A quarter of a century. POOF.

You ever notice and think about how big of a difference context actually makes?
I mean when you think about being married for 25 years it's like WOW OMG YOU GUYS HAVE BEEN TOGETHER FOREVER IT IS AMAZING HOW DID YOU DO IT?

Or I GRADUATED COLLEGE 25 YEARS AGO I AM OLD AF WHERE DID MY LIFE GO WHAT HAVE I DONE?

Or, as in this case, MY KIDS JUST TURNED 25 TODAY WHICH IS IMPOSSIBLE BECAUSE THEY WERE ONLY BORN YESTERDAY.

And WOOOT I AM 25 YEARS OLD TODAY! YOUNG, FOOTLOOSE AND FANCY FREE! 

LIVING MY BEST LIFE! HITTING MY STRIDE, MAKING MY WAY, YEAH BABY!

---

and with that, I leave you with The Annual Birthday Post Which Many Of You Have Memorized By Now. 

If you're new, then welcome to Our Story.

---

In the year, 2525... I mean 25, 25.


Every year before I revise and repost, I remember. I relive. And even if it's just for one shining day, these memories make everything else fall away: all the petty irritations and frustrations, the dislikes and grudgy feelings...all of the things that, in the long run of life, aren't worth the importance we place on them.

It's been a long tough journey that has passed in the blink of an eye.

---

---

THE DUE DATE: June 4th

THE BIRTH DATE: February 13th. Preemies for pre-valentine's day.

These children clearly get their lack of patience from me.  They were born at 24 weeks, or about 3 and 1/2 months early. They weighed just over 1 lb. each, and were about a foot long. I'm talkin' teeeeeny tiny. Micro-preemie, I think is what they are called now.

Anyway, this is my boy, at about a month old:

I woke up the morning of February 12th, headed for the bathroom, and after about 5 minutes I called out to the baby daddy, "Either I've lost all control of my body functions or my water broke".

I'll give you a hint - my functions were still under my control.

So natch we rushed to the hospital, where the stupid ass snot face condescending nurse (actually I love nurses in general, but this one? NOT SO MUCH) had me lay on a gurney for an hour and then said that I was fine, no fluid was "leaking" (I know, gross), and the pains in my back and belly were just muscles stretching, NOT CONTRACTIONS...and then she tried to send us home. 

Me being me, I caused a scene.

Hey, guess who ended up being right about me being in labor?

Here is my little girl, at about a month old:

The doctors tried to stop my labor for 24 hours, but apparently my kids were having none of that. On the 13th of February, my boy arrived in the usual way - of course, I was knocked out for the entire thing. My daughter was still safe and secure in her bedwomb -- the idea was to let her 'cook' a little longer (which would have been weird to have twins with different birthdays, right?).  So they were wheeling me into recovery when Miss Contrary's heart rate dropped to zero, and they did a SUPERFAST emergency C-Section to get her out. Evidently she didn't like being alone.
So it was like Twins Two Ways, with extra Mommy Staples.
This is also where I discovered my love of morphine. MMMMMMORPHINE.

Their ears were still folded down (WEIRD! I didn't even know ears did that until my kids were born. It was like puppy ears or something), and their lungs were not completely developed, and their little hearts were working overtime/doubletime.

They struggled for every single breath. They fought to live.

And so they did. And so they have.

Thank you, God.

Thank you for this little miracle....(my girl at about 2 months)

and this little miracle...(my boy at about 3 1/2 months)

The doctors gave them less than a 50% chance of survival.

Fortunately they got my stubborn genes as well as my temperamental ones, because my kids wouldn't listen to percentages; they went all HAN SOLO and were like NEVER TELL ME THE ODDS!

Their hearts were overworked, their lungs were and are covered in scar tissue, they are cursed with keloid scars as well as scars from perc lines and picc lines and a million little junkie scars on arms and feet from being pricked with lancets every hour. They have scarred veins, they had damaging bleeding in their brains, preventing brain growth. And yet...    

Becca's first day home from the hospital! Nearly 4 months old and not even 5 lbs. I still have this amazingly tiny dress - I swear it's barely bigger than Barbie size. Those booties she has on? The foot part is less than 2 inches long. Each twin came home attached to oxygen and an apnea monitor - whenever we all went anywhere together it looked as though we were leaving home for a month, so laden were we with electronic equipment, oxygen tanks, diaper bags, strollers...which is partly why I became the hermit I am today. #Lazy

Here they're about 7 or 8 months old, I think (did I ever mention that I am TERRIBLE about labeling pictures? Because I am). Clearly Becca was already trying to wear some sort of tiara:

One morning I discovered that my daughter knew how to climb into her brother's crib.

