It's a bird, it's a plane ....

Time flies, or so they say. But for many years I managed to ignore the passage of time.

From about 1994 to 2004, I lived essentially the same life. I resided in New York City, worked and dated. I moved apartments twice, changed jobs a lot and had a couple of boyfriends, but the through line of my life remained relatively unchanged. For those things that did change, I had ways of covering them up: A few more gray hairs? More highlights! Frown lines? Nothing a little Botox can’t fix. Ticking biological clock? Let’s have another cocktail and forget it.

But now that I am a mother, nothing stays the same. This week alone, life has handed me irrefutable evidence that time is rushing by with alarming quickness.

1. August and Finley turned six months old.
2. August and Finley tried solid food for the first time. One moment, only milk, formula and a little Tylenol had passed through their perfect pink lips. The next moment, mashed up avocado mixed with breast milk was running down their chins.
3. Finley rolled over all the way from back to front for the first time.
4. August pushed up onto all fours. In a day, two days, a week, he will surely be crawling. At least that seems to be his intention. (I wonder if sleeping through the night is on the boys' agenda!?)

It always seemed like a cliché to say time flies. But it does move –- it runs, it leaps, it rushes through the 59th street station to catch the subway, it speeds past you on the 10 freeway in the fast lane. It goes by like the wind sweeping your hair into your face and obscuring your sight for a moment. Time, it turns out, is breathtakingly fast.

I don’t know what point I’m trying to make exactly, but I guess it’s this: I am amazed and appalled by how quickly my sons are changing. I can’t believe my little guys are already so big. I can barely remember what they were like two months ago. I can’t believe this is how fast babyhood goes. Some days -- like when I have to get up five times in a night to soothe crying babies -- I want to fast forward a few years. Some days -- like when August pushes away from me so he can go explore some new fascinating horizon -- I want to freeze time. Mostly, I try to savor the newness of each day, with mixed success. Sometimes I mourn the end of the day and other times I celebrate it.

Anyway, it's been six life-changing months of motherhood. And this is just the beginning.

A Plea for Advice from Working Parents

So many things have happened since I last blogged, I can’t even remember all the hundreds of blog posts I’ve started in my mind and never actually wrote. As a mom to twins, I find that time runs away from me each day. In the mornings, I come up with an ambitious list of things to accomplish. By the afternoon, I can’t even remember what was on the list. And now, the passage of time is speeding up even more.

The dreaded deadline in every working mom’s life is approaching fast: the end of my maternity leave.

The moment August and Finley came out of me, I started to wonder how on earth I could ever be parted from them again. (I mean, look at that adorable face of Finley!) They are, of course, the most precious things in the world to me. I hate the idea of giving them over to someone else for most of their waking hours every weekday. But this is not a debate I can have. My family requires me to work so that we can do little things like, say, eat and pay the mortgage.

As the day of my return to the rat race has gotten closer, I’ve started to come to terms with my new life. In fact, there’s a secret little part of me that is relieved at the idea leaving the house unencumbered, of being able to walk across the street and get a sandwich without pushing a double stroller, of talking to adults about something besides diapers, about wearing clothes that are not covered in drool.

I’ve talked to lots of my friends who work and have kids, and they all tell me two things. 1. It’s really hard. 2. But it’s not as bad as you think.

I’ve also been brainstorming with my husband and just on my own about how I can walk the tightrope of being a good, hard-working employee and a good, present mother. Each moment I can spend with my boys will be like an amazing meal to be savored, so I’m trying to carve out as much time as I can in my new schedule. Only time will tell how it works.

So I humbly ask your advice my friends: If you are a working parent (a mom or a dad), how do you strike a balance between your job and your family? Do you have any tricks, any suggestions for how this works? I very much appreciate any wisdom you have to share.

Jealous Mommy

August and Finley are just starting to get nervous around new people. They’re at ease with people they spend all their time with: me, Matt – and our nanny.

Yes, I already have a nanny even though I’m still on maternity leave. Flora comes four days a week and makes it possible for me to do things like shower. She’s great with the babies – maybe too good.

Today when I came home from running a few errands, August didn’t even look at me. He was totally focused on Flora. I’d been gone an hour and already he seemed to have forgotten me. I literally rubbed his foot and head and pinched his little cheeks until he looked at me and gave me a big gummy smile. “Hi, it’s me mom… remember me? I’m the one who has been with you every single day since you were conceived. Yeah, look at me!”

