Embrace the camera

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Early last week, I got the unfortunate news that one of my cousins's sons died.  23 years old.  Too young.  So sad.
I hadn't seen my cousin since our last family reunion in July 2010, and I had seen her son since the 2006 family reunion, but I knew I wanted to go to the funeral, to pay my respects and show my support. So on Thursday morning we packed up the car and trekked over to the Show-Me state for a few days.
We decided that while we were there we should take advantage of the nice weather and the few days off work...so we took our funeral lemons and made some sight-seeing lemonade.
First up: I took my boys to visit my grandma and grandpa's grave. She's been gone 9 years now, and I still cry every time I visit her grave.

Then: We took the boys to the zoo with my Aunt and my cousin's kids.

St. Louis has a fabulous zoo, and y'all should go because it's free admission!  You just have to pay for parking and any extras you want, like the train.  Speaking of the train...  My boys can't see a train and not want to ride it.  

Then we took the boys up in the Arch.  While we were waiting in line, I took a moment to explain to Thing 1 and Thing 2 that their grandpa was one of the electricians that helped build the arch, and that their uncle worked on it's construction too.  They weren't that interested.  But they'll think it's cooler when they are older, I'm sure.

It was all smiles until the tram actually started moving up.  Then there were a lot of seriously concerned faces.  (Oh, and Thing 2 refused to look out of the windows at the top.  Or let anyone pick him up.  Or walk.  That was fun.)  (P.S. As soon as we got back to the bottom, he wanted to go right back up. ?!?!?!)

Then we ventured down to the riverbank and dipped our toes in the mighty Mississippi.  A first for all of us, even me, and I lived in St. Louis for a few years when I was a kid.

Finally, a trip to St. Louis wouldn't be complete without taking in an afternoon Cardinal's game.

Thanks to Stubhub.com for the amazing $7 tickets!  I about died when the box office said all they had left were $50 tickets.  Uh, no way!!  Not with two 5 year olds that may or may not sit through a whole game!

On stubhub I was able to buy 4 tickets plus tax and fees for $38!  And they stand by the authenticity of their tickets.   I will be using them again.  (No, stubhub did not pay me to say that.  But they should! ;)

This was the view from our seats!  Gorgeous, right?

  

Poor Gary

Oh no! Got a snail last night for the fish tank, to help with a little algae issue that is growing. (Pun intended)

Unfortunately no one at the pet store mentioned not to put it in a tank with aquarium salt, which I have in my tank for the ghost shrimp.

So this morning I found my poor beautiful "Gary" dead.  How do I know it was the salt that killed him?  I found him shell up IN the salt cup!

As soon as I saw him in there, I thought: Hey, doesn't salt kill slugs?  Aren't snails basically slugs with houses? D'oh!!


I'm sad. I spent 45 minutes picking out just the perfect snail.  And the kids were so excited about him. And then I mercilessly killed him.  Poor guy never had a chance. :(

Update: So, because I wasn't 100% sure he was dead (he was still black and shiny in the shell, not discolored and dry) I put him in a plastic cup with water from the tank.  I wanted to a. observe him to confirm he was dead and b. return him for a refund if he was.  But when we were leaving for school/work I saw him crawling around!!  So, he's not dead!  But is he dying?  Hmm... I have done some preliminary googling for "mystery snail" and "aquarium salt" and I have found conflicting opinions.  Some say it will kill them for sure.  Some say that they can tolerate a high level of salinity in the water.  I need to find out for sure, so I can know how to proceed.  (If he is still alive when I get home from work)

Any experienced aquarium aficionados...please feel free to offer some advice.

Grateful

It's amazing what we stumble on while surfing the internet.  Today I clicked on a link on CNN.com on the story of a Toledo woman who was implanted with the wrong embryos and some where along the way ended up on a website called Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep, which is an organization that provides free photography services to woman who have lost a baby.

I read a few of these incredibly touching and sad stories, and was overwhelmed with feelings.  Sadness.  Sympathy.  Anger.  Guilt.

But most of all, I kept thinking how lucky I was to have somehow ended up with not just one, but two healthy children.

And while I cursed so much of the process at the time, I can look back now and appreciate how many wonderful things aligned just right to make their life possible.

It was an unplanned pregnancy.  I wasn't taking any vitamins or supplements or folic acid.  But luckily I discovered I was pregnant very early on and was able to immediately be put under a doctor's care.

I had recently moved to Ohio and hadn't even found an OBGYN yet.  I picked Dr. Miracle out of an insurance directory.  I believe I owe my sons lives to this amazing doctor.

