Beauty and Progress

Baby Sarah was born at a healthy 6 lb 3 oz, but when we found her having lost more than 10% of her body weight within the first few days, we were advised (by doctor and lactation consultant alike) to try bottle feeding so that we could monitor exactly what she was taking in. It turns out her sucking reflex was weak, so for all of her work, she wasn't getting much at the breast.


Sarah quickly mastered bottles, and it shows! The picture on the left was taken at two weeks of age, and the one on the right at 4 weeks. I think she's gorgeous in both shots, of course, but the change from porcelain doll to thriving baby is striking. (Click on the picture to see a larger version of it-- notice her emerging chubby cheeks!)

Who's who? (Diaper checks are for sissies!)

There's something gratifying about being able to tell your children apart from one another. It helps, of course, that they're not identical and that they have different anatomies, but apart from what is revealed by a quick diaper check, they do resemble one another, don't you think?

Some of the first differences we noticed and still go by include Sarah's heart-shaped face vs. Juan's round face; Sarah's darker, more plentiful hair vs. Juan's lighter hair; Sarah's long, elegant fingers and toes vs. Juan's shorter, stockier deditos; Sarah's vertical frown line on her forehead vs. Juan's horizontal frown line on the bridge of his nose.

But Sarah and Juan are most mutually self-differentiating when they're in motion. Juanito's stock posture gives him an air of Captain Kirk on the control deck: hands out to his side, low and relaxed. He will be a confident, if skeptical leader.

Sarah, meanwhile, is more Adrian Monk (from the TV show, Monk, which I watched a lot of while pregnant), her hands and feet crossing slowly, flourishing and weaving as she takes in the scene before her. She might solve a crime! Swaddle Sarah as tightly as you can, and her escape-artist hands will free themselves-- and awaken their owner-- within the hour.

But what I love most these days are the things Sarah and Juan happen to have in common, due probably more to their developmental stage (remember: primitive creatures) than their personalities.

Rooting: Both kids are charming rooters; this is what they do when they're hungry. Like baby birds, they open their mouths, and with eyes closed (or, extra hungry, wide eyed and wild) they shake their heads back and forth as if saying "no" when in fact they're all about YES: feed me, feed me. The idea being that if they move their mouths back and forth, sooner or later they'll find something nourishing to latch on to. There's this wonderful moment when they find contact with the nipple, but they're still in the throes of "no" wagging, so that for a few seconds before the latch, they're furiously avoiding exactly what they're seeking. I'll miss this when they grow out of it, but I guess it's a good thing to grow out of, no? I mean, I can't really see an adult endearing himself to others with this wild-eyed, open-mouthed, wagging-head dance. Unless you're Mick Jagger.

Startle reflex: Stop a minute and listen to all of the noises that make up the white noise in your environment. Now, pick the most unlikely of the member noises, like clicking your mouse, and imagine being utterly surprised by that sound-- so surprised, in fact that you just have to throw out your arms and legs as if you were riding a big ol' Harley. That's the startle reflex, also called the Moro reflex. Both Juan and Sarah are masters of startle, resembling mad little orchestra conductors getting after the second violins for missing a cue. Be ready! Here we go! Now, PLAY!

Squeaking: Both kids do it, but Sarah's especially fond of squeaking. I think it goes with stretching, which both babies now do with gusto, as well as yawning. Oddly, none of the sounds generated by Juan or Sarah-- including outright screaming-- startles the other in the least. No, that would require a terrible sound, like the sound of a Post-it being removed from its dispenser in the next room.

Blode to the Night Nurse

If I could write a poetic ode, I would, but a blog ode, or blode, will have to suffice: after weeks of sleep deprivation, we hired a night nurse to care for the babies so that we could sleep like them. With 7 hours of sleep behind me, I already feel more human, and the babies seem to have fared well. Nurse Brigge (pronounced like "Bridget") will become a recurring character in our new life sitcom, which for now we'll call The Beautiful Primitive Creatures of Lancaster Road.

3 Weeks Old

Our children, these lovely primitive creatures (as our pediatrician describes them at this stage) are twenty-one days old. The living room is Base Camp here at Casa Caballero-Taylor, and the Olympic Games are the backdrop to our own emerging world records: first time reaching out to touch daddy's face, most ounces consumed, weight gained, and the greatest number of poopy diapers produced in a day.

Will you be shocked to know that Mommy has *not* been writing down sweet little details for the creatures' baby books? Time is cruel that way... when we're not feeding one child or the other, we're changing said diapers, and I'm pumping and monitoring milk and formula supply, washing bottles and dishes from our hastily eaten meals, and doing paperwork (babies' social security cards arrived yesterday!). Email is a wonderful treat, and every friend who writes even the shortest message of encouragement and connection with the world beyond is much appreciated.

As I write this, things seem manageable. My lovely husband was up all night con la niña Sarita, who's been congested (docs say it's probably just vernix working its way out of the lungs, but wow can this girl snort and sneeze with the best of 'em). So Juan's now sleeping for a couple of hours by himself and I've got both kids, fed and changed. The niña is sleeping in a donut-shaped "boppy" pillow, the only way she'll sleep today unless she's on your chest, and el niño Juanito is swaddled on me in a sling, first time I've used it, and he seems to really like it. He's the more alert/active of the two at this stage, and I think he gets fussy after after a while of staring into middle space when he's not sleeping or eating. But being in the mommy sling listening to Macy Gray and Talking Heads and REM... I think that's more his style.

