Post-partum Defenestration

My wife is amazing. I think I've mentioned this before, but she's an excellent teacher, kind hearted, patient (about some things), sweet, funny, etc. So I was caught by surprise the other day when she attempted to end our marriage.

I looked down at the text, read what she'd written, and realized my wife had just set a trap that was impossible to recover from.

It read: "Guess my Weight"

Every man is trained to immediately identify certain no-win questions: "Does this make me look fat," "Do you think she's cute," "Would you remarry if I died," etc. This was a def-con 4 level question. All I could do was stare down at my cell phone like it was a bomb.

Terrible reception, but no one will ever steal it.

In this volatile situation a man is left very few options.

1. Answer Honestly. This is only an option if you want a fast exit from a relationship, or an early grave.
2. Lie. Seriously. Whoever said "Honesty is the best policy" has never been in this situation.
3. Be Cute. Diffuse the situation with innocent, saccharine, sappyness.
4. Change the subject. This only really works when you're dealing with someone with ADD. Respond with a picture of a shiny object and you're home free.
5. Ignore it. Hope it goes away. Hope the babies start to cry, and she accidentally drops her phone into a dirty diaper so she never wants to see the phone again.

(Additionally: You have to respond immediately to no-win questions. Any hesitance will be taken as dissembling, and you'll lose before you even attempt to save yourself.)

Choose wrong at your own peril

So being the loving, cautious, humor-inclined husband I am, I went with option 3.

"Beautiful" I replied.

It didn't work, but at least I didn't have to sleep on the couch.

~Jesse

Father Knows Less

I've turned a bit of a corner in my fathering.

I'm a relatively laid back guy, and things don't phase me easily:
Evening plans were cancelled? Whatever, we'll find something else to do.
I missed my train? Meh, another one will come along shortly.
I lost my iPod? Oh well, someone is going to have a good day when they find it.

Both Marlena and I figured this would translate into my parenting style (Adora is eating dirt? I'm pretty sure there're vitamins in soil), although something happened the other night that made me question that.

The kids have been hooked up to monitors night and day since they were born: Heart rate, Breaths-per-minute, Oxygen levels, the whole shebang. The wires are a little obnoxious, but it's comforting to be able to look up at the computer screen and see how well they're doing.

Lately, Marlena & I have been trying to hold the twins as they're being fed through their feeding tubes to get them used to it once they are able to start nursing normally. We'd just bathed them, so this was the first time we'd seen them entirely unhooked from their computers.

The Super Bowl was on, so we sat so we could both see the our laptop set up on a nearby couch. I was holding Adam, and it looked like his feeding tube had been pulled out a centimeter or so (he's gotten really good at pulling out his feeding tube, so we have to be a little mindful of that). I could see it was still 18cm deep, so I wasn't too concerned. It also helped that I was distracted by the game.

I don't know about you, but I've always wondered what happens at the bottom of dog piles.

The nurse left, we were still unhooked, but unconcerned. A few minutes later, the laptop started running out of battery. No worries, I reached over and plugged it into a nearby socket.

I'd jostled Adam a little bit when I moved so I was repositioning him, and I noticed the feeding tube had pulled out another 4cm. These kids are small, so I figure pulling a tube 2 inches out of their stomach might have dire consequences. Adam was unperturbed by the tube's movement, but to my uneducated eyes he was *too* quiet.

So there I was, with a number of issues compounding in my mind:
* The nurse wasn't in the room
* Adam wasn't hooked up to any monitors
* The nurse station would have no way of knowing if we were in trouble
* Our door out to the hallway is closed
* Adam is still hooked up to the feeding pump, so I couldn't go into the hallway to find a nurse anyways.
* Why isn't the nurse in the room?
* What happens if the feeding tube leaves his stomach?
* Is he breathing alright?
* Who leaves a new parent alone with kids who aren't on monitors?
* The laptop is in sleep-mode, so I can't distract myself with the Super Bowl...
* For the love of God, where is the nurse!? DOESN'T SHE KNOW I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I'M DOING?

My rational mind told me that 4cms is less than 2 inches, so any milk would still being going to his stomach, but in my newly awakened "freakout mind" Adam's little esophagus was filling with milk, and it would start spilling out of his mouth at any moment. I kept my hand on his little chest to make sure he wasn't choking to death on milk.

