A week before Christmas we packed the entire contents of our house and drove to Salt Lake City. Because WE ARE INSANE. Trav and I were about five seconds from chickening out the entire time because A) 1700+ miles, B) Extended Potential Screaming in Confined Space, C) Hotel+Babies+Potential Screaming=DEATH CAKES and D)Death by Mortification. We made it all the way to Meridian, ID before hearing any whisper of a freakout. Which finally happened at midnight. But since running home would have been just as harrowing as pressing on, we strapped in and went with it. Apparently, what we lack in sense the universe made up for in the random luck of travel-happy babies. And took away with teething. 
between Pendleton & Baker City, OR
Deadman’s Pass, somewhere, WA
A REALLY good friend pointed me to this today and my head is still exploding from its Epicness. My girls will never understand why Ferris is just so damn cool, but I guarantee they’ll be asking that question for the rest of their lives because I’m hunting down some way to save this wonderful, silly, special commercial and put it in permanent rotation along with the movie.
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P.S. Long-time readers will recognize the two clips below from Video Wednesday about a year and a half ago. And they will also realize I’m reposting them because I was a idiot and lost the original post during the Stargazer Domain Transfer Fiasco 2010. Because my readers are smarty-pants.
Ferris Bueller: Museum Scene
Ferris Bueller: Museum Scene (John Hughes Commentary)
Back in December, one of my eBay peeps (aka, ePeeps) made a comment on facebook that whispered in my ear for about a week*. I finally had to sit down & do something with it, because, really, it does sum up neatly all the wonky-ass emotions of having had three, count ‘em THU-REE surgeries last year.
* This project is totally spawning a series of stuff my friends say that inspire me. None of y’all are safe. Blame Stacey.
** “He’s a DOUGHNUT” ~ Eddie Izzard
This year Christmas snuck up on me even faster than usual, due largely to the revolving procession of day-to-day feedings, diaper changes, naps and chores that has wiped my ability to track the days and weeks and find myself lucky most of the time to realize whether it is a day when Trav will be home, or at work. Christmas cards were not sent, presents were not bought, and the tree barely got decorated. And this is the Christmas that will go down in our history as not only their First, but the one when none of that Stuff mattered.
To all of you, from all of us, wishes of love & happiness in 2012!
Ashley: wishing you Sweetness!
Sarah: wishing you Laughter!
Emma: wishing you Hugs, thanks
Our birth story took place over 9 months ago. I still haven’t told it because, yes. It’s A DOOZIE, and along with cleaning, working and bathing on a regular basis, my writing has moved to a New & Not So Improved List of Things I Only Have 20 Minutes For.
I hate that list.
The short version is that at 32 weeks, I was admitted to the hospital. There I spent three long, boring, painful weeks on the Antepartum floor of Swedish Hospital in a room with a view of Downtown Seattle. Each day blurred into the next as the hours were marked with a monotonous routine of monitoring, meals, a bath and the nightly Dose of Blessed Ambien.
The last five days were by far the hardest, when the wait and the weight bore down on me with unbearable pressure as my own body laid there and crushed itself. And as upsetting as that was, none of it compared to the morning one of our twins’ heartbeat began to disappear.
One second she was there on the monitor, clear as day, and the next, she just…went away. And she stayed away. Minutes became half hours as the nurse and I took turns driving her sensor around my belly, searching for any angle at all that might find some trace of her. Finally, she’d reappear for a moment or two, only to vanish again.
It was easier to think the situation might simply be due to the fact that, hey, there ARE three human beings in there. Or that it might have something to do with my nurses, who were apparently still working in 1985 and liked it very much, thank you, refusing day after day to use the ‘new’ ‘I don’t understand it’ 2009 equipment specifically configured for monitoring three heartbeats, not two, and would fuck around for HOURS trying to figure out why the machine would alternatively screech feedback or nothing at all, as I laid there fighting the urge to pop their arms off like barbie dolls while screaming OH MY GOD HAND IT OVER BEFORE I KILL YOU BECAUSE I’VE WATCHED THE ONE NURSE WHO KNOWS WHAT SHE’S DOING SO MANY TIMES *I* KNOW HOW TO DO IT BY NOW AND *I* DIDN’T SPEND NINE YEARS IN NURSING SCHOOL, MARTHA.
Instead, I laid there and bit my tongue. Because something just didn’t feel right. And the feeling was so vague, I still couldn’t tell you if it was simply my obsessive nature picking at the back of my brain. Nothing specifically felt wrong. It just…didn’t feel right. So they took me for an ultrasound.
Which didn’t report much to me beyond three moving babies, and three heartbeats. Two days later, they took me for another ultrasound. Again, three moving babies, three heartbeats. With ne’er so much as a single ‘hmmm’, they wheeled me back upstairs. Where our surgeon met us right outside my room to say they’d found increasing pressure on a blood vessel in the brain of the disappearing twin. They’d been watching it ‘for a while’. So they were going to deliver us. Today. In an hour.
That twin turned out to be Sarah. Who I’m not entirely sure would be here if she, Ashley and Emma hadn’t been born 5 weeks early. They spent 4 of those in the NICU/ISCU, and it was alternatively the scariest, happiest, most frustrating and miraculous ordeal of our life.
Ashley, Sarah & Emma 2.17.11
Could they have stayed in me even a day longer? Possibly. Would all three have lived? Maybe not. But were they any worse for having spent those first weeks in the hospital? Doesn’t seems so.
We are eternally grateful for our three healthy, happy birds; for the amazing, talented, caring doctors & nurses who took such flawless care of them; and for the March of Dimes.
November 17 is World Prematurity Day. Every year, 13 million babies are born prematurely worldwide. A million of them never get to celebrate their first birthday, and many more face serious, lifelong health challenges. Raising awareness of this common and serious problem is the first step to defeating it. You can help premature babies by donating here or by visiting Facebook.com/WorldPrematurityDay to show your support. Learn about the progress we’re making in preventing premature birth at marchofdimes.com.
