Post Surgical Lunatic

If there is a complication to be had, we have it. It's almost as if we seek them out. We don't however, so I guess it's the universe that seeks them out for us.

We went to the hospital early this morning for Nolan's surgery. Upon examination by the nurse he was declared healthy enough to proceed (still coughing and very congested), although the final decision rested with the anaesthetist. Hurdle one - success!

Nolan was a star and only complained of hunger once, happily playing and keeping himself busy during the two hour pre-op wait. We went down for surgery more or less on time, and the anaesthetist assured me his congestion was up high and therefore nothing too risky. Surgery was a go! Hurdle number two - success!

I stayed with Nolan while they put him to sleep. Nothing traumatic, and after a quick chat with the surgeon I was dismissed to wait for the very short surgery to be over. I went for coffee and when I returned to the waiting area, no one had been looking for me. I took that as a sign that clearly the surgery was underway with no complications! Hurdle number three - success!

Within a few minutes of sitting down, the surgeon called to tell me the surgery was over and completely uneventful. Hurdle number four - success!

We were almost there, right? Almost free and clear?

Wrong.

Because now Nolan had to recover. And recovery is where things have gone south with Asher in the past.

Sure enough, a few minutes later the recovery room called to say Nolan was "upset" and could mom please come down and try to calm him. On the one hand I knew this was serious because parents are not allowed in the recovery room, but on the other hand, when things were really bad with Asher that was the last place they wanted me, so maybe this wasn't so horrible?

Oh it was bad. Really, really bad. Nolan was absolutely hysterical, nonsensical, and delirious. He screamed at the top of his lungs, writhing, hitting, and biting whatever or whoever he could. I got on the stretcher with him to try to calm  him, but really all I did was restrain him from hurting himself or me and the nurses. I offered him everything under the sun and I may as well not have been speaking English. Nothing was registering with him, including the fact that I was his mom. When he did look at me, he was looking right through me.

After this continued for 20 minutes, they got the approval to give him a sedative, which they assured me would calm him in no time. Umm no. Didn't budge him an inch, in fact if anything it upset him more because they had to fiddle with his IV to administer it. So next thing I knew they were calling the anaesthetist to give him propofol. Immediately my heart sunk. Propofol is what not only caused Asher's apnea before MRI, but also killed Michael Jackson. Ya, that drug.

Within seconds of the anaesthetist returning and administering the drug Nolan calmed down. Thank goodness! Although not only did he calm, but I could see his eye lids turning grey. It was incredibly subtle, but even at one millionth of a shade off normal, mama picked up on this. Trust me, when you've seen your kid turn every shade of bluish-grey imaginable, you get pretty well versed at seeing subtle changes in their colour.

Just as I looked up at the monitors, I saw the numbers dropping rapidly. The nurses told me not to worry and to ignore the monitors, but they started moving quickly and put oxygen on him, so I could see they were becoming concerned. Nolan became greyer and greyer, and they confirmed he wasn't breathing. With that I was ushered out of the room, over hearing "Do we need an airway?".

Cue the drama for mama. Any parent who has had their child on a ventilator can attest that nothing can set you into a state of PTSD quite as quickly as even the slightest threat of intubation.

They pulled up a chair for me and sat me down and everything began to swirl. "So this is what a nervous breakdown feels like", I thought to myself, having wondered what was finally going to make me crack. This. This was my breaking moment.

But before I could plunge to the depths of insanity, back came our nurse! Literally, I was sitting there for not even two minutes, thinking the absolute worst, when she came to bring me back and tell me he was stable. Yes, that was scary, and I never should have seen it, she assured me, but he was just fine.

When I saw him, aside from the oxygen mask, it was as if nothing had happened. He was peaceful and bright pink. The anaesthetist rightly realized he was dealing with a woman on the brink, so he stuck around to give me a thorough explanation, which I appreciated immensely. It went something like this:

Drugs used for anaesthesia these days are so good that they are able to wake you immediately after surgery. That is great for some people, but for others, coming out of that deep sleep so quickly is too traumatic. In kids especially, they can experience delirium as Nolan did today. In a case where the delirium is so intense and the patient is so obviously not handling being awake, the propofol is given to let them spend a little more time "out", then ease themselves back into consciousness more slowly, in a much calmer state.

The doctor then explained that a drug like propofol can work differently in people - within a normal dosage range, some need a higher dose and others are very, very sensitive to it. Clearly Nolan and Asher are. He said it is a drug that should never be given and have the anaesthetist walk away (which is exactly what happened in MJ's case). He assured me that as terrible and scary as it was for me, this is what he is trained to deal with. That is why he was the one to administer the drug - in case of complications. In Nolan's case he was in the right place with the right people to stabilize him immediately.

