the roiling ocean of black goop that now inhabited my daughter's diaper. Looking at the contents, my first thought was that I had not been given a newborn human at all, but that my daughter was some sort of machine, now leaking a viscous, sticky oil. I later found out that the substance is called meconium, and that it is a perfectly normal product of babies only a few days old (it's made up of amniotic fluid, mucus and other goodies ingested in utero) and that it paled in horror in what was to come.

In the past few days I have learned to fear the baby fart, I no longer find it funny (unless someone else is holding one of the girls). By far the least amusing time to hear this almost cartoony noise is in the middle of a diaper change, when you are at your most vulnerable. I am very seriously considering renaming one of my daughters Crap Fountain, based on her ability to defecate with the force of an ever-flowing tube of toothpaste, stomped upon by a heavy booted man, each and every time I remove her diaper. Her sister has earned the name Crap Shotgun. I felt an moment of pride just prior to being pelted by buttshot, at my baby's ability to calculate trajectory (that's high school level calculus right there) given only the angle of her back to the change pad and the height her legs. At least the warning bark of breaking wind allowed me to close my mouth before my face was splattered.

Behind the Curtain

I left all the gory details out of the last post, so today I'd like to describe what occurred during the actual delivery. I say gory, but honestly I didn't see anything of the actual operation. I hope this post will allay fears for anyone who may soon go through this experience.

My babies were delivered at Mount Sinai hospital in Toronto, Ontario, Canada. We chose that location because of its excellent neonatal intensive care unit (NICU), our girls being twins may very well have needed to spend time there. I'm assuming that, in general, a c-section at one hospital will be very similar to another, but keep in mind that the events I am describing took place at Mount Sinai.

Upon arrival at the hospital my wife went directly to the 7th floor triage (followed closely by the orderly with the mop and bucket). After getting her situated I was sent down to admitting where I handed over the required documents to an admin who was more interested the Olympics (which were being piped over all hospital TVs in non-critical areas) than in my situation. My arrival, being very early, took a silver medal, to obtaining coffee. Once she returned to her desk, still droopy eyed, but carrying her stimulant, she informed me that we had just won a metal (I'm still not sure if it was Canada or Granada that had won, though I had her repeat it several times), handed me the admitting docs and sent me back up to the 7th floor.

By the time I returned, my wife was resting comfortably. There was the steady rhythmic beat coming from the heart monitors. Thin wire tentacles snaked over my wife's belly ending in connectors that were secured by baby blue and pink straps (it was completely irrational, but I was annoyed with the use of blue straps). Nurses ran in and out checking a multitude of things, re-arranging the heart rate connectors, because the twins were so active, going over my wife's medical history, probing her while simultaneously pressing down on her belly (an uncomfortable action that was need to check her cervical dialation) all the while assuring her (and me) that everything was going well. Before to long she was wheeled out of triage, with me in tow. I was handed a gown, hat, and cloth booties then deposited in a nook while my wife was carried through the OR door. I was informed it would only be a matter moments. I put on my booties (grateful for them because I had mistakenly worn my good sneakers to an operation), and my hat. I removed my t-shirt and put on the gown. It was not necessary to remove any clothing, however, I was planning on skin to skin time with the twins which could have been accomplished by either removing my shirt or just slipping the girls under it (also I had mistakenly worn a nice shirt which would have been transformed into the Shroud of Turin if I had tried to hold a little one against my skin).

After about a 20 minute wait I was invited through the door. The scene that greeted me was controlled chaos (to my eyes). There were dozens of people in my view all gowned and talking quietly to one another. My wife lie on a table shaped much like a gingerbread man. I could only see the top half of her body, the lower half was hidden from view by a large sheet strung between two IV poles. She was gowned, and wore the same little cap as I did. Her arms were spread and strapped to the arms of the gingerbread man. To me she looked very pale. She was numb from the waist down. I knew she was scared. There was a stool placed for me by her head, positioned at the edge of the curtain. If I had had the desire I could have peeked around the edge, but chose not to. The partner, is in fact permitted to watch the birth, but I'm not sure if it was simply by leaning around or if you stood at the surgeon's elbow. The patient can also watch the birthing process in strategically placed mirrors, or so we were told in our prenatal class. Neither my wife nor I asked where the mirrors were located. Though it was an effective line of sight blocker, the sheet did nothing to block sound. I could hear the doctor speaking of where he would cut. I spent every moment after that whispering encouragement to my wife, or discussing banal topics, anything to keep her from hearing the doctor's conversation. The spinal eliminates pain, but my wife could still feel tugging and pulling. Eventually, through the din I heard someone say here comes the first. Then I heard a baby scream, my wife did too, because she said "Oh!" and started to cry. Our first visual of twin A was of an open mouthed little girl who looked as if she had been submerged in a mud bath. Her arms and legs were spread as wide as hey could go and she was screaming louder than I thought would have been possible from such a small thing. In my mind I remember her dangling by one arm from the nurse's grasp and carrying a spear in her free hand (though I looked for it afterwards I found no evidence that she had been carrying a weapon at birth). The little, noise-making package was placed upon my wife's chest for immediate skin to skin time (half naked dad was denied) and then whisked off for assessment. Twin B took her place seconds later. Where A was crying and angry, B was quiet and searching. She was so quiet in fact that I worried she was not well. She, too, after a brief moment with mommy (again daddy was denied) was removed for assessment. I told my wife how proud I was, how beautiful she is, and what beautiful babies she makes.

