I know that babies don't make a real life out of a fake one. That the difference between before and after is far more complicated than easy polarities.
I know that I'm no wiser a person, though I'm definitely a more purposeful one. When I look at Reese and Elliott, I don't know what it is I'm feeling. I just know that it's right, and it's big, and it's not just love, and it's not just evolution.
I know, that I'm not a good enough writer or thinker, to encapsulate all that this is. And it means too much to me to do anything less than let it be.


Reese is four pounds now. Elliott trails behind by ten ounces. The nurses ask more frequently if we have everything ready at home yet.
I get the feeling Jesse and I have just hit one of those fast moving pockets of time. In five seconds I will open my eyes and there will be a baby in my hands,
instead of this computer.
Five.
Four.
Three.
Two.
One.

It's just past midnight. Jesse and I are home from the hospital after holding Reese and Elliott for an hour.
When the nurses motion for us to hand them over, we nod with exaggerated compliance.
We understand. Of course. Time for these two to get some sleep!
We do understand.
But these babies are beginning to grow on us quite a bit.
And I think we're starting to get ideas.
Like sometimes I really want to stick my finger in Elliott's mouth.
Or I've looked over to find Jesse rubbing his chin over Reese's head and practically purring.
We're not necessarily breaking any rules, as much as we're not asking what the rules are anymore.

It's been raining today.

Erik Satie plays in the living room.
Jesse's found some old emails I sent him.
I'm reminded of those nights after a long day of flying. Sitting up with my laptop and listening to the silence until suddenly,
there were thoughts.

When our visit was over, I opened Elliott's little window and said,
"Goodnight little boy. I love you. I'll be back tomorrow morning. I'll miss you."
Then I crossed over to Reese's crib and opened his window. I said,
"Goodnight Reese. You're the best. I love you."

Erik Satie is so sad and pretty, like walking alone at night.

I'm drinking chai tea. The tag at the end of the string has a quote from Abraham Lincoln.
"The goal to succeed is more important than any one thing."
I think I liked another of his quotes better.
"If I were two faced, do you think I'd choose to walk around with this one."
Reese and Elliott are doing good.
This past week has been good.
I made cookies and Jesse cleaned the garage, and we're okay.
I think we're coming around the bend.

Tonight the doctor said,
We don't have answers. That's not a fair position for you two to be in, but it's true.
He said,
Nothing is certain.
He said,
There is no crystal ball.
He said,
Don't get ahead of yourself. Do it day by day. Sometimes hour by hour.

All of this, of course, was in response to our repeated attempts at angling for answers. We want them so badly that we kept asking.
Even though we knew better.
Or rather, even though we knew we should know better.

I think we liked him.
We liked the way he didn't smile too much. The way he made eye contact without being charismatic. We liked that he explained things as they are in all their complexity, rather than using metaphors.
He had gained our confidence.
Not that he could fix anything. Not that he could make it better or do anything differently than the next guy. He just seemed to be talking to us, rather than delivering a speech or expressing what kind of doctor he is.
It went a long way.

When our meeting was done, we very appreciatively shook his hand and thanked him; knowing nothing more than we had before speaking with him.

In parting, I said something like, "I feel better. I don't know why, but I do."
Which did not mean that I felt good or happy. I just felt less shitty.
I'm fairly sure Jesse felt something similar.

I'm trying very hard to develop a philosophy that will carry us through this.
Tonights doctor wasn't the first to tell us we shouldn't get ahead of ourselves, but I liked him a little more and so it left a stronger impression.

As I meditate on it now, I really hope I can achieve some level of peace and acceptance of the unknown and I guess, with whatever we eventually do know.
In the meantime, I'm not there yet. Only lasting several minutes before I find myself fighting off a myriad of emotions for events that haven't happened yet.

Today I was reminded of the mantra, "This too shall pass."
I thought,
I don't like that mantra.
Not all things do pass. Somethings last forever.

So I decided to make a better mantra.
And I came up with,
This will not pass.
I wasn't necessarily comforted by my mantra, but I think it's going to give me solutions.
If something isn't going to pass, you have to learn how to make it a part of your life.
Maybe I'm wrong.
I'm still figuring out how to drive this thing.

It's late now, and I'm sure I'm missing an episode of House somewhere in cable land.
Goodnight folks.

I'm in the process of finishing my thank you notes. Before I began, I felt a bit overwhelmed by the task. I wondered how I could possibly express my sincerity while listing off inventories of the gifts we received.
I've never written a thank you card before. Looking back, there are many occasions when I should have, and I didn't.
I've avoided most events that would make me feel obligated towards people. The thought of someone doing something for me; made my throat constrict.

The never ending obligation.

But Jesse and I became pregnant.
And when you're having babies, there's not a lot of choice in the matter anymore.
People are going to get involved.
And so, for the first time, maybe in my life, I set foot into this foggy world in which people do nice things for eachother without asking for a receipt.
I wasn't naturally comfortable with it, but I submitted myself.

Several months later I sit down to complete my one and only task.
Thank you cards.
As I conceptualized it before hand, I couldn't figure out how I'd say thank you in such a powerful way that it would some how break even.

I've finished all but a few of them now. Tomorrow the cards will probably go out, and I realize that I didn't settle the score.
Fortunately, I'm pleased to find through the process that thank you cards aren't about math.
I had a genuine desire to meditate on each person and the good thing they'd done for us.
Often I'd drift from writing in an attempt to figure out the parameters of this experience regarding its effect on my life.
Of course, I couldn't. It just go's on exponentially.
At each bend we've encountered, I learn of some new way this has unexpectedly and drastically changed... everything.
In this case, it's the simple lesson that receiving gifts can feel really nice without any need for residual anxiety.
That sometimes people actually want to do something for me, and they're not asking me to enter a contract.