Trying to get his attention made me feel like a insecure, desperate teenager vying for the affections of the popular boy at school. He just has no idea what a grip he has on my heart. It feels awful and ugly, but I get jealous when August and Finley hit it off with anyone besides me.

Of course I want the boys to enjoy being with their nanny. But there’s this: Soon, my maternity leave will end. When that happens the nanny will be with my boys all day. She’ll be the one to greet them when they wake up and hold them up as they try to stand and pick them up if they fall. I’ll swoop in for a couple hours in the evening -- their most cranky time of day – before they conk out for the night (that is if they ever learn to sleep through the night!) And that is what makes me jealous.

The New Normal

Being mother to twins feels like wrestling a giant squid. There’s always another unexpected strangle hold coming to pull me under. But now that I’ve been a mom for four months, I’m learning to get this beast under control – sort of.

In the past few weeks, I’ve experienced glimpses of the thing I used to call “life.” Matt and I went to brunch -– twice -- with the babies. We also once socialized outside our home with the boys. We drove to the San Fernando Valley for a pumpkin carving party. Admittedly, we did not actually carve pumpkins. We showed up an hour early and left 30 minutes after the party started. But we went and that’s the point.

We’ve also started to just go ahead and venture out with August and Fin because the other choice is to stay at home for the next 18 years. Our little adventures have had mixed results: We’ve been to Trader Joe’s on a Sunday afternoon to grocery shop (bad idea); a nursery to look for flowers for the garden (too many bees!); a Halloween party for multiples (a success!); and Costco (terrifying, babies or no babies).

It’s not been easy -– nothing is easy anymore -– but I see hints of a new “normal” emerging. I still feel like I’m fighting a giant squid and I certainly look like I’ve taken a beating -- my hair is unkempt and I rarely wear makeup. But I fit into my pre-pregnancy jeans and I managed to watch the season premiere of “Top Chef.” With the help of a part-time nanny, I’ve gone grocery shopping, to yoga, to a doctor’s appointment, to the mall. I’ve become expert at loading the babies and their stroller into my car or just getting ‘em all out on the sidewalk to a stroll. I’ve even briefly carried both babies at once now that they can hold their own heads up.

So the new normal is a very, very scaled back version of the old normal: 20-25 minutes of free time at a stretch, brief appearances at barbeques, movies on Netflix instead of in the theater, lunch out but never dinner. But it’s fine. I mean, I’ve said in the past that I don’t care if I never go out to a nice dinner or sleep in past six a.m. again. That’s not exactly true. I ache for a morning of lounging in bed reading the paper, for enough personal time to go to the gym, but we -– my family and I –- are birthing a new life together. We're taking baby steps to figure out how to walk and later to run and that’s all I can ask for right now.


NOTE: typos are bad and I try not post them. But, as I mentioned, I have twins, which means I can’t always proofread as well as I’d like. Thanks for your understanding.

Flexing New Muscles

August is getting really good at holding his head up. He lays on the bed, hoists his noggin off the blanket and smiles proudly like he’s saying, “Hey Mom, look at me!”

But the new skill has taken a lot of work. As August raises his head, his body shakes, he pants and strains until he finally lets it fall back down with a light thud. That’s how parenting feels to me – I strain and pant and then collapse. But like August, I’m getting better it, and the accomplishment of each day can make me feel shiny and proud.

Still, learning to parent is like learning to flex new muscles. Last Friday, I was facing my first full day with both boys alone. I normally go a stretch of four or five hours by myself with them, but 10 hours… Ug. A whole day would include at least 3 feedings, 8 diaper changes and probably 4 meltdowns.

So, I flexed a new muscle: I asked for help.

I literally put out a plea on Facebook saying I needed assistance taking care of my babies. I tried to make it come across as light-hearted and funny to hide my desperation, but it was a serious request.

The crazy part is that people answered the call. I ended up with three babysitting “shifts” to my day. First, a very old friend of mine named Debbie drove all the way across town after dropping her own two kids off at school to come over and hold my babies. She helped put the boys down for a nap, get them up later and allowed me a few moments to actually prepare and eat food. Here’s the crazy part: Until recently, I hadn’t been in contact with Debbie for 20 years. We ran into each other at our high school reunion, realized we both lived in L.A. and vowed to get together. But we never did – until I had kids.