So after that I felt better about things, and it actually helped put Asher's scary MRI experience into perspective. The doctor and nurses were all incredibly understanding that it was something terribly traumatic for a parent to see. Not just any parent, especially a parent who has seen their child turn blue and plummet their heart rate and sats wayyyyy too many times.

Once I was assured Nolan was stable, Jordan tagged in to see him for a minute. Poor Jordan, upstairs teaching in the hospital, got only a frantic text from me telling him things were bad, and then no other info! Luckily things were sorted out very quickly so before he was left thinking terrible thoughts for too long, he was able to see for himself that Nolan was safe and sound.

I then returned to the recovery room when Jordan left (no parents are technically allowed in recovery, so since they let us, they only let one at a time), just in time for Nolan to wake up from the propofol. Was it the calm wake up they promised? Oh God no, it was almost as insane as the first one. Scratching, screaming, biting, all over again. He was swatting at everything that came near him, and pulled his IV out. He was going absolutely crazy, yet the monitor showed he was completely stable. So you know what happens when a screaming lunatic of a child in recovery is completely stable? They get sent back to surgical daycare because they are well enough to be out of critical care!

Sure, he was medically stable, but this was not my baby - this was a child possessed by the devil! I absolutely understood why he needed to be moved, but I was terrified about how he would behave and if he would remain stable. Out they wheeled us - me in the stretcher restraining Nolan, who screamed and kicked the entire way, still not even realizing that this was me. Just before we reached surgical daycare, I readjusted and moved his gammies (his security blankets) and he caught sight of them. He ripped them out of my hands, shoved him thumb in his mouth and instantly he was quiet.

"Why didn't you give him those before?" the orderly pushing us asked in exasperation.

"YOU THINK I'M AN IDIOT? YOU DON'T THINK I TRIED?!" is what I screamed at him in my head. In my outside voice I answered him politely, of course.

I had tried his gammies. I had tried his stuffie. I had tried singing. And popsicles. And a drink from a straw. He didn't know who I was for God's sake, it was like a monster was burning a hole through me. NOTHING WAS CALMING HIM!

Until that moment. Apparently in that final moment when he saw his beloved gammies, that snapped him out of it. From that moment on, recovery was a breeze. We laid on the stretcher in surgical daycare and snuggled. We watched Toopy and Binoo. He ate popsicles. He had his vitals taken several times and was stable each time. Less than an hour after he was in recovery losing his mind, he was at home.

Now he's in bed resting, hopefully comfortably. He was frozen in the entire area of his surgery, so he's likely still feeling no pain. At least now he is back to himself, so if he starts to hurt he will be able to tell us instead of screaming nonsensically at me.

So we all survived. A little worse for the wear, but survived. Complications totally different from Asher's recoveries, but complications nonetheless. At this point I really can't expect anything else from the boys, can I?

Thank you to everyone for your concern and well wishes. After lots of sleep and fluids for Nolan, and lots of fluids (of a much stronger sort) for mom and dad tonight, hopefully we'll all wake up much happier (and more sane?) tomorrow.

A Man's Gotta Do What a Man's Gotta Do

I was trying to find a way to keep this private, while at the same time say "Nolan's having surgery tomorrow! Everyone please keep him in your thoughts for a safe and successful procedure".

But it's not really possible that people aren't going to ask what the surgery is about, right?

And then I realized I wrote ad nauseum about Asher's two surgeries that could (should?) have been kept private to spare his teenage embarrassment. So I've decided that for Nolan, I will talk in code and if you're smart enough to figure it out good for you, and if you're not, I guess you'll live in the darkness. Here goes.

When we found out we were having boys, one of the first things we discussed was whether or not we were going to do a certain something to them. This certain something has come in and out of medical fashion so to speak. It used to be the norm, then it wasn't, then it was again, and now, in Victoria BC Canada, it is very very much NOT IN FASHION. Yes, we are a liberal, hippy type over here on the west coast, so maybe that contributes because I know that not everyone feels this way about it. But in recent years, "that thing" is just not something you do to your boys in Victoria BC Canada anymore. So much so that there are only a couple of doctors in town that do it (when not medically required), and if you want it done you pay cash and do it after hours.

So our decision was pretty easy: not happening.

But fast forward three years and now it's happening. Not because we've had a sudden change of heart, but because now it needs to be done (I will stop short at sharing the anatomical details of why - if you've figured out what I'm talking about you can do the math yourself). So on Friday, Nolan will have surgery under general anaesthetic and have it taken care of.

Is my heart broken a little bit broken that something we were firmly against and that is going to be incredibly painful (for TWO MONTHS according to the doctor) is now happening to our 3 year old? Yes, very much so. He will be traumatized, I will be traumatized, and I wish the whole ordeal would just go away. But I am not going to refuse treatment when it clearly needs to happen. Because it does. All that said, I don't wish we would have done it as a newborn to spare him the pain now, because how could we have ever known there would be complications.