It was finally daddy's time to shine. I was lead to a small warming tables where our babies rested, and invited to cut the cords. I'm not sure if it was purely symbolic, because neither of the babies were attached to mommy any longer. With a pair of scissors I cut what looked like a double clamped, short stub of sausage casing sticking up where my little girl's belly button would some day be. After both were snipped, I was asked to diaper the girls...then I was asked to diaper them again, only this time properly. One of the nurses was kind enough to show me a proper diapering technique (no I was not using cloth diapers, and yes I was unable to strap on a disposable the first time through). With those duties complete, I remembered my job, and asked about the APGAR scores for each.

The rest of the procedure lasted about 40 mins and was uneventful (from our point of view, the doctors all still seemed to be doing things however). We were eventually wheeled into a recovery room...and finally to the private room where we would complete our stay.

I'd love to tell you more, but I honestly don't remember. The days in the hospital afterwards are all a blur of sleepless night's spent staring at the girls, fearful that they might simply disappear at any moment. Now that we are home, with feeding every 3 hours, we still are not sleeping well (though at least I am in a bed now and not on the hospital floor), but we no longer worry that the girls were just a dream, I can actually walk out of the room they are in now, and I'm no longer worried that they won't be there when I get back. That's an improvement...small, but a definite improvement, and it's proof positive that everything will eventually be ok.

Splish Splash I was Taking a Bath...

The following blog entry was written the night that my children were born, but I am posting it nearly 5 days later.  Sorry if I have ruined the surprise for those that did not already know, but the girls have arrived.  I'm leaving what I wrote unedited, so please forgive it's rambling pace and inclusion of unnecessary information.  I had planned to write each evening that I was in the hospital, but it pretty quickly became apparent that was not to be the case.  At the time of writing I had been awake for nearly 24 hours...and that was the most rested I was during my entire stay. 

Actually, I was watching a french zombie film, called The Horde, on the main floor of our house when my wife called down to me from upstairs.  There were signs of impending labour.  Nothing to drastic, no contractions, her water hadn't broke, but there were subtle signs.  I called the emergency number and described the symptoms (I guess I should say it so that others in the same circumstance will know...there was some light bleeding), and was told that we should come to the hospital to be checked over.  There was no need to rush, because there had not been any additional symptoms to indicate a need for urgency.  This pleased my wife, it would give her and I time to quickly rinse off, maybe have a bite of breakfast (I not her.  A woman should not eat before a c-section), and to me most importantly...poop.  Gross, I know, but that was going to be my last chance for quite some time.  I grabbed a bowl of cereal and went upstairs.  Nerves were already taking hold of my wife, and she didn't want to be alone for even a second.  I had only just sat down at my desk, and began to lift that first bite of breakfast to my face when my wife shouted..."My water just broke!"  And then, in the time it took me to drop my spoon, "I found a mucus plug!"

The drive to the hospital was relatively uneventful, it being 6:30 AM there were few commuters, and therefore no traffic delays.  This was it...the big event that we had been training for, for nearly 9 months (37.5 weeks actually).  There would certainly be those that would be interested in sharing this day with us, so, to ensure they could find us, my wife was nice enough to leave a trail, that started at the hospital roundabout car driveway and ended at the birthing triage; a simple to follow pathway of aromatic, amniotic fluid for those that were to come later for a visit.  Unfortunately our first visitor was an orderly with a mop and bucket.

