Eden Bloomfield

Porn star name = Middle name + the name of the street you grew up on.

Let me take this moment to introduce you to Eden Bloomfield (Abbie) our little porn star.

Before she knew how to sit up or hold her own bottle, Abbie had figured out how to take off her clothes. Couple that skill with the adorable birthmark she has on her tushie and appears as though we have a little exhibitionist on our hands. Myspace here we come!

Abbie’s favorite place to strip is in her crib. I got a call from daycare a few weeks ago and they told me (jokingly) that we should consider installing a pole in her room. When I asked why, they told that she had been fully dressed when they put her down for her nap. When she woke up, she was wearing nothing but a diaper. We have had the same thing happen at home too. As demonstrated by these pictures. Trust me, her arm wasn’t hanging out of the sleeper when I put her down for a nap. On the other hand, her flexibility and agility at such a young age is rather impressive.

I added this other picture because it's cute. And because when my sister saw it she asked me if Abbie was wearing lip gloss. I told my sister she was a bit young for Clinique Bonus time.

Dogs as children

I have a new item that I think needs to be included in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM IV).

Obsessive Compusilve Pet Disorder. Characterized by ridiculous need to treat your pet like an actual child.

On the way out of Border’s Bookstore last night, a group of friends and I spied a curious site: a woman pushing a dog in a stroller. And slung around the stroller handle was a pink, Winnie-the-Pooh diaper bag.

Really?

All of us live and socialize in the North Phoenix/Cave Creek/Scottsdale area. And this is not the first time any of us has seen someone pushing a dog in a stroller (sad, but true). If you go up to Scottsdale Fashion Square Mall you see this all the time. I once saw a woman totting her yappy dog in baby carrier reminiscent of the Baby Bjorn that I use to carry the girls. Apparently there are a lot of women in this area with too much time and money on their hands who are struggling with empty nest syndrome. These are the same women who disown their children for looking at them sideways, die, and then leave their multi-million dollar estates to Kiki, the annoying Malti-Poo who just crapped in the linen section of Pottery Barn.

But I think the diaper bag is what pushed us over the edge.

I know what I carry in my diaper bag (diapers, wipes, extra formula, diaper creak, flask of alcohol), but what does one put in a dog diaper bag? Milk Bones? An extra leash? A plastic bag to pick up their poop? And really, couldn’t that stuff just fit in your purse?

There is something oddly amusing to me about people that treat their dogs like actually babies. I know that dogs are living breathing creatures with personalities and that for may people they are considered members of the family. But dogs are not people. They are animals (Canis familiaris domesticus, thank you Wikipedia). And unless it’s an assistance dog, I don’t think dogs belong at the mall or the bookstores. Dogs belong in parks, the backyard, or sprawled out across the bed.

Dan and I are dog people. I love Elie and Ginger (most of the time, except when Elie pee’s in the house) but the day I take them for a quick jaunt to Fashion Square and put them in a stroller is officially the day that I will need a 72-hour hold and a Thorazine drip.

Husbands

I don't understand Dan. He makes fun of the "Twilight" book series and makes fun of people who read the series. He thinks it is a trite romance novel that glorifies "weak"women and enocourages them to be submissive to men. And that it was designed to enthrall 15 year old girls. And it has vampires. And while he likes vampire books, he thinks Twilight is stupid because it's about love and vampires. So I had to giggle when I found him playing "Vampire Wars" on Facebook last night. Because personally, I think grown men who play vampire games on the Internet that involve role playing is stupid.

Another sign that I've been married too long. . . when my idea of foreplay becomes a husband who cleans the house. Sad but true.

Favor to ask

I've joked in the past that four people read this blog. But I am starting to wonder if more people read this than I had previously thought. That said, if you stop by and read, will you shoot me an email and let me know? Or just leave a comment. . .even an anonymous one.

I'll be honest, it's an ego thing. And I am curious.

A Long Overdue Post

So, it’s been a while.

In the last week I have had a couple of people ask me when I am going to update the blog. The answer is complicated.

I tend to write in waves. There have been periods of time in my life when writing occurred organically and the words flowed with ease. And there are times when I just haven’t felt like saying much (shocking, I know). Writing is cathartic for me, but for the last few months I just haven’t felt the urge to sit and write. There has been plenty to say, and a lot going on, but that urge to sit and put it on paper just wasn’t there. Frankly, the best place to go for updates on me and the kids was Facebook.

Instead of writing, I’ve been doing a lot of reflection. I think for me the biggest challenge of the last few months has been adapting to life with twins. It sounds silly. But for 8 months all we did was live, eat, breath, and sleep pregnancy. And not just any pregnancy, “high-risk-spontaneous-twins” pregnancy. We lived life from one doctor appointment to the next, never knowing with 100% certainty what the outcome of each appointment would be. And then Hannah and Abbie were born and we spent 12 weeks trying to simply survive. It may have looked easy, but it wasn’t. It was hard. And anyone who tells you that having a baby doesn’t strain a marriage is lying.

Then I went back to work. I like working. I find it empowering. And going back to work was a forgone conclusion. But I wasn’t pregnant and anymore and the girls were no longer newborns. The novelty of the twin experience had worn off. Leaving work for fun things like ultrasounds and check-ups were replaced with phone calls from daycare about babies with RSV or diarrhea. I am not an attention seeking person, but it’s easy to get seduced by the attention that comes with pregnancy. . . especially a twin pregnancy. Everyone else had moved on, but I hadn’t. I couldn’t. Because even today, eight months later, I am still trying to process it all.

There is a part of me that looks at my pregnant friends and acquaintances with longing and a twinge of jealously. Pregnancy is such an exciting time. And as miserable, hot, and anxious as I was at the end, I would do it all over again in a heartbeat. Realistically, we’re probably not having more kids. And that makes me sad. As I have tried to process these feelings and reflect on them, blogging wasn’t something I could do. I started this blog to share the pregnancy with others and posting was another reminder that this phase of my life was over. Logically I knew that I should be focusing on watching my daughters develop from babies into little girls, but emotionally I had to mourn the fact this part of my life is more than likely “over.” I was ashamed to feel this way, and even more ashamed to share this with others out of fear that I would seem ungrateful. Instead of finding joy when the girls hit a milestone, I felt sadness that they were growing up. The decision to stop nursing was something I agonized over because it was a physical acknowledgement that they were no longer “babies.” Then I had an epiphany.

I have accomplished a lot in the last 18 months. I completed the Breast Cancer 3-Day (60 miles walk to raise money from breast cancer research) the month before I got pregnant with the girls. I carried Hannah and Abbie 35 weeks and 6 days without complication or bed rest, and I delivered them vaginally. I breast fed the twins for 7 months, which is a lot longer than many women nurse singletons. It was as if I had been running so hard and so fast for so long that I crossed the finished line and kept going. It was when I stopped, took a breath, and acknowledged all these things that my perspective changed. Moving forward became a little easier. That was the difference.

I know that I have rambled a lot in this post, and it may not make sense to anyone else but me. It was probably more answer than you wanted. But as I said earlier, writing is cathartic. And I tend to express myself more clearly on paper than I do when I speak. So if you’ve read this far, mazel tov!

Pictures and a happy-kid upate is forthcoming.