So with a sad and worried heart I send another one of my sons into surgery for a body part I don't even understand. And you want to know the really crappy part? There's a good chance Ashy's facing the same problem (in fact, based on his first consult with the surgeon, it's pretty much a certainty). Yup, like his poor boy parts haven't been man handled enough by surgeons. And the really, really crappy part? Given Asher's frightening history of metabolizing drugs, we are very possibly preparing for some post-op complications in Nolan. Right. Guess I'll be settling in for a stressful day at the hospital.

So now that you know, please send Nolan some very healthy vibes. He has a cold, but I think at this point he would still be cleared for surgery. If his cough worsens, or he develops a fever between now and then, this will be postponed and I think I might have a heart attack from the stress. We need this surgery to happen tomorrow, without complications!

Wish him luck! (and me sanity).

What Really Matters

Disclaimer: This post is chock full of bragging. By the end of it I pretty much guarantee you will be rolling your eyes at me saying "Easy mother, we get it, she's brilliant", but I make no apologies for it. This is not the first time I have used this space to brag, nor will it be the last. Cause guess what? She is brilliant, especially in the really important ways. Just be thankful I didn't scan in her report card and include it here for all of you to see.

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Rio flops down on the couch beside me, exhausted from school as always.

"How was your day?", I ask.

"Fine", she mumbles. You'd never know how much she loves school from her lack of interest in telling me about it.

"Anything exciting happen today?".

She responds with silence.

"Ri! Get your report card!" I  hear Jordan yell from the hallway.

Her report card! How could I have forgotten? Ok scratch that, I know how I've forgotten. Because I spent the morning in the emergency room with Asher and I'm still feeling a bit scattered.

Rio brings her report card and Jordan and I both try to tear into it. He gets it first and then, knowing how badly I want to see it, tries to keep it from me. He starts reading aloud the explanation of what each grade means, and the definitions of each of the learning components in an attempt to stall and get me even more riled up.

"Just let me look at it!", I screech.

I quickly scan my eyes down the page.

Meets expectations. Exceeds expectations. Meets expectations. Exceeds expectations. Exceeds expectations. Exceeds expectations. And so on. For two pages. No issues - not even constructive criticism. Her teacher's comments echo the same, and then some.

I look at Rio and my eyes are filled with tears.

"I am so proud of you lovey", as I grab her for a hug. I look at Jordan and we both shake our heads in a bit of disbelief that her report card is this good*.

Don't get me wrong - we knew she was smart and lovely and a hard worker. But we are her parents after all, and maybe, just maybe, we are a bit biased. But to see it in hard copy? To see that her teacher feels the same way? What an amazing feeling.

Later, I sit Rio down to talk about it. "Rio, do you understand why mommy is so proud of you?".

Her face flushes as expected, with a shy shake of her head.

"Well Rio, for starters, you got very good grades. Your report card tells mommy and daddy what a good learner you are and that you are doing very well with things like math and reading".

She nods and her cheeks redden more.

"But that's not the important part, Rio. Mommy and daddy would love you just as much if your report card showed us that you were struggling in school. We are happy that so far school is easy for you, but if you were having a hard time and you needed extra help, we would be just as proud of you. Do you understand that?"

She nods again. "Like some kids who can't read as well you mean? If I was like that?" she confirms.

"Yes Rio, if you had trouble with things but you tried your very best to learn, mommy and daddy would be just as proud. Because you know what really matters to us, Rio? This part. This part right here", as I point to the section entitled Work Habits, Attitude and Effort. "These parts tell mommy and daddy things like you are focused, you follow directions, you work hard, and you are a good friend who is helpful and respectful."

"What does focussed mean?" she asks. I try to explain and then she goes off on a tangent and I can sense that my window for a meaningful conversation has been closed. I think she's understood what I'm trying to say, but at the moment all she cares about is the oreo I promised her for a treat.

Rio, so far anyway, seems to have this whole school thing dialed. One day, her brothers, born very prematurely and very late in the school year, may struggle in school; therefore, it is important to us to have a positive attitude about school, no matter what the grades are. Good grades are important, you bet. But more so, it's the work ethic, being respectful to your teacher and peers, and making your best effort. That's that stuff that really matters.

*You're rolling your eyes as I promised, right? Yes, I do understand that it's the first report card of Grade 1. But we'll take each one as it comes and be proud.

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Thanks Ellen, for the What Really Matters prompt and linkup.

Yucky

"Yucky. White menathin ith groth*" says the sick little boy about his antibiotics.

Poor little sick Asher. I have never seen him this unlike himself. Whiney, whiney, whiney. So tired, yet unable to sleep. Previous surgeries and sicknesses have never taken him out like this.

It was a loooong night. I suspect an equally long day ahead.

Please send healthy vibes to Asher but to Nolan as well - who is scheduled for surgery Friday. Nolan's surgery marks the first in a series of four surgeries the three Trousdell gentlemen need to have in the coming months. My stress can't take it if it gets postponed!