When Becca was about two, this is what "Go get ready for bed" meant:


Josh had the softest, wispiest hair so I let it grow and grow... until that time I gave him a buzz-cut and he's been sporting a Greg Brady WhiteBoy 'Fro ever since. Unless I cut it myself, in which case he looks sort of like he's got the mange. #TrueStory

My High School Graduate 

There were middle-of-the-night phone calls with doctors on the other end of the line telling me that they didn't think THIS twin or THAT twin would make it through the night- so we'd rush to the hospital to sit and put our hands in the "baby terrarium", as I thought of them, and listen to the beeps and the whooshing of the ventilator and wait for the inevitable. There were six months in the NICU and 3 or 4 Thanksgivings and Christmases spent in the hospital. For awhile I thought they were going to name a wing of the children's ward after us, or at least keep "our" room in reserve.

There was RSV and BPD and ROP and a bunch of other things with initials that I barely understood.
There was double hernia surgery and laser eye surgery and surgery to correct crossed eyes. 

There were staph infections and thrush and even a broken arm that was caused by changing my son's shirt whilst in the NICU - he of the tiny little brittle bones. There were breathing treatments and nebulizers and oxygen tanks and albuteral and lasix and digoxin and tegretol and synthroid and constantly changing medications and frequent seizures and paralyzing fear (well, that last thing was *me*).

I remember a tiny Becca setting her pacifier down in something that had spilled...she picked it up, took a suck, and said, "What the hell is all over this?!" It made me laugh so much that I couldn't even correct her.

I remember one single sentence of absolutely clear speech from Joshua in 21 years...he was sick and angry and yelled, "I WANT MY BOTTLE!"  It was astounding and amazing and thank goodness my mother witnessed it or I would have thought my ears were playing tricks on me.

TWENTY ONE. 

(or The One Where Joshua Gives Duckface)

This milestone is especially important for Joshua, as he has already outlived all early predictions of life-span. Though it's a little like living under the Sword of Damocles, we do not give in or give up. And despite the fact that they were and are so fragile health-wise, for the last 10-12 years I can count on one hand the number of times they've had to go to the doctor or hospital. 

2 Twins at 22

(YES, Winnie The Pooh is still on the walls. Joshua loves Pooh bear)

*Mystery Of The Missing 23*

 2 @ 24 ea.

(or the one where that jackass boychild purposely refuses to look at the camera for 20 takes
and also is still wearing breakfast on his face because BRAT.)

And the QUARTER OF A CENTURY MARK.

I swear, the older this boychild gets, the more he is determined to thwart my picture taking.

And GirlMinion had to get glasses this year at last. Of course being the weirdo she is, she has one nearsighted eye and one farsighted eye. 

OF COURSE he was all about a selfie with his sister, though.

How could I not believe in miracles? When I look upon those miracles every day of my life.

I love you, my babies. I have been and will always be thankful for every breath that you take, every blink of your eyes, every morning that you wake. I love you with everything inside me.

You still make me laugh, you still make me cry, you still make me want to smack you upside your silly little bratty heads.

If all the world was a beach, I would love you more than all the grains of sand added together. Times infinity.

cuttlefish and underwear.

You notice how when every single tentacle of your life is weighted down with stress (yes tentacle because CUTTLEFISH ARE AWESOME and I plan to come back as one only you will never see me because they have the best camouflage ever even better than Mystique because they can change color and texture AND HALF AT A TIME like when you order a half pepperoni half ham & pineapple pizza and Mystique could not even do that AT ALL)...

What? I forgot what I was saying.

Oh STRESS, tentacles, right.

For me, having the stress lifted off one or two of those areas completely causes a nearly tangible effect, and I can feel the weight lifting. It's like I have a full body sigh and everything relaxes, from my neck to hips to toes, my guts and lungs and brain, all at once.  I can actually feel my shoulders settling down to...well, shoulder height, instead of being all crunched up under my ears when I didn't even realize they were there.

Honestly the feeling is close to euphoria. I mean I don't feel like going dancing in the rain or coming to a Halloween party at your house (NO THANK YOU SORRY AND IF I ALREADY SAID YES MY APOLOGIES BECAUSE I WILL NOT BE SHOWING UP) or anything like that, but the utter sense of relief...it's like magic.

Losing the stress also made me realize exactly how many stress triggers I have.  WOW. You don't even know.  I mean I'm horrible online all the time anyway and you already knew that, but I've been a pretty horrible person in real life the last couple-three years too. 

I had so many triggers that I didn't even know what they all were.

SO many buttons just waiting to be pushed. Or touched. Or breathed on. 

 

Things have been pretty dire around here the last few years. 

I mean I've pretty much been poor-ish most of my life and it's nothin' but a thing...but the last 2 or three years, it's been a trial.