One day a month or so ago, Debbie showed up at my door with fresh tamales, all sorts of baby hand-me-downs and just wonderful positive energy. And then on Friday, she came over in my hour of need. I mean, my heart is practically breaking over her generosity.

What I’m finding out late in life, but not too late, is that it’s okay to ask for help. And even more shocking: People are willing to give it.

The rest of my day was filled with equally amazing acts of kindness. My sister-in-law showed up to help with the boys’ midday feeding. She shrugged off a large amount of spit up down her arm and even started the task of cleaning up an explosive diaper issue, which I simply could not let her complete. Some jobs really are just for parents to do.

Later a new friend, Kyle, came over with a gift for the babies even though he’s already given them one! Then he proceeded to spend more than two hours with me and the boys. He held August for 30 whiny, wiggly, fussy minutes before his feeding – then Kyle stayed and fed him! I mean, what? He saw my babies at their crying, inconsolable worst (well, not quite worst!) And he still stuck around for more.

It’s like the sky has opened up and beamed angels into my life. And they are helping me learn to hold my head up.

Motherhood Infidelity

The absolute hardest thing about having twins is the cheating.

At least that’s what it seems like when I am holding one baby, but smiling and cooing at the other one over his shoulder. I feel like a married woman who’s flirting with another man.

The other day I sat on the couch with Finley to my left and August to my right. I rubbed their tummies, massaged their little legs and talked to each of them, alternately bobbing from side-to-side like a crazed metronome. It was exhausting.

Yesterday, I smooched August as he was lying on the bed learning to roll from his tummy to his back. “Yay! Good job!” I said to him and planted enthusiastic kisses on his big round cheek and soft neck. I clapped and smiled at him. He smiled back happily cooing at me and making me feel like I just lit up his whole world.

I was beaming – for a moment. Then Matt, who was holding our other son right next to me, said, “You have to hold Finley now. He’s looking at you with August and he’s crying. He needs your attention, too.”

I am constantly aware of trying to spread my affection equally between my two boys, and of generally failing. When August and Fin were in the NICU, I’d sometimes end up holding and feeding Finley twice in a day and not spending any quality time with August, or vice versa. I’d go home that night feeling guilty and vowing to focus on August the next day.

This concept of splitting my attention equally is not new. I am an only child. While only children get the benefit of all their parents’ attention, we also have the burden of trying to please two parents.

I remember vividly going on a walk in the Sierra Mountains with my parents when I was about 12 years old and being hyper-aware of the amount of time I spent with Mom and Dad. If I pointed out a particularly beautiful wild flower to Mom, I tried to then share a moment appreciating the stunning view with Dad. I was utterly exhausted by the effort of keeping track of and maintaining equal contact with both of them.

At some point, I realized I can never slice myself perfectly down the middle. My relationship with each parent is separate, but not equal. Still, each Christmas I make sure to buy both parents the same number of gifts. They each get one “big” present and several small ones that all equal out to be roughly the same cost. I even make a list comparing Dad’s gifts to Mom’s: he gets a CD, so she gets some bubble bath etc.

With August and Finley, sometimes at the end of a day I feel like one of them has been deprived of his mommy time. Part of my parental fatigue is caused by keeping a running tally of what I did with each boy. How many times did I feed August vs. Finley today? Did I spend more minutes doing tummy time with one of them? Who got more hugs, kisses, cuddles?

Matt often jokingly asks me, “Which baby is your favorite?” I quip back, “Whichever one isn’t crying.”

In truth, I am determined not to favor one baby over the other and I’m devastated knowing I will surely fail. I take solace in the knowledge that as they get older I will have a unique relationship with each son. And for now, I’ll keep trying to match a kiss for a kiss.

I Think We're Alone Now

When I was a teenager I babysat to make spending money, but I had a secret: I was afraid to be alone with the kids I was minding. Now, I am alone with two babies many hours every day and that old fear still bubbles up.

In the mornings as Matt leaves for work and the night nurse heads off into the sunrise, I think, "Don't leave me alone with these babies! What am I going to do when they wake up?"

Of course they always wake up (thank god) and I overcome the fear long enough to do the things you're supposed to do with babies: Pick them up, cuddle them, kiss them, feed them, change them, sing to them, love them. But under the surface the anxiety looms.

I'm not scared of an accident happening. I'm mostly just terrified that August and Finley will cry loudly and uncontrollably. Which they sometimes do. I’m scared they'll cry so long and so loudly that I'll start to cry too, that I'll just sink onto the ground saying, "I can't do this!" or that a neighbor will call child protective services and the three of us will be discovered wailing on the floor of the babies' room and be hauled off by the authorities.