*Translation: White medicine is gross.

And Then You Remember

Life is ticking along like normal with your healthy, robust three year olds.

Then a cough comes, and a fever.

And it gets worse. And worse. And before you know it you're in the ER.

You're calm; you know it's probably very mild pneumonia and he'll get a chest x-ray and antibiotics and be back to himself in a day or two.

But that doesn't stop the tears. The trauma. The PTSD.

No matter how "over" the prematurity you think you are, days like today you remember. You spent almost half a year in the hospital watching your children hovering somewhere between life and death. Whether you are a happy, well adjusted family now, somewhere deep in your heart it is impossible to forget where you used to be.

Thankfully, time and time again, the boys have proven just how healthy they are. In this case, it's not even pneumonia, just an an upper respiratory infection that will be treated with antibiotics and Asher should be himself in no time. But that doesn't take away from the fact that every time the boys get sick, we still need to move faster and be more careful than we would with any other child. A cold or flu are never just a cold or flu until confirmed otherwise, and today we were reminded of that.

Asher is now home resting; Nolan, wondering where Asher was all morning, is relieved things are as they should be. Sadly it'll likely take me much longer to get over this than the patient himself.

I Am Thankful

This week, Ellen's writing prompt is "I am thankful". Yes, I sure am thankful for many, many things, but I will save writing about them for another day when I have more time and energy. Instead, I will share my old post on "Gratitude", as it was well received at the time. Thanks for letting me cheat and re-post!

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It's a crazy household all day, but the real fun begins when all three kids wake up hungry after nap. Between then and bedtime I triage each "emergency" in order of seriousness. In this case, my four year old will ask for a snack every three seconds until I provide it, so she's first on the agenda. I then set her up with a craft, telling her she needs to stay quiet while I feed her brothers. This rarely happens but there's no sense in giving up hope.

I move on to the boys, whose bottles have been heating since before I started their sister's snack. I change the diaper of whoever is whining loudest, flashes the biggest smile, or unintentionally waves an arm as if to say "Pick me!". When both diapers are changed I place them each in a corner of their oversized leather chair and I take position in front of them on the ottoman in an attempt to tandem bottle feed them. On occasion it works, but generally one wants to play with his brother, or the bottle, or look at their sister who has already given up on the craft and loudly come to join us. So I resort to picking up whoever is misbehaving less and hope to feed him quickly before his brother protests. Insert muttering profanity here.

When both boys have been fed, I move them to the living room and engage them in hands on play and exercises. Usually their sister is involved and this elicits hysterical laughter, accompanied by some sort of excitement induced vomit. When the boys get tired, or are bored with "Head and shoulders, knees and toes..." for the umpteenth time, I put them in their exersaucers and head back to the kitchen to start making supper.

On evenings like this, with my husband at work, I am hyper-organized and have therefore had supper planned since the morning. I let my daughter help out with the quick preparation (generally more of a hindrance than a help) then I start taking oversized, barely chewed bites while I quickly heat up the boys' food and nag at my daughter to eat her vegetables.

I get the boys settled in their high chairs and they start yelling at me in stereo until their supper arrives, apparently under the impression that I am starving them to death. My daughter offers to feed one of the boys, then without fail decides she's bored just as she's made a mess of whoever she's been feeding and knocked over her own milk. So I then take over and feed both babies myself. I've learned it works best if I jam a couple bites in one boy, stuffing his mouth full so that he is too busy chewing to yell for more food while I switch and do the same for his brother. Back and forth, back and forth until two bowls of food are empty.

When supper is over the kitchen is a disaster. Often at this point one of the boys is asleep in his highchair, his brother is surprisingly entertained by his own hands, and their sister is off in her room. I don't dare disturb any of them and pray this will continue long enough to let me clean up. I load the dishwasher, assemble the leftovers, and maybe even sweep the minefield formerly known as our floor. Then I take a big breath, knowing that I may have survived another meal, but I still have bedtime to tackle.

I revisit the boys' bums, put them in jammies and lay them on our bed where they quietly snuggle. In the mean time I am arguing with my daughter about what pajamas she'll wear until she eventually ends up in only her panties, somehow claiming she's "burning hot" in our freezing cold house. She then reminds me she has not had her bedtime snack. I leave her alone with the boys and remind her she needs to YELL if they start rolling. I run and cut her some fruit, frantically checking on them every few seconds (because you get a bit paranoid when you've previously left a baby in his sister's care for a second and he's rolled off the bed without her batting an eye).

When snack is done, she concedes to teeth and pee then we begin reading stories and back scratching and talking about our day. I give her a kiss, tuck her in, and try to make my exit. She stalls for as long as humanly possible until I shut her door behind me, hoping it's the last I'll see of her for the night. Unlikely.

