Friday, July 20, 2012

He promised me he would live to be a hundred...

Last week, on Friday the 13th, my father, my kids grandfather, passed away. 58 years old and perfectly healthy, he died in his sleep from a massive cardiac arrest. We never saw it coming...

Life will never be the same without him.

Goodbye, papa. Goodbye grandpa. We love you.

Tuesday, January 3, 2012

Still in time, right?


Freely translated: We wish you all a 'fairy' nice 2012!!!

Oh how I love need photoshop! There's no way in hell I could ever get all three of them looking even a little bit decent in just the ONE picture. And it saved us having to buy a second and third Kabouter Plop costume... ;-)

Thursday, November 17, 2011

One out of every ten children...


- One of these three kids is a big fan of jigsaw puzzles...
- One of these three kids is very very VERY strong-willed...
- Two of these three kids are twins...
- One of these three kids is the best hugger in the whole wide world...
- Two of these three kids are constantly trying to win but never do because they are too busy crying about maybe NOT winning...
- Two of these three kids are starting school (not pre-school, not daycare, no, honest-to-god SCHOOL) in just a couple of weeks... Yikes...
- One of these kids is napping right now...
- Two of these kids are finally caught up with their peers lengthwise...
- One of these kids is a lot skinnier than most people want him to be (f*ck them, I love him just the way he is)...

- All three of these kids are mine...
- All THREE of these kids were born prematurely...

- So is one in every TEN children born into this world...

Today is World Prematurity Day. A day to cherish every single one of those children. A day to celebrate the ones who are still with us. A day to remember those who never made it out of the hospital alive.

And a day to tell others about them!

Please tell me about yours...

Monday, July 25, 2011

I don't get it...

...I really don't...

I don't get why anyone would impersonate a cop to be able to gather as many CHILDREN as possible around him. So he can easily SHOOT every single one of them. To then walk around and shoot them all AGAIN to make sure they are really dead and not just pretending. To then start walking around searching for anyone else alive. So he can keep going. And going. And going.

Why that someone would surrender as soon as the real cops come. Would willingly confess to his hideous crime. And would go on to say that what he did was terrible, but that he doesn't think he should be punished for it.

This was not an act of someone who was desperate, someone who didn't know what he was doing. Not an act of desperation by a confused teenager bringing a gun to school. Or a sudden burst of anger by someone who's lost his way and thinks he will never be able to find it again.

This was well thought through. Planned until the very last second. 'Doelbewust'. And very, very sick.


Just thinking of all those young people, a lot of them still children, and what they had to go through before they died (or by some miracle made it out alive) makes me physically ill.

Thinking of their parents at home, having just send their loved one off to youth camp, a place where they undoubtedly felt their child would be safe regardless of the political nature of the event.

When that bomb went off in Oslo they probably thought: "Thank God my child is safely tucked away on that island. Thank God my child wasn't where that bomb was!"

Oh, how they were wrong.


How will those parents, those brothers and sisters, those children who did get safely off the island, how will they ever be able to live with what they have gone through? What they are still going through? What they will be going through for the rest of their lives? How will they be able to keep going? How will they live with those images burned into their brains?


I just don't get it...

Tuesday, June 14, 2011

Oh, the joys of potty training

I missed the right window with Ivo. He seemed to be ready a year and a half ago, only just two years old: staying dry for long periods, telling me when his diaper needed changing, not wanting to poo unless in bed. Because I was on bedrest with our youngest at the time I just couldn't do it. There was no way I could rush him to the potty every time he'd ask for it. So I decided not to tell him the thing existed. He completely lost interest by the time our youngest was born fifteen months ago.

After numerous tries on my end starting last summer (a couple of weeks at a time, going back to diapers every time they proved not to be ready yet), having them sit on the potty with their diaper on, going cold turkey (naked in summer, clothes on in winter) and even full on bribery (stickers, toys, chocolate, ANYTHING), I was ready to just give up.

They suddenly decided they didn't want to wear diapers anymore (while awake) about three months ago. Just like that. It went great with anything liquid: Ivo managed to poop on the potty/toilet every other time, but Robin just didn't know how to let go of her poop sitting down. Weeks and weeks of washing out dirty underwear several times a day ensued. At one time I was so so so sick of it that I was on the phone with my mom, crying "They will NEVER get this! I will be washing out their pooped-in underwear until they go to college!! Oh wait. They probably won't even GO to college... I will be washing out their poopy stuff until I DIE!!"

Of course my daughter was in the bathroom with me right at that very moment. And there she went. Pooped on the toilet successfully for the very first time. For Grandma. Of course. Sigh...

About two weeks later they both decided they didn't want to wear a diaper at night, either. Or during long car rides. Oh oh... Shit!

But it appears they themselves knew they were ready before I did. I have had to change the bedding only three times in two and a half months. Twice in the first week, once after they had a very busy few days. There have been quite a few daytime accidents, but those were mostly 'not quite getting to the toilet in time' (Ivo with peeing, Robin with pooing). No real accidents in the past two weeks.

I had a box of m&m's in the fridge in the beginning: they could have one after every successful pee/poo. We hadn't touched it in weeks, they just stopped asking for it one day and I didn't remind them.