Today is the twins' thee-week birthday and, incidentally, the day Nature intended them to be born. Twenty one days since the c-section, and I'm dancing around the house a little bit each morning now; the doc did a good job, I'll say, despite my ongoing disappointment that the birth went such a surgical route. At least the healing has been speedy and most of all, thank goodness the babies are healthy despite their choreographed early arrival.

So here's the birth story, which I'm writing as a form of therapy in an effort to be somewhat done with it. From the start of the pregnancy, my docs insisted that the twins shouldn't stay in utero longer than 37 weeks (full term is 40 weeks), so when the time rolled around and I still hadn't given birth, they recommended induction. By this point, I was physically really miserable (gaining 70 pounds over 6 months will do that to you) and I'd been having heavy contractions for 3 nights in a row, feeling like I was going to go into labor on my own any moment, but also fearing that I wouldn't... that I was in for 3 more weeks of this... so I consented to the induction with the proviso that I'd have one of the docs that was really open to helping me give birth vaginally.

Little did I know that inductions can fail. After 9 hours on a pitocin IV drip (to induce contractions and, by extention, dilation of the cervix), I was contracting every 2 minutes yet had exactly Zero change in my cervix. Imagine. I'd been given an epidural (pain management installed in the spinal cavity) about four hours into the pitocin drip because the physical exams were so excruciating and my anxiety level so high... so by the time the induction was determined to have failed (what a word!), I had two choices: go home pregnant and try again another day (I'm not kidding... this was a stated option) or have a c-section. Well. I was in a state. But I just wasn't prepared to go home having already faced the pitocin and the epidural (the insertion procedure for which was truly hellish) and knowing that I'd face more nights of utter misery and contractions at home. I felt trapped. So there we were, with a c-section.

For the record, the procedure went without a hitch. Babies' heart rates were stellar throughout, as was mine. Juan had a view of the whole process: the layered incisions, the retrieval of Baby A (Sarah) followed by Baby B (Juan), and the methodical suturing, moving up layer by layer until all that showed was a 5-inch incision below my belly. I felt nothing and everything: the anesthesiologist works a kind of magic that lets you feel movement (e.g. someone pressing down on your abdomen) but not pain. Such medical advances remind me that we humans are very advanced creatures in some respects.

So why the long face? The delivery of my healthy babies is of course a gigantic consolation, but then again their health was never in question. So I'm grappling with anger about this medicalized chain of events that seemed so avoidable and yet so inevitable. I'd spent MONTHS working to avoid precisely this scenario, yet in the end, surgery was used to deliver two perfectly healthy babies who were showing no signs of stress, who were entirely capable of being delivered vaginally from a mother who also was fine (though freaked out). For my doctor, for the medical practice to which she belonged, and for the medical system of which they are a part, it was simply efficient and, from a risk management (read: insurance) perspective, low risk to move ahead with a c-section.

Well, let them try being on the receiving end. The birth experience left me reeling, especially for the first week when the incisions were painful enough to inspire taking heavy doses of oxycontin-- ooh, I could fly! The residual hormones floating around made me prone to crying jags. Husband, parents and friends have been sympathetic and understanding, lucky for me, but these thoughts are enduring enough that I feel the need to write them down.

Crying jags aside, I haven't suffered signs of postpartum depression. I'm enjoying my babies, even when they're screaming simultaneously... I just think of their wailing as their own special kind of singing, since wailing is all they can do, acoustically speaking. And maybe it *is* singing, for all we know. So I sing back at them and I dance. Fifty of those 70 pounds I gained have magically disappeared, allowing me to move like I haven't moved since last April (go breast feeding diet). And wonder of wonders, my hands are working again, the carpal-tunnel symptoms having retreated, which means I have almost full sensation in my fingertips.

That said, these fingers are ready to take a rest, so I'll stop here.

They're here!

(To see this slide show in a larger format, click anywhere on the slideshow.)




A lot of growing has happened since my last posting in April, needless to say. I grew and grew and grew until I couldn't grow anymore, and then ta-DA!!!

Oh, if only it were that easy. Let me just say that I have developed enormous respect for motherhood and the people who help women become part of the "club"-- doulas, midwives, lactation specialists, and, yes, doctors. For me, this group also includes the neighbors and friends who came to my house bearing roses, gelatto and People Magazine during my final weeks of pregnancy and most of all my parents, who drove here from New Mexico to help us be prepared for this huge change-- CHANGE.

Juan and I are proud to announce that Sarah Caroline Caballero-Taylor and Juan Ricardo Caballero-Taylor were born on July 25, 2008, weighing in at 6 lb 2 oz. and 6 lb 1 oz, respectively.

We all came home from the hospital on July 29 in good shape, and these two beautiful babies are keeping us busy, sleep deprived and struck with awe and love.

I'll write more when I can, but meanwhile here are some photos of Sarita, Juanito, and their proud parents and maternal grandparents. We'll be going to Mérida in December to share our joys with the Caballero side of the family.