We discovered it was twins very early on (7 weeks).  Dr. Miracle scheduled an ultrasound right away "just in case," even though most woman I know don't have their first ultrasound until 12 weeks.

Dr. Miracle just so happened to have completed a residency with a Maternal Fetal Medicine specialist who specialized in multiple pregnancies.  So the first thing she did was begin monitoring me for incompetent cervix, which she knew I was at higher risk for carrying multiples, by ordering a vaginal ultra sound every two weeks.

When the MFM in Toledo saw the initial "funneling" (first signs of an incompetent cervix) he was actually willing to wait another week to see if we needed to operate.  Dr. Miracle was more aggressive.  She called me at work that afternoon and I'll never forget her words: "He is the specialist. But I'm telling you, if it was my babies and my body, I'd be in the hospital having that cerclage done tonight."  And I was.  And I did.

From there, I did everything she told me to do.  Everything.  She told me to stay on bedrest for one week.  Lay in bed all day.  Only get up to go to the bathroom and for one short 5 minute shower a night.  Have Superman time me.

After one week, I went in for my check up and there was more bad news.  The cerclage was holding, but the funneling was worse, my cervix was opened all the way down to the sutures now.  Instead of going back to work and continuing the rest of my pregnancy normally, I would be on bedrest (or what I like to call "bed arrest") for the remainder of my pregnancy.  I was 20 weeks along.

Everyday before leaving for work, Superman would fix up a cooler of meals and snacks for me and put it on my bedside.  I watched a lot of tv, surfed a lot of internet, did a lot of crossword puzzles, cross stitching, crocheting, reading...you name it.  We were new to the area, so during four weeks of bed arrest I had six non-Superman visitors.  My in-laws came once, my aunt and uncle from Indiana came once, one work colleague came, and one of my friends from home who was traveling through NW Ohio on a business trip.  I was bored out of mind.  But I stayed in that bed.

After three weeks of weekly check ups, the prognosis wasn't good.  My cervix was dangerously thin and open.  Dr. Miracle said it could no longer take the pressure of traveling 10 minutes for my weekly check ups.  She was concerned the cerclage would rip (I could have hemorrhaged) and/or that the amniotic sac would break (pre-mature delivery).  She wanted me in the hospital for the remainder of my pregnancy.  I was 23 weeks along

I was still allowed up to go to the bathroom, but my daily showers which had been changed to every other day showers were now changed again to weekly showers.  I would be a button press and five feet away from emergency medical care.  My room was the closest to the nurses' station on the maternity ward.  I was ordered to spend my days lying in the trendelenburg position, with my feet up and head down.  I was put on medication to hold off contractions, since they would have an averse affect on my cervix.  I was given a steroid shot to help develop the boys lungs in the likely case they were born pre-mature.

Once a week, I was wheeled down to the ultrasound tech (not in a wheelchair mind you, in my bed).  Every week my cervix measurements got smaller and smaller.  Every week we held our breath, crossed our fingers, and said our prayers that my cervix could hold out just one more week.

As my cervix continued to shrink, my restrictions grew.  Soon there were no more showers.  Soon I was on a bedpan.

Right around 28 weeks, what the medical community deems "viability," I had a brief resurgence in my cervical measurements.  We were elated.  Until I got the letter from my insurance company saying it no longer considered my hospital stay to be necessary medical treatment.  They argued that because my cervix was getting better, I didn't need to be in the hospital.  Dr. Miracle told us not to worry.  She explained to the bureaucrats that my cervix was getting better because the treatment WAS WORKING.  Then, in language they understood she asked if they'd rather pay for an extended minimally invasive stay of the mother or for the extended intensive care stay of two incredibly premature babies.  They decided my care, being considerably less expensive was the better investment.

Unfortunately, the resurgence didn't last long.  And soon I was back to agonizing over premature delivery and what possible long term complications my sons would have if they beat the odds and survived.

At 30 weeks, Dr. Miracle told me if I made it to 35 weeks and the boys measured at least 5 lbs each, she'd plan the cesarean.  (Any thoughts I'd had about trying a vaginal delivery were by this point long gone out the window.  I'd have been much too weak.)

The nurses made me a tear off countdown clock.  We started a "birthdate" pool.

My cervix was shrinking.  I was put on an IV for dehydration.  I was depressed.  I was lonely (my only regular vistor was Superman, but even he worked, so my time with him was limited to 6 pm -10 pm during the week).  I was pale.  I was weak.  I slept a lot.

At 33 weeks, the boys were both measuring almost 5 lbs by ultrasound, so Dr. Miracle, Superman, and I set a delivery date: June 11.  We called our parents and friends.