Seriously some weeks the budget was like ... is Joshua going to have chicken in his stew this week or will he have to go vegetarian?

eBay sales used to support us but some months we're lucky to make a hundred bucks and that's no exaggeration. Of course I'm so damn mad at them anyway, because they keep changing the formats and the layouts and the requirements to be a "Power Seller."  I mean I'm a TOP SELLER but I can't get my stuff on the first pages of keyword search because I don't take all their..."advice," and if it was left in their hands I'd list everything for .99 or best offer with free shipping and free returns and list 1K items per week. THEN I'd get noticed and sell more while of course losing money on everything.

via GIPHY

ANYWAY.

I was stressed over money every day but didn't even realize how bad it was on my body & mind.

So the thing happened and Becca got a new job, which equals happier attitude (and less GIRL IMA RIP OFF YOUR ARM AND BEAT YOU WITH IT from me) and more money and BOOM, less stress.
Then I got some side jobs I can do from home which are actually earning $ AND the biggie (and also one of the points I've been getting to here) - I FEEL PRODUCTIVE.

I am contributing more to my own household, AND taking back the majority of support of my family, which makes me feel useful and less like a loser at life and motherhood and all the things.

Being productive and busy and useful build a YUGE barrier against depression and anxiety for me.

I mean money doesn't buy happiness but I can tell you it almost brought me to tears when Becca asked if we had enough so she could get new underwear and I was able to unhesitatingly say YES! and bravely added AND GET ME SOME TOO PLEASE without even stopping to calculate.

If you've ever been actually, truly poor, you'll know just how excellent that feels.

It's like the thrill of victory.

I guess what I'm getting at here is that I slowly feel like the person I was 10 years ago is kind of waking up again.  The little things that could (and have) sent me into a shrieking frenzy are not so important now. 

My shoulders are where they should be (most of the time).

The stomachflutter of anxiety is nearly completely gone many days in a row

The angst is at least a foot away from me and sliding.

OH, I still have plenty of stress to go around, but at least it's more focused now, like on this boy of mine. That's never going to go away, and it's easier to carry.

Maybe Becca's not pushing my buttons so much because she's happier.

Maybe I just don't notice her doing it because I'm less stressed.

Maybe I'm finally on the downhill side and sliding to the finish line of menopause.

Maybe I'm evolving. (fingers crossed for cuttlefish evolution!)

Whatever it is, I'll take it.

Double the fun! Or more likely double, double, toil and trouble.

Here we are, at the annual (minus last year because ... I don't even remember, I just don't think I was in a good head space at the time) BIRTHDAY POST!
I don't guess anyone really missed it last year - I mean if you've followed this blog for any length of time you've probably got the Birthday Post memorized by now.

---

WE HAVE ARRIVED AT YEAR 24.
Sort of a boring-ish year...next year will be one of the "milestone" birthdays so we're keeping it pretty low key. As yooooozsh. (How do you even spell that? Like "usual" only the front part of the word)

ANYWAY. If this is your first time at the Annual Birthday Post, welcome! It's the totally true and somewhat traumatic story of my kids' birth.
Is Post Traumatic Birth Syndrome a thing?
It should be. I think I have it.
Also there are LOTS. OF. PICTURES.

---

Every year before I revise and repost, I remember. I relive. And even if it's just for one shining day, these memories make everything else fall away: all the petty irritations and frustrations, the dislikes and grudgy feelings...all of the things that, in the long run of life, aren't worth the importance we place on them. 

It's been a long tough journey that has passed in the blink of an eye.

---

---

THE DUE DATE: June 4th

THE BIRTH DATE: February 13th. Preemies for pre-valentine's day.

These children clearly get their lack of patience from me.  They were born at 24 weeks, or about 3 and 1/2 months early. They weighed just over 1 lb. each, and were about a foot long. I'm talkin' teeeeeny tiny. Micro-preemie, I think is what they are called now.

Anyway, this is my boy, at about a month old:

I woke up the morning of February 12th, headed for the bathroom, and after about 5 minutes I called out to the baby daddy, "Either I've lost all control of my body functions or my water broke".

I'll give you a hint - my functions were still under my control.

So natch we rushed to the hospital, where the stupid ass snot face condescending nurse (actually I love nurses in general, but this one? NOT SO MUCH) had me lay on a gurney for an hour and then said that I was fine, no fluid was "leaking" (I know, gross), and the pains in my back and belly were just muscles stretching, NOT CONTRACTIONS...and then she tried to send us home. 

Me being me, I caused a scene.

Hey, guess who ended up being right about me being in labor?