After three more appearances for "I'm thirsty/I think there's a bug in my room/What was that noise I just heard?" or something similar, I am confident she is finally asleep so I turn back to the boys who have nodded off just in time for their last bottle. With red eyes and some fairly pathetic whimpering, they gulp down their bottles and are back to sleep and into their cribs. Thankfully, they're usually out until morning.

Then finally, the house is blissfully silent, and that's when I begin laundry, cleaning, and planning for the next day when I start all over again. If it's a really exciting night I might squeeze in an episode of Friends or Seinfeld, but otherwise I'm asleep before my head hits the pillow.

Likely, this is not a scene that many would envy. In fact, in the past I probably would not have been envious of it myself. But then, a year ago, two of the key players in this intricate production were born far too early and far too small and we didn't know if they would even survive to make this our reality. Thankfully, this hectic existence is very real, and the three stars of the show are happy, well adjusted kids. I may be exhausted, but I am blessed beyond belief.

It's All About Them

It happened. More than three years after the start of this (sometimes very difficult) journey, it happened.

"It's always about the boys", said Rio.

A dull, jagged knife ripped through my heart.

She's right. It's always about the boys. From Oct 15, 2009 (the day the pregnancy got complicated) our life has been about the boys. Their health, their safety, their therapy, their CP - everything is about the boys.

Not to say she doesn't get attention - she does - and lots of it. She gets quality time with each parent. She has her own sports and interests. She knows full well she is the princess that rules this roost.

But she also knows that in the background, the well being of her brothers is always considered.

I don't doubt that she has felt overshadowed all along, of course she has. But she loves her role. She adores being a big sister, and she relishes knowing how much of a little helper she is. That however, doesn't preclude her from feeling a bit overwhelmed by it all sometimes.

I could say the same thing about myself. I love being a mom. I adore my kids and all that comes with being their caregiver. But sometimes does it all get a little heavy? Do I want to run away screaming and just have some me time? Do I wish that life was just a little bit easier? YOU BET.

So when I think about it like that, it makes Rio even braver and more wonderful than I realized. Because you see, I have those little meltdowns all the time, but it has taken Rio over three years to do so! And sure, maybe it's only now that she's mature enough to verbalize the words, but in the past she's never even had a tantrum about it.

When she had her little cry yesterday, I just responded "I know Ri, I know it's hard. Mommy gets that".

You know what she said?

"It's just so hard for us, being the big girls, isn't it mommy?". She is so completely selfless, that she immediately empathized with me. This is OUR problem, not just hers. We, "the big girls" of this family, have it hard. You're right Ri, sometimes we do.

She is so amazing. I am beyond proud of her. I know now, more than ever, that our five souls chose each other. Just like Asher and Nolan were meant to have CP, and Jordan and I were meant to be their parents, Rio is the final piece of the puzzle. Rio was always meant to be the glue that holds this family together.

Drowning Sleepless Sorrows

You know when you intend to eat only a couple of bites of cheesecake, but then your children are such little animals and won't go to sleep, that you end up eating the entire thing without even tasting it, while trying to give yourself a pep talk that "you can do this"?

Ya that.

Well insert any other of my vices where I just said "cheesecake" and that is every night lately that I am alone with the kids (It happens when Jordan is home too, but is much easier to deal with when there is one parent per non-sleeping kid).

Rio is still having her night terrors. And if by the grace of God she somehow has a night off from night terrors, then she has regular old nightmares. She hasn't consistently slept through the night (ok technically night terrors she's still sleeping but you get what I mean) in weeks.

And then there's Asher. He just doesn't want to go to bed anymore. He yawns and says he's tired, and does all of the appropriate things he should do at bedtime. He even goes to bed like a good little boy. Then ten minutes later the "maaaamaaaa" starts, so we get him up*.

"He's not tired enough yet" we tell ourselves. So he sits up with us until we try again, now approaching 9pm. On good nights, he goes down. On bad nights, the same "maaaamaaaa" routine begins again 10 minutes in. So what happens then? He gets up AGAIN, and goes to sleep in our bed. Again, if we're lucky, he stops there. If we're not lucky, he cries himself to sleep. And then finally, when he's asleep at say 9:30, we let him rest there for a while before moving him at our bedtime.

And now, if we're lucky, he'll sleep through in his own bed, and it'll only be Rio who wakes us. If not, around 1am he'll cry for us and then he'll end up in our bed. For the night. Where he sleeps like the proverbial baby.

My God. When Rio slept through the night at 10 weeks old, everyone told us we'd pay for it later. I laughed and thought they were jealous, cranky, old jerks. Sure, she had her hiccups with sleep, but nothing major. Then the boys came along. By the time they came home from hospital they were up only once per night, and sleeping through followed quickly after. I thought we were made in the shade.