There's also this: Part of it is a fear that I lack the leadership skills to helm a family.

Let me tell you an embarrassing story. When I was in the sixth grade, I was elected class president for the second half of the school year. This was a huge deal because I'd just moved to town at the beginning of the year, so the fact that my new classmates liked me enough to make me their president was really an honor.

But then when the class president from the first semester – a supremely confident and popular girl -- announced my name, she said, "Well, come on up to the front of the room, Marla." She wanted me to take over the rest of the election process, which included taking nominations for vice president etc., and writing the candidates' names on the chalkboard. I have always had awful handwriting and been a terrible speller, so I was petrified to write on the blackboard. I thought everyone would suddenly realize I was not worthy of their votes. I was so scared that I told the teacher I didn't want to be president after all.

It may sound silly, but that decision is one of my biggest regrets. Of course, I should have faced my fears and just gone ahead and been president. I mean, if George W. Bush can be president of the United States, I could handle being president of the sixth grade, right? Anyway, sometimes I still feel like that little girl who doesn't want to be class president. All my self-doubt comes out and I think, "Who left me in charge of these small babies? I'm not qualified for this. There must be some mistake. What if I mess up?"

But the deed is done. I am the president of mommyhood for August and Finley. I can't step down. So when that door closes in the mornings and I'm alone with them, I acknowledge the panic then move on. I'm even starting to enjoy our alone time because of the other feelings it occasionally brings out like confidence, peace and flashes of joy.

Showdown in the Afternoon

I know I recently gushed over motherhood, but yesterday certainly tested my commitment to that sentiment.

Most days I manage to keep the chorus of crying – mine and the babies' – to a minimum. But yesterday turned into crymageddon when August and Finley simultaneously woke up from their naps upset and angry.

My usual strategy with two crying babies is to console one first, give him a pacifier and then put him into whatever baby-holding apparatus is available. Next, I start the process again with screaming baby no. 2, and soon everyone is back from the brink.

But maybe the babies have gotten wise to me. They do not want to be soothed and then dropped into some swing or Boppy pillow. They want to be with Mom – and not just near me, but ON me, in my arms, cuddled against my chest at all times. Believe me, I have tried to cuddle two infants in my arms, but it's basically impossible. Or at least it is for me. With their little unsteady heads bobbing and waving, I need both hands to secure one baby.

Yesterday afternoon, every time I thought I had one baby calm and tried to put him down, he'd start howling again. After a few minutes of this, I realized there was no way I'd get both babies to be quiet at once. I thought I might just have to live with this gut-wrenching, ear-piercing wailing forever. What the hell was I going to do? I considered running into the street and yelling "Help!" in the hopes that some passer-by would come inside and hold a baby. Or just running out into the street and leaving all together. Instead, I decided I would keep Finley calm and I would leave August, who was absolutely apoplectic, in a bouncy chair in his room alone.

"I'm going to heat up the bottles," I said, then walked out while he yelled at the top of his lungs.

As the bottles warmed up, I cuddled Fin in the kitchen and let his brother scream the kind of scream that sounds like it means 'I am dying! I am on FIRE! The world is coming to an END!' I tested the bottles, I heated the water more. The whole processed seemed to be taking an age. All the while, August was yelling like he was being tortured.

Finally, I couldn't listen to that awful cry anymore, so I walked into the room. August had his eyes wide open and was staring at the door looking horrified, as if he thought he'd been abandoned. When he saw me, his cries started to subside. He took some deep breaths. I did the same. I sat on the couch, put my foot onto the bouncy chair and started to bounce August. He looked up at the little stuffed birdies attached to his chair and stopped crying all together.

If August was an adult, we both would have felt a little embarrassed by the scene we'd caused and would apologize to each other. "I'm sorry I got so upset and yelled at you," he would say. "I'm sorry I stormed out," I would say. Then we'd hug. Without that kind of reconciliation possible, I moved my foot so I was touching August's leg and bounced him a little faster. He stared at me quiet and unblinking.

"I love you and I will never leave you," I told him. He sniffled and furrowed his brow like he was about to wail again, but then decided not to.

We sat like that for a long time. Me bouncing August in his chair. Him coming to terms with just being near me. Finley asleep on my chest. In that quiet aftermath of the crying storm, it felt like we were making a pact to stick together, try our best and accept that none of us are perfect.

