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...

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...

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!!!

Three years ago, today...

Three years ago, today, we got to take you both HOME for the very first time.

Three years ago, today, you slept in your own little cribs in your own little room for the very first time in your life.

I know today is not your actual birthday. For me, though, January 22nd will always be a very special day...

I love you both so, so much!

Look at us now!

Just over three years ago the last in a long list of treatments gave us 5 tiny but oh so precious little embryo's. Two of those turned into our now 2 1/2 year old twins. Their start in life was scary and premature and there were times when I feared for their lives, their futures. But against all odds they have since grown into two of the most amazing toddlers the planet has ever seen.

A year ago today (well, okay, yesterday) was the day a very faint blue line told me the third and last survivor of those 5 little embryo's had settled itself in my uterus and dug itself deep down into my heart. His start 7 months later wasn't nearly as premature or scary as that of his big brother and sister, but he is just as big of a miracle as they are.

Look at those three little eggs now!



Just over three years ago I had almost lost hope of ever becoming a mother. That last IVF was brutal. I was just about ready to throw in the towel. With every injection all I could think was "After this cycle, I am NEVER going to empty another syringe into my belly! I give up!!" I almost DID give up. The very last shot was delivered by my husband, their father, because I just couldn't do it anymore. I was done. Beaten. Without hope.

And look at me now...



I am a mother!!!

We're home, and all is well!

Yes, it IS a boy! He was born on March 4th, at 36w1d. A very respectable term, considering all that's been happening with this pregnancy the past couple of months. We never expected to get this far!

It was a very speedy birth: exactly 4 hours and 5 minutes from the first contraction till the moment they handed him to me all covered in blood and goo. We only narrowly avoided a c-section, since his head was tilted the wrong way and he started to show signs of distress. Same as with the twins, but this time there was only one baby, and it was all going so fast that they decided a natural birth might get him out quicker than a c-section. That is, with the assistance of a very scary pair of scissors and the gyn putting all his weight on my belly to help push him out. And out he came!

All was well right after birth, his apgar scores were (almost) perfect, his weight was good for his term, and he was allowed to stay with me the whole time. No rushing off to the NICU, no taking him away for testing. He was just there. On my belly. Where he was supposed to be. It was perfect! It was everything I didn't dare dream of or hope for...

They moved us to a private room, where we could hold him and look at him and cuddle him as much as we wanted. No glass cage, no alarms, no nurses rushing into the room every so many minutes. Just us.

His big brother and sister came to visit with grandma when he was just 3 hours old. They gave him careful little kisses and said his name and he instantly belonged with them. We were a family. For one day and one night, everything was perfect!

And then the next day things started to go downhill. We thought 36 weeks was perfect. Only one week short of 37 weeks, that's almost full term, isn't it? Wrong. 40 weeks is full term. Anything short of that means there's a chance the baby is just not quite ready to be born. A lot of times, 36 weekers do just fine. But there's just as many 36 weekers that struggle. And ours struggled. Nowhere near as much as his brother and sister did, but he struggled nonetheless.

When he was a day old, he stopped drinking (we'd been cupfeeding him because they needed to run glucose tests the first 24 hours, so just practising breastfeeding wasn't enough, he had to drink 15 cc's every 3 hours). He would let us pour milk in his mouth, but he just wouldn't swallow. He missed 3 feedings in a row. It's not that he was sick, he was just too tired. He did everything he needed to do: he kept his temperature stable, he passed the glucose tests, his saturation was great, his breathing stable. He just didn't have any energy left to feed himself. All he had the energy for was sleep. Oh, and he was turning yellow, fast.

And so on the second day the neonatology-pediatrician came in and told us he needed to be admitted to the high-care nursery where they would put in a feeding tube so they could give him enough fluids to help him get rid of the waste-products that were turning him yellow. They would run some tests to check his liver values and he might need to be put under a uv-light.

Nothing major. Nothing scary. No brainbleeds, no breathing problems, no life threatening complications, no NICU. But there I was again, alone, like I was 2 years before. And all the emotions from that first time, that I'd stuffed away somewhere deep inside, came flooding back up. Together with all the fears that had surrounded this pregnancy. He wasn't sick, he wasn't even that premature, he was just tired. And so was I...

Long story short: the next 3 days he spent sleeping. And sleeping. And sleeping. Being fed through the feeding tube meant he didn't need to waste energy trying to feed himself. He could just sleep. And sleep. And sleep more. In those 3 days, he was awake maybe 4 or 5 times, and only for a couple of minutes each time. He was so tired. When he was 3 days old, his liver values shot up, and they put him under a uv-lamp for 24 hours. And that did the trick. The next day he started waking for his feedings, and he started drinking again. He would take the breast for a couple of minutes every other feeding. And he'd drink. Just like that.

And as soon as he'd gone downhill just a couple of days earlier, he went uphill from there. It was amazing to see his little eyes open, to see his personality emerge from that deep sleep he'd been in. And before we knew it, we were going home. Together! We were both discharged exactly a week (and 3 hours) after his birth.

He was feeding himself. He was growing again. He was still sleeping a lot. But he was fine. He IS fine. He's HEALTHY. He's wonderful. He's PERFECT!!!

And all has been well since...

Back in the hospital

But the news is terrific: It's a boy!!
Born early on the morning of 36 weeks and 1 day he was in time for breakfast. The first day was very very good and spent together.
The downside of being in the hospital is that Mijke is offline again, so for now you'll have to make do with a second hand story -instead of waiting longer.
Mom is doing fine (except that everything hurts, why did nobody tell her you can't sit, stand or walk properly?) Baby is mildly annoyed at having to feed himself, prefers food delivered through a tube, because that way he can sleep and grow. Although sometimes it's nice to get the milk directly from the source... The yellowness is being conquered with the help of a lamp and getting better, other than that he is doing well, being kissed by his sister and all.

Will forward your comments to the hospital e-card system, and will find out about pictures soon.