(Sidenote: My sister wanted me to change the date to June 13, so they'd share her birthday.  I told her she was crazy after 16 weeks of bedrest to ask me to wait even one more day.  In hindsight, though I haven't told her, I wish I'd waited.  But at the time I was not mentally or emotionally prepared to do that.)

All of the days in the birthdate pool passed....33 weeks and 5 days, 34 weeks and 1 day, 34 weeks and 3 days...  my stubborn little cervix literally beat every single date that anyone had guessed.  Including Superman's.  Including mine.

My parents came.

Superman's parents came.

June 11th came.

And at 11 am, I was wheeled into the Operating Room.

At 11:36 am, Thing 1 was born weighing 5lbs 13 oz and 18.5 inches long.  Scoring a perfect 10 on the Apgar scale.

At 11:38 am, Thing 2 was born weighting 5 lbs 7 oz and 18.25 inches long.  Scoring a 10 on the Apgar scale.

16 weeks filled with worry, anxiety, tears, and uncertainty.  Every second worth it.  I felt, and still feel, like the luckiest woman in the world.

Six weeks later, during my final post-delivery check up with Dr. Miracle, she admitted that even she didn't think I'd make it to 35 weeks.  She thought when I was admitted to the hospital, I'd be lucky to make it another 2 or 3 weeks tops.

I don't know why fate smiled down on me and my boys, but I'm really really grateful.

Don't Sweat the Small Stuff

Rule number one is, don't sweat the small stuff. Rule number two is, it's all small stuff. ~Robert Eliot

Last Wednesday was like any other evening in our household.  Moments after I got home from work, Superman was out the door for a run, leaving me to deal with Thing 1 and Thing 2 running around rambunctiously and wreaking havoc around the house while I was trying to cook dinner.  They were alternating between trying to "help" me and just helping themselves to anything that would drive me crazy (using a pen to write on the couch, drawing on my table with crayons, spilling an entire tube of go-gurt on the rug).  Needless to say, by the time bedtime came, my last thought as I was shutting out their light was "THANK GOD!"  They were going to bed and I'd have some peace and quiet.

Superman brought some laundry up for us to fold, we turned on the tv to watch our shows, and I popped open my laptop to check my email one last time.   But what I found in my inbox was devastating.  A friend of mine, one of my best childhood friends, had sent me a message letting me know that her son had passed away that afternoon.  I must have re-read the email five times, because I kept thinking I was misunderstanding it.  It wasn't until Superman came and sat next to me did I realize I was crying and quietly saying "oh my god" over and over.  A beautiful, healthy, 16 month old child had suddenly and unexplainably aspirated in his sleep during his afternoon nap.  That poor child.  That poor mother.  That poor family.

Around that time, Thing 1 comes plodding down the hallway crying that his brother had hit him.  Usually my rule is that if you aren't bleeding and nothing is broken, you go back to your room.  But instead I grabbed my child and hugged him and held him while I cried.  Cursing myself for getting angry about spilled yogurt.  Cursing myself for thinking "Thank God" as I put them to bed that night.  Because really, all of the clean carpets and neatly folded laundry in the world isn't worth even one less second with my child.  Yet, in the hum-drum of everyday life, we often forget this.  Death of a child, especially a healthy one, is so unimaginable, unfathomable, that we often take our every days with them for granted.  At least I know I'm guilty of it.

Of all of the poignant and heartfelt things my friend has written about her son since his passing, the thing that made me cry the hardest was this line from a poem she wrote for him:

Next came a bath, where you soaked the whole entire floor,
What I would give right now to clean it up once more.

I don't really subscribe to the everything happens for a reason philosophy.  I can't think of any good reason to take this young child from his loving and doting family.  However, I do believe that good things can come out of even the most terrible of situations.  For my friend and her family, I can't imagine what good will come out of this event for them, however, I'm confident something will.  Eventually.

For me, I know that over the past week as I've dealt with some upsetting news at work and some other bad news (because when it rains it pours), I just keep reminding myself that none of those things really matter in the end.  It's all just small stuff.  Stained carpets and couches and broken lamps can be replaced.  ACs can be repaired.  New jobs can be found.  But you can never, ever, ever, replace your child.

As I sit beside Thing 2, laying in his pajamas in mommy and daddy's bed with sick eyes and a fever of 103<, moaning and groaning, and telling me his head hurts; my heart aches because I can't magically make him feel better.  But, I feel so unbelievably lucky and undeservedly blessed that my baby boy is only momentarily ill.  That overall he is a happy and healthy child.  They both are.  That I have been lucky enough to be their mother for almost 4 years.  And I pray with all of my might that I will be lucky and undeservedly blessed to be their mother for 40 more.