Then last fall, all hell broke loose. First Asher, then Nolan, then Rio, now Asher and Rio together. We honestly have not had solid sleep in over a year. Sure, Asher gave us a bit of a reprieve in August and September, just to let us catch our breath, but now he's up to his old tricks. And big sister added in? SIX YEAR OLD big sister having night terrors out of the blue?! This is getting really old. And man are we drinking a lot of coffee. The good news is, I'm quite certain the longer you're a parent, the less sleep you need, so now 6 hours seems like a luxury!

Children, I beg of you, please start sleeping. And if you don't, at least learn how to bake yummy chocolate delicacies that I can drown my sorrows in at night?

*Don't roll your eyes and call us pushovers. This has been going on for a YEAR. We have tried crying it out, we have tried comforting him, we have tried intervals of crying and comforting. We have tried EVERYTHING. He also has a sleeping brother to consider. If he's still doing this when he's 16 you can say "I told you so" but not before. Deal?

World Prematurity Day

Three years ago at this time, we were faced with two babies who were too small, breathing and eating through tubes, not able to survive without machines.

Today we are blessed big, strong, three year old boys who show us all what strength and resilience look like.

Yes, there are challenges and tears and frustration, but there is love and hope and inspiration.

Today, Prematurity Awareness Day, I am not only proud of my babies, but my country. Up until now, as I wrote last year on this day, there has been no support network for preemies in place in Canada. This year that changes. I don't know what it entails, but the launch of the Canadian Premature Babies Foundation has got to be a good thing.

Well done, Canada.

And more importantly, well done Asher and Nolan, for letting us believe in real, live super heros.

I Want My Kids to Remember

Their mama believes they are special,

...and loves them more than anything else on earth - times a billion,

...and thinks they are important and worthy,

...and believes they can do anything and everything they put their minds to.

That is the mama I want my kids to remember. 

Not the mama who sometimes loses her temper,

...or seems a bit deflated by life on occasion,

...or snaps back answers a bit too quickly, 

...or says "just a minute" one too many times. 

That is the mama I hope that they maybe not forget, but at least forgive for her sins.

I hope that one day, my kids look back and know that although I'm human and made plenty of mistakes, I tried to do my very best - for them and because of them.

My favourite picture of me and Rio. I've always said Jordan needs to display this at my

funeral, so I think it's fitting to include in a post about how I want my kids to

remember me. And yes, if you're wondering, I've been morbid from a very young age.

***
Thanks Ellen, for the "I want my kids to remember" prompt and linkup.

Three Year Old Stats

The boys had their 3 year old well-child visit the other day. Since three is the age at which we stop correcting, they were measured for the first time against their actual age. I am proud to say they are perfectly average!

At a height of 37", they are at the 50th percentile. This is the first time EVER that they have been at or above the 50th, so obviously the height growth that everyone has been commenting on was accurate!

At a weight of 33 lbs, Asher is between the 50th and 75th percentile.

At a weight of a whopping 35 lbs, Nolan is at the 85th percentile!

(However, as a comparison, can I note that Miss Rio was 34 lbs at TWO years old? Yowsa. Can we say "off the charts"?). 

Can I just reiterate how cool this is? Babies born at 2 lbs are now slightly ABOVE average!

And not just their size...

Nolan is discharged from speech therapy because his speech has completely caught up. He also just had a review of his social and cognitive skills and completed everything as expected for a three year old!

While Asher is not discharged from speech quite yet (probably won't be until he is school aged just in case he hits a stumbling block in the future*), his speech is also completely caught up and at times I think he is more advanced than Nolan. He is also about to have a review of his social and cognitive skills, and while it may be a bit of a challenge to complete the test (it's all based on physically carrying out tasks) no one has any doubt he is capable of comprehending all of it.

Are these boys of ours amazing or what?!

*An interesting fact I would not have known without having kids with CP/motor delays - speech and motor milestones do not usually occur at the same time. So for instance if a child is learning to walk, their speech will likely not progress until the walking has been mastered. Likewise, if major strides are being made in speech, major changes in gross motor skills will be put on the back burner. As Asher develops more physical skills (improving every day!) his language/communication may stall, so his speech therapist will be here to help us through it if that's the case. Aren't we so lucky to have our team behind us?!

Oh Yes He Can!

The other day I was walking with Nolan, pushing Asher in the stroller. We stopped at a big pile of leaves and I asked Nolan if he wanted to kick them. Nolan started, then I started, and before long there was a flutter of crunchy yellow and orange maple leaves everywhere. I then looked at Asher, sitting in his stroller on the sidelines, and I thought to myself, sadly, "Poor Asher can't kick the leaves".

And then I thought "Oh yes he can!".

With Nolan's help, over and over, Asher stretched his legs out in front of him, we loaded his feet up with a pile of leaves, and he kicked them off.

He was thrilled. He was not disappointed he wasn't up standing on two feet kicking, this was just as good.