My So Called Life

Since giving birth, I have missed out on a lot of things.

For instance, I haven't seen the last Harry Potter movie. I think I am the only person in the world who doesn't know who wins -– Harry or Voldemort. I may never know (but please don't tell me!). I'm going to miss a fabulous party in Palm Springs this weekend. For months I haven't been to the gym or a store that sells anything other than diapers or groceries. I have missed birthday parties and barbecues. Hell, I have missed this entire summer.

But, here's the crazy thing: I don't care.

I feel like I shouldn't be enjoying life as a mom yet because right now parenthood consists of cleaning up crap, doing laundry, washing bottles, being screamed at by tiny humans, having an aching back, getting little sleep and essentially being a prisoner in my own home. You know what, though, I totally love it.

August and Finley, to me, are the most divine creatures ever to be made. When I had my first "conversation" with August as he learned to coo, it felt like witnessing a miracle. When Finley smiles at me with his huge gummy grin, it's so much better than Harry Potter. Watching them kick their legs in absolute delight at the stuffed octopus that plays an annoying tune is worth missing a million brunches.

That's not to say that I love motherhood every minute of every day. There are some very dark moments. There are times when Matt looks at me and I know we are both thinking, 'What the hell have we done?' We've done something irrevocable. We can't give these kids back. They are our responsibility for the next 18 years at least. That idea can stop my heart. How will we ever manage that emotionally, physically, financially? I can't go there.

But I can think about the daily sacrifices -– about how one year ago I was in Hawaii on vacation and now I'm lucky to go for a walk around the block. About how my hands are dry and cracked from washing dishes and poop stains. I feel seasick from fatigue. My stomach is fat. My old clothes don't fit. I don't know when I will ever see my friends again or break a sweat at a great aerobics class or savor blueberry pancakes during a leisurely brunch or sleep in past 6 a.m. It could be years. But so what.

Now I have what it took me years to even know I wanted: A home filled with love and noise and chaos and real hard, trying, amazing life.

The Breast of Times, the Worst of Times

Taking care of one baby is no problem, but I'll tell you what is a huge problem for me: breastfeeding.

Breastfeeding is one thing about motherhood that I imagined would be easy -- baby comes out, roots around, latches on, and soon you're whipping out your boob in line at Starbucks with your baby slung around your body.

Not for me. In my story, the babies come out, get whisked to the NICU and have a feeding tube stuck down their throats.

For three weeks, nurses painstakingly taught August and Fin to be able to eat tiny amounts of expressed breast milk from tiny bottles. While the babies were there, I did work on breastfeeding. I met with a lactation consultant and learned how to position the babies, how to squeeze milk into their mouths and watch their suck swallow reflex. I breastfed both babies a handful of times in the hospital.

Once I got home, though, it all fell apart. The exhaustion and the frequency of their meals beat me down so that somehow pumping and feeding milk to them in bottles seemed easier.

Then August and Finley's appetites quickly out-paced my breast milk production, so we introduced formula. Every day, I'd half-heartedly try to get one of them to breastfeed, but they would scream –- really scream –- and push me away like I was poisonous. It may sound silly, but I felt so totally hurt and rejected by my sons. The breastfeeding sessions usually ended with all of us in tears -– and a bottle in the baby's mouth.

I've been ashamed to admit it, but I'm a breastfeeding failure.

Then, I turned a corner, sort of. I met a nurse while Finley was at the hospital last week. She asked me why he wasn't breastfeeding. (Don't even get me started on how people look down on non-breastfeeding moms.) I told her about the NICU and the screaming babies and my feelings of rejection. She stared at me with steely look -– not pity or judgment –- and said, "It's not too late."

The nurse told me that if, for one day, I made August or Fin try the breast at every single feeding, if I pushed through our mutual frustration, by the next day the baby would know how to breastfeed. So, I spent one horribly exhausting day with August yelling, crying, throwing his head back, and pushing his little fists into me at every feeding –- and then he did it. He learned to breastfeed. I tried it with Finley, too, and got him to take partial feedings from me.

It's still not easy. I'm never going to be that laid back earth mama with two babies breastfeeding at once. Both boys still often take a bottle with a mixture of breast milk and formula. I still pump about a million times a day. And I can only get Finley to take one boob -- it's a work in progress -- but I finally, finally, finally can breastfeed my boys.