My wife went in to the OR/delivery room (multiples are always delivered in an OR because the likelihood of an emergency c-section is extremely high, even if one of the multiples is born vaginally) at about 9:00, August 7, 2012, a full 24 hours earlier than her planned section.  A warning to the women out there who may need this done.  We were told in our multiples prenatal class that you would have your partner with you during the procedure, and this is mostly true.  You do face the initial anesthesia procedure alone, and your partner is brought in about 20 minutes later.  The girls were born at 9:24 and 9:25 weighing in at 6.9 pounds and 6.2 pounds.  Both were healthy, and received APGAR scores of 9/10 (a 10 out of 10 is extremely rare, because almost all babies are born with slightly discoloured extremities).

I am writing this blog entry at 1:22 AM August 8th, but I doubt it will be posted for a few days (we don't have a wireless connection here in the hospital).  I am sitting between two little, swaddled pink bundles of noise who are allowing me to write a single sentence before deciding to explode once again.  In just the few short hours between their birth and now, I have experienced so much that I am looking forward to sharing with you...if my girls actually allow me to do any blogging.

I'm excited about this adventure and I'm happy that you are all sharing it with me.

As I mentioned, in the beginning, this was written on the evening the girls were born.  There are many details about the process which I will describe in subsequent entry, so for those that feel let down by this poor description of the event, fear not.  I will go into far greater detail describing what I saw, heard, smelt and did during that initial day, all in hopes of helping to prepare those that are following in our footsteps.  

Oh, and just as a side note, I seemed awfully worried about going to the washroom before the kids came into being, my advice, MAKE SURE YOU DO IT, because if the last few days are any indication, that might very well be the last satisfying bowel movement you have for months.

Mother of Dragons

My beautiful wife, mother of Dragons...

With only a week left to go it looks more and more like my wife will make her due date of August 8th, 2012 (an auspicious date in the Chinese calender related to long life and good fortune).  We had our final ultrasound last week, and everything appears to be going well.  The twins are estimated at 5.5 and 6 pounds, significant numbers in that they are no longer considered low birth weight.

Regardless of whether they arrive today, or next week, these girls will be born under the astrological signs of the Dragon (Tibetan calender) and the Leo (zodiac sign, between July 23 and August 22).  I don't put much faith in astrological signs, (I'm a Metal Pig and a Pisces and I don't really match either description) so I don't need the stars to tell me that I'm in trouble...I know it already.

 According to the Tibetan calender everyone born after Feb 22, 2012 is born under the Chinese zodiac sign of Dragon...further this is a water year, an event that only occurs once every 60 years, so my little girls will be Water Dragons.  To the Chinese, the Dragon is a very desirable sign, ruled by luck.  After reading through various descriptions, however, it doesn't seem very lucky for the parents (especially already worried dads of little girls)...

"Force and power are the symbols attributed to the Dragon. There is a decidedly exotic air about Dragon people, especially among the women, who fairly exude sexuality. Indeed, whether male or female, Dragons are libidinous and score quite a hit with the opposite sex."

Great! At least the twins will have each other in the tower I'm building in my backyard, so they won't be to lonely.

The Dragon is considered the luckiest of the Tibetan signs, the people of which are considered shrewd, healthy and full of life.  They are intuitive, artistic and strangely lucky (which they'll get from me) but also irritable, stubborn and impetuous (which they'll get from their mother).

A lot of the sites I read listed Dragons as hot-headed and quick-tempered, sometimes casting aside logic to follow their heart.  They are enthusiastic, idealists and perfectionists, capable of soaring to great heights or crashing to the deepest depths.  They are charismatic, independent and resourceful.  Whatever they do, win or lose, they do big.  Luckily 2012 is ruled by the element of Water, which is supposed to have a calming influence on the Dragon's fiery nature.  Water Dragons are said to have more patience, be more sensitive, and better able to relate and work with others.  They are less impetuous and make wiser decisions.

I know earlier I said I don't believe in this stuff, but come on...an enthusiastic, loud-mouth that is sensitive, works well with others and makes good decisions...that is exactly how anyone who knows my wife and I would have guessed our kids would turn out.
 
The description for Leo doesn't give me any real comfort either.  They are described as attention-loving and ambitious, with a flair for the dramatic.  They are often creative, idealistic and natural leaders (maybe, from what I've read, it's because they won't let anyone else take charge).  Like the Dragon, this sign is associated with passion, and great drive for success.  Almost every site suggested that Leos make excellent lovers and are very popular with the opposite sex...(sigh...really?  Why are they doing this shit to me?)

There are a lot of similarities between the Tibetan Dragon sign and the zodiac Leo sign.  If for some reason these ancient methods of personality prediction are accurate...I'm in big, big trouble.  When their passion smashes up against my already overwhelming desire to give them everything, I predict a pony stable in the backyard...

These little girls are going to eat me alive.