There have been, and there will continue to be, so many instances where for a brief moment I lament over the things Asher can't do. And then I will suck it up, get creative, and make it so he can. 

What Gives Me Life

Nothing eloquent needs to be written about this writing prompt. No essay, no setting the scene, just two words:

My family.

Rio, Asher, Nolan and Jordan are what give me life.

Sure, other things and people bring me joy and give me inspiration, but not in the same way. I know this writing prompt was probably meant to explore those things that help me catch my breath, enjoy some me time, or feel some relaxation. (Reading, writing, friends, yoga, wine, coffee, chocolate - to name a few). But true to myself, writing exactly what comes to mind when I see a prompt, the first thing that I thought of in this case was my family.

Everything I do, if not directly for their benefit, is with their consideration.  Without them, I am nothing. With them, I am a better person.

It's that simple.


***
Thanks Ellen for the "What Gives Me Life" prompt and linkup.

Siblings

As we walk through the sliding doors into the crowded room, I remind my three year old daughter Rio to speak quietly and not to touch anything. I hold her soft little hand tightly in mine, careful to hide my trepidation. The cardiac monitors beep incessantly as we weave our way through nurses and equipment. I look to see if Rio is alright but there is no fear or confusion in her eyes, only anticipation. My husband Jordan and I have discussed at length how to manage this, but even now, I am unsure of whether we are handling things correctly. There is no perfect way to introduce her to this situation.

“This is Asher," I tell her, forcing a smile as I turn her towards the incubator that is holding her tiny brother.

“And this is Nolan,” I say, directing her to his twin in the incubator beside him.

I wait anxiously for her response.

“These are our babies?” she asks timidly. “They're so cute, mama.” Her eyes sparkle with delight.

A relieved breath escapes me as I nod in response. I feel the first glimmer of happiness I have felt in days.

She grins from ear to ear, her pride evident as she moves back and forth between them on tiptoes to get a better look. She asks if she can touch them, but we remind her that they are too sick. Her face drops momentarily but lights up when we assure her she will see them again soon.

"Good-bye brothers!" She happily waves and blows kisses as we lead her out. She's pleased with the meeting and blissfully unaware that there is anything wrong or different about what she's just seen.

This moment that we have been agonizing over for days has passed without incident. Introducing our daughter to her twin brothers should have been a proud and exciting time for all of us, but the extremely premature birth of the boys complicates things. Asher and Nolan are two pounds, mechanically ventilated, and fighting for their lives. They are covered in tubes and wires, barely bigger than my hand - hardly a perfect image of a baby. They are only a few days old and their survival still lies in the balance.

But Rio has not seen any of this. Rio has just seen her brothers - in her eyes, two perfect babies. She is a big sister and those are her babies and that is all that matters.

When we found out that we were expecting twins we were excited and fascinated by the bond they would share. Having a best friend, a partner in crime, and an exact physical replica of yourself was so special and unique: a relationship we were sure could not be replicated or imitated.

We were right. Asher and Nolan constantly show us glimmers of their unique relationship. It started during their lengthy hospitalization, and now at eighteen months old it is becoming more apparent every day. They seem to connect in ways that we can't explain.

But what has amazed us more than any twin bond could have is the love their older sister has for them. Rio has relished her role. She sees her brothers through only the most pure and non-judgemental eyes. She is never jealous, even of the special attention garnered by identical twins. The joy that she brings to them is evident in their heartfelt smiles and laughter. They are her biggest fans, and she is theirs. The connection between our twin boys is truly special, but the bond they share with their sister has exceeded our expectations.

*****

“Why don't Ashy's arms work mama?” Rio asks as she looks at her brothers playing on their bedroom floor next to us.

Asher is struggling to bring a toy to his mouth and without thinking she reacts to help, gently bending his arm for him. He smiles a toothy grin to thank her. His twelve month molars have been wreaking havoc on him and he tries to chew on anything he can find. Rio turns back to me, awaiting my response.

This is not the first time she has asked this question, and surely it will not be the last. Each time I struggle with how to answer her. How much does she need to know? Clearly more than I have been telling her, or the questions wouldn't keep arising.

I put down the laundry I am folding, take a deep breath, and choose my words carefully. I remind her that Asher and Nolan were born much earlier than they should have been and that Asher was very sick. I tell her that his brain was hurt: not hurt like when she gets an owie, but in a way that he can't feel. Then I explain that our brains give our bodies instructions, so now he has trouble making his arms move when he wants them to. I keep things as simple as I can while remembering how bright and intuitive she is. I don't mention the words disability or Cerebral Palsy; she will learn those soon enough.

“He'll be ok when he's a grown up, right?” she cuts in anxiously.

"I'm not sure," I reply, knowing he probably won't be, but that is not the answer she wants to hear.

We stare at each other for a moment.