Just Yesterday I said to them "You know what? It's time for a celebration! You are both big kids now, we don't need those anymore. Let's go eat them ALL!!"

They dug into it like there was no tomorrow! Chocolate was EVERYWHERE! And after it was all gone they were so proud of themselves. "We are BIG kids now, aren't we, mommy?"

My kids are growing up. Sometimes it seems to take forever for them to get there. But mostly it just happens so fast I see them walking in front of me, chatting away at each other, and just don't know what hit me...

Friday, April 8, 2011

Only a name

When we stopped using birth control over 8 years ago my (then boyfriend now) husband gave me a baby-names book for my birthday. We worked our way through it in the car the next week, on the way to his parents. Giggling at most, laughing out loud at some, writing down others. When we got to his parents house we'd found one name that was IT for both of us. It was a name that could be used for both a boy and a girl, but we instantly reserved it for our firstborn girl. She would be named Robin, and she would of course be born within the year (because we were still blissfully ignorant and stupid back then).

For many years, we would dream about our baby girl Robin. It's not that we preferred a girl over a boy, not at all. But we couldn't agree on any boy's names. And having a name for our imaginary girl made it easier to fantasize about her. Dreaming about 'some kid' is a lot harder than imagining holding hands with the little girl you already know the name of.

So for many years, we held onto that image of our little girl, Robin. She started of as a little baby all those years ago on the way to my parents in law, our little daughter-to-be. As the years went by and the children around us grew up, so did she. With every year that passed, I'd think about how old our Robin would be, had we gotten pregnant right away. I'd imagine what she'd look like, what she would be doing, how we'd cuddle her and play with her. After a couple of years I even started imagining her playing with the little sister (told you we couldn't agree on any boy's names) she might have already had, had we not been infertile. Our imaginary daughter playing with her imaginary sister.

They were what kept us going during all those years. Through all our treatments, at all my hospital visits, they were what kept me 'sane'. Our two little girls.

Then, after 4 years of dreaming and a whole bunch of fertility treatments, we finally saw those precious double lines. We had transferred two, and for some reason we both instantly referred to the still unknown inhabitant(s) of my womb as "our children". When the ultrasound 3 weeks later showed TWO heartbeats, we weren't surprised. We freaked out, cried, got scared and wondered what the hell we'd gotten ourselves into, of course. but we weren't surprised. Those tiny heartbeats couldn't be anything else then our two baby girls. We'd been imagining them for so long, we were sure they had finally come to us!

Imagine our surprise when the 20-week ultrasound showed a BOY! They couldn't see what Baby-A was going to be: s/he was doing everything humanly possible to stay out of sight. But Baby-B was most definitely male.

It took us a couple of weeks to wrap our minds around the fact that we were going to have a son. We dug up the babyname book and frantically started discussing boys' names, never agreeing on one for longer than a few days. What the hell would we do when Baby-A would turn out to be a boy as well? We couldn't even agree on the ONE name, let alone TWO!

Baby-A and Baby-B decided to show themselves to the world two months early. We named Baby-B, our firstborn son, Ivo. We now know it fits him like a glove, but had he been born a couple of days earlier or later, he'd have been given a completely different name. We named Baby-A, our firstborn child and daughter, Robin.

Our son was GIVEN his name. Our daughter was BORN INTO hers.

We have a second son now, too. Born from the same IVF-cycle as his big brother and sister. He was GIVEN his name, same as his brother. Our bonus-baby. Our Joris.

We still have one name waiting. Waiting for a child to be born into. A daughter. A little girl.

She will most likely never be born. We are infertile. We are all out of embryo's. We will never start another fresh cycle. We've been there, done that. We are well and truly DONE with treatments. Besides: never in our wildest dreams had we ever thought we would be the parents of THREE children. We hoped for TWO, but for a long time feared we'd never even have ONE. Three is nothing short of a miracle!

She will forever be a part of our family, though. Growing up together with her two brothers and her big sister. She will always be a part of me, even though she's never actually 'been'. She's only an image. Only a dream.

Only a name...

Friday, March 4, 2011

Boy, time flies when things are going well...

The past year there were NO hospital visits (apart from that first week in neonatology), NO physiotherapy appointments, NO pre-speech/eat-therapy, NO cardiology scares, NO cognitive testing, NO worries...

As a result, time has flown by so fast we didn't even see this coming:


The past year was one of giggles, of cuddles, of playing, of laughter. You have learned to roll, to eat, to crawl, to pull yourself up on everything within your reach. And you have learned all that without any special help from us. You have gotten to know your big brother and sister: you play with them, laugh with them, are cuddled and kissed by them. And you have learned to duck when they are throwing things your way, a lifesaving skill you will probably enjoy and perfect over the years to come.

They have gotten to know you, too. They now know puzzles and drawings are things to be made at the 'big' table, where your little fingers can't reach them and they are safe from being eaten. They know they have to be careful with you, they just choose to ignore that knowledge whenever they see fit. They love 'reading' and singing to you just as much as they hate it when you take (and eat) things that belong to them. They see you growing up and are celebrating every little milestone with us. They probably won't know what hit them the minute you start taking your first steps...

You have learned to love, and be loved by, everyone around you. You are a joy to be around and we love you to pieces!

"Is it his birthday? Is he one now, mama?"

Yes, you are ONE!!!