Which is not to say there isn't a contract.
There definately is.
But neither of us oversaw the fine print.
It just happened.
And I'm breathing just fine.

Jesse's upstairs rinsing off before we head to the hospital.

I took a five hour nap today.
I was trying my old tricks.
I even had Jesse's permission to be completely useless.
But then my phone started ringing, and when I looked at caller i.d., it was the NICU.
They said they needed permission to do something to Reese.
After coming down stairs to explain the situation to Jesse, I called them back.
They need multiple witnesses for my permission over the phone, so one after another...

"This is Emelda, do we have your consent?"
"You have my consent."

"This is Kimberly, do we have your consent?"
"Yes. I consent."

"This is Dr. Han, do we have your consent?"
"Yes."

I'm beginning to think that the only way to cope with a situation of this magnitude, is to fake it.

Today I found myself saying,
Everything is going to be okay.
Somehow, that actually made me feel better.

The doctors have told us to educate ourselves on all the medical terms and procedures we're confronting. When I asked them if we'd be able to do anything with that information, they said, "No... But knowledge is power."
"But then.." I said, "I do want to know what's going on, but knowing doesn't actually help anything, does it?"
They grinned as though I missed the point and were too tired to go over it again with me.
"We don't want you to challenge us. But we want to empower you with knowledge."

Jesse kindly countered that we don't feel empowered. That we feel quite powerless no matter what we know or don't know.

And that's the closest thing to a story I have to tell today.

Jesse's ready to go. He's sitting on the stairs waiting.

People

They've given me little dolls to rub my scent on.
A tag wrapped around each neck, explains they were donated by the local Catholic church.
I imagine someone like Nanny sitting around with a bunch of other ladies like Nanny, speaking softly while putting together these simple creatures.
I have two.
One for Elliott and one for Reese.
They're made of printed fabric.
The head is a ball tied off at the neck. The body is the remaining fabric, left to drift like a ghost.
Reese's doll has puppy dogs in strollers.
Elliott's has tractors.
These are the ones I have with me.
There are also two more in their beds right now.
This way we can switch them out, so I can smell them, and they can smell me.

I lay them in my lap with a few pictures taken in the NICU, while I pump breast milk.
As the days go by, the storage bags get fuller.
I count the ounces as though it were some measure of my love; my usefulness. When I'm done pumping, Jesse seals the bags and brings them directly to the nurses.

Tomorrow I get discharged. I go home just one day short of a month after my arrival.

The nurse has told me that getting the staples out wont hurt.

I don't want to go home.
I want to stay here and be on bed rest for eight more weeks, like I'd planned to.
I want to be put in a coma til time has caught up with us, and everything is as I wish it were.

But tomorrow I go home and begin reclaiming a part of my life. I do feel a deep need for some normalcy. I want to cook my own food, set my own schedule, and see people in a normal way, rather than being visited.

The full force of this experience is approaching me. I'm glad it wasn't sooner, as the staples in my belly couldn't withstand that kind of breathing.

They always said that each day I kept the babies in my belly was like three on the outside.
Maybe I needed three days inside myself, before I was ready to receive today.

I am all love.

Most of the time it makes me laugh,
and sometimes it makes me dream about wolves,
and right now it has me a bit oozy.

It's more than I could ever hope for, or dare to have.
With nothing equitable to give in return.

It is... Saturday.
Reese and Elliott are behaving so far. Reese taunts me by aiming himself right for the birth canal. Reminding me of a skydiver waiting for the hatch to open. He's quiet most of the time, only kicking enough to let us know he's still on board. Elliott rolls and pushes all day long. I imagine he's telling me jokes in morris code, and I laugh very loud so he can here me.
Yesterday the nurses let us wheel down to the NICU for an informal orientation. In the past few days we've come to accept that things might go faster than we desired. The NICU was far less scary than I had imagined. To our great fortune, a young mom happened to be visiting her twin boys. She let us roll up and talk to her for a few minutes. She couldn't have been more positive and praising of the staff and experience.
Leaving, I wondered if we had been duped.
If this sweet girl we had been speaking with was in fact an animatronic creation on loan from Disneyland.
Regardless, it had worked. I was feeling much better. I was feeling like things might get very difficult, but they wont get tragic.

We're pretty familiar with all the nurses now. An unexpected favorite is Vicky. She has a strong Taiwanese accent. She's brought in movies for me to watch. Jesse refuses to join me for Joy Luck Club. Vicky loves Jesse. She calls him "Brian Pitt". We don't want to correct her.

Friday marked 27 weeks and as much as I didn't understand the women who blog about "making it", I am beginning to catch on. I've gone from completely laid back and mostly dismissive of subtle aches and pains, to a person who repeatedly tracks the development and health statistics of preterm birth.
Otherwise, I'm beginning to come down from the height of my anxiety. It's my nature to believe that bad things wont happen to me. My dreams remain positive, though they've changed. Now I dream that they're completely healthy and able to nurse, but they're premature.

Although everything in my life is centered on this pregnancy, I still have moments when I stop and feel like I'm only just finding out there are babies inside me. In only a few months at best, we'll move on to something so different that we wont have time to look back on the days we spent here.
As of now, it's really unimaginable.