Here is my little girl, at about a month old:

The doctors tried to stop my labor for 24 hours, but apparently my kids were having none of that. On the 13th of February, my boy arrived in the usual way - of course, I was knocked out for the entire thing. My daughter was still safe and secure in her bedwomb -- the idea was to let her 'cook' a little longer (which would have been weird to have twins with different birthdays, right?).  So they were wheeling me into recovery when Miss Contrary's heart rate dropped to zero, and they did a SUPERFAST emergency C-Section to get her out. Evidently she didn't like being alone.
So it was like Twins Two Ways, with extra Mommy Staples.
This is also where I discovered my love of morphine. MMMMMMORPHINE.

Their ears were still folded down (WEIRD! I didn't even know ears did that until my kids were born. It was like puppy ears or something), and their lungs were not completely developed, and their little hearts were working overtime/doubletime.

They struggled for every single breath. They fought to live.

And so they did. And so they have.

Thank you, God.

Thank you for this little miracle....(my girl at about 2 months)

and this little miracle...(my boy at about 3 1/2 months)

The doctors gave them less than a 50% chance of survival.

Fortunately they got my stubborn genes as well as my temperamental ones, because my kids wouldn't listen to percentages; they went all HAN SOLO and were like NEVER TELL ME THE ODDS!

Their hearts were overworked, their lungs were and are covered in scar tissue, they are cursed with keloid scars as well as scars from perc lines and picc lines and a million little junkie scars on arms and feet from being pricked with lancets every hour. They have scarred veins, they had damaging bleeding in their brains, preventing brain growth. And yet...    

Becca's first day home from the hospital! Nearly 4 months old and not even 5 lbs. I still have this amazingly tiny dress - I swear it's barely bigger than Barbie size. Those booties she has on? The foot part is less than 2 inches long. Each twin came home attached to oxygen and an apnea monitor - whenever we all went anywhere together it looked as though we were leaving home for a month, so laden were we with electronic equipment, oxygen tanks, diaper bags, strollers...which is partly why I became the hermit I am today. #Lazy

Here they're about 7 or 8 months old, I think (did I ever mention that I am TERRIBLE about labeling pictures? Because I am). Clearly Becca was already trying to wear some sort of tiara:

One morning I discovered that my daughter knew how to climb into her brother's crib.

When Becca was about two, this is what "Go get ready for bed" meant:


Josh had the softest, wispiest hair so I let it grow and grow... until that time I gave him a buzz-cut and he's been sporting a Greg Brady WhiteBoy 'Fro ever since. Unless I cut it myself, in which case he looks sort of like he's got the mange. #TrueStory

My High School Graduate 

There were middle-of-the-night phone calls with doctors on the other end of the line telling me that they didn't think THIS twin or THAT twin would make it through the night- so we'd rush to the hospital to sit and put our hands in the "baby terrarium", as I thought of them, and listen to the beeps and the whooshing of the ventilator and wait for the inevitable. There were six months in the NICU and 3 or 4 Thanksgivings and Christmases spent in the hospital. For awhile I thought they were going to name a wing of the children's ward after us, or at least keep "our" room in reserve.

There was RSV and BPD and ROP and a bunch of other things with initials that I barely understood.
There was double hernia surgery and laser eye surgery and surgery to correct crossed eyes. 

There were staph infections and even a broken arm that was caused by changing my son's shirt whilst in the NICU - he of the tiny little brittle bones. There were breathing treatments and nebulizers and oxygen tanks and albuteral and lasix and digoxin and tegretol and synthroid and constantly changing medications and frequent seizures and paralyzing fear (well, that last thing was *me*).

I remember a tiny Becca setting her pacifier down in something that had spilled...she picked it up, took a suck, and said, "What the hell is all over this?!" It made me laugh so much that I couldn't even correct her.

I remember one single sentence of absolutely clear speech from Joshua in 21 years...he was sick and angry and yelled, "I WANT MY BOTTLE!"  It was astounding and amazing and thank goodness my mother witnessed it or I would have thought my ears were playing tricks on me.

TWENTY ONE. 

(or The One Where Joshua Gives Duckface)

This milestone is especially important for Joshua, as he has already outlived all early predictions of life-span. Though it's a little like living under the Sword of Damocles, we do not give in or give up. And despite the fact that they were and are so fragile health-wise, for the last 10-12 years I can count on one hand the number of times they've had to go to the doctor or hospital. 

2 Twins at 22

(YES, Winnie The Pooh is still on the walls. Joshua loves Pooh bear)

*Mystery Of The Missing 23*

AND currently 2 @ 24 ea.

(or the one where that jackass boychild purposely refuses to look at the camera for 20 takes
and also is still wearing breakfast on his face because BRAT.)

How could I not believe in miracles? When I look upon those miracles every day of my life.

I love you, my babies. I have been and will always be thankful for every breath that you take, every blink of your eyes, every morning that you wake. I love you with everything inside me.

You still make me laugh, you still make me cry, you still make me want to smack you upside your silly little bratty heads.

If all the world was a beach, I would love you more than all the grains of sand added together. Times infinity.