Rio breaks the silence by laughing nervously, unsure of how to process what I have said. When she turns back to Asher and starts singing to him, I know the questions are over for today. She smothers him with kisses and then turns to tickle Nolan. At least for now, I have told her enough. She has moved on to something more important - making her brothers happy. Asher's disability does not make him different from Nolan; it makes him lucky to be the recipient of her extra affection.

*****

The hours between dinner clean up and bedtime are the most difficult of the day. All three kids are tired and my energy is long depleted. I have been asking Rio repeatedly to finish clearing her dishes, but instead of obliging she is busy eliciting fits of hysterical laughter from her brothers who are sitting in their highchairs. She needs to do little more than raise an eyebrow or stick out her tongue to get them going. She appreciates the response as much as they appreciate her humour and it is difficult to pull any of them away from it.

“Rio, please. The dishes,” I remind her.

She ignores me as she starts running laps around the boys, their heads whipping back and forth as they follow her, shrieking with delight each time she reappears.

“RIO!” my voice raises.

“Ok mommy, I HEARD you!” she replies, obviously annoyed as she sulks towards me with her plate and cutlery. How dare I cut their party short.

I continue to load the dishwasher but hear her rustling through the drawers next to me.

“What are you DOING, Rio?” I snap at her, my patience officially shot.

“Asher just needs his face washed," she replies as she grabs a wash cloth.

I stand stunned, my hands full of dirty dishes as I watch her walk past me to the bathroom. I hear her turn the faucet on, then off, before she returns to the kitchen with the dripping cloth. She walks to Asher and wipes his mouth as he blows raspberries in protest. She inspects Nolan closely but decides that he's clean enough. After removing their bibs she turns back to me and smiles proudly. She knows what a helper she is.

A few minutes later, Nolan begins to melt down on the change table as I'm getting him ready for bed. He is so strong that I am having trouble holding him still while he arches his back and kicks his legs. While I try to button his diaper with one hand and hold him still with the other, Rio grabs the bottle of cream on his side table and hands it to him. He instantly quiets and begins playing with it, forgetting what he was just so angry about.

Before I can muster a thank-you, she tells me matter-of-factly, "I know my brothers."

Indeed, she does, and aren't we all blessed because of it.

Big Boys Do Sesame Street

We had the boys' third birthday party yesterday and it was a huge success.

Tons of people, tons of fun. I went a bit crazy on the theme as per usual, but that's my thing and I love doing it (wanna hire me to plan your party?!). The highlight of the day (for the kids and for me) was definitely the pinata. I wasn't sure what I had gotten myself into (never done papier mache in my life) but clearly it was worth it!

The boys were in heaven and the multitude of children in attendance were so much fun and so well behaved. They really understood this was all for them, and it made me happy to see them so excited. The day couldn't have gone better. Thanks so much to everyone who made the day so special.

I'll give you a few photos as a teaser, but you can see a bunch more here. 

Cupcake Central

Since I am throwing a big party for the boys on Saturday, I really didn't want to do more baking for their birthday. That said, on their real birthday there should be a celebration, so I finally used the gift certificate to a designer cupcake shop that had been burning a hole in my pocket.

It all started out quite civilized - singing, blowing out candles, and taking reasonable bites. Then they turned into 3 year old boys, and ridiculousness ensued. They were very happy though - that's what's important, and nothing a little bath and some oxy-clean can't fix!

Three Years!

Last night we had a rough night of sleep. Rio was up 4 times (thank you night terrors!) and Asher twice, including in bed with me from 3:30 - 5:00 am. For once though, I was not so annoyed or exasperated by the lack of sleep he was causing me (I was by the lack of sleep she was causing however). Instead I just enjoyed my little boy, apparently in the mood to party. Because somewhere around 3:30 am on November 1, 2009 I started having contractions and my life changed. I thought it was fitting Asher was right back there with me last night, on the anniversary of when his and Nolan's life began.

This day holds so many emotions. It is amazing to me how fear and sorrow can be so equally balanced with happiness and hope. Under very dire circumstances, at 6:27 and 6:28 pm, I gave birth to the two tiniest and sickest babies I had ever seen. They were barely alive.

Three years later, those 2 pounders weigh a combined nearly 70 lbs. They are not only living and breathing, but they are thriving. They have overcome every challenge they have faced and they have been the greatest teachers of life that I could have ever imagined. They bless the lives of anyone who is lucky enough to know them.

Asher Timothy Cohen and Nolan Giovanni Luke - to say you are loved and cherished does not do you even the slightest bit of justice. Because of you, we appreciate all the little things in life that previously went unnoticed and without gratitude. You are a gift.

Three years old today. Amazing how far they've come!

Nov 1, 2009

Nov 1, 2010

Nov 1, 2011

 

Nov 1, 2012

Today has been a great day with friends, presents, and some overly indulgent cupcakes. A small celebration to mark the day, with the real festivities on Saturday. 

Happy Birthday, my loves!