A 100% accurate depiction of how I felt

This went on for 20 minutes.

Eventually our nurse returned, and I managed to not act like an anxious puddle on the floor.

Everything was fine. We got the tube moved back where it belonged. It was an eye-opening moment of how attached I'd gotten to the little buggers.

Next time I'll handle it better, probably just whimper and soil myself. It seems to work well for the twins.

Fatherly Doodies

Update: The twins are a week old today and still stabled in the NICU, and will probably be there for the next two to three weeks. They're gaining weight and keeping healthy, which is all they need to do from this point on until we can go home.

They've also been moved from their own individual incubators to sharing on. Marlena & I are happy about this, since we finally get to see our children together in one place, as opposed to being in one room and plaintively looking across the hallway to see how the other is doing. The twins seem neutral on the matter. They'd better get used to it, because from this point forward they'll be sharing a living space for the next decade or so.

It's also kinda fun to watch the uncoordinated twin-fights. Adam will spasm and smack Adora, Adora will get the hiccups and rip off Adam's monitors. It's like the next step down from watching kittens wrestle off the edge of a couch.

FINISH HIM!

One thing I've learned as a new father is that I'm happy about things I *never *thought I'd be happy about.

Like poop.

Since they're in the NICU being catered to by the staff there, the best ways for me to help are by taking temperatures, cleaning pump bottles, waking up whenever my wife is awake so we can share in the sleep deprivation, and changing diapers.

Now, I'd never actually changed a diaper prior to having children. I understood them in theory, but not in practice. Hugs go on, poop comes out, Hugs keep poop from spilling onto daddy, which keeps daddy from immediately questioning the why he had kids in the first place. They were a nebulous bit of technology to me, and I liked it that way. The whole diaper conundrum has been a step I've been a bit wary of.

Turns out I'm not too bad. I prefer to think of it as baby origami with a potentially disastrous time limit. Since they're being taken care by nurses I haven't had to change many diapers, so it's been more of a privilege than a chore. Plus since they're preemies their digestive health is scrutinized, and the more regular the "exports" the better. Which means I find myself in the odd position of looking forward to their bowel movements.

For the moment the twins and I have been in tentative truce, and neither of them have aimed to shite the hand that changes them, but I can see it in their eyes. There's a glimmer there that tells me they're just biding their time, and that one day when my guard is down *bam!* poop-missile aimed at the fatherland.

I know it's coming, it's just a matter of time.

Introductory Costs

A lot of things happened following the birth of my twins, Adam and Adora.

One notable event (that I didn't notice until the next day) was that I lost my wedding ring.

While my wife was recovering from her cesarean I led the new grandparents into the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit to see their freshly-minted grandchildren. I was still wearing stylish periwinkle blue paper scrubs (with matching hairnet) from the surgery, and I was feeling the part of the proud (cautiously optimistic) father.

The nurse escorting us to the NICU took us to the washing station and gave us the rundown: Take off all jewelry, take off all bags & purses, wash up to your elbow for 3 minutes.

Side note: I don't know if you've ever tried washing your arms for three whole minutes. You run out of fresh new crevasses to soap after the first 30 seconds. You're left scrubbing yourself like an OCD recluse who just touched a bathroom door at a truck stop.

I can FEEL the dirt, it's hiding just beneath my skin....

I tossed my ring into the scrubs breast-pocket, washed and went to meet my kids.

Later on, a nurse told me I didn't have to wear my scrubs anymore, so I stripped off my paper shell and tossed them on a nearby couch along with my ring. I haven't seen it since.

Imagine this, but in a trash compactor

Flash back to August 13th, 2006. Marlena and I first met at a movie theater to watch "Talladega Nights: the Ballad of Ricky Bobby" (I think the movie successfully lowered her standards). During the movie showing, my phone fell out of my pocket and was lost forever. I often joke that the "karmic cost" of meeting my future wife was that I had to lose my phone.

So now I say that the cost of meeting my children was my wedding ring. The ring had more sentimental value than anything else, but I'd gladly pay it to meet my kids.

Diary of the Dad

I posted this on my gaming blog last Sunday, just so you know where I'm actually at.

