[This was originally posted to our family blog on April 30, 2007.]
So we brought Bennett home on March 20th and had him for three days alone before Ruby was finally released from the hospital. We had to leave Ruby there. I cried so hard and uncontrollably over her bassinet in the NICU when we had to leave that my tears and snot dripped all over her little swaddled body. I simply couldn't stop, in spite of everyone in the room and the happy occasion of Bennett coming home, because she'd be there alone. Luckily (not), the final ritual before departing the hospital was for the staff to take a Polaroid photo of the happy parents and progeny. Note that I've got a full half inch of concealer on my cheeks . . .
Even now, when I hear the heartbreaking cries of Lorraine Ellison's "Stay With Me," I think it's Ruby's theme song. I was doing better when we brought her home, and she let everyone know that even though she was coming home second, she was still number one (see tiny right hand, below).
At home with just Bennett, I don't really remember it as having a baby; we just kind of took care of him and it was no big deal. When we added the second, we entered an entirely new territory, a "twinscape" where for some reason everything took eight times more effort. And the riding got much, um, more interesting. (My kids will probably read this someday. I don't want to make them feel too badly.)
My mother will be enshrined in our hearts as an early savior. She decamped to our small two bedroom (ONE BATH) apartment for six weeks to help us around the clock, even as she was finishing a challenging graduate school class (online, thankfully). It's ushered in a whole new era of mother/daughter and mother-in-law/son-in-law relations.
We've spent a good bit of time in conversations that resemble scenes from Trainspotting (the 90's cautionary film on herion addiction).
Setting: A tiny kitchen, five-thirty A.M. (Two women stand close, as if forgetting how to stand at socially appropriate distances. They are not looking at each other, particularly.)
Woman One: "Is this Ruby's bottle?" (pause)
Woman Two: "What?"
Woman One: "Is this Ruby's bottle?" (longish pause)
Woman Two: "Is that Ruby's bottle?"
Woman One: "Yeah, is this the one you used to feed her last?"
Woman Two: "I thought you fed her last."
Woman One: "When did they eat?"
Woman Two: "Well, Bennett ate at four, because I fed him, and I thought you were feeding Ruby at the same time."
Woman One: "No, I think I fed Bennett, because I was watching the Gold Show on QVC. That must have been around 3:30."
Woman Two: "Hmm. Well, maybe this is Bennett's bottle, then." (pause)
Woman One: "Bennett's bottle?"
And so on.
In the midst of this, my mom had to finish a major project for class that wasn't going well. She kind of loathed working on it. I know exactly how she felt. We handle these situations the same way: Procrastinate like hell. But she had to get it done. This is one of her last classes to complete the program. She doesn't seem to have liked any of this Master's Degree in Instructional Technology, but she won't quit. I wish she would. The whole "winners never quit/quitters never win" thing is way overrated if you ask me (love this example of early aspirations, long thwarted).
Anyway, I found myself in the curious position of nagging my mother to do her homework. And because I am well on my way to becoming her, I sounded a lot like a recording of her entreaties to me when I was a teenager putting off a paper: "Um, Mom? Mom, do you think your time could be better spent working on your project? I know the Weekend Arts section is interesting, but there will be another one next weekend, when you'll have more time. You could take your computer into your room so you won't be distracted out here in the living room by the tv . . . " It went like that for days on end; I felt responsible for her success or failure.
She turned it in on time. I am so proud of her.
The kids now weigh 9 lbs., 2 oz. I think it's because J feeds them like foie gras ducks. Not really -- I mean, he doesn't put a 10 inch steel tube down anyone's esophagus, but he is an avid feeder of the children. He's also an incredibly intuitive and involved parent. I've often turned to him and asked him what he thinks we should do to calm one or the other of them. He has a great deal of fun with them, and takes lots of pictures, which are accessible here.
The babies are funny and fabulous. Ruby continues to stare into your soul in a way that's a little unsettling sometimes -- in a good way. Bennett has a smile that takes up his whole face and my whole heart. They're both starting to hold their heads up. Their eyelashes came in last week. They grew out of the newborn diapers they were wearing. (I actually tried to keep putting them on them a little too long, resulting in some neonatal plumber's cracks. My first parental act of trying to keep them from growing up too fast.)
It's been great, but nobody told me about this first part not being the most fun part. It's a lot of work. Yeah, we laugh, they babies are cute and everything, but they're pretty needy and they don't get my jokes yet. But it's also true that they cuddle like nobody's business and their gazes are worth a hundred thousand words right now. I guess I wouldn't trade this time for anything.