In the original cut, Leia gives Luke a wet willie

So... funny story,

My wife and I went in for a standard prenatal visit Thursday afternoon. When they check her blood pressure it was high, and when they gave her a little test to find out if she was passing protein, she was.

These two tests together meant that she might have preeclampsia, a disorder that means that the stress the pregnancy is putting on her body was affecting her kidneys and possibly more organs. One ultrasound, a battery of tests, and a lot of waiting later, my wife was put in an ambulance and sent South to a hospital that was capable of handling emergency births (I posted "Change is Coming" during the long wait ). Before we left, we were told that we might be having kids that night. We were in a bit of shock.

Keep in mind, these kids aren't expected until March, so we didn't have the house clean, the cribs or cradles in the house, or have the nursery set up (read: "we were S.O.L.").

What do you mean you weren't ready? You had eight friggin' months

We got to the better hospital around 11pm and had our fears put to rest: we weren't going to be having babies Thursday night.

Instead, they were delivered Saturday. Two healthy babies, one little boy (3lbs 10oz, 15 3/4") and one little girl (3lbs 3oz, 16 1/4"). Let's call them Adam and Adora.

I think I've found this year's Christmas card

Since birth they've been flourishing in a great Neonatal Intensive Care Unit, and have had some great caregivers and nurses looking after them. Adam has been a premature baby rockstar. After a single day of life he no longer needs any breathing assistance and has been amazingly stable. He's also been gnawing non-stop on his pacifier which is a great sign of his being ready to feed unassisted.

Adora has had a harder time since her arrival. She had a tighter fit during her time in the ovarian prison, and has bruises on her feet and right leg. Her stats are less consistent, but still healthy. She's getting a little extra breathing help via a small air tube, and already has a few signs of jaundice. Most of this stuff will fix itself, or with a little help, but she's a trooper.

We've had family with us ever since the start of our little debacle, and they've been instrumental in keeping us grounded and cared for. I know I'd have missed several meals if it hadn't been for my or my wife's folks.

My first full day as a father has been busy. Now that the twins are here I'm playing the part of tour-guide. Family members have to be escorted into the NICU three at a time, so I've been on my feet constantly. Does this make me second fiddle to kids who haven't learned the finer points of focusing their eyes yet? Absolutely. But that's fine. It means I also got to spend a lot of time with the kiddos.

For now the plan is simple: Be there to help the kids and my wife however they need it, and do my best to keep my kids on the path to come home, on the path to their potential, off the pole, and off police scanners. 

... Also off the rock

From here to Paternity

I've always liked kids. I always knew I'd have kids someday. I just don't know how to deal with them.

It's like music. I like it, I know about it and how it's made, but if you handed me a guitar and asked me to create a song my face would fill with fear as I slowly backed out of the room.

I used to volunteer to help throw monthly children's birthday parties at a Japanese single mother's home when I served in the Navy, but I usually stayed at a bit of a distance. Other guys would be roughhousing with a pile of kids while I served cake and cleaned up the wrapping paper.

A little bit about myself: I'm from Oregon, and the youngest son of the youngest daughter of a Catholic family. Which means I'm one of the youngest of my 20+ cousins, and have zero experience with small children.

In case you're curious what it's like to grown up in a Catholic family...

Today I'm 29, still in Oregon and working as a photojournalist. I've been married to my loving wife for two years, and I'd managed to push off growing our family for the same amount of time. I want kids, but our financial situation hasn't been stable until recently.

My wife (Let's call her Marlena) is a natural-born mother. She knew she wanted to be a teacher since she was in 1st grade, and has dedicated her adult life to learning the best ways to raise and support kids.  When we were dating she didn't want a few kids, she wanted a basketball team.

Before we married we negotiated our future family. I wanted 2-3 kids. There's nothing more humbling than a sibling, and nobody who will know you better, or infuriate you more, so I've always  known I wanted at least two. Much more than that just seems excessive. Don't let the expensive cameras or fancy press pass fool you, I know baristas that make more money than I do.

She agreed to settle for 4 kids total, but I still tell her she should have married a doctor if she wants that many.

She knows I can be apprehensive around kids, so I can only imagine what she was thinking when she told me she was pregnant 8 months ago...